Patriots & Tyrants (Rebels & Lies Trilogy Book 2) (24 page)

The tall leftover
pulled the truck to the side of the road and then put on the emergency brake.
After the engine was shut off, he grabbed his phone and dialed in to his
bosses. He gave them a status report, that the truck was broken down, but he
wouldn’t require any assistance. The voice on the other end of the phone
pressed him, but he continually declined it. He told them that if he couldn’t
fix it, then he would call, but he reminded him that he was the best mechanic
on the payroll. After taking that into consideration, the voice on the other
end told him to hurry his ass up.

The night air outside
felt cool as Statue opened the door and walked to the front of the truck. He
rubbed at his face while he tried to remember what Reed taught him about
hacking into the GPS system. The trick being that he had to make sure those
watching his progress couldn’t see that he veered off course. The systems the
USR used on their own vehicles, of course, were state of the art. However,
every computerized system, according to Reed, could be hacked.

Statue stared off into
the black distance as he grabbed his pack of cigarettes. They would be needed
at this critical juncture of the mission. After all that planning, carefully
packing away a weapon here and there, and it all came down to this one little
procedure. If he couldn’t fool the Agents watching him with the truck then it was
all for naught. Statue didn’t like all this pressure put squarely on him, but
what else could he do? He was the truck driver. Nobody else on the team could
do it.

Even with being a
heavy smoker, Statue never smoked all the way to the filter, usually only
smoking about three quarters of a cancer stick at a time. With this one,
though, he smoked it all the way to the filter and didn’t realize it at first.
He threw the butt into the woods on his right and then moved back into the
truck. After a quick, silent prayer, he grabbed his black bag. Inside, he took
hold of the black, rectangular device and plugged it in to the receptacle by
the truck’s radio. In the heat of the moment, he forgot where the power switch
was located. Once he found it, he clicked it on. A green light at the top
started to blink, letting him know that the device was hot. There was another
black cord at the bottom. At the end of the cord, the plug matched that of the
GPS system.

Statue was almost
afraid to touch the GPS. One wrong move would tip off those watching him. This
old truck he was driving wouldn’t stand a chance against a host of USR squad
cars, tanks, and helicopters. That wasn’t even mentioning the fact that the
resistance would be short on weaponry for their next planned Op. The craziest
one, yet, Statue thought.

His left hand was
visibly shaking as he reached towards the GPS. With his right hand, he grabbed
the screw driver from the bag. Once all the screws were out, the GPS was free
to move. He had it out of the console then looked around for the right plug to
pull out. Unplugging the wrong one would cost him his life.

He scanned all of the
plugs then thought he found the right one. It was instinct that told him to
pull at the black plug in the upper right hand corner. He took a deep breath
then put his left thumb and index finger around the square plug. In his right
hand was the plug from the device. Reed explained that what the device would do
was read the coordinates that the USR put into the GPS system. Once the coordinates
were read by the hacked device, it would fool the GPS, making it look like the
truck was still moving in the proper direction. Once that happened, Statue
could drive anywhere he wanted to go and anyone keeping track of the truck
would have no idea.

The only problem, and
it was a doozy to Statue, was that split second when he unplugged the GPS and
then plugged the device into it. This maneuver would be caught if the person
who kept track of his truck watched with any kind of intent. Statue prayed that
they weren’t. He considered another cigarette before doing the switch, but
thought better of it. It was now or never…

His hands were quick.
The plugs were switched in less than a second. That was what was impressed upon
him when given the job. There was a feeling of accomplishment inside and he
quietly applauded himself. Statue also hadn’t breathed in several seconds so he
finally exhaled. He stared down at his phone, waiting for the dreaded call from
dispatch demanding what had happened to his GPS. The call never came. He
exhaled again and pulled out his other phone. With his now calm fingers, he
typed in the numbers and waited. The other line rang twice before an answer.

“This is Statue,
Operation Blackbird is a go.”

