Executive Orders: Part 2 of the Homeland Series (4 page)

“Hi, Sheriff.”

Hank opened the wrought iron door and walked in. “Hungry?”

“Starving.”

Hank handed Brandon the food. “Compliments of my preacher’s wife. Best cook in town.” He smiled. “But that’s just until Betty gets back.”

“Thanks.”

“You doing okay?”

“You tell me. I’ve been kidnapped, forced to break into a pharmacy to steal drugs, shot at, blown up, and locked up in here. And my parents are dead. I couldn’t even bury them. What’s left of them is still in that squad car on the highway.”

“I know.” Hank didn’t know what else to say.

“I never hurt anybody.”

“You did all you could to save your mom and dad. You did what you had to do.” Hank sighed. “But the law is the law. I’m sorry I have to keep you in here.”

“It’s just as well. My family is gone. I got no home. No food. No place to go. I’m better off in here.”

“I guess so,” Hank replied. “When you get out, don’t worry about finding a place to go. You can stay with Maggie and me until things get back to normal.”

“That’s gonna be a while.”

“I know.” Hank patted Brandon on the back. “You saved my life, remember? I kinda owe you.”

A squad car pulled up outside the jail. Hank left Brandon locked in his cell, arriving in the parking lot as a deputy got out of his vehicle and pulled a handcuffed blonde woman from the back seat. She kicked and bit at the officer as he removed her from the vehicle.

“Let me go!” the prisoner screamed, “I’ll kill you!” She fell to the ground and tried to roll onto her back and kick the deputy away from her.

Hank rushed to help the officer. “Let me give you a hand.” He and his deputy shared a look of brief amusement at the irony of that statement coming from a one-armed man.

“Dammit, Chloe!” Hank yelled, “Settle down!”

“Careful, Sheriff,” the officer warned, “She’s high as a kite.”

Chloe screamed, “I’ll call my daddy! He’ll get me outta here! You’ll see!” Her eyes were wild as she cursed and flailed. “Let. Me. GOOOO!”

Hank wrapped his arm around her neck and forced her prone onto the pavement. “Hogtie her!”

The deputy produced more cuffs, binding Chloe’s ankles together, then attaching those restraints to the ones on her wrists.

“Good job,” Hank panted, “Get some guys from the jail to put her in a cell. I’ll watch her while you get ‘em.”

“Thanks, Sheriff.” The deputy ran into the jail.

The wild woman continued to scream and spit as she lay, bound hand-to-foot on the pavement. She seemed more animal than human to Hank.

It was hard to believe this thing writhing before him now was the mother of his precious granddaughter, Maggie. She was the woman his son had loved. No matter how many times she lied to him, cheated on him, or stole from him, Hank’s boy always took her back. Sometimes she came crawling to him. Other times he went after her.

He went after her for the last time one summer night, five years past. She was strung out again on only God knew what, running with the worst crowd the county had to offer. Hank and Betty begged their son not to go.

“Leave her be,” Betty begged him, “She doesn’t care about you or Maggie. Just let her go.”

“I love her,” the young man replied.

“You’re a deputy, for God’s sake,” Hank rebuked, “You can’t be with a pill head and keep your job.”

“Then fire me.” He slammed the door and drove off into the night.

Hank got the call he feared most a few hours later. He barely remembered driving to the dark country road. His only clear recollection was of flashing police lights, road flares burning in the darkness, and the grim faces of his deputies as they avoided his gaze.

“Don’t, Hank.” Gunny pulled at the sheriff’s arm as he exited his squad car “Go home to Betty. She’s gonna need you.”

“I have to see for myself.”

Gunny released his grip. Hank stumbled, numb, toward the tarp lying on the edge of the road. A gust of wind turned up a corner to reveal a hand. His son’s hand. Hank knelt and turned the shroud back further. He looked into his boy’s lifeless eyes, remembering countless nights spent watching that face sleep. He reached down and stroked his namesake’s hair the way he used to do as the boy slept in his crib. The flesh was already cold.

“What happened?” Hank said to the darkness.

