Chapter Six

Ashlee

 

For hours all she'd done was sob into her couch, then her pillow, then finally Matt's shoulder. She had been incoherent, her grief washing over her like a wave that obliterated everything else. And it was only when her crying had faded to hiccuping, when she was drained and exhausted, that Matt had placed a cup of tea in front of her and spoke.

“You feel guilty,” he said. It wasn't a question.

She nodded. She did feel guilty. It was she who had lured Blake into the Freedom Group in the first place, allowed him to get so involved, though he was only a kid. And it was she who had signed off on his travel voucher to go to California. Because she'd wanted him out of the way. Needed him gone. And now he was gone, really gone.

“You shouldn't,” Matt said, sitting down next to her. “This is what he wanted, Ash. If he hadn't been with us, he'd have been with some other political group, some other form of rebels or revolutionaries. It was his nature; it was just who he was. I don't say that he wanted to die. But he died for something he truly believed in, something he'd always wanted; and for someone like Blake, that could be the only way to die happy.”

She said nothing. There was nothing to say.

“I'm not going to tell you not to be sad. You should be; you will be. But I will use this opportunity to tell you that things need to change. Blake didn't die for nothing, Ash, and we can't let this be meaningless. Have you watched the news?”

Again she didn't speak, so he picked up the remote and turned on the TV. The volume was on mute, and he flicked through the channels.

“Muslims being deported,” he said, and clicked the channel change button. “Muslims being imprisoned.” Click. “Three more military executions since yesterday.” Click. “An upturn in the stock market—always a sign of patriotism at work, that one, a sign that something big and military is going to happen. War makes for a great economy.” Click. “Mexico being sanctioned by Canada for opposing the pipeline project. Except it wasn't really Mexico, was it?” Click. “The new Republic of California being recognized by the UN, nice.” Click. He turned the TV off again.

“Ash, wake up. I'm doing this with or without you, but the Freedom Group is yours, so I'd rather do it with you. It's time to act. If we act now we can help people, save people, influence things. We have the infrastructure; we have the skills; we even have some of the money. It's time, Ash.”

And slowly the ideas began to coalesce in her mind. He was right. The time for action had come. This was wrong, all wrong. Whether she understood everything or not, this couldn't continue. So she nodded, once.

“It's time,” she agreed.

“Excellent,” Matt said. “I'll put the wheels into motion. I . . .”

He was interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone.

“No, don't worry; I'll leave you for a while. I'll be back later,” he said.

So she picked up the phone.

“We need a meeting. Fast and discreet.”

It was the first time she'd heard Kishanna speak like this, and the urgency in her voice prompted her into action.

“Sure, how about tonight? Can you leave the kids?”

“Not a problem; the kids are gone,” Kishanna said hurriedly. “Where?”

Ashlee thought for a second. Was it sensible to let someone else know where she was? Could she go out? But the thought of leaving the safe house right now was more than she could handle. Besides, she trusted Kishanna. Really she did. Mostly she did. The woman was still a journalist, after all. Screw it. She gave the address of the safe house quickly and hung up before she could change her mind again.

 

***

 

When she opened the door, she realized her mistake in not asking Kishanna if she was bringing anyone. Because standing next to the journalist was a tall, striking man, his face serious. Great, now she'd given away the safe house location to two people rather than just one. Too late now to do anything about it, she opened the door further and let them both inside.

“Just go straight through to the living room,” she said, gesturing toward the door. “And help yourselves to drinks.”

“It's my husband,” Kishanna hissed at her as the man headed to the living room.

Ashlee grinned. She should have figured that out by herself.

Once they all had drinks and were seated, Kishanna took the floor, and Ashlee was glad. She was busy examining Hanson. He looked military—something in the way he sat and stood, a straightness about him. But she also saw the kindness in his eyes and the way he moved. He looked smart—a strange thing to say, but he truly did.

“Okay, so, I know you're both wondering why I brought you here. And it's pretty simple,” Kishanna said. “I think the two of you should meet. I think you have a lot in common and can help each other.”

Ashlee, so used to hiding the main thrust of what she did in polite company, gave her normal smile and raised her eyebrows. “Really? I'm not sure how I can be of help to Captain Hanson.”

Kishanna tutted. “Enough of the secrecy. Things are getting serious, and the very least we can do is be honest with friends.”

She turned to her husband, but pointed to Ashlee as she did so.