***

All of the men in the
tent, which had been built as their command center, were leftovers with
extensive military experience. It brought Harvey a great sense of pride to see
so many former Americans, even if he saw them all as Americans still, coming
together for a cause. This was the first time since the USR takeover that he
had witnessed such a thing. There were still doubts within himself about the
mission, but for now, he would relish in the fact that so many had joined
together. For this moment, at least, they could all feel like things were back
to normal.

Sanders stood in front
of them all. No doubts were going through his mind, in fact, seeing all the men
gathered together brought with it even more confidence. He was going over the
layout of the building with the men, focusing on its weak points, where to
strategically place men, etc. Out of pure respect, the men in the room gave him
their full, undivided attention while he went over it. Once he got to the end,
he had to ask the obligatory question of if anyone had any. There surely would
be questions to come his way.

In private, Harvey was
approached by several leftovers who all gave their opinions about the mission. Many
of them still had their doubts. Some thought it was still too big of a risk.
But, the general consensus was that it was worse to not act than not to. For
Harvey’s part, the more he tried to think like Sanders, the less confident he
became. He reminded himself that this was war, and to win a war, you had to
take risks. But, this was one big risk that could cost them the entire war.
Even a victory, depending on the casualty rate, could be seen as a defeat. How
much of this was just about an old war veteran trying to prove something before
he bit the dust?

The strategy itself
was pretty sound, by Harvey’s estimation. What Sanders proposed was for the
majority of the units to draw the USR’s fire, while a select few would sneak
into the building, take it by force, and then raise the American flag atop the
roof. That, according to Sanders, would get the message across loud and clear.
Not just to the USR’s leaders, but also to the resistance units all across the
country.

“Any questions?”
Sanders asked once finished.

“Look,” a rebel leader
said. “We’re with you about this, but are you sure that this isn’t a waste of
our assets?”

“How could this be a
waste?” Sanders demanded right back. “The government tried to use us to further
their ends. They didn’t realize that once we found out, we would kick some ass.
Like everything else, they just assumed that they could keep us under control.
With this victory, and it will be a victory, they will know that we are not to
be fucked with.”

“That all sounds good,
but is there any more strategic value to this other than flipping the bird to
them?”

“Of course. It will
show the people that there is hope…”

Harvey cleared his
throat and then didn’t bother raising his hand. “Begging your pardon, but the
people, at least the majority, want us gone. They’ve been brainwashed for too
long by the USR. To them, the USR are the good guys, and we are the bad guys.”

Sanders chuckled.
“Point well taken. There’s a government that only wants to control everyone,
everything, and just because people don’t realize it that we just let it go on.
I don’t stand for that.”

“Nobody does, but…”

“No buts, Harv. All I
know is that there is good and there is evil. No matter what public opinion
says, it doesn’t change that we are in the right and they are in the wrong.”

Harvey simply nodded
his head. There wasn’t much of an argument that he could muster to dispute what
Sanders just said. The old scarred war veteran was right, after all. Every
leftover in the room wouldn’t be here if they didn’t agree to that. But, still,
he couldn’t shake the feeling that Sanders was becoming more and more of a
tyrant. If the war would eventually be won by the resistance, which revolved
around the public opinion that Sanders talked about, Harvey hoped that Sanders
wouldn’t play a large role in the politics. He had a feeling that Sanders
wouldn’t want it anyway. The old man was a war dog, and that’s all he would
ever wanted for himself.

“What if this fails?”
another leftover asked.

“If this fails? Well,”
Sanders rubbed at the scar on his forehead. “If this fails then things will
continue to remain the way they are. We all die, the USR continues to reign
over the innocent, and it will be like we never fought for them at all. But,
what if we succeed? What if this shakes people out of apathy and gets them
thinking? We can play what if games all night long, but the only question I
have in response is: Why not try?”

“Things will get worse
out there.”

“Sure they will. Do
you think that before the first Revolutionary War that the patriots in that war
didn’t fear the repercussions of standing up to their adversaries? Look at all
the great revolutions in history. Hard times always come when you stand up to
evil. I can tell you this, if we don’t act now, the USR will eventually catch
up to us, and then who will fight?”

