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Authors: William W. Johnstone

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BOOK: Firebase Freedom
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Sheri sighed. “There's no arguing with you,” she said. “Just promise me that you will be careful tomorrow.”
“I promise you, I'll be careful.”
 
 
When the sun came up the next morning, the fishing boat
Red Eye
was within one hundred yards of AGCP 98-1. The trawling net was deployed, and the
Red Eye
was slowly closing the distance between itself and the gas-drilling rig. To the casual observer it appeared that two of the
Red Eye'
s crewmen were on deck, tending to the net.
But the two men on deck weren't crewmen, and they weren't tending to the net. Gary Bryant was on the flying bridge, Deon Pratt was on one side of the boat, and Tom Jack was on the other side. Jake Lantz, Willy Stark, and Marcus Warner were hiding in the boat's cabin.
High up on the deck of AGCP 98-1 there were nine State Protective Service men. Four were playing cards, three were kibitzing, and two were walking around the deck.
“What's that boat doing?” one of them asked, pointing to the
Red Eye.
“Same thing he does ever' day. He's fishin'.”
“Don't seem like he's ever come this close before.”
“I've heard that the fish sort of like being around a rig like this. Maybe they're just taking advantage of it.”
“Wonder if he's caught anything. I wouldn't mind a little fried snapper.”
“Yeah, well, it don't matter none now, the boat's goin' away.”
As the boat pulled away from AGCP 98-1, Jake, Tom, Deon, Willy and Marcus clung to the base of the rig. They started a climb to the top, a climb that would have been easy if they could have used the steps. But the steps were under continuous observation by those up on the deck, whereas the scaffolding could not be seen from above.
It was a long way up, and the ascent wasn't easy, as they had to depend upon braces and cross supports to pull their way up. It was particularly difficult for Jake, because he was afraid of heights.
“How can that be?” he once asked a flight surgeon. “I'm not at all frightened by height when I am flying. But when I am on top of something high, I get almost woozy.”
The flight surgeon explained that it was quite common for aviators to be afraid of heights.
“You see, when you are flying you are in a totally different world . . . The aircraft is your world. Whereas when you are on top of some stable object, you have a spatial orientation toward the ground, and that spatial orientation is what makes you nervous.”
Jake concentrated on looking up until, finally, all five of them were in position, just under the platform. Slowly, quietly, they moved from the supporting struts to a platform just below the work deck. There, the four men drew their weapons, and all looked toward Jake for guidance.
Jake sent Tom to one side of the platform and Deon to the other side. There, they waited until the two men who were pacing around on the deck reached a point right above them. When they did, Tom and Deon reached up simultaneously, grabbed them, and jerked them over the side.
Both men fell one hundred feet, face down, screaming all the way until they hit the water.
“What the hell?” one of the card players shouted, standing up. “What happened?”
Just below the deck Jake gave a signal, and the five of them rushed up the stairs and out onto the work deck.
“Son of a bitch! Where'd you come from?”
“Shoot 'em, shoot 'em!” One of the other security men shouted.
“No! Give it up!” Jake countered.
Jake's offer had no effect, as all seven men went for their guns. What followed was a short, but very brutal gunfight. Soon all seven SPS men lay dead on the deck of the giant drilling rig.
C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN
Muslimabad
 
Mohammad Akbar Rahimi was angry, and he summoned Mehdi Ohmshidi to his office so he could express his anger. He was sipping tea when Ohmshidi was shown into his office. He did not offer tea to the president.
“You sent for me, O Merciful One?”
Rahimi glared at Ohmshidi without responding. It wasn't until then that Ohmshidi realized that Rahimi was waiting for him to pay the proper respects, and he wondered how far he should go. After all, he was the president for life. If he wanted to, he could have Rahimi arrested.
But no, for now, Rahimi was useful, so Ohmshidi decided that, for the time being, he would play the obsequious one. Ohmshidi got down on his knees, bowed so low that his forehead touched the floor, and extended his hands, palm down, also touching the floor.
“You may rise,” Rahimi said.
Ohmshidi got up from the floor, and only after Rahimi's invitation did he take a seat.
“Where is this man George Gregoire?” Rahimi asked.
“I don't know, Imam,” Ohmshidi said. “We have tried to track him, but he moves about, and he broadcasts by Internet.”
“He must be found, and killed,” Rahimi insisted. “It is people like him, revolutionaries, who are the greatest danger to our position. Offer a reward of one million Moqaddas for his capture. But I want him alive. We must make a public broadcast of his execution.”
“Yes, Imam. I will make finding this infidel my top priority,” Ohmshidi said.
 
Amish country, Pennsylvania
 
Solomon Lantz's buggy was but one of nearly two dozen horse-drawn vehicles going down a long, narrow dirt road that stretched out between flanking fields of corn. Ahead of Solomon, and slightly downhill, lay his farm. To the left was the house, a functional building two stories high, without cupolas or dormers, but with a chimney on each end. In the same compound was a large barn, and several other smaller buildings. There were also two silos. Behind the farm, and rising slightly, were more fields, then a great collection of trees.
Because of their style of living, the Amish society had suffered the least from the total collapse of what had been the United States. So far, their communities had not been terribly bothered by the
Moqaddas Sirata
, primarily because they were self-contained, and absolutely nonconfrontational.
Riding in the buggy with Solomon was an old man with a wrinkled face, a white beard, and white hair. Like Solomon and the other Amish men he was wearing plain clothes, and a small, black hat. But unlike the other men, neither his beard, hair, nor wrinkles were authentic. This was George Gregoire, who, with the artistry of his makeup assistant and the help of Solomon Lantz, was now hiding out in Amish country.
Through his sources, Gregoire had learned that Jake Lantz, one of the founders and leaders of the new nation of United Free America, had been raised Amish. He had come to Amish country to see what he could learn about him from his father. Then, with Solomon's cooperation, he decided to hide out here. Only Solomon and Gregoire's technician and makeup woman knew who Gregoire was. To the other members of the community, he was Solomon's uncle Jacob Yoder from the Amish community of Arthur, Illinois.
Gregoire and Solomon had ridden together in total silence for the last thirty minutes.
“Mr. Lantz,” Gregoire said. “Why is it that you are so quiet?”
“There is a reason God gave us two ears and one mouth,” Solomon said. “It is because we should listen twice and speak once.”
Gregoire laughed out loud. “I shall have to remember that,” he said.
Ahead of them, the buggies came to a complete stop. Beyond the most distant buggy was a rise in the road, and they couldn't see on the other side.
“I think there is a roadblock,” Solomon said.
“I should get off here. I've no wish to get you in trouble.”
Solomon put his hand on Gregoire's shoulder. “
Nein, bleib, ist es in Ordnung
.” Then, realizing that he had spoken in German, he translated. “No, stay, it will be all right.”
When they reached the crest of the hill, they saw two cars with SPS markings, parked in such a way as to force any traffic through their check point. An SPS officer held up his hand to stop the buggy as they approached.
“
Ihren Namen
?” the SPS man said.
“Ich bin Solomon Lantz.”
“Und Sie?
” the guard said to Gregoire.
“He is my uncle Jacob. Jacob Yoder.”
“Why can't he speak for himself?”
Solomon pointed to his ears. “
Er kann nicht horen.
He is deaf.”
The guard stared at Gregoire for a long moment, then stepped back and waved his hand.
“Go on through,” he said.
“
Danke
,” Solomon said, snapping the reins against the back of his horse. The buggy passed through the roadblock without further incident.
“My son warned me that this would happen,” Solomon said as they drove off. “He came home to see his mother and me a year and a half ago, and he told me to be prepared. I paid no attention to him then. I should have, because he was right.”
“Your son is a genuine American hero,” Gregoire said.
“I think he would not be comfortable to have people call him a hero.”
“Heroes, real heroes, never are comfortable with accolades,” Gregoire said.
 
 
Late that afternoon, just before broadcast time, Gregoire was in Solomon's barn. Here, he had secreted a satellite receiver which would allow him to access the Internet. Here, too, hidden among the bales of hay, was a camera, microphone, and a laptop computer. That was all he needed for broadcast.
He had two assistants who, like him, were hiding out among the “plain people.” Mark Riley was his cameraman, and Jennie Lea was his makeup artist. He didn't need any field reporters, because there were still citizens out there who were brave enough to cover events that were newsworthy and against the government, who would put video on the net, for Gregoire to use.
“We've got some good stuff today, George,” Mark said. “Pictures of concentration camps for children.”
“What? Concentration camps for children? Are you serious?” Gregoire was sitting in a chair as Jennie removed his “old man” makeup, to prepare him for his broadcast.
“Yeah, wait until you see the pictures,” Mark said.
 
Muslimabad
 
“Great Leader, it is time for the Gregoire broadcast,” Hassan said, coming into the Oval Office.
Although the broadcast was over the Internet, Ohmshidi had it linked to his TV, and he picked up the remote, turned on the TV, then leaned back with his feet propped up on the Resolute Desk to watch the broadcast.
The first thing to come onto the screen were the letters “GGTV.”
“
We are the truth!”
Gregoire's voice shouted over the screen.
When the intro was done, Gregoire appeared.
“Hello, America.
Today I want to show you something that will disturb you to your very core. No, that's wrong, I don't want to do this, but I feel I have to do it. Every American needs to know what is happening in this once great country.”
The images on the screen were of a Youth Confinement and Enlightenment Center. After showing the barracks and the razor wire, the video switched to a figure in a burqa, whose age couldn't be determined, since all that could be seen was the burqa. The girl was led up to a post that stood in the middle of the camp. She was secured to the post by handcuffs. Then a man, wielding a bullwhip, gave her twenty lashes.
“We are told this is a twelve-year-old girl,” Gregoire's voiceover explained. “You may wonder what heinous crime this young girl committed, that would subject her to such brutal punishment.”
The picture came back to Gregoire who stood there for a long moment, just staring at the camera as his eyes glistened with tears.
“Her crime,” he started, then his voice broke, and he had to start again. “Her crime was reading a novel.” Gregoire shook his head. “What have we become?” he asked, as he dabbed at his eyes. “What have we become?”
“How did he get those pictures?” Ohmshidi asked.
“I don't know, Great Leader.”
“I want you to find that man,” Ohmshidi ordered. “I don't care what it takes, I want him found, and I want him brought to me.”
“Yes, Great Leader,” Hassan replied. “I will give the order to National Leader Franken. I'm sure he will use the Janissaries for this.”
 
Youth Confinement and Enlightenment Center 251
 
Eddie Manning and his girlfriend, Jane, had been at YCEC 251 six weeks, but he still had not been able to locate her. He took some comfort in realizing that, while he couldn't identify her because she was always totally covered from head to toe, she would be able to identify him.
Of course, even if she could identify him, she couldn't communicate with him, because they had been warned that communication of any kind between the boys and girls of the camp would result in punishment of the strictest kind. And of course they had already seen an example of punishment of the strictest kind, when Jarvis Morris's body was pulled apart.
Then one day as the girls were passing by, one of them stopped, and stared directly at Eddie. Neither she nor Eddie spoke a word, but Eddie knew that she had just made contact with him. He saw her waving her hand, slightly, and when he looked toward it, she had her hand formed into a fist except for the index and little fingers which were extended.
Eddie smiled, because he knew that she had just told him how she would identify herself from now on.
 
 
As Jane continued on toward the morning class, she was feeling good about the fact that she had finally been able to make contact with Eddie. She wished she could speak to him, but she was afraid that if they were caught speaking, Eddie might receive the same punishment they had given Jarvis Morris. She and several others, boys and girls, had thrown up in horror over the sight.
This morning the lesson they would be learning was entitled: “A woman's role in the Islam of
Moqaddas Sirata
.”
The teacher, a tall, bearded man, began to speak. “The Prophet has commanded that any statement made by a female can only be considered valid if it is the testimony of two women. That is so as to be sure that they remember, because it takes the mind and memory of two women to be equal to the mind and memory of one man.
“The Prophet has said, ‘The righteous among the women of Quraish are those who are kind to their young ones and who look after their husband's property.' When you are married, you will be the property of your husband.
“You may legally belong to a man in one of two ways; by continuing marriage or temporary marriage. In the first, the duration of the marriage need not be specified; in the latter, it must be stipulated, for example, that it is for a period of an hour, a day, a month, a year, or more.”
“Imam,” one of the girls asked. “What if the woman does not want to be married for an hour, but wants a husband for life?”
“It is not the woman's prerogative,” the imam replied. “For in each case, these arrangements are always made by the man, for the woman shall have no say in the matter.”
“But Imam, if the woman is married but an hour, is she not committing the sin of adultery?”
“Yes, for it is adulterous for a woman to have sex with a man if she is not married to him.”
“But you said it would be a marriage of one hour.”
“It is only called a marriage so that the man does not commit adultery. But it is a marriage for the man only, not for the woman. He is innocent of any sin, but the woman is not.”
“That doesn't seem right for the woman.”
“It doesn't matter, for women have no rights, only obligations.”
The expression in the imam's voice indicated that he was getting irritated by the repeated questions, and Jane wished that the girl who was asking the questions would stop.
Mercifully, she did stop, and the imam continued with his lesson.
“A man may marry a girl younger than nine years of age, even if the girl is still a baby being breast-fed. A man, however, is prohibited from having intercourse with a girl younger than nine, though other sexual acts such as foreplay, rubbing, kissing, and sodomy are allowed.”
BOOK: Firebase Freedom
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