“This is Ashlee Townsend. She's the CEO and founder of the Freedom Group. You probably know that as a political think-tank agency, but in fact, Ashlee and her group have been stockpiling goods and setting up cell groups in US cities for some time now. They are about to launch what amounts to a revolution, or will as soon as they gather enough followers and money. The young man executed yesterday, the graduate student, was one of their members. As of right now they control groups in around seventy percent of US cities, and are preparing for the launch of a form of underground railroad to protect insurgents, Muslims, and others who may need help, and take them to places of safety.”

Ashlee felt her mouth open and hang there. What the hell?

“How . . . how do you know all that? How . . .”

“I'm a journalist, Ash, and a good one. You didn't think you could keep everything you do secret from me, did you? I do have my contacts, you know. And I wouldn't have worked with you, or trusted you, had I not known exactly who you were and what you were doing, so don't take it so harshly.”

“But if you know, then . . .”

“Then no one else does, at least as far as I know. No one is taking interest in small splinter groups right now. You're fine. But it's cards-on-the-table time.”

Ashlee looked across at Hanson, who appeared unsurprised at all he was hearing. If Kishanna was willing to spill all this info about the Freedom Group, what, she wondered, was the other side of the bargain? What could she possibly be about to learn about Hanson?

“This is my husband, Captain Kelvin Hanson, ex-US Navy, a patriot, and a very smart man,” Kishanna said with a grin. “And someone who desperately wants to help his country. Someone who believes that the military he loves has been planning this coup all along. And someone who might have proof of that.”

“Proof? What kind of proof?” Ashlee asked, scooting forward in her chair, curious.

Hanson looked at Kishanna, then shrugged. He obviously trusted his wife to do the right thing, though Ashlee felt he had reservations about her.

“I've been talking to people,” he said. “Military people. There are a few rumors, some things that could be coincidences. Hammersmith was posted to DC only a few days before the assassinations, for example,” he said. He licked his lips, then continued. “The military-style executions we're seeing, a clear sign that the military is in control and under martial law too. There's no sign that the military is about to back down from government. And it makes no sense that they're there in the first place.”

“Fine,” Ashlee said. “I'm with you on all of that. But it proves nothing. It's all just talk.”

“I agree,” said Hanson, also leaning forward now. “But then I had someone look into the autopsy reports from the assassinations. There's no indication at all that Muslim terrorist groups had anything to do with them.”

“Not that surprising,” said Ashlee.

“Again, I agree,” Hanson said. “But what is surprising is that the bullets recovered from the bodies were military grade and military issue.”

Ashlee sat back. “You can prove this?”

Hanson shook his head. “I don't have the papers, not right now. My contact is trying to get me copies, but it's not easy. All I have right now is the word of a man I trust, a JAG from a base down in North Carolina.”

“Okay,” Ashlee said. “So not exactly definitive.”

Hanson was about to speak, but the doorbell rang.

“I'll get it,” Kishanna said, getting up.

And Ashlee knew that this was her doing, that the woman had arranged for yet another person to join them. Jesus. She was going to have to move if anyone else found out about this damn place. And then Kishanna was back, a short man next to her. A man Ashlee recognized immediately.

“Michael Callahan. Pleased to meet you, and if you're anything like me, you're wondering why the hell Kishanna Hanson has invited me to a place like this,” he said, his bright political smile on his face.

Ashlee sat, silent, as introductions were made. She was rapidly trying to figure out what was going on here. Kishanna obviously felt that she was on to something, but who the hell knew what.

“So, Kish, darling, why am I here?” Callahan said when he was seated on an armchair looking for all the world like he belonged there.

“Because I think you need our help, and we need yours,” Kishanna said.

Callahan laughed, and Ashlee saw that maybe he wasn't as bad as she’d thought, that he did like Kishanna, respect her even.

“And why would I need your help?” he asked. “Forgive me, but the press has hardly been my best friend.”

Kishanna asked her husband to tell his story, and he did. Ashlee was again surprised at how far the man trusted his wife to do what was right for him. And it made her like him, trust him even more. If what he said was true, then Matt was right and they needed to start acting, and fast. She still hesitated, though. It was hard to believe the military would really plan a coup like this.

“That's all very interesting,” Callahan said. “But I still don't see where I come in.”

“Because you were there,” Kishanna said. “You saw the assassination. You can confirm or deny what we think.”

“And why would I do that?” he asked again.

“Because you're afraid. Because you know how politics work; that's why you're as powerful as you are, kingmaker,” Kishanna said with a smile. “But now you're working in the military, not in politics. You're surrounded by a culture and by procedures that you don't understand. And that you don't know how to work to your advantage. That frightens you. Maybe frightens you enough that you don't want to be here anymore.”