With that response,
Sanders could tell that the other leaders were starting to buy in. The
questions that came his way now were in the way of preparation. Harvey had to
give it to Sanders. As much as he disagreed with him personally, Harvey’s
respect for Sanders was growing, as well. His never say die attitude was
starting to grow on him. Sanders might turn out to be a tyrant, but maybe that
was exactly what the resistance needed. Someone who could lead and inspire
everyone to stand up to the USR and said fuck you to the consequences. Harvey
still had his doubts about the mission, but Sanders was right, if they failed,
nothing would change anyway.

“Any more questions?”
Sanders wondered.

There were none. Only
a new found resolve remained.

The drive to the once
abandoned power plant seemed like an eternity. Statue kept looking over at his
phone, waiting for a call, but none ever came. The last contact he had with
dispatch was when he told them that he fixed the problem and was continuing on
route. Dispatch didn’t mention anything about his GPS and simply told him to
hurry it up. Now that he was at his real destination, he was calm once more. At
least now he had more guns to back him up if it came to that. Throughout his
entire trip here, he was not followed, or at least there were no signs of it.

Members of the
resistance were quick in the unloading of the contents of the eighteen wheeler.
He offered to help, but they just told him that he had done enough. He didn’t
press them about it. After the longest drive of his life he could use some
rest. He turned away from the others and walked to the inside of the plant.
Sitting on a chair by the entrance was a familiar face. One that he never
thought would bring him so much happiness.

“X!” Statue cried.
“You made it.”

X moved his head up
and stood from the chair. “Statue, you old shit, what took you so long?”

The two men exchanged
handshakes and then X walked him over to the coffee pot. The strong aroma of
the coffee was like music to his ears. They walked past the other rebels who
were talking amongst themselves. Besides the strong aroma of coffee there was a
musty smell to the old piece of shit abandoned place. The ugly, greenish gray
concrete floor was stained with mold and other brownish colors from years of
non-maintenance. This used to be the lobby and the lobby desk had rot all
around it. Broken glass from the windows of what used to be the main offices
littered the ground. Once at the pot, Statue grabbed one of the Styrofoam cups
and poured the hot liquid into it. He took a sip then walked with X back to the
chairs.

“Any problems on your
way in?” X wondered.

“Not a one,” Statue
replied. “Only problem being my nerves. Took me forever to find the guts to
switch out the plugs. After that, smooth sailing.”

“Good, good. Glad to
hear it.”

“Where are the
others?”

X’s facial expressions
changed. He was happy to see that his friend had made it to the plant, but
there were so many others that didn’t make it. A frown now filled his face. X
had been hardened so long that he didn’t think that he could feel any emotions
after all he’d seen and done. But, at this moment, he felt like he could cry.

“Something happened
while you were away.” X said.

Statue could tell that
it was something bad. “What happened?”

“There were raids on
each of us. The government must’ve grown tired of the surveillance game. They
came after us hard.”

“Who didn’t make it?”

X rattled off the
names and hesitated with the last. By the look on Statue’s face, X reasoned
that he knew who the last person was, so he didn’t say it. Statue nodded his
head then sipped at his coffee. Out of the corner of his right eye, he saw
Sullivan approach the old chairs. He quickly moved the cup from his lips and
almost spilled coffee on his hand.

“The hell’s he doing
here?” Statue demanded. He recognized Sullivan from the mug shot that Reed
provided to him.

“The pig?” X asked.
“Says the USR took his son. He also tipped us off to the raids.”

“I thought we couldn’t
trust him. And, now, you bring him here?”

“It was my call.” X
said with a stern tone. “He seemed legit enough. I pointed a gun to his head
and I got the feeling that he wanted me to pull the trigger.”

“And, that makes him
trustworthy?”

“I don’t know,” X
admitted. “But, if it wasn’t for him, none of us would have made it out alive.”

“Maybe it’s because he
wanted to see where we hide out. To see what we were really up to.” Statue
said.

“Maybe, maybe not.
But, he is on a tight leash. He knows that one wrong move and I’ll blow his
head off.”

