Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) (64 page)

Talisker
Single Malt, aged 12 years. Talisker Distillery, Carbost, Isle of Skye,
Scotland.

Erik hoped
that he had covered his own gasp well enough. It had been a few years since he
had taken a dram among friends. Soon enough, the warmth spread throughout his
body and he relaxed.
This stuff is good…

“Aye,” said
Archie, recognizing the look on Erik’s face. “Thus is no
Chevas Regal
. 
Thus is a
real
Scotsmans drink.”

Erik
cleared his throat. “It’s a fine whiskey, Archie. The flavor—-it’s very strong.
Reminds me of the ocean.”

Archie and
Maddie grinned in delight. “It’s brewed on the Isle of Skye, Erik,” said
Maddie. “Here in the States, thus brand is most rare. Thus is our last bottle.
Archie and I have grown quite fond of it over the years. Next time we call on
Skye, we’ll get more.”

“Now then,
d’ye mind tellin’ us why ye two were out a-skulkin’ in the palm trees?” asked
Archie with another dram of the water of life in his hand. He handed a refill
to Brin who politely refused. Erik leaned forward to accept another glass and
followed Maddie and Archie’s lead by
sipping
round two.

“Sure, but
shouldn’t you be guarding — you said it was your turn. It’s not safe out there
anymore,” Erik said, nodding towards the hatch.

“Moor’s the
pity,” said Archie as he sipped his whiskey. “We’re safe enough in here,
though. “ He nodded and Erik looked over his shoulder to see a black and white
video screen embedded into the bulkhead by the stairway leading up to the main
deck. The imaged swayed back and forth with the motion of the boat and flashed
with lightning but still showed a clear picture of the dock, almost to the main
gate.

Satisfied,
Erik and Brin told the tale of the Freehold form when the lights went out. They
completed each other’s sentences and tried to refrain from too much detail of
the Battle. Archie did not press the issue, though Maddie was quite concerned
to hear about the plight of the women and children.

“So ye’re
the one’s who gave those muther-lovun’ bandits the bloody nose, then? With
swords
even?” Archie raised his dram in salute. “William Wallace, aye.”

“We saw the
stragglers coom by here after you beat them off,” Maddie added. “What a sorry
lot. Looked like they’d been in an Irish pub fight!” she exclaimed.

“They came
here?” asked Brin.

“Och, aye.
They scared off t’others,” said Archie with a smirk.

“Others?”
asked Erik. He sipped the woodsy single malt and savored the warmth spreading
into his body from his stomach.

“The first
lot broke into more than one boat that night lookin’ for supplies,” replied
Maddie, squinting at them with one well practiced eye. “Sank some others t’vent
frustration I suppose. The other owners wha’ stayed to that point gave up and
raised anchor.”

“We’re the
last,” agreed Archie with a grim look. “We were plannin’ on leaving in a day or
two. I’m gathering supplies from the boats that were left abandoned,” he
mumbled ruefully. “Och, it pains me ‘eart to do so but they’ll never be used
now. No one’ll coom back here with the war brewin’.”

“Again
w’tha’ war! They’re the U.N., not the Soviet Union!” cried Maddie in
exasperation.

“Ah know
the likes o’ these
peacekeepers
,” Archie spat the word. “They’ll be
coomin’ here soon enough!” His look said ‘mark my words’. “This country isna’
Serbia, though. The Colonials wull fight back!”

“Och, away
w’ye, daft old man,” chided Maddie with wave of her arm.

“Archie’s
right, Maddie. Oh, there’ll be millions—probably in the cities—who may welcome
the U.N. at first. But I have to believe most of us will resent foreign
soldiers on our soil.  I know I will.  But there’s a lot of military guys who
will have something to say about that before people like me—“

“
Us
,”
said Brin gently, but with a determined look on her face.

“Before we
get involved.”

“Cheers to
that, laddie, “ said Archie, empty dram half raised in salute.

They talked
of the coming war in warm companionship—-it wasn’t declared, but all the
newscasts said the President would fight — the power outage, looters.  Their
friendly chat went on for a few more minutes until the mood suddenly darkened. 
A loud clap of thunder silenced talk for a minute or so further as the foursome
stared into empty drams and felt the rocking of the boat riding the waves.

