Devolution (29 page)

“Hell! I need more water.” The sweat dripped as Milt struggled to work his shovel amongst the thick material. His choice of profession took an ever-increasing toll on his aging physique. Despite the pain, however, his mind wouldn’t allow his body to slow down.

His assistant fetched a bucket out of their van and began pouring water.

“Good. Now, grab a shovel and give me a hand.”

The roller’s engine reduced to a dull idle.

Milt’s laborer, a thin boy in his late teens, grabbed a shovel off the sidewalk and shoved it into the mix, scraping the grit against the metal bottom.

“Power that shovel into the mortar and turn.” Milt demonstrated. “You learn this trade, Derek, and you’ll be thankful. You may get dirty and sore, but you’ll always be able to feed your family.”

The boy continued to work the mud.

“This looks pretty damn good,” Milt stated. “Grab that blue bucket.”

As they hauled the mortar and tools to the bricks near the building, Milt commented, “Derek, you should listen to me.”

The young man looked at his mentor as if to say,
Why?

A proud smile grew on Milt’s face. “The last laborer I had, is now
our
boss.”

*

“We don’t want anything from
you
, sir.” From his back pocket John brandished a flyer and offered it to the old gentleman. “As I said, FreeGB will no longer participate in this depression.”

Placing his glasses on the tip of his wide nose, the old man peered down at the literature.

“Right now, we have people repairing buildings, potholes, and assisting the homeless.”

The old gentleman placed the flyer on the glass display case and smiled. “Son, I’m just an old man struggling to keep this little shop open. Why are you here?”

“Sir?” John politely replied.

The old man grabbed one of his canes to assist in his standing. “I have been here a long time,” he said humbly. “I appreciate your efforts. But I have made it this long. Making it to the end will not be hard.”

“If you don’t mind, sir,” began one of John’s colleagues, “why
are
you still here?” She scanned the room wondering why he wasn’t somewhere better.

The corners of the old man’s mouth rose, his eyes widened with a gentle glow. “Well, young lady, we opened this shop decades ago after immigrating from America. My wife and I said this would be our last stop. A few years ago, she kept her promise. I intend to keep mine.”

“But your business could do better outside the city,” she replied, looking through the glass at his collection of old revolvers.

“This is home.” He lifting his cane and let it fall freely to the wooden floor, generating a deep, hollow thud.

“Are you doing alright?” John asked. “Do you need anything?”

John could sense his host was growing tired of their visit. He wasn’t used to company. “My life has been built here. I saw it rise from nothing and fall back to nothing.” His nostalgic words struck an emotion in everyone but himself. “This is where I will remain.”

Behind the old gentleman, hanging on the wall, a faded picture of a middle-aged couple standing in front of a large rotunda caught John’s eye. The clean-cut professional wore a brown three-piece suit and a wide smile. The ravishing mocha-skinned woman beside him beamed in her colorful spring dress. The grass was a spotty green. The tree branches bore millions of buds just about to explode in color. It was obvious the couple was in love.

The old gentleman couldn’t help but notice John’s wondering eye. “That is my wife and me outside the U.S. Capitol Building. Now it’s just another museum.” He reached up to lift the frame off its supports. “What a shame,” he sighed.

“You lived there?” John inquired.

He placed the frame on the glass counter facing his guests. “We were born there. We left a few years before the breakup. The greatest regret of my life.”

“She was stunning.” John’s co-worker was truly amazed by the woman’s simple beauty.

“You should have seen her in her younger years,” he chuckled. His lips pulled back towards the corners of his mouth.

As John and the two ladies conversed with the old gentleman, their FreeGB comrades rigorously carried out another part of the plan—one few knew about.

*

“Stay out of sight,” demanded Warren Wickham. The leader stood at the foot of an unmarked van filled with armed men in full protective gear. “When this hatch opens, rush into the buildings and find a position that overlooks as many streets as possible. Stay there as long as time demands. Any questions?”

“Should we expect encounters?”

The van, which was parked in a desolate side alley, contained a few dozen mercenaries. Wickham heard the question, but was uncertain who’d asked it. The warriors’ faces were concealed with dark masks and optical shields.

“The buildings should be empty. If you come across anyone, we cannot sacrifice the mission.”

Wickham leaned backwards beyond the van doors to check the alley. He climbed in the van and shut the door behind him.

“The government
will
try to stop us. Don’t let them! You guys are van five. Six more are on their way, right?”

“Yes, sir.” Like the question before it, the voice had no origin.

“Gentlemen,” Wickham concluded, “FreeGB expects your full cooperation. Each of you has one of these.” Wickham held up a small communication device. “I am linked with your captain.” The business card-sized trinket disappeared into his pocket. “Do not act until the command is given. None of us on the ground have guns. The government may take advantage of that.”

