False Flag (15 page)

“What are these?” he asked.

“They were taken by a checkpoint security cam outside Albany, New York, sir. Your men and your weapons are en route to Fort Drum.”

“This fucker took my guns?” asked O’Brien. “Where the hell are my men?”

“We believe your men may have received a better offer, sir,” replied Brad. “But I have a solution.”
Time for the pitch
.

“I’m listening.”

“My Marines are loyal to their country, sir. They are willing to die for her. But they also have families that they want to care for and protect.”

“That’s understandable,” O’Brien interrupted.

“Throughout the military, troops have abandoned their posts to go home,” said Brad. “The same is true at Fort Devens. I believe I can persuade them back to active duty if we could make room for their families and give them priority access to provisions and supplies.”
I’ll give you an army—my army.

“I don’t see a problem with that,” said O’Brien.

“With your permission, sir, I’ll reassemble my regiment under the promise of food, shelter, and safety for them and their families.”

“Do it,” O’Brien said as he stood. He added, “Gibson, give the colonel whatever he needs to expedite this.”

“Yes, sir,” said Captain Gibson. Brad and Gibson stood to leave when O’Brien walked toward the window overlooking a rain-soaked Congress Street.

“One more thing,” said O’Brien. “Issue a treason warrant. Bring me Pearson!”

Chapter 23

Tuesday, September 20, 2016

6:00 p.m.

Town Hall

Belchertown, Massachusetts

Residents of Belchertown, Massachusetts, shuffled their way across Belchertown Common toward the makeshift stage. In Small Town, U.S.A., war memorials were defining features of the landscape. They usually featured iconic statues that served as focal points in, and sometimes symbols of, the town’s hub—its center of activity.

The defining feature of the Belchertown common was the commanding presence of a Civil War monument. Standing twenty-six feet tall, including the Union Civil War soldier, the monument cast a long shadow as the sun set to the west. Illuminated by the sunset, a bronze plaque on the west side of the base read:

ROLL OF THE HONORED DEAD WHO WENT FROM BELCHERTOWN AND FOUGHT IN DEFENCE OF LIBERTY AND THEIR COUNTRY

The residents of Belchertown were about to be encouraged to wage war, in the name of their country, by its newly appointed town chairman of the board of selectmen, Ronald Archibald.

“Gather around, folks, we’d like to get started so that you folks can get home before dark,” shouted Archibald, the head of the Central Massachusetts Citizen Corps office. “We have a lot to discuss, and then there will be a brief question-and-answer period.”

A week after the Declaration of Martial Law, Archibald was contacted by Pearson, who was acting on behalf of Governor O’Brien. Archibald was one of five selectmen on the board, but not the chairman. After several lengthy interviews that day with Mr. Pearson, it was determined that the politics of the chairman was not a good fit for the Citizen Corps, and he was summarily dismissed. Archibald, an environmental law attorney and president of the Belchertown Lions Club, was a perfect substitute.

Pearson approached the stage and sat in a folding chair behind Archibald. Although there had been several informal gatherings of the Citizen Corps team leaders with Pearson, this was the first opportunity to address the residents as a whole. The turnout was around five hundred people, mostly men.

“Thank you, everyone, thank you,” said Archibald. “As many of you know, our President is doing everything in his power to protect the citizens of our nation and small communities like this one. When I was asked to head up the Citizen Corps council in Hampshire County, which now includes the entirety of the Quabbin Reservoir, I was concerned that I couldn’t achieve the lofty goals set by our President. With the help of our new governor, James O’Brien, and the folks at FEMA, we have been able to secure some fresh water, food, and medical supplies for those of you who have chosen to work with me in the rebuilding effort. I know it isn’t much, but it’s a start. I’ve been assured that there will be more to come.” Archibald had lived in Belchertown his entire life and was acquainted with nearly all of its residents. He relished this opportunity to shine in front of
his
constituents.

“I know we’ve encountered a few rough patches, and the supplies will start coming in again. In the meantime, we need to band together to help ourselves,” continued Archibald. He held a printed flyer over his head and turned from left to right for effect. “After my appointment, I distributed flyers and posted them in prominent places around the county as well. I wanted everyone to have the opportunity to voluntarily comply with the President’s declaration. We are all in this together, my friends, and it isn’t necessary that we become at odds with our neighbors.”

The flyer stated the primary directives of the Declaration of Martial Law requiring weapons and ammunition surrender, the turning over of excess food and supplies, and a pledge of allegiance to the spirit and intent of the Citizen Corps.

“Unfortunately, not all residents have been cooperative in our efforts to gain compliance with the President’s declaration,” he continued. “We are now entering our third week of this disaster, and it is time to move toward the next phase of implementation. I commend those of you who joined us in our efforts, and you will be rewarded. But I must ask one more thing of you.

“I’ve divided my region into ten geographical parts, each with an appointed Citizen Corps team leader. These team leaders have been given the written authority to conduct house-to-house searches of their neighborhoods to ensure compliance with the President’s directives. They have been given the requisite weapons, manpower, and promised support to effectuate this purpose.” Archibald paused as the attendees mumbled amongst themselves and began to shift nervously on their feet. He had anticipated this reaction.

“This action could have been avoided had our friends and neighbors simply complied with the flyers I distributed. But hostilities can still be avoided in another way. I need your help in identifying those among us who selfishly hoard food and supplies for themselves. Those who are unwilling to share their bounties put you and your families at risk. Further, anyone who refuses to relinquish their weapons as required for the safety of the community puts us all at risk.

“More food and supplies are on the way. Our government is here to help us. As an incentive to those of you who cooperate with me today, you will be earmarked for additional shares of the supplies.”

The crowd’s demeanor picked up, and nods of approval were abundant. He created an army of snitches.

“After the meeting, the Citizen Corps team leaders will disperse throughout the common and hold up a sign indicating their assigned subregions of Hampshire County. Please introduce yourself to them and have comfort in knowing that any information you share with them, or me, will be held in the strictest confidence.” It was time to take a few questions. The residents asked a variety of questions, for which Archibald had no answers.
When was the power going to be restored? What about outsiders trying to move in? Somebody stole some of my chickens, what can be done about that?

The last question, asked by one of the residents, needed to be addressed, and he had prepared a response.

“What’s going on at Prescott Peninsula? Are you gonna do anything about Jimmy Fulks, who was shot in cold blood?”

Pearson leaned up in his chair and got Archibald’s attention. “What’s this about?”

Archibald nodded and mouthed
I got this
.

“I know this has been on everyone’s mind and I appreciate your concern,” said Archibald. “As you know, Prescott Peninsula has been converted into a community for the protection of abused families. But we know very little about it. I don’t know if the families are safe, how many are there, etc.”

A resident shouted, “Maybe they have extra food and supplies to share with the rest of us?”

“Yeah, we need to know this, right, Archie?”
Archie
was used as a nickname by Ronald Archibald’s friends.

“I agree, everyone, and I intend to broach the subject with them,” replied Archibald. “Prescott Peninsula has been designated part of my territory, and therefore, they must comply with my rules. We’ll deliver that message loud and clear first thing tomorrow morning.”

Chapter 24

Wednesday, September 21, 2016

8:00 a.m.

Prescott Peninsula

Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

The Citizen Corps contingent of eight men led by Archibald approached the front gate of Prescott Peninsula, which was manned by CWO Shore and three of his men. On Brad’s instructions, none of his personnel wore uniforms during patrols. Khakis, camo pants like those made by Wrangler, and solid-color T-shirts in black, olive, or green were suggested.

CWO Shore immediately saw he was outmanned and contacted 1PP to send another team to the front entrance. He quickly instructed his men to spread out and take defensive positions on both sides of the gate and near the guardhouse. His military training sensed a potential conflict, and he wasn’t gonna lose another man. Shore took Sab’s death pretty hard because it happened on his watch. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about the local who raised his gun to shoot her.

As the two SUVs skidded to a halt in the gravel, Shore raised his weapon to low ready and stood firm in front of them. He trusted his men and knew that they would tear these locals to shreds if they considered raising their weapons in his direction. The driver of the lead vehicle stepped out of the GMC Yukon, as did his companion in the passenger seat. The other men began to open their doors when Shore shouted at them.

“That’s enough! This is private property. Remain in your vehicles.” Red dots appeared from all directions as his men lit up their targets. They were sending a message to the visitors.

“Now, there’s no reason for all of this animosity, my friends,” said Archibald. “My name is Ronald Archibald from nearby Belchertown. I need to speak to the person in charge here.”

Shore stood firm and repeated his warning, “This is private property. You need to return to your vehicle and leave now!”

“Are you boys military?” asked Pearson, but he didn’t receive an answer. After a few moments of awkward silence, Shore heard the sound of approaching four-wheelers with his requested reinforcements. “My name is Joseph Pearson with the Federal Protective Services. Mr. Archibald has the full authority of the President to enter these premises.”

“Back in your vehicle, sir,” said Shore, instantly recognizing the name. He was glad he was wearing his Oakley sunglasses. “I won’t ask again.”

“Or what?” shouted one of the men from the other vehicle. “You gonna shoot us like you shot Jimmy in cold blood?”

The four additional soldiers arrived and quickly dispersed, taking positions behind the HESCO barriers. The sight of the additional security personnel caused the visitors to cower behind their doors or return to their vehicles.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing here, but let’s get one thing straight,” said Archibald. “I am the head of the Citizen Corps in this area, and Prescott Peninsula, hell, all of Quabbin Reservoir, comes under my jurisdiction. You tell your superiors that I will be back tomorrow. They will speak with me. They will obey my instructions.” Angrily, Archibald reached into the truck to grab something, which caused all of the red dots to be trained on him. He had a stack of flyers and threw them on the road in front of Shore.

“You give this to your boss and tell him I’ll be back tomorrow with a whole lot more questions than I had when I got here,” shouted Archibald, shaking his head and shoulders side to side with a swagger as he turned to walk back to his truck. “Let’s go!”

Chapter 25

Wednesday, September 21, 2016

3:00 p.m.

Prescott Peninsula

Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

Aside from world leaders, top government officials and longtime family friends, only a few people could elicit a personal response, much less a face-to-face meeting, with the President of the United States. This President had many close advisors, including Rex Tillerson, the ExxonMobil chairman; Andy Stern, outgoing president of the Service Employees International Union; and Billy Tauzin, the head of the Pharmaceutical Manufacturers of America.
Big Oil
—
Big Labor
—
Big Pharma
. Then, there was Valerie Jarrett,
the gatekeeper
of the President’s circle of confidants.

They were part of an elite group of American political movers and shakers capable of directing the highest levels of government to do their bidding. The stature of America’s elite power brokers was determined by a variety of factors, including legislative victories, overall lobbying expenditures, and the number of visits to the White House.
After all, can one really be a power broker without multiple trips to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue?

Morgan had never visited this President at the White House. He preferred to remain in the shadows. He considered himself a lobbyist,
of sorts
. He had an incredible knack for determining a politician’s true agenda and then manipulating their goals to mesh with his. Sometimes, Morgan would create opportunities for the Boston Brahmin based upon the politician’s blind spots.

The cyber attack was the most strategic and ambitious of these opportunities. However, Morgan underestimated the President, a mistake that he would attempt to rectify. Morgan considered himself a close confidant of the President. He was instrumental in placing him into office in 2008. But now the President was more than aloof, he was avoiding Morgan.