At last
Erik cleared his throat and looked up. “So.  Archie. You’re sailing out
tomorrow?”

The
Scotsman glanced at his wife and cleared his throat.  “Aye, we figure safest
bet is to make for the Keys, then follow the Intercoastal Waterway to the
Carolinas.”

“I’ve kin
on the Outer Banks,” said Maddie with a smile.

Archie
nodded and scratched his chin. “We’ll see how things look then, maybe make the
crossing home after we resupply. If luck holds we’ll be back in the Highlands
coom Christmas. If no, we’ll cross the spring.”

Erik
whistled. “Talk about bugging out.”

“You mean
to cross the Atlantic?” asked Brin, eyes round.

“Aye,
lassie!” grinned Archie as he patted the wood paneling lining the hull. “She’s
a bonnie lass, strong of keel and stout of sail.”

Maddie
spoke up, seeing Brin’s disbelieving look. “She’s bigger than she looks,
dearie. The
Piper
has served us well as a home for almost six year noo.
We’ve crossed the Pond five times already — almost once a year.”

Archie
spotted Erik try to sneak a glance at his watch. “Ye’ve coompany waitin’ for
ye, no? S’alright, lad,” he said, sipping his refilled whiskey. “Good idea.
Times like these it’s nice t’have someone watch ye’r back.”

Erik
paused, cursing himself for the slip up. “It is,” he said slowly, watching
Archie’s genial face. He pulled out the radio and said, “Hoss, you read me?”
The Scotsman raised an eyebrow and winked but said nothing.

Through the
rain and static came Hoss’s reply, “
Go ahead, man…I hear ya
.”

“Ready for
pickup. Let’s get back home for the night.”

“
Amen
brother! I need to dry out. Be right there
…”

Archie
ushered Erik and Brin out after Maddie supplied hugs and some shortbread
cookies in a little tin. Standing on the deck in the rain, Erik and Archie
shook hands. “If you want, coom by tomorrow before the tide runs out and I’ll
show you the boats worth saving.  A sailboat is a handy way to disappear, lad.”

“I will.
Thank you Archie. What time –“

“A wee
before eight o’clock.,” said the little Scotsman with a grin. “Give or take a
bit.”  In the distance, motorcycles rumbled over the wind and rain of the dying
storm. “Now go—get ye;r lassie home safe. See ye in the morning!”

Erik
thought about Archie and Maddie and the possibilities a boat provided the whole
way back to the Freehold. He was soaking wet, cold, and windblown, but excited.

Brin
immediately went to dry off but Erik went across the breezeway to Ted and
Susan’s apartment. Ted answered the door with his service shotgun and a
relieved look. He was, as usual, wearing his PT shorts and USMC shirt. Barefoot
but ready to act, 24/7.

“You’re
back! How’d it go?”

“Great…better
than great! We met this couple from Scotland—“

“What?”
asked Ted, eyes wide. “What were they doing there? How have they survived—“

“They live
on their sailboat. He’s cool, ex-military,” Erik said.

“No shit?”

“No shit. 
Anyway, they invited me back tomorrow. He’s going to show me which boats to
salvage for our fishing expedition,” Erik said, wiping rain from his forehead.

“The one Lentz
canceled?”

Erik’s face
fell. He looked down the breezeway into the ink of the storm riddled night.
Rain gusted down the corridor driven by wind. The storm had spent its violence
but was still soaking everything in a wind tossed fury. He looked up again and
rubbed his nose.

“But it’ll
be great for
us
….if…
when
we bug out.  I need to get out of here
for a few days, just regroup, you know?  I’ve been thinking this is a way to
kill two birds with one stone.  An escape and a recon/fishing expedition all in
one.  If it works, we’ll have more food.  If not, then at least I’ll be ready
to bug out with a clear mind.”

“The HAM
net tonight has it that there’s a rumor going around that French and German
troops have boarded passenger planes in Europe. Paratroopers I’m guessing.  The
first wave.”

Erik was
speechless.