“He found Chloe and her friends partying here. They were all high on meth. He tried to get her to come with him. A fight started. One of her friends had a gun.”

Hank fell onto his haunches, suffocating beneath the weight of his grief.

“Hey! HEY! I’m talking to you!”

Hank’s mind was jolted back to the present by Chloe’s renewed squalling.

“My dad’s gonna kill you!” she spat.

Two deputies came from the jail and picked Chloe up by her restraints.

“Get her out of here,” Hank ordered.

Once the officers took Chloe inside, Hank stood alone.

His thoughts turned to his remaining son, Cole. He was a sergeant with the 101st Airborne in Fort Campbell, five hours to the west. Hank hadn’t heard from him since everything went to Hell.

Have I lost him, too?

Nor had he heard from Betty since she was taken to the Advanced Care Center.

Maggie was all he had left.

Hank watched the dying light of the setting sun shimmer across the Pigeon River as it flowed past the court house with no regard for the living or the dead.

Hank knelt on the asphalt, tears rolling down his weathered cheeks. He began to pray.

Please, God. Protect my family. Please.

A cold gust chilled him to the bone. Hank stood with a grunt. He felt as if he’d aged twenty years in the last week. He looked up to the sky once more.

Please. I’m begging you.

He wiped his eyes and walked to his office, struggling with each step under the burden of his woes.

*****

Finbarr Duncan fought the urge to fidget as he sat in Agent Sanger’s office located in what used to be First Baptist Church. He pulled a handkerchief and wiped his forehead; he was sweating in spite of the November chill. He sat alone, waiting for Sanger. The two FEMA troopers who showed up at his office an hour ago informed him that his presence was requested. It was obvious that declining Sanger’s invitation was not an option.

He looked around the room. It was a Spartan space, no pictures, empty bookshelves, pulled shades. A black coat hanging on the back of the door and a large map on the wall of the ten FEMA regions were the only signs of occupancy.

What does she want?

Finbarr racked his brain, trying to think of anything he’d done or said that could be used against him, any reason to have him arrested. But Sanger didn’t need a reason. She was the law and the law was subject to change without notice these days. He decided it was pointless to wonder why. He also resisted the urge to come up with answers to questions he thought she might ask. He knew her well enough to understand that she only asked questions she already knew the answer to. Volunteering extra information would only incriminate him in any case.

He became aware of his foot nervously tapping against a nearby bookshelf. What was taking so long? Why did she summon him here just to keep him waiting? Maybe that was the point.

He took a deep breath, calming himself as best he could.

Footsteps drew near. Finbarr didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified.

Agent Sanger entered the room and sat behind her desk without a word. She produced a key, unlocked a desk drawer, and pulled out a pen and writing tablet.

It took all Finbarr’s will to remain still as he watched her, his heart pounding as if trying to escape his chest.

She finally said, “Mayor Duncan, thank you for coming.”

Finbarr nodded. “M-My pleasure.”

“I need your help,” she continued.

“G-Glad to do what I can.” His voice trembled in spite of his efforts to appear calm.

“Are you?” Sanger’s face hardened.

Finbarr cleared his throat. “You still doubt me?…After all I’ve done?”

“Should I?”

He wiped his head again. The sweat was coming faster than he could dry it now. “I think I’ve proved my loyalty.”

“You have, but not everyone shares your patriotism.”

“We have our share of troublemakers.” Finbarr offered a meek smile.

“Who are they?”

He laughed awkwardly. “Let’s just say some of our families are more high strung than others.”

Sanger slid the pen and tablet in front of Finbarr. “I want names.”

“I gave you all the names I had.” The mayor looked down at the blank paper and back up to Agent Sanger. “I don’t know if anybody else…”

“Should I make the list myself, Mayor? I could start with you. Or maybe your daughter, Chloe. She was arrested a few minutes ago, trying to steal drugs. Hanging a thief and her traitorous father side-by-side would have the exact effect I’m after.”

“No. I-I’m sure I can think of a few more names.” He began to write.

Sanger leaned back in her chair. “That’s more like it.”

“There.” Finbarr’s hand shook as he pushed the paper back to Sanger.