Wickham placed his left hand on the door latch. “All right, men. Be safe!” In one swift motion he unlatched the door and threw it open. The men darted out of the truck, filtering into the surrounding buildings.

Not all the marked locations connected to this alley. Some of the mercenaries were forced to travel in clear view as they dashed to their destination.

“Don’t film that!” admonished Tony Manning. He grabbed the camera from the hand of his assistant. From the relative safety of a few blocks, they watched as darkly dressed, armed men sprinted across the street and entered a building through a cracked window. Manning looked at his photographer. “You didn’t see that!”

The confused woman simply nodded.

Manning abruptly started walking in the direction from which they came. The woman followed. Behind them, more dark figures quietly raced across the street.

“How many videographers do we have?” Tony asked the woman. She was weighed down with a still camera, video camera, tripod, and audio equipment.

“About a half-dozen from my company,” she responded. “But there are more.”

“How long until we can post video and pictures?”

“The
before
pictures, should be up in an hour. The
after
will go up as needed.”

They turned the corner onto a busier street and he patted her on the back. “Make us look good.”

*

“So if I could, I’d like to get back to my shop,” the old gentleman said politely. He appeared to be growing tired.

John turned towards the ladies and nodded. “Head to the next business. I’ll be out in a minute. ”

“There are others?” The old gentleman chuckled.

“The list is short,” John acknowledged.

Seconds later the door quietly closed, leaving the two men alone amongst the antiquity.

“It took me a while,” John said, “but I figured it out.”

“What took a while?”

“You’re Bryan Butler.”

A smile grew on his old wrinkled face. He adjusted a gold pocket watch on a second tier shelf. “I’m impressed, Mr. Nolan.”

John was slightly taken aback, recalling the instant he first introduced himself.
Did I say my last name?

With his back still turned Butler uttered, “You are not alone in knowing a face.”

John was humbled.

The old man stumbled out from behind the counter. The two, at opposite ends of their lives, sat down on an old walnut loveseat. Despite the age of the fabric it still radiated a brilliant purple.

“I have read a lot about you.” John barely knew the man, but was highly respectful of his name.

“Have you? All good, I hope.”

The man was a controversial figure, one who drew the loyalty of many, and the hatred of few.

“You do not have to answer,” Mr. Butler said, and John breathed a silent sigh of relief. “I know what is written about me.”

“Congressman, I have—”

“Please, son!” Butler put up his hand. “That is not a title one retains their entire life.”

“Sir, I know you’ve seen this before.”

Butler’s eyes glazed over in a solemn haze. “I promised myself I would not get involved.”

“How similar is it?” John pleaded. “You fought against the American collapse. Tell me, what really happened?”

Butler’s aging heart bled with a compassion grown from rare experiences few could understand. His words defied his better judgment. “What we speak of in this room does not leave it.”

With a simple nod, John earned his trust.

“I spent a large part of my life in American politics before the breakup, which I saw coming.” He snickered. “Many of us did.”

The young professor hung on Butler’s every word. He was living history.

“Most politicians knew our system was not sustainable, but it didn’t matter. Growing party membership was more important. Oftentimes, party politics were designed to create the misfortunes of potential constituents, which allows for political opportunity. But when perception dictates reality, misdirection becomes essential if proving truth. Then again, what do you expect when lawyers run the government?” The two shared a dubious glance. “When I was young, I wanted to believe
in
politics. I quickly learned it’s just a
game.
Politicians are the players, the country is the board, and the people are disposable pieces. The players move the pieces with disregard. Some are sacrificed, some are favored, some are used for bluffing. And all too often, the pieces just let themselves be played.

“For years, I tried to warn America of what was really happening. But other politicians called me a fear monger and a demagogue.
That can’t happen in the United States
, they would say. Arrogantly, I thought I could win with logic and facts, while they played the populist. And the people bought it. Permanent solutions don’t favor politicians, they need problems to solve. Americans were so comfortable in their lives, they were unwilling to face reality and sacrifice that comfort.” He paused. “We got what we deserved.”

His eyes widened. “Thankfully, my constituents trusted me. Though I never lost reelection, I was shunned politically. I was so frustrated
,
I left the country. Soon enough, everything I predicted came true. I sat in this store and watched it happen. Despite being right, I could not help but feel guilty. I should have kept fighting. Now, I have to live with that regret every time I look at a map of North America.”

“Populist?”

“It’s a political strategy rooted in effectiveness, not reality. A populist simply says what the people want to hear. Politics trump consequences. People vote for politicians to run the country because they are busy running their own lives. Most don’t pay attention, which politicians exploit. Usually by the time people realize something is wrong, it’s too late.

“After we left America, my wife and I built a great life here. As this nation thrived it reminded us of America when it was strong.” He lowered his head in disgust. “Now I’m starting to think it doesn’t matter where you live. People are people; we can ruin anything.”

