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[From Jim Collins’ notes and digital recordings. RBB]
I can’t remember having to drive so far. Usually we flew if we were travelling interstate. We stopped at a motel in Gaston, just south of Columbia and sent Burt to get some takeaway food. We didn’t dare eat out. Charles was too recognisable. At the motel, I checked us in. Then, as soon as the owner lost interest, Charles pulled a coat over his head and walked to the chalet. Fortunately there was a light drizzle, so it didn’t look out of the ordinary.
Nine hours we’d been driving and it was incredibly nerve-wracking, as our names were on the news bulletins every hour and half hour. It seemed there was a real hue and cry for us.
Each time we saw a police patrol vehicle, we both made sure to turn up our collars and look away. At one point, a patrol car followed us for over thirty miles. We felt sure he knew who we were. All of a sudden, his sirens and flashing lights came on. He accelerated rapidly and passed us. We all expected him to pull in and force us onto the shoulder. We held our breath, but he didn’t stop and was soon disappearing from view ahead of us while Burt maintained an unflinching fifty-five miles per hour.
The chalet had two bedrooms and Burt offered to sleep on the couch. We showered to freshen up while Burt was out. Then we used a burner phone to contact Jan, my wife. She agreed to get Carol Mayne to pack up some clothes for Charles and she’d make up a case for me. One of Charles’ aides, William, would then collect the cases. He was ex-CIA and would throw off any tail before driving south to meet us in Jacksonville. Either that or he’d arrange some other method which wouldn’t be tracked.
‘How often can we use each phone, Jim?’ asked Charles.
‘Just once, then we need to switch it off and remove the battery,’ said Jim.
‘Can’t we just replace SIM cards?’
‘No. The moment a SIM card is in a switched-on phone, the handset’s serial number is transmitted to the nearest cell tower. If you change sims, the same number is transmitted, so in effect it is the handset which is being tracked.’
’So we’ll have to junk the handset after each call?’
‘Yes, but only if it is to a number which is likely to be of interest. We can ring a hotel or garage, but not our wives or the office. Those will need a new handset each time.’
‘How many did you get?’
‘Twenty. That’ll do us for now,’ said Jim.
Charles watched for Burt and, once he’d arrived with the food, we were able to unwind a little.
‘Pass the ketchup,’ I said, and Charles tossed over a couple of sachets.
We worked our way through a KFC bucket of chicken pieces, and three Big Macs with fries. There is something comforting about fast food when you’re under stress.
‘When’s the news on this channel?’ asked Charles.
‘Any minute,’ I replied.
‘How are we going to contact Beech?’
‘William has one of our numbers and will find a way to get it to Beech to call us.’
‘I suppose they’re using burners too?’ said Charles.
‘For sure. Burt, we’ve got clothes coming for us but what’re you going to do? I didn’t dare ask Jan to contact Miriam, as anyone monitoring her would have made a connection between you and us,’ I said.
‘No headache. There’s a store down the road. I’ll pop in first thing and get some shirts and underwear. Can get things for you guys too.’
‘Yes,’ Charles said. ‘Get me a couple of T-shirts and some underwear. Maybe a hooded top too.’ He wrote sizes on a piece of motel paper. I did the same.
‘Another four cheap handsets, too, Burt. Different makes if possible,’ said Jim.
’Sure thing,’ said Burt.
Once we’d killed the food and a couple of beers each, we turned in for the night. The place was comfortable, but would we sleep? Fugitives in our own country!
««o»»
[From Brad Gregg’s notes. RBB]
‘Inside,’ said Mike Henderson roughly as he pushed General Braun through the door to the den.
The prisoner looked around the place in which, it was fairly obvious, he was going to be incarcerated.
‘I suggest you give up this crazy rebellion,’ the general said. ‘If you give up, you’ll be treated fairly. If you resist or continue your action, you will end up dead.’
‘We’re not interested in your threats, General.’
One of the militia carried in some bottled water, sandwiches and some fruit, putting it down on a coffee table beside a small couch. Against the other wall was a single bed with chests of drawers on each side. A bucket stood on the floor. A couple of paperbacks and a toilet roll sat on a small coffee table and a towel hung over a small washbasin against the opposite wall.
Mike slammed the door and pulled across a heavy steel bar which would stop the door opening.
‘Who’s doing this?’ shouted the general from inside the room.
‘You’ll find out when we’re ready to tell you!’ Mike shouted back and walked up the stairs from the cellar area. Fifteen of the militia men were standing in the living room.
‘At ease, men,’ said Mike.
‘Excuse us, Colonel!’ said one of the two women Marines.
‘Sorry, Martine.’
She laughed and most took seats or sat on the floor.
‘Find a news channel, Joe,’ said Mike.
A soldier turned on the television and started working his way through the channels. Eventually CNN announced itself to the watchers.
‘Reports have been received that Charles Mayne, Democratic hopeful, has been accused of insurrection and there is a reward of fifty thousand dollars for information leading to his capture,’ said the announcer as video sequences showed the congressman. ‘Also, James Collins is being sought for the same offence.’ A still image appeared of Charles’ chief aide.