Callahan looked at her, his eyes narrowing. “And you're offering what?”

“In return for information we, including the Freedom Group, will offer you safe passage to California, or anywhere else outside of the country you would like to go to. The routes are set up, secrecy isn't a problem . . .”

Callahan was laughing again. Ashlee was too curious to be angry that Kishanna had offered the use of the Freedom Group to a man like Callahan.

“Kishanna, my dear, you do underestimate me,” he said. “Very much so. Do you really think that I, the kingmaker, would not have a plan B? I'll admit you're right about my current position here in DC. I'm far from comfortable. I have already left the White House; as it is, my services were no longer required. And yes, I even fear that should I stay in town there may be . . . repercussions, shall we say? But I have already arranged for an alternative path.”

Kishanna's face fell. But Ashlee was thinking. This man could be useful. Very useful. She knew who he was and what he was capable of.

“And when your plan B falls through, what then?” she asked.

Callahan smiled. “You're offering me a plan C?”

Ashlee shrugged. “I assume you're on your way to California, however it is you plan on getting there safely. A man like you, a burgeoning new country's government, a country that you hope is going to grow to include other states—am I right?”

“Possibly,” said Callahan.

“So, perhaps we can be of use to each other. We may need a little information every now and again. You may need people smuggled in and out every now and then, an act for which my organization is well prepared. You may need protest groups to catalyze secession in other states. You may even need a ticket out of California, should the US government invade and the whole California experiment crumble. The way I see it, Mr. Callahan, you have little to lose by cooperating with us. At least sometimes.”

She saw Hanson nodding at this. Callahan looked thoughtful. Then he too nodded.

“We shall see,” he said. “I am not absolutely sure of what you're saying. However, there is nothing wrong with keeping my options open.”

“And you are about to cross to California,” Hanson now pointed out. “A country in direct opposition to the United States. We're against the United States government too, though working from the inside. You would, perhaps, be building yourself a fine reputation as a California politician by working with us.”

Callahan laughed again and held up his hands.

“I will consider it,” he said. “But for now, I can perhaps help you a little. Yes, I was there when Silva was assassinated.”

“And what can you tell us?” Hanson asked, taking the lead now.

“Very little,” said Callahan. “There were men in black. The Secret Service did nothing, so they were obviously in on the whole thing. It was well planned; the two shooters simply walked into Silva's office; they knew exactly where to find him. You could say the whole operation was planned with, well, military precision.”

“So they were military?” asked Hanson.

Callahan shrugged. “Didn't look like Muslims to me, but then who am I to say? But yes, if I were forced to hazard a guess, I'd say military. Their bearing, the arrogance with which they walked, their familiarity with their weapons, their calmness. All made me think military immediately.”

“Yet you said nothing to the press or anyone else about this?” Kishanna said.

Callahan raised an eyebrow at her. “Really? And why would I have done that? Having just watched my boss, my meal ticket, get slaughtered, was I really likely to start spouting off who I thought did the slaughtering? That would be foolish now, wouldn't it? I didn't get where I am by not knowing when to keep my mouth shut.”

He looked at his watch, then stood.

“I think that is all for now,” he said, as though he had been the one to call the meeting. “I will be going. Perhaps we shall meet again.” He turned to Kishanna. “And if you want the scoop, which I'm assuming you do, I shall be in California as advisor to the current governor, Merriweather, by tomorrow evening. I should appreciate it if you release that only in the evening edition.”

Kishanna nodded numbly. Callahan left.

Ashlee waited until she heard the front door close, then turned to Hanson.

“I have been told up until now that my methods have been . . . not quite as forceful as some would like them to be,” she said. “But I dread the idea of harming American citizens for an ideal.”

Hanson nodded. “As you should,” he said. “Unfortunately, casualties are unavoidable in any war. That is what the military teaches us, and in this case, they're very correct. The only thing you can do is minimize the number of those injured or killed.”

“The time has come to act,” Ashlee said. “We will be planning and undertaking an entire revolution, the first this country has seen for two hundred and fifty years. I know that we are doing right, and I hope we will succeed. And I would very much like for you to join us, Captain Hanson.”

“I think that would be for the best,” he said. “I have skills that should be useful.”

“And I shall leave the two of you to this,” Kishanna said. “The news waits for no one. And at least at the Post, I'll be first to hear of anything that might be useful.”

Ashlee walked her to the front door.

“Thank you,” she said. “I worry that you might regret getting involved like this. We have no idea of what the consequences of all this will be yet.”

“We're already involved,” Kishanna said, putting a hand on her arm. “At least this way we're involved in the right way.”