Phoenix Rising: (4 page)

Grand Ayatollah Amar Shihad was on the telephone, speaking with the commandant of the Ultimate Resolution Camp 35.

“How many of them committed suicide?” he asked.

“One hundred and four, Grand Ayatollah,” the commandant said.

“And how many did that leave you to deal with?”

“Eighty-three.”

“How soon will you apply the ultimate solution?”

“It is being applied now, Grand Ayatollah, even as we speak,” the commandant said.

Shihad smiled, and nodded. “You are doing good work, and are truly walking the holy path,” he said.

“I do this for the glory of Allah, and Moqaddas Sirata. Obey Ohmshidi, Imam.”

“Obey Ohmshidi,” Shihad replied.

That was the business statement of the company that David Rosewell had started, and owned. Buck Tinsley had driven a delivery truck for Rosewell Apparel for twenty years, and he thought Rosewell was as fine a man as he had ever known. When the Janissaries of the Moqaddas Sirata came for Rosewell and his wife, Buck was infuriated.

“Nothing will change for you and the other employees,” Fahad Farran said. This company has been nationalized, and will now manufacture only clothes that are suitable for Muslim wear. It shall be known as the Way of the Enlightened Clothing Company. You will continue to drive as before, but now you will be able to drive, content in the knowledge that you are no longer working for a Jew.”

“Nothing will change for us, the son of a bitch said,” Buck said to Carter Davis, his brother-in-law. “But can I have a beer and pork skins while I watch football on the weekends? Well, let's examine that. No alcohol, so there goes my beer. No pork, so there goes my pork skins. Oops, and no football. Also, no basketball or baseball. But the son of a bitch says nothing will change.”

“Do you know where the old Mary Kay building is in Addison?” Carter asked.

“Yeah, I know where it is. Why?”

“You want beer and football? I'll come pick you up Wednesday at six.”

“What's going on, Carter. What's this about?”

“You just be ready by six, on Wednesday.”

 

 

Because cosmetics were considered sinful, Mary Kay was no longer in business and, as Moqaddas Sirata had not yet found a use for the building, it was unoccupied.

On Wednesday nights a growing group of men would meet on the fifth floor of the building. As far as anyone driving by on the Dallas Parkway was concerned, the building looked no different on Wednesday night than it did at any other time. There were no cars parked around the building, and no lights showed from the building. Of course nobody expected to see lights, because there was no electricity connected to the building. Except on Wednesday nights.

Two of the group of men who met on Wednesday nights were electricians, and they would connect the Mary Kay building to the power grid just before the group would meet, and disconnect it when the meeting was over. The windows of the fifth floor were carefully blocked out so that no light could be seen from outside.

True to Carter's promise, there was beer available, and also football, or at least DVD's of past football games. One of the men, a Texas A&M grad, had a DVD of the Alabama–A&M game where A&M beat the number one ranked team in the country, holding off an Alabama comeback by intercepting a pass in their own end zone in the closing one minute and thirty seconds.

After the game was over and everyone started to leave, Carter asked Buck to stay a few minutes longer.

“All right,” Buck said.

Carter introduced Buck to two other men from the group; Frazier Nelson and Dean Pollard.

“Buck,” Frazier said, “before we go any further in this discussion I have to know two things. One, what is your level of frustration with the way things are and two, how far are you willing to go to change things?”

“I don't have the vocabulary to tell you how much I hate the way things are now, and I'm not sure I can do anything to change things. But if there was anything I could do to change it, I would.”

“Even at the risk of your own life?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Nothing unless I have a commitment from you.”

“Yeah. After what these sons of bitches did to Mr. and Mrs. Rosewell, yeah, I would risk my life.

“David and Leah Rosewell were also good friends of mine. I don't know whether they are dead or alive, but I don't intend to stand by and let this go without response of any kind. How do you feel about that?”

“Whatever you have in mind, I want to be a part of it.”

“Good,” Frazier said. “Two days from now, Farran is going to send you out on a job. You'll be deadheading out to Houston. But first you are going to go to just beyond the Addison Airport. Do you know Dooley Road?

“Yes, I know the road. It comes off Keller Springs.”

“Go about one hundred yards south on Dooley Road and you'll see an orange traffic cone. When you get there, stop. At exactly ten fifteen, open your trailer door, then get back in the cab and wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“Wait for a signal to proceed. When you get the signal, proceed on to Midway Road, then down to 635, then on to Houston.”

Buck shook his head. “I don't know what you have in mind, but it won't work. My truck has a GPS; Farran will know where I am.”

“Ron Bannister does the maintenance on your truck, doesn't he?” Frazier asked.

“Yes.”

Frazier smiled. “Don't worry about the GPS.”

“Bannister is one of us?”

“Yes, but don't acknowledge it, not even to him,” Frazier cautioned.

“All right.”

“What do you know about Amar Shihad?” Frazier asked.

“I don't know much about him. I know he is the Grand Ayatollah of Dallas.”

“He is the one who put the Jews into the concentration camps, including David and Leah Rosewell.” Frazier paused before he spoke again. “He is also the one who is responsible for the murder of way over a thousand men, women, and children at the Dallas–Fort Worth Metroplex.”

Buck whistled. “Damn, I knew he was an evil bastard, I guess I just didn't know how evil.”

“Day after tomorrow the Grand Ayatollah is going to the Addison airport to take a business jet to Washington, D.C. where he is to be given some sort of award by Ohmshidi.”

“What's he being awarded for?”

“It doesn't matter,” Frazier said. “He'll never get the award because we are going to kill the son of a bitch just before he gets to the airport.”

“How are you going to get to him? Isn't he always surrounded by bodyguards?” Buck asked.

“He never has guards, he rides alone in an open car with just his driver,” Novotny said.

“Shihad isn't that stupid, is he?” Buck asked. “To travel around without body guards? Why would he do such a foolish thing?”

“He's not stupid, but he is foolish. He has become arrogant with his absolute power, and he likes to demonstrate his complete control of the city by riding around in his open-topped green Mercedes, with no guard,” Frazier said. “He can't believe that anyone would actually make an attempt on his life.” Frazier opened another beer. “Only we aren't just making an attempt, we're going to do it. And you are a part of the plan.”

“You mean just by sitting on Dooley Road with the doors open to my trailer?”

“Yes.”

Buck smiled. “I don't know how that makes me a part of the plan, but if it winds up getting that bastard killed, I'm all for it.”

There were two cars in the road at the corner of Jimmy Doolittle Drive and Keller Springs. From the position of the two cars it appeared as if there had been a minor collision and they had the road effectively blocked. Frazier Nelson and Dean Pollard were standing in the road between the two cars, yelling at each other, gesticulating wildly.

That was what greeted Amar Shihad and his driver as they approached.

“Grand Ayatollah,” the driver said. “Our way is blocked.”

“Well, get out and tell the fools who I am,” Shihad said. “Tell them to make way.”

“Yes, Grand Ayatollah,” the driver said.

When the driver opened the door, Frazier and Dean could be heard yelling at each other.

“You dumbass!” Frazier was shouting. “Where did you learn to drive? Haven't you ever heard of a turn signal?”

“Well if you hadn't been going so fast, you would have seen that I was turning. I had plenty of time to turn in front of you, if you hadn't been speeding.”

“Driver,” Shihad called. “Tell them I've no wish to listen to their foolish quarrels. I am an important man and I have business to attend to.”

The driver looked back toward Frazier and David, and an imperceptible nod of acknowledgement passed between them. The driver turned and suddenly ran to the side of the road.

“What are you doing? Get back here at once!” Shihad shouted angrily.

With Shihad's attention diverted Frazier and Dean reached through the open windows of the two cars and grabbed AK-47s.

“What? What are you—?” Shihad shouted, but his shout was cut off by the staccato bark of automatic weapons fire. Bullets crashed through the windshield of the Mercedes, punched holes in the side, and slammed into Shihad, leaving his body a bloody mess in the back seat.

Frazier and Dean left the two weapons in one of the cars, then drove off in the other. Driving quickly through the Addison tunnel, they turned onto Dooley where the saw Buck's truck sitting about a hundred yards up from the corner. The doors to the trailer were open, and there were two ramps leading up into the trailer.

Frazier, who was driving, drove up the ramp into the trailer. He and Dean got out of the car and pulled the ramps up as Carter Davis, who was waiting on the side of the road, hurried up to close the trailer doors. That done, he walked up to the front of the truck.

“Drive away,” he said.

Buck nodded, put the truck in gear, then drove away. After he turned onto Midway, before he reached the LBJ Freeway, he was met by three SPS cars, their red and blue lights flashing, the warning sirens blaring.

There were, by now, several groups of freedom fighters around the country, most of them in the South. Fort Benning, Georgia, Pensacola Naval Air Station in Florida, Fort Rucker in Alabama, Keesler Air Force Base in Mississippi, and Barksdale Air Force Base in Louisiana were now in control of the patriots, occupied in the main by many of the men and women had had been stationed there in the pre-O time.

Even though Jake Lantz and the Phoenix Rising group had taken over Mobile, the capital of what they were now calling United Free America was still located at Fort Morgan.

“Why shouldn't we stay here?” Jake replied when he asked why they didn't move the capital to Mobile. “We have everything we need at the fort, it is easily defended, and it has probably gone through a hundred or more hurricanes without damage. I see no reason why we shouldn't stay right where we are.

Not one of the group who identified themselves as Phoenix Rising, disagreed with Jake.

That had been an earlier discussion. At the moment though, Jake Lantz and Bob Varney were at the Mobile airport. When Mobile was freed from the State Protective Service there were several aircraft there that were returned to their original owners. One was a business jet, a Cessna Citation 10 which belonged to Vaughan Charter. Jake and Bob had arranged for Dick Vaughan to fly them to the five military bases in order to enter into conversation with the patriots who now occupied them.

The fastest business jet in the world, the Citation 10 is a six hundred mile per hour aircraft so that wheels up to wheels down between Mobile and Pensacola was a matter of minutes only. Landing on Runway 7R, Vaughan was able to take the A5 exit, then he taxied back down the A taxiway to Base Ops. There were at least half a dozen men standing out front, waiting for them. Jake opened the door and stepped down, followed by Bob, and then by Vaughan.

A short, grey-haired man stepped forward. “I'm Hi Gurney,” he said as he extended his hand in greeting.

“Mr. Gurney, I'm Jake Lantz.” Jake took Gurney's hand, then introduced Bob and his pilot.

“Come on in, have some coffee with us and we'll talk about things,” Gurney invited.

“Will your plane need servicing?” one of the others asked.

“No, thanks, it's good,” Vaughan said. “General, I'll wait out here with the plane,” he added to Jake.

“All right,” Jake said.

“General, huh?” one of the men with Gurney said. “Well you two should get along fine. Hi was an admiral.”

Jake chuckled. “Then you've got me ranked, Admiral. I was a major in the pre-O days. This gentleman, who is the provisional president of United Free America, appointed me general in our provisional army.”

“I'm sure it was a wise appointment,” Gurney said. He looked at Varney for a moment. “You have the look of a military man about you. Would I be wrong if I guessed that you were in Vietnam?”

“Three tours, Admiral,” Bob said. “I was a warrant officer.”

“Aviator?”

Bob nodded. “Helicopter pilot.”

“And a damn good one too,” Jake said. “I've seen him operate.”

Gurney led them into a lounge area in the operations building where a pot of coffee and the fixings sat on a table. After a moment of filling cups and adding milk and sugar, they settled into cushioned chairs and sofas to talk.

“I'm aware of what you folks are doing over there in Alabama,” Gurney said. “And I was pleased when you contacted us and said you wanted to drop by for a visit. I've been thinking that there must be a way we can help each other.”

“Have you heard from any of the other people here in Florida?” Jake asked. “How many would you say support your movement?”

“I'd say most of the people who live north of I-4 support us,” Gurney said. “Those south of I-4 are primarily the ones who put that bastard in the White House in the first place, and a hell of a lot of them still support him.”

“Have you ever thought about breaking off North Florida from the southern part of the state?”

“I've never really given it much thought,” Gurney said.

“Think about it,” Jake said. “Do that. Form your own state, then come join us as a state in the UFA?”

“UFA?”

“United Free America,” Jake said. “Part of the reason we're making this trip is to get into contact with other independent groups to invite them to join us.”

“You think there is a chance for such a thing?” Gurney asked.

“I do. Fort Benning, Keesler and Barksdale Air Force Bases, and Fort Rucker are all controlled by patriots. And we have a destroyer, the
John Paul Jones,
that is on patrol right now in the Gulf, keeping an eye on the off-shore gas and oil platforms.”

“Historically, the military bases have been in the South,” Bob added. “So getting control of them shouldn't be that hard.”

“And Ohmshidi has no army as such,” Jake said. “All he has are the State Protective Service and the Janissaries.”

“Yes, but from what I've heard, he has over a million of them,” Gurney said. “And you have to give the son of a bitch credit, he has started rebuilding, he's bringing their economy back, and he has all the gold in Fort Knox to back him.”

“Not all the gold in Fort Knox,” Bob said with a chuckle.

“What do you mean?”

Jake laughed as well. “What our president means is that one of our very first operations was to relieve Fort Knox of some of its gold.”

“Good heavens! For real? How much did you get?”

“In the neighborhood of 50 billion in pre-O dollars,” Bob said.

Gurney whistled softly. “That's a damn good neighborhood,” he said.

“We're using it to back our printed currency.” Bob pulled out his billfold, then took out a bill. “Here is an example of the bills. We are only printing one, five, ten, and twenty dollar bills. No coinage at all.”

“This is a good-looking bill,” Gurney said. The bill he was holding was a five dollar bill. “Feels good, too.”

“Seventy-five percent cotton and twenty-five percent linen,” Bob said, “just as in the pre-O currency. And, every dollar is backed by gold.”

“I see you have Reagan's picture on the five. Who do you have on the other bills?”

“Eisenhower is on the one, Truman is on the ten, and Bob Hope is on the twenty.”

Gurney smiled. “Bob Hope?”

Bob nodded. “My father saw him in North Africa during World War II, and I saw him twice in Vietnam. I don't think we've made a medal high enough to honor him.”

“I can't say as I disagree with you,” Gurney said.

“What about it, Admiral?” Jake asked. “Are you with us?”

Gurney nodded his head. “Damn right I am. Whatever it is you have planned, count me in.”