The old man looked deeply into John’s eyes. “We are a self-destructive species, son. Always will be.”

John desperately searched for a worthy comment, suggestion, inquiry—anything.

“You want advice?” Butler added with a sincere conviction. “Politics are a stale game with fresh words and new players who work to manipulate the uneducated and corral the influential.” He spoke with unconditional certainty. “In today’s world, those who win bend the most minds with the slyest rhetoric.” The old man’s back arched. “You have the right message, son. And you have what I did not—an uncommitted populace.”

He leaned in so close John could feel the warmth of his stale breath. “Understand—people seek power to
use
it.” He pumped his fists. “Many ideas that seem so brilliant have been tested and failed at great human cost, only to be tried again because the idea itself is appealing. You are close to achieving what I could not. Governance lay in a pendulum. Educate the people about how nations can avoid disastrous ends. We know what works. In time, trust in the government will run its course and the world will again rise up. But we shall not have to suffer through those years. We can win the future now.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

ARROGANCE D’
É
TAT

“Suggestions?” Major General Bernard Harris stood at the head of a tired board room.

He had grown highly irritated with the defensive posture he was consistently forced into. “We had no idea this operation would start this soon. They beat us... again.”

“Is the media in on this?” With her hair pulled back in a ponytail, the normally striking brunette was not as well-kempt. “Could we defuse their interest?”

Harris shook his head. “They are not covering it, yet. But they will. We must not allow that to happen. The media is still skeptical of FreeGB. If that changes, we’ll lose the whole damn country.”

While Harris hid it well, he was on the verge of a meltdown. Throughout his decades-long career, he had commanded some of Great Britain’s most successful foreign and domestic campaigns: revolutions in South America; nation-building in Northern Africa;
and, counterterrorism at home. Now he was being outflanked by a bunch of rogue amateurs. This was beyond humbling. It had crossed the line of embarrassing, teetering on devastating.

“My friends, FreeGB has just given us the break we needed.” The prime minister charged into the room and immediately advanced to the head of the table. “Their organization is not ready for an offensive this large. They’ve overextended. Right now, and only right now, they are vulnerable. We can break the movement. But our window is small.”

Harris was instantly indignant at his political adversary’s pompous actions, yet the seasoned arbiter managed to reign in his anger. Standing his ground at center table, he spoke with a deep rooted disdain. “What do
you
suggest?”

“Send in troops. They don’t have to cause a great disruption, only enough to create a little havoc.”

“So you want to fight?” Harris tried to play off his strategy as absurd.

The placid Prime Minister espoused confidence in his delivery. “Just a small disorder. Downtown is known for being unstable and dangerous. We just have to prove it still is. Their workers will panic and leave. We can crush their spirits.”

The PM could tell his words had impact on the room.

“FreeGB put all their resources, money, and manpower into this effort. This is it. If we stop them here, they may collapse.” He paused for affect. “Then, we’re in control.”

Harris’ aggression towards the Prime Minister began to emerge, “What if FreeGB somehow proves this was our doing?” Harris said aggressively.

“These men are trained by you, Major General. They are the best.”

“You don’t get it, do you?”

The prime minister was not about to back down from Harris’ advance. This was his last chance to prove he could lead. Judging by the favorable reaction of those in the room, his idea was gaining traction. And he didn’t have to use his domineering voice or robust stature to rekindle the flame of his leadership.

Harris could see he was losing the argument, and his authority. “We must measure the consequences of our actions against the potential reward,” the major general said, addressing the room as if to garner their vote. He stood tall in an effort to intimidate his way to victory. “The creation of instability is impossible to contain. This war can only be won in the arena of ideas.”

“How do you think FreeGB grew so powerful?” the prime minister asked, and the focus of the room shifted back to him. “They went into cities and towns and neighborhoods and incited violence. They burned buildings, robbed, and killed. They created fear. We can’t play by different rules and expect to win.”

“Stand down, Mr. Prime Minister!” Harris’ escalating temper finally got the best of him. He was losing power, and didn’t know how to cope.

Undaunted, the prime minister continued, his voice at a controlled level. “They did everything they could to destroy us. And we allowed it to happen.” He jabbed at his chest with stiffened fingers. “Now we have a chance to
crush
them when they are most vulnerable.”

“That’s enough!” Harris lunged towards the prime minister, stopping just short of his face. The two stood inches apart, eyes locked in contempt. “That’s an order!”

“Need I remind you, Major General,” the PM’s voice shuddered, “I outrank you!”

Harris took a deep breath, puffing out his chest. The prime minister could feel the flow of the major general’s breath as it entered his body.

“You have failed, Major General.” The declaration triggered a gasp from the captivated onlookers. The PM shook his head. “It’s time for a new direction.”

“Sit down,” Harris huffed, pointing to a corner chair.

