Martial Law (18 page)

Chapter 34

Tuesday, September 6, 2016

7:15 p.m.

100 Beacon

Boston, Massachusetts

“I need to talk to you, Sarge,” said Julia. “I overheard something on the roof.”

“Okay, but I need to tell you something first,” he started. “Brad called while you were upstairs. He’s sending men to pick up everyone tomorrow morning. I haven’t announced it yet because General Bradlee was in the process of updating everyone on today’s news.”

“Yes, but you—” started Julia before General Bradlee interrupted her.

“Julia,” said Bradlee, “this might be of interest to you.” Julia and Sarge joined the group.

“Yes, General?” queried Julia.

“As we know, the President is in Hawaii on vacation. Fortunately, the island has full power, and he is maintaining executive office functions at his newly purchased mansion on the big island. He has announced a news conference for tomorrow night to address the nation.”

“I thought it would have come sooner,” said Julia.

“Apparently, he’s waiting on some other personnel to join him,” replied Bradlee. “Rumors are swirling that the Vice President has been killed.” Several people in the room gasped.

“How awful,” said Mrs. Lowell, whose sister went to Villanova with the Vice President’s wife and were still close friends.

“How did it happen?” asked Dr. Peabody.

“It was a freak accident and a result of the power outage,” replied Bradlee. “The Vice President was experiencing chest pains while traveling on Saturday night. They were unable to get through traffic to the hospital, and he died of a sudden heart attack.”

“Was he in Washington?” asked Dr. Peabody. “How could he not get to a hospital?”

“No,” replied Bradlee. “He was making a campaign appearance in western Pennsylvania on behalf of Mrs. Clinton when it occurred. People were evacuating Pittsburgh, taking up both north and southbound lanes of traffic on the interstate.”

“I didn’t know the Vice President had heart issues,” said Julia. “In fact, when he contemplated his run for the presidency last year, he was supposedly given a clean bill of health.”

“At his age, these things can come on quickly and unexpectedly,” replied Dr. Peabody. The room grew quiet, undoubtedly contemplating the lack of medical treatment ordinarily available to all of them. Julia decided to change the subject, although she wanted to talk with Sarge.

“Has there been any indication that power is being restored?”

“No,” replied Bradlee. “It’s been seventy-two hours, and apparently the transformers aren’t the only problem. The computer systems the utilities relied on for monitoring and controlling the flow of electricity must be replaced. Obtaining the hardware is not the problem as much as the logistics of delivery. Once operational, they will still be useless without the replacement transformers.”

“Thanks, General Bradlee,” said Sarge. “I have some good news, I think, for everyone. I spoke with your nephew after dinner. He is making arrangements to pick you up and take you to Prescott Peninsula tomorrow morning. The city is becoming more dangerous by the day, and we run a risk by delaying your trip.”

“I kinda like it here,” said Mrs. Endicott. Her face was still bandaged, but it was healing. She turned to her husband. “Henry, can’t we just stay?” Sarge knew she would prefer to remain in the more friendly confines of 100 Beacon rather than cohabitate with the
Real Housewives
of the Boston Brahmin.

“Dear, I don’t know,” started Endicott.

Sarge chose to be the villain. “I’m sorry, Emily, but that’s not possible. The city will become a very dangerous place. In fact, Julia and I will need to make a decision once my brother returns. We may come to Prescott Peninsula to join you. In the meantime, you will be more comfortable there, and General Bradlee’s nephew has assembled an excellent squad of Marines to protect you.”

“See, dear, it’s for the best,” said Endicott. Mrs. Endicott started to pout, which ordinarily worked on her nearly-twice-her-age husband, but Sarge wouldn’t bite.

“He’s correct,” said Sarge. “Why don’t you guys start packing and get a good night’s sleep. Brad plans on being here at seven in the morning.” The Boston Brahmin and their wives began to shuffle toward the stairwell to the next floor. Sarge caught General Bradlee’s attention before he could leave.

“General, could I have a moment?” asked Sarge.

“Of course, Sarge.”

“Brad said I should ask you about Operation Vigilant Eagle. Do you know what he’s referring to?” asked Sarge.

“Yes. It was originally intended to be a joint U.S.-Russian counterterrorism operation near the Arctic. The goal was to simulate the hijacking of a commercial jetliner and develop cooperation between the two nations in dealing with the potential terrorist threat.”

“Okay, why would that be relevant to what’s happening now?”

“My nephew and I were particularly interested in a domestic aspect of Vigilant Eagle that was not reported on in the media. As part of the FBI’s involvement in the operation, the administration required a domestic terror component.”

“Like what?” asked Sarge.

“The FBI was tasked with identifying white supremacists and sovereign citizen extremist groups. Through executive order, the President declared that persons associated with extreme left-wing or right-wing extremist groups were to be considered homegrown terrorists and treated with the same scrutiny as al-Qaeda or ISIS.”

“I’ve never heard of this.”

“That’s by design, Sarge. The concern Brad and I had dealt with those placed on the watch list. The vast majority of the groups named were right-leaning politically—the Tea Party, libertarians, sovereign citizens, antiabortion activists. Even vets.”

“Why would vets be on a terrorist watch list?”

“As our veterans returned from active duty overseas, the Veteran’s Administration encouraged them to claim they suffered posttraumatic stress disorder. If a vet displayed any angry or irritable mood, they were diagnosed as having oppositional defiant disorder. Under the President’s executive order, our brave military veterans who returned home with either PTSD or ODD are now being monitored. Something as simple as posting an angry Facebook or Twitter rant could land them in a mental institution or, at a minimum, require them to surrender any weapons they may own. What was once hailed as an opportunity to secure more post-service military benefits has now become an opportunity to take away one’s constitutional freedoms.”

Sarge thought about the importance of this domestic terrorist list. The President, for purely political reasons, could create an enemies list based on certain criteria. All of the criteria might apply to those who didn’t share his political ideology.
How far will this President go in a time of crisis
? Then Sarge remembered the infamous words of the President’s Chief of Staff when the administration first took office—
never let a good crisis go to waste
.

Chapter 35

Wednesday, September 7, 2016

7:00 a.m.

100 Beacon

Boston, Massachusetts

Sarge and Julia were on the rooftop, standing morning watch, when they saw two Humvees and two M35s, commonly known as a Deuce and a Half, exit off Storrow toward 100 Beacon.

“Looks like Brad’s men have arrived,” said Julia. “I’ll go downstairs and tell everyone to get ready.”

“Let’s get everyone out the door and we’ll talk more about what we learned yesterday. We also need to talk about Steven and Katie. But first things first.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Julia said as she and Sarge briskly walked down the stairs. Julia peeled off to the ninth floor, and Sarge went all the way to the security door on the eighth floor. Throughout the day yesterday, there were knocks on the steel door from the neighbors. On day four, desperation would be taking hold of the unprepared. Sarge needed to greet the military personnel and make sure things went smoothly. Sarge wanted to avoid a confrontation.

As he exited the stairwell, several residents were gathered near the now obsolete elevator. They attempted to get his attention, but he ignored them and went straight outside. He was glad to see a familiar face in Master Gunnery Sergeant Frank Falcone. MGySgt Falcone had been under Brad’s command for many years and would be an integral part of the future of the Loyal Nine. For now, Gunny Falcone was assigned the task of security at Prescott Peninsula. Sarge was glad to see Brad sent his best man to deliver the Boston Brahmin and their families to the safety of Prescott Peninsula.

“Hello, Sarge,” greeted Gunny Falcone heartily. The two men shook hands as Sarge surveyed the vehicles and the men, who were quickly exiting.

“It’s great to see you again, Gunny,” replied Sarge. The two men competed in an informal training competition at Camp Edwards in June. Steven and Sarge, as a team, were the only nonmilitary personnel present and did very well against their more experienced counterparts. Brad and his men from Fort Devens were impressed with Sarge by the end of the weekend. Sarge was thrilled to have Gunny Falcone in charge of the safety of his precious cargo.

“Sarge, Brad filled me in. I have ten men with me. I hope we can make this quick. The southern part of the city is in chaos. Traffic heading westbound on the Mass Turnpike looks like a parking lot as the day progresses. I plan on taking the northerly route through Lexington and Concord along Route 2.” Sarge saw they were already drawing a crowd at this early hour. The neighbors stood on the front steps of the entrance to 100 Beacon, and several other people were approaching the military trucks from all directions.

“We’re going to attract a lot of attention this morning, so we need to make this fast,” said Sarge. “Can you spare some of your men to help carry our guests and their bags down the stairs?”

“Absolutely,” replied Falcone as he instructed four of his men to follow Sarge. As they approached the entrance, the neighbors hit him with questions.

“
Why is the army here?
”

“
Who are you? Are you in the military?
”

“
Did they bring us food and water?
”

Sarge elected to defer to buy some time. “I’ll be glad to answer all of your questions, but first I must comply with the orders of these gentlemen. Now, if you will stand to the side and let them do their jobs, we can discuss it all in a moment.”

Without waiting for an answer, Sarge pushed his way through the contingent and led the Marines up the stairs. Halfway up, he was greeted by the blustering barrister from a few days ago.

“What’s going on here?” he said.

“Sir, I need you to stand aside so these gentlemen can do their jobs,” demanded Sarge.

“Why is the military in my building?”

Your building?
“Excuse us, sir. If you would like to meet me in the lobby in a few minutes, I’d be glad to address your questions. But for now, move aside!” Sarge bulled his way past the man and a woman who had now joined him. On the eighth floor, he opened the security door and was pleased to see Julia had everyone in line ready to go. She also had a sense of urgency during this process.

The Marines escorted the Boston Brahmin down the stairs while Sarge and Julia helped them gather their things.

Sarge turned to Julia and whispered, “I may have some trouble downstairs after they leave. We’re drawing a crowd.”

“I thought we might. I hoped to avoid that because it’s so early. What can I do to help?”

“Wait here. I’m afraid the neighbors are going to become a problem for us. But there’s also a crowd gathering around the trucks. I’m comfortable Brad’s men will get going, but I’m sure I’ll face the wrath of some angry people when the trucks pull off without leaving supplies.”

“Okay. You have your sidearms. Do you want to take an AR too?”

“No. Just listen to the voices. If you hear me yell
enough
, then start screaming like you saw a ghost. That should give me enough distraction to take off up the stairs without them.” Julia kissed him on the cheek and told him to be careful.

Sarge bounced down the stairs to catch up with the entourage. When he entered the entryway of the building, there were a dozen people waiting for him. He took the proactive approach.

“I know you have several questions, and if you let me assist these soldiers in doing their jobs, I’ll tell you what I know. But please, don’t interfere with them!”

Sarge turned and quickly ran out the front door before they could protest. Gunny Falcone had his hands full, explaining to the locals that this was not a food and water giveaway. The people surrounding the M35s looked haggard. By day four, most Americans had exhausted their pantry’s food and water supply. These people were relying upon the government to deliver what they needed. Today was not the day. Sarge hoped their exhausted bodies did not rise to some form of violence.

“Gunny, do you foresee any problems here?” asked Sarge.

“Not really. My men have been inundated with questions but have remained silent per my orders. They are very aware of the threats desperate people pose to their safety. Brad and I picked the best, like-minded soldiers in our battalion.” The crowd pressed forward as the Boston Brahmin exited the building. Their curiosity prompted more questions about whom the elderly people were and why they were being taken away in military trucks. While Sarge was able to avoid giving them a response, he expected his neighbors blocking the front entrance would demand similar answers. The last of the passengers headed for Prescott Peninsula were settled in, and Gunny Falcone’s men gave him the thumbs-up, indicating they were ready to leave.

“Thank you, Gunny,” said Sarge. “I imagine I’ll see you at 1PP shortly. My brother still hasn’t arrived from D.C. When he gets here, we’ll decide our next step.” Falcone looked past Sarge to the awaiting residents.

“Do you need some help with them?” he asked, nodding towards the entry.

“No, I’ll talk my way through it. I’m good at that.”