“I know, I
had the same reaction. This shit is getting
real
, real fast. Personally,
I think it’s just a rumor. I don’t think they can move that fast without
committees. But…”

“The
National Guard guys didn’t come around today. This is the first time they
missed their usual time. Now this rumor. That can’t be a coincidence. It’s
what, a seven hour flight?”

Ted put his
hand up to stop Erik right there. “Dude, we got time. I can’t believe I’m
saying this, but the big cities will be the first targets. New York, Philly,
LA…well maybe not Los Angeles. At any rate, they won’t come to little out of
the way retirement towns like Sarasota.  Besides, most people seem to have left
here already.  Why come here at all?  The beaches?”  Ted laughed.  “No, trust
me, they’ll go after Tampa and the Air Force Base at MacDill first. We got time
to do a little fishing before the shit really hits the fan.  We’re pretty much
ready to roll as it is. We just gotta convince the girls.  Besides, we also
heard our boys are starting to trickle home at last.  Got a big chunk of the
101st on U.S. soil today.”

Erik was
about to say something when Ted’s radio, set to the Watch frequency, squawked
to life. “
Ted, come in
.”

Erik
grinned. He recognized Art’s voice—still new to so many people, but more
trusted than most. He didn’t sleep much and monitored his HAM gear retrieved
from his own radio shack almost 24 hours a day. They got most of their news
from him now and his remote contacts around the nation and the world were
invaluable.

“Go ahead,
Art.”

“
Can you
come here and gimme a hand moving this receiver?
”

Ted’s eyes
bulged. “On my way,” he said. To Erik he grunted, “Come on, he’s got something
good.”

“You’re
using code with Art?” asked Erik as Ted grabbed shoes and the two men started
for the Keep, where Art was holed up with his radio gear.

“Yeah,
since Lentz wants to keep a radio for himself, I told Art to ask me for help
moving something if he gets any info. That way Lentz won’t block us out of it
and we have first crack at the intel.”

“
Better
hurry, this thing’s heavy
,” crackled over the radio as Ted and Erik moved
into the rain on their way to the Keep.

“Shit. 
It’s serious.”

Once inside
the warm, dry radio room, they shut the door behind them and let their eyes
adjust to the warm glowing light of the radio dials and equipment. After not
having power for so many weeks, it was startling to Erik how odd it seemed that
there should be light in this room without candles.  Art quickly waved them
over towards him and turned the volume up on the speaker next to his
wheelchair. “Got a net going with some guys out west.  Arizona, I think. He
keeps talking about terrorists so I figured I’d stall ‘im until you got here.”

“Go ahead,
I got the antennae stabilized now,” said Art into the microphone mounted on the
desk.

“
I say
again, if you have access to government officials, tell them that we have
uncovered a planned invasion of the United States
…” a thick western accent
drawled over the speakers.

“Well, we
know about that.”

“
You do?
”
asked the voice.

“Yes,
everyone does—the U.N. is sending troops our way—-“ said Art.

“
Not the
damn U.N.! The Chinese! They’re sending a freakin’ army through Mexico to
invade from the south!
” said the voice, desperation lending credence to his
claims. “
We’ve already fought some skirmishes with the Mexicans. Some Al
Qaeda guys have been lurking around down here stirrin’ up the
illegals
…They’re
going to fight with the Chinese
…” static broke up the conversation
momentarily.

“You’re
breaking up, Regulator, come back,” called out Art. It was no use, the signal
had faded in the storm’s wake and somewhere in the ionosphere the tenuous link
had been severed between Arizona and Florida.

“Anybody
else getting a bad
feeling about this?” asked Erik.

MALCOLM STEPPED OUT of
the dark sedan and paused to check his reflection in the tinted window. 
Immaculate.  He marveled at the difference a few weeks made. Just last month he
had been the leader of a national movement, a real
rebellion
. He was on
the run, dirty, hungry, and constantly looking over his shoulder. The Canadians
were trying to appease the upset child to the south and hunted him almost as
ferociously as the Americans had in Chicago.

‘Seek
safety in Canada,’ his Arab friend Hakim had told him once. ‘When the time is
right, you will find allies.’