The agent examined the list. “Only five?” She glanced up at the mayor then back to the tablet with a disapproving sigh. “I thought I could count on you, Finbarr.”

“You want more?”

“I want them all.” She pushed the list back across the desk.

“What…” Finbarr mustered his strength to speak. “What about Chloe?”

“She’s all yours. I’m hunting dissidents, not junkies.” She pointed to the list. “Names first, then your daughter.”

“I can give you a few more, but I need time to think.”

“Very well. Give me five additional names now and we will meet here again tomorrow morning for ten more.”

Finbarr’s eyes widened.

“And ten more the day after that—and so on until I tell you to stop.”

The mayor’s mouth opened to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He finally nodded his consent.

“Of course, my agents can’t bring all these troublemakers in themselves. We are spread thin as it is. That brings me to our next order of business.”

“There’s more?” Finbarr gasped.

“As I said, our agency can’t meet all security requirements and we cannot rely on our military. Therefore, the Department of Homeland Security is establishing a civilian national defense force that is just as powerful, just as strong, and just as well funded to supply these National Security needs.
I want you to organize and lead the local chapter.”

“Why don’t you get Hank Sexton to do that?”

“I think we both know where Sheriff Sexton stands.”

“Where am I to get the men for this?”

“You’re a sexist for assuming they will all be men, but I’ll forgive you… this time. Make Sheriff Sexton’s deputies a priority on your list. We need to know which ones we can trust. Start with the young ones. They will be eager to defect to the winning team. After that, enlist anybody else you like, regardless of background. They can learn on the job. Loyalty is more important than experience in these matters. I will need their names, too of course. I have only one condition. They must be young people. High schoolers are good. College aged at the oldest.” She smiled. “We will call them the ‘nice’ list. They will be part of the Green Guard, a national patriotic youth service initiative initiated by the President himself.” She took a bag of green armbands from a drawer in her desk. “They will wear these on their left sleeve. So will you.”

“You’re talking about recruiting people to arrest their own neighbors. You’re asking me to detain my own constituents.” Finbarr shook his head. “I’ll be voted out of office.”

Sanger laughed. “I wouldn’t worry about elections anymore. My vote is the only one that counts now.” She motioned to the map on the wall. “We have a great task before us—America’s Second Founding. Only by eliminating all resistance can we achieve success. Progress is coming, Finbarr. Those who do not climb aboard will be crushed under its wheels.”

Finbarr penned five more names in an unsteady hand and slid the paper to Sanger.

The FEMA agent nodded in approval. “A good start.”

Finbarr motioned to the list. “Of course, those name are just suggestions, people who might cause problems. I can’t know if they are guilty.”

“Leave that to me.” Sanger ripped the list from the tablet and folded it into her pocket. She tossed the blank tablet back to Finbarr. “I’ll see you here again tomorrow with ten more names.”

“I’ll try to—”

“You’re dismissed.”

Finbarr stood and turned to leave.

Sanger added, “You’ve got a lot of work to do, Mister Mayor. I would get started right away if I were you.”

4

MARTHA

Undisclosed Safe House

Franklin, TN

20 Miles South of Nashville

Martha Jefferson sat by her sleeping husband’s bedside, holding his hand. The dim, suburban basement was lit by single antique hurricane lamp on a table in the center of the room.

“You’re going to be alright,” she lied as she stroked her spouse’s hair.

His breathing was labored. His skin was pale.

Martha felt lightheaded. She had escaped assassination two times in as many weeks. She accepted the risks running for President. That was why she always employed body guards at public appearances. They were an expensive necessity because her many requests for Secret Service protection were continually denied, which was unprecedented for a leading Presidential candidate. The denials continued even after the assassination attempt against her in Nashville.

But she never expected an attack on her own home—especially by her own government.

Her mind returned to that night. The shooting, the blood, the screams. She still couldn’t believe they escaped.

Martha also remembered the fear, not that it ever left. But hiding was different than running. The former had a dull, simmering dread while the latter came with the razored claws of panic that paralyzed the brain and confounded the senses. That was how she felt in the car that night, a fox cornered by hounds.