The next sentence certainly worried Mike. The anchor said, ‘It is believed that Charles Mayne has recruited retired general, Dick Beech who is also wanted for actual insurgency and conspiracy to commit treason. Anyone who knows the whereabouts of any of these individuals who support the alien invasion, should report it or any other information to the police or call this hotline,’ he said as a freephone number appeared on the screen.
The scene cut to the White House Press Briefing Room, where the spokeswoman was seen walking into the room and standing behind the lectern.
‘Sinister forces are at play in the nation. Militia groups have been observed moving around the country, although, mostly, they are trying to conceal themselves which makes tracking them difficult. We believe they are being supported by the aliens. If you see anything suspicious, people in military garb doing anything unusual, then please do not hesitate to call the number on the screen now or report it to any police station.’
The news channel had added a short section of video to accompany the last part of the report. It was an old sequence of film showing a tentacled creature with the Clueb, Heldy Mistorn, exiting a town hall with a couple of human soldiers alongside them. It had obviously been extracted from a television report of one of the information meetings prior to the New York explosion.
‘The administration wants to make it perfectly clear that anyone withholding information about the insurgents will be considered to be one of their number and will be prosecuted under the same treason laws. Don’t turn a blind eye to anything suspicious! Report it immediately. If they are innocent, you’ll have done no harm. If they are insurgents, you will have been a great help to the United States.’ She closed her folder and immediately left the briefing room without taking questions.
‘That doesn’t sound good,’ said Brad.
‘No,’ agreed Mike.
At that moment there was a sharp bang on the front door. All of the Marines leapt to their feet and were ready for any imminent attack.
The first knock was followed by another two, a single and then three.
‘It’s the general,’ said Mike.
Two Marines went to the door while three others remained concealed, ready to shoot any unwelcome incomer. Brad looked through the spyhole and said, ‘It’s him.’
The visitors quickly entered the property and the door was hastily closed.
‘Hi, Brad,’ said General Beech. ‘Excellent house you’ve chosen.’
‘Yes. The long driveway means comings and goings can’t easily be seen and we’re well outside Jacksonville.’
‘Where’s the guard?’ asked the general.
‘Just arrived, was about to set it up,’ said Mike, arriving from the kitchen with two militia in civilian clothes. ‘Right, you two. Down to the entrance and call us on the walkie-talkie if anything, anything at all, spooks you. Remember, it’s the FBI and Secret Service we’re hiding from, in addition to the police. If you see a fifteen-year-old girl delivering leaflets for the local fete, we want to know about it. Okay?’
There were two smart, truncated ‘yessirs’ in response.
‘Careful now,’ said the general. ‘Keep your guard up, but remain concealed. Find a couple of shovels and make it look as if you’re doing some ditching or something if anyone passes by.’
‘Yes, sir,’ they both said, pulling smart salutes at the same time.
‘Any chance of some coffee?’ the general asked. ‘Mike, Brad. Meet Jack Spence’s White House chief of staff, Bob Nixon.’
Introductions and handshaking took place and they all moved through to the living room where coffee was soon prepared for all.
‘You have him all right?’ asked the general.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Mike. ‘There’s a cellar here and we have him locked in the den.’
‘Any windows or access to the outside?’
‘No, sir, just a couple of air bricks below ceiling height.’
‘How’re you guarding him?’
‘Door is securely locked with an iron bar across the outside.’
‘No soldiers?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Put someone outside the door. You need to listen for any noises,’ said the general.
‘Ah, we’ve covered that, sir. We’re monitoring him with a baby alarm,’ said Mike.
‘Add a guard anyway.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Mike, immediately detailing three Marines to stand eight-hour guard duty each.
With coffee finished, the general asked Brad to call everyone not on specific guard duty to come through to the living room. In three minutes the entire squad was present.
‘Good morning, men... and women,’ the general said, then indicated Bob Nixon. ‘This gentleman is Robert Nixon who was the White House chief of staff for Jack Spence. He has spent quite a lot of time with the aliens and was with the president on his week-long visit to Federation worlds. I’ve asked him to tell you a little about what he saw so that you have a better knowledge of the Federation’s activities.
‘Most of you already know that joining or not joining the Federation is secondary to me. The reason I am leading this uprising in Charles Mayne’s name is because Slimbridge and his generals murdered our president as well as hundreds of world leaders and most of the population of Manhattan. He is an evil usurper and must be brought down. However, we can provide you with better first-hand information from someone we trust who was in favour of joining the Federation, then it will help you understand why Slimbridge decided to carry out his assassination in such an extreme way.
‘Bob, the floor is yours,’ said General Beech, taking a seat at the back with the others.
Bob Nixon, an undistinguished looking man in his late fifties with a bald head and dark sideburns, probably dyed, stood up to his full five feet ten inches and walked around to the front of the room.
‘Gentlemen and ladies, whatever your politics, I thank you for being among this creditable force trying to overthrow Vice President Slimbridge. Sorry, I still can’t bring myself to call him the president.
‘I was fortunate enough to have returned to the White House on the morning before the atrocity in New York. When I realised what was happening, I fled the building, but not before I saw the joint chiefs and the Vice President entering the Oval Office. Slimbridge claims he was still in jail when the explosion occurred. It is one of, and not the first, of his string of lies since he claimed office. Slimbridge was most certainly in control when the atrocity took place.’
Bob took a step or two backwards and leaned on the stone fireplace. