“When liberty comes with hands dabbled in blood it is hard to shake hands with her.”
The Free Texas team had been busy preparing the Bunker headquarters for Ghost. In this scenario, Beard and his team were virtually destroying any connection to their operatives around the world and making sure no clues were left behind in the event of a complete takeover of the Bunker by the feds. The objective was to erase any and all evidence, data or files that the feds could use against them.
Beard had been busy on the encrypted satellite phone with his counterparts in London, Brussels and Pune, India. He was shouting out directions to those around him, while totally immersed in conversations on the sat phones and two computer screens.
Zach knew Beard was on to something but wasn’t sure what. When Beard got like this, Zach and Will knew to back off and let his intelligence skills bear fruit. Zach was getting more nervous with every minute that passed. He was sure the feds were going to launch on them at any moment as the convenient scapegoats for the IRS bombings and the mass shooting in Dallas.
Beard rushed into Zach’s office with his laptop opened, careful not to drop it.
“Damn, Beard. We should be scattering to the wind right now. What is so important that you're keeping us here longer than necessary?” asked Zach.
“Boss, we’ve been working on a hacking protocol on CIS’ software and their data centers. We’re in!”
“Beard, you’re the man! Are you serious?” shrieked Will, who for a moment forgot they were almost in Ghost mode and really needed to exit the Bunker.
“It wasn’t just me; we had six team members working on this since we were able to defeat the encryption on Ottosson’s laptops. Once we figured out how they encrypt, it gave us clues as to how they protect and encrypt all the data on their network and in their data centers, and we’ve learned their security styles. The A-team is damn good!” claimed Beard, who was referring to a small group of hackers who had either cut a deal with the U.S. government in the past to avoid prosecution or jail time, or hackers that Turner had flipped from foreign subversives.
“These guys are all-stars. Damn, I’m impressed. Worth every penny we pay them. Let me have it! What are you finding?” pressed Zach.
“It’s very interesting, but too early to draw any conclusions. We have several directions we could go, but we need some time and some direction,” requested Beard.
“Damn it, Beard, we really don’t have the time, but I’ve been extremely suspicious of Bartlett’s miraculous presidential election comeback. While we are in Ghost, I want you to poke around on the feeds coming in on the comeback swing dates. See what you can find there, but before you do that, I want to know everyone on CIS’ payroll worldwide. Can you crack their human resources files?”
“We cracked their data centers so now the front door is open. We’ve just got to unlock other doors as we get to them,” claimed Beard.
“Are we talking hours, days or weeks?”
“Likely days, but the team has been in high gear for several weeks. They are exhausted.”
“Keep pushing them, Beard. We are potentially entering a very perilous time. CIS is deeply entrenched into the Deep State. If we can identify any politicians that are being paid, or where political contributions were funneled to disguise foreign campaign contributions, we can make those public to re-direct some of the heat back on them.”
“Roger that, boss. I’m on it.”
In the meantime, Turner’s security firm had a messaging protocol that went out to all employees, operatives and members. It signaled the entire apparatus of Turner Invincible Security (TIS) and the Free Texas movement with immediate orders to go underground and stay that way until further notice.
Kymbra Turner had gotten the emergency text message at the same time everyone else did. Zach was still at the Bunker, having just declared Ghost. There was no need for Kymbra to talk to him; she knew exactly what to do. Everyone in TIS and the Free Texas movement had rehearsed Ghost in annual drills.
Kymbra grabbed three bug-out bags, one for her, one for Zach, and one for their six-year-old son, Colt. Less than four minutes after receiving the text, Kymbra had tossed their bags into a 1972 Torino they had stored in the garage, fired it up and backed out of the driveway, leaving her more modern SUV in the driveway. A 1972 Torino doesn’t have electronic ignition. Most serious preppers have a vehicle they can reach that can’t be affected by an electromagnetic impulse bomb that will fry almost all modern-day electronics. The Torino’s points and condensers wouldn’t be affected by an EMP.
Kymbra drove straight to her son’s school, which was only two miles from their home. Kymbra’s heart dropped when she turned the corner within one block of Oak Grove Elementary School to find dozens of police cars and numerous dark-colored and unmarked SUVs. When she pulled up to the parking lot, she was stopped by police in full military black ops-style gear, complete with helmets, bulletproof vests and automatic weapons.
“I’m here to pick up my son. What’s going on?” Kymbra asked.
Her first thought was another mass shooting incident with all of the police squad cars everywhere.
“Kymbra Turner?” asked the officer.
“Who’s asking? Is everything all right here? Is my son safe?”
“Identification, please, ma’am” said the officer.
“And who are you? Where’s the local sheriff?” she asked.
“Ma’am, are you Kymbra Turner?” he asked again.
“Yes, and who is asking? I’m here to pick up my son.”
“Your son is safe. We have him. I need you to step out of the car, ma’am. Turn your ignition off and stick your hands out of the window.”
“I’m asking YOU, again, who the hell are you?”
Now there were six other federal agents surrounding the Torino, guns drawn and pointing at her.
“I’m not going to tell you again. Shut the car off and stick your hands out the window,” shouted the officer.
Kymbra slowly reached down to the ignition and turned the key off, then stuck her hands out the window, at which time two other officers came over and placed handcuffs on her outstretched arms.
“What the hell is going on here? Where is my son?” pressed Kymbra, becoming more panicked by the moment.
“Ma’am, keep your arms out of the window. We are going to slowly open the door and remove you from the vehicle.”
“Remove me? The hell you are. I’ll get out myself.”
“Ma’am, sit still and follow our directions explicitly!” warned another officer.
The officers slowly opened the driver’s door and removed her handcuffed arms slowly as the door swung open. They then unlocked the handcuffs and roughly removed one handcuff from her right wrist and then jerked her arms behind her and re-handcuffed her with her arms behind her back. Another officer came up from behind her and attached ankle cuffs and a chain to both feet.
“What the hell is going on here?” she demanded. “Where is my son?”
“Ma’am, we are placing you under arrest,” answered a man in a gray suit and blue tie who had just walked up to the car.
“Arrest for what? What about my son?” she screamed.
“Kymbra Turner, you are hereby placed under arrest for conspiracy against the United States, for placing bombs at federal facilities and for eight hundred sixty-four counts of murder,” said the man in the suit.
“Y’all are out of your mind. Where is my son?” she yelled back at him.
“Ma’am, your son has been picked up by Child Protective Services.”
“What? What the hell is wrong with you people?”
“Child Protective Services will determine if it is safe to leave a six-year-old boy with a family that bombs federal facilities and murders hundreds of children,” said the man in the suit sarcastically.
Kymbra glared at the man.
“I’d wipe that look off your face, ma’am. You’re in some deep shit, ma’am. Your husband would be well served to turn himself in.”
“You took our son. You will be lucky if my husband doesn’t kill you before you put your head on your pillow tonight.”
“Ma’am, you can add charges of threatening a federal agent to your list of crimes. If you want to talk, you can tell us where to find your husband and maybe you’ll get to see your son again before you go to prison for a very, very long time, or worse.”
“Look what we have here sir,” mentioned another federal agent who was searching the Torino. “Looks to me like bug-out bags.”
“Where were you headed, Ms. Turner?” asked the man in the suit.
“I want an attorney, right now. I demand to know where my son is being held!” she yelled.
“I already told you, CPS has your son. He is safe.”
“I want an attorney.”
“Finish searching the vehicle and impound it. Take Ms. Turner and put her in the van.”
Kymbra looked around her, intently looking for sheriff’s deputies who were friends of Zach’s, but there were no local law enforcement vehicles on the school property. It was evident they hadn’t been alerted. A small contingent of teachers and school staff were standing underneath the American and Texas flags on a concrete circle, watching her arrest.
“You think Zach is going to make a mistake just because you are harassing me? You are sadly mistaken. Zach didn’t have a damn thing to do with either the IRS bombings or Dallas. Are you people insane? You think you can get to him by arresting me and kidnapping our son? All this is going to get you is DEAD!”
“Ma’am, dead is exactly how your husband is likely to end up, if it were up to me. In fact, we’re counting on it!” said the man in the gray suit.
“What are there, fifty federal agents out there to arrest one woman?” asked the school principal. “Was that really necessary?”
“It must be serious,” added another teacher.
“Don’t know much about them. They really kept to themselves. I think her husband owns some kind of security company,” replied one teacher.
“The word is he was heavily involved in the Texas Crisis,” added another.
Kymbra Turner was marched in shackles to the black unmarked van and loaded into the back. Four agents got in the back with her. The van quickly drove out of the parking lot with four other unmarked SUVs.
Several agents remained. They continued to search the Torino and had a wrecker on stand-by come and put a tow hook on it. Within minutes, the highly-organized plan to snatch Kymbra Turner was over.
At the same time, a caravan of federal agents arrived at the Turner home, while a full contingent of FBI, Homeland Security and ATF agents were descending on the Bunker from three different directions.