“Admit it, Bernard.” The Prime Minister’s tone softened even more. Their blood-shot eyes were still locked in scorn. “You’ve lost.”

The room was dead silent.

Harris stepped back and adjusted his suit coat. “
My
hand has shaped this country, and world, for decades. And you, a simpleton from nowhere Great Britain think you can do better?” He snickered. “You propose we create instability?” He addressed the Prime Minister as if he were a child.

The rhetorical question required no reply.

“Let’s suppose the resistance does catch us, Mr. Prime Minister. What then?”

“Do what we always do. Blame it on the LAF,” the prime minister shot back. “Their hands are not clean.”

Harris’s bellow filled every corner of the room with a mocking incivility.

“Would you like to tell us what’s so funny?” With each exchange, the prime minister secured more confidence.

“You really don’t get it, do you?”

The prime minister stood boldly.

“I asked you a question!” Harris screamed, his raspy voice cracking under the strain. The Prime Minister would not cooperate.

“The LAF doesn’t exist!”

Harris appeared unwilling to divulge the information.
On the inside, however, he was not so contrite. He had to make the prime minister look weak and sophomoric. “We made it up!”

The prime minister reeled back in shock. He scanned the reaction of the room and felt his edge slipping away.

“Occasionally, we needed cover,” Harris explained mockingly. “The LAF provided that cover.”

“So the LAF was actually
you
?” The prime minister didn’t want to believe it. The Loyalist Ali Front had been involved in horrific acts.

“Sometimes,” Harris remarked rudely. “The tactic is common and effective, Mr. Prime Minister. It has allowed the people of this nation, the people of the world, to live their little lives in peace and harmony. You should thank me.” He looked about the room. “You should thank all of us.”

“You don’t even tell anyone of this?” the PM gasped. His heart felt like it had fallen into his stomach.

“We have,” Harris smirked. “We just didn’t tell
you
.”

It would have been less of an insult to spit in his face.

The prime minister had to think fast and find a way to spin the situation to his advantage. “
This
is why we are losing the country.” He turned towards those who sat in judgment of his naivety. “The people don’t trust us. Don’t you see? The Bushtel pamphlet, the reason people believed it, the reason they are rejecting us, is because of this type of corruption.” He peered at Harris. “It’s because of you and all the people like you. We devote our lives to this republic, only to be betrayed by those we should most trust.” He paused to separate his demand from its justification. “Major General, I expect your resignation.”

An arrogant Harris sneered at the feeble threat.

At that moment, with dozens to bear witness, their national struggle shifted from one of mere survival, to one of political expedience.

*

The contentious meeting between Britain’s governmental elites concluded soon after the political lines had been drawn. Disdain was high and little could be accomplished. Standing in the hallway next to the door, the prime minister waited for his opportunity. “Colonel Levanetz,” he called out when the man dressed in military fatigues exited the boardroom.

“Yes, sir?” The warrior saluted his commander.

The prime minister pulled the statuesque man to the side. “What I discussed in the meeting, I want
you
to carry it out.” He spoke quietly to limit others from hearing. “We cannot wait for Harris. By then, it could be too late.”

The prime minister knew he could trust the colonel. Men of his training were loyal to the end.

Like any good soldier, the colonel nodded. “How would you like it done?”

“Make them wish they never challenged us.”

The colonel raised an eyebrow. “Are casualties a concern, sir?” He required authorization.

“No.” It was an answer the PM didn’t want to give, but had to. “Do what is necessary. We may not get another chance.”

“Yes, sir.” The colonel saluted once more and marched down the hallway.

“Colonel! No one can find out.”

A simple nod confirmed the order.

As the soldier disappeared down the hollow corridor, the prime minister remained to contemplate his command. The ambivalence of the situation made any decision daunting. With the weight of this particular order, he didn’t know whether to smile that it would be carried out, or cry because it had to be. For the first time in his life, he’d sanctioned the taking of human lives, many of whom may have voted for him.

*

Harris and a half-dozen members of his inner circle remained in the boardroom after the others had departed. “We must stop the prime minister,” he said. “He can’t gain a following.” Stiff fingers rubbed his aching head. “I don’t know where this newfound zeal of his came from, but we have to end it.”

“He could have... an accident,” said one man, his meaning clear.

Harris smiled. Though interested, he considered the uncertain consequences. “The nation is far too skittish for that. We must strip him of his power. Render him insignificant once again.”

“Why not just remove him from office?” declared a sharply dressed woman. “Take care of FreeGB ourselves?”

“She’s right,” agreed a colleague. “People are concerned with themselves and their families. Plus FreeGB has given us one hell of a distraction. If we do it right, no one will even notice. By the time they do, new leadership will be in place.”

“You want to stage a military coup?” Harris was disbelieving what he heard, yet a hint of intrigue crept through him.

The woman huffed, “Maybe we should have considered this a long time ago.”