How right
you were my friend. And powerful allies I found. With Ossad’s help, I was
rescued and reborn. I am no fugitive now, but a ruler in exile
. Exile.
The word leant authority to his position. He smiled. There was not a damn thing
the Man could do to him now.

“Malcolm,”
his mountain of a guard rumbled from the other side of the car. “Best be inside
now. Not safe out the gates
and
the car,” he nodded to the stately
Egyptian Embassy.

I wonder
where you are, Hakim? This day we save the rebellion and pave the way to our
own country. Real freedom. Dr. King would be proud.
Malcolm
paused long enough to let the mountain know he didn’t fear anyone and made his
own decision to move before turning to his guard.

“Yossef,
you worry too much, like an old woman,” he flashed his trademark smile when the
man looked down in shame. “But you have my safety at heart, even before your
own. You have been with me since the beginning. You got me out of Chicago and
across the Great Lake. You have bled for me. For that, my friend, I am grateful—more
than you will ever know.” Malcolm patted the huge man on his broad shoulder as
he passed up the marble steps. The big man grinned sheepishly then scowled when
his partner snickered.

“You stay
with the car.
I
go with Malcolm,” he barked, voice like so many boulders
rolling down hill.

Malcolm
tried to sweep through the gilded doorway into Egypt’s Canadian Embassy, but
was outshone by the gracious ambassador who acted as if he were meeting the
Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia.

Remember,
you are a soldier, not a diplomat. This is
his
world. You only
need to live in it for today, then I shall have everything we need
, Malcolm
told himself.

“My great
friend! Welcome again,
welcome!
” cried the Ambassador. The two men
embraced following Middle Eastern custom and kissed cheeks.  As they walked the
halls of the Embassy, Malcolm saw the place was bustling with activity.  It was
much more crowded than the first time he had arrived begging asylum.  Aides and
staffers ran from room to room, shuttling papers and phones. Fax machines
hummed and phone banks cried out for attention. It was a war room. For indeed,
Egypt was at war.

“The filthy
American Imperialists may have caused a lot of damage and killed many thousands
of innocents, but by Allah’s will, we shall have our vengeance! It is as they
say in America, this is only round one,” said the Ambassador as he ushered
Malcolm into a state-of-the-art conference center. There was a large mahogany
table in the center of the long room, polished to a high sheen and completely
empty of design.  The several chairs around it were of the thick-cushioned
leather style favored by government types.

A side
table by a long row of bullet-proof windows held a simple serving tray and some
glasses for the pitcher of ice water.  A man nodded to them as they entered,
informing the Ambassador that the camera on a tripod at the head of the table
was ready for the conference.  After the technician left, the Ambassador
offered Malcolm a seat and shut the door.

Malcolm
hesitated to sit.  Instead he turned to his host and said in a gentle voice,
full of concern, “Any news of your family? When last we met, you were still
trying to contact them after the attacks from that aircraft carrier. Were you
able to find them…?” Malcolm had his hand on the Ambassadors arm as a sign of
support.

“Praise be
to Allah!” the Ambassador’s face lit up with a great smile. “Fatwimah and the
children are safe—I found out yesterday,” the relief in the man’s voice was
obvious.

“Allah is
indeed merciful, my friend,” Malcolm said with a genuine smile. It really was
good news.

“
Allah
ackbar
,” intoned the Ambassador with a nod. He clapped Malcolm on the
shoulder.  “Now! On to business! Today we make history, no?”

Malcolm
nodded and sat down. “I am ready.”  He turned to face the camera that the
Ambassador switched on.  At the same time, the large, full-wall flat screen
television in front of the two men flickered to life, displaying a blue screen
with white letters that read, ‘No Input’. After a few adjustments to a control
on the massive conference table, the Ambassador grinned and looked at the
screen.  The giant face of the Secretary General of the United Nations
appeared.

“
Ah,
there you are my friends!
” he boomed.

“Hello, Mr.
Secretary General,” said Malcolm, with a polite nod. He didn’t smile. For some
reason, he didn’t fully trust this foreigner.  Something about the U.N. chief’s
eyes whispered to Malcolm that he should deal cautiously with the fellow.

“
Ossad,
are we secure?
” the giant face asked to the Ambassador.

“Yes, sir.
Only the three of us will hear what is to be said.”

“
Good,
good!
” The warm smile vanished. “
Now, then. I trust you have read my
proposal?
” he asked, holding up a document that appeared to be the size of
the conference table.

Malcolm
nodded. “I have. You are most generous in your offer of support.”

“
Yes,
yes—can you deliver what we require?
” asked the Secretary General, a hint
of impatience and disbelief in his voice.

“Yes.” The
answer was flat, with no emotion at all.

“
What
assurances do you offer?
”

Malcolm
looked square into the Secretary General’s cold eyes with a stare that could
freeze ice. “I led an assault on America’s ‘Second City’.  I conquered the
heart of Chicago and made the American government send an
army
to engage
my forces. If I could not deliver what you require, I would not be alive today
to tell you so.  All that you ask of me is to harass the Americans when….I
should say
, if
…you arrive.”

“
If?
If!?
I have just received word that the first wave is leaving Europe by plane and
ship at this very moment.  The hour of our invasion is at hand
—“ burst the
insulted U.N. leader.

“Do not
become overconfident, Mr. Secretary General. You will not waltz into America
and win the hearts and minds of the people there over night.  You have fought
with
them.  I have fought
against
them.  You will be lucky —and you
know
it—to get a single battalion on U.S. soil, let alone conquer a single state. 
And they have fifty of them, you know.”  Malcolm was straining to keep his face
emotionless and his body completely still.  He was almost there….

The
Secretary General frowned.  “
We have an armada of planes loading as we
speak. They will sweep across Europe and cross the North Pole
—“

“The
Canadian government will not appreciate that, sir,” interrupted Ossad, the Egyptian
Ambassador.  It was the first he had heard of the actual plan for the invasion.

“
I do
not care what they appreciate. 
Canada
is in no position to stop us!
”
roared the Secretary General’s face on the screen.

“But the
Americans
are
,” countered Malcolm. The Secretary General froze with his
mouth open and looked coolly at Malcolm, evaluating him seriously for the first
time.  “Their Air Force is mostly still in the U.S..  They will shoot your
soldiers out of the sky like so many pigeons.”

Before the
Secretary General could explode with rage, Malcolm slipped in a grin and the
sudden expression on his face caused the Secretary General to pause,
calculating. “I,” said Malcolm, rising from his plush chair to walk to the side
table. “Can
guarantee
your success.”

The
Secretary General’s face furrowed in thought. He looked at Ossad, who shrugged,
then over to Malcolm.  “
Alright. I’m listening
…”   The expression on his
face said, ‘Go ahead, amaze me. I dare you.’

Malcolm
slowly poured some ice water into a glass and savored a cold sip.  He closed
his eyes and relished the feeling of the cold, pure water travel down his
throat.  He could almost feel the Secretary General begin to tremble with
anticipation.

Casually turning
to the screen, he twirled the water in his glass, making the ice dance.  “I can
deliver you airports in strategic metropolitan locations.  Imagine, Mr.
Secretary General, a safe landing zone in downtown New York.  Or Tampa?  Or
Cincinnati, Seattle, Boston, Philadelphia?  Others,
many
others, all
over the country.”  Malcolm watched the wheels turn on the Secretary General’s
face as he calculated the offer. Malcolm pressed his closing argument.

“The
Brotherhood…
my
people…control the cities of America.  We control the
airports of America.  If you reach the airports with your transport planes I
can guarantee a safe landing site.  If your planes survive the American Air
Force, they will land unopposed in friendly territory.  My people are ready to
fight at your side.  Do not underestimate our number,” Malcolm said as he took
another drink of water, never taking his eyes off the Secretary General.

The
Secretary General knew at once Malcolm’s plan could seal the fate of the
Americans swiftly.  From secure landing fields, his forces stood a much better
chance of initial survival.  With an army of millions of rebels—poorly trained,
equipped and lead they may be—the United Nations would be practically
unstoppable.  His image grew large as he leaned in towards the camera, mind
made up.

“
And in
return for holding the airports and raising an army….you ask for what?
” he
asked quietly, the barest hint of a smile played across his lips.

Malcolm
smiled.