Sullivan approached
the two men. He didn’t like the stares that Statue was giving him, but Sullivan
couldn’t blame him for it. The former Agent wasn’t armed, and he knew that the
tall man would be packing, so it was best to just play it cool for now. X
absolutely forbade him from carrying a weapon for the moment. Sullivan just
wondered how long it would take for them to trust him, if ever.

“Can I take a seat
with you gentlemen?” Sullivan asked.

“Knock yourself out.”
Statue replied.

Sullivan took a seat.
“You make it in with your shipment okay?”

“Sure did.”

With that, the tall
man stood from his chair then walked outside. That left just Sullivan and X,
who were silent for a moment, as silent was they were on the drive up here.
Sullivan got up and poured himself some coffee, adding cream and a little bit
of sugar. When he returned, he sat closer to X, who seemed surprised by it. The
former Agent took a sip from the cup and was taken aback by the strong taste.
He moved back over to the table and added more sugar in an attempt to sweeten
up the bitter taste. X laughed. Once Sullivan returned back, he placed the cup
on the floor by his right foot, content with never taking another swig of that
shit ever again.

“What’s this big
operation everyone is gearing up for?” Sullivan demanded. Being left in the
dark had gotten old long ago.

“Why do you care?” X
demanded right back.

“I care because if I’m
going to fight with you guys, I want to know what I’m getting myself into.”

“Just know that it’s
big.”

“How big?”

“You’re not going to
quit, are you?”

“Bet your ass.”
Sullivan replied with a grin.

X moved in closer.
“Well, I guess since you’ve seen all that you have so far, it won’t hurt to
tell you. You’re still on a short leash, though, Puerco.”

“Fine.”

“We’re going after the
Capitol.”

“You’re shitting me…”

Sullivan’s eyes grew
wide at the mention of those words. The Capitol? This resistance really was
nuts, or desperate, or a mixture of both. They seemed to fight a guerilla war
just months ago and now they were plotting this? The odds were impossible. He
looked around to see that there weren’t nearly enough men around to accomplish
such a mission.

“Impossible,” Sullivan
said. “You don’t have the manpower to do it.”

“We’ve got more men on
the way.” X replied.

“You’ve got some kind
of small army?”

“You could say that.
All the rebel squads this side of the country are getting together, or so we’ve
heard. They should start arriving here any minute, now.”

“What’s the endgame
here?”

“I don’t know. All I
do know is that I’m anxious to get some killing in. It’s been too long.”

“An old killer, eh?”
Sullivan asked with a smirk.

X’s expression never
changed. “Damn straight. I’ve been waiting a long time for this day.”

“I guess I can’t blame
you.”

“What about you? I
thought all you cared about was your son.”

Sullivan swallowed
hard. “Finding my son is my only mission in life right now. If I have to help
you guys with this fight to earn some trust, then I’ll do that. I need someone
who can have access to USR files who will help me.”

“I think just the guy
is coming who could do that. I just don’t understand how you’ve…changed so
quickly.”

Sullivan shook his
head. “It hasn’t been quick, amigo. There’s been something inside that’s ate
away at me, you know? It just took way too long for me to figure out that I was
fighting on the wrong side. Way too long. I just…”

Their attention turned
to the loud sound of the front door being opened. A fresh group of rebels
entered the room. They all had a fatigued look about them. Harvey was leading
the way in. He gave the two seated men a nod of the head then headed straight
for the coffee pot. After Clarke and Buck moved in, Kaspar entered last.

Kaspar looked around
the room. The bright light from above caused him to blink a few times. The
strong smell of mildew burned his nose and caused his eyes to water. When his
vision was clear, he saw the sight of a man he never thought he would see
again. All of a sudden, the anger inside scorched, he could feel the heat on
his skin. Beads of sweat began to form around his forehead. There was nothing
in that room now except for the Agent who killed Mother. He moved in with that
singular focus. His calm, steady hands gripped the handle of Krys’s P99
attached to the holster on his hip. He could almost feel Clarke’s hand reach
out for him. With a hard shove, Clarke went spiraling to the ground. Kaspar
didn’t even hear the cries for him to stop.

Instead, he lined the
sight of his weapon at Sullivan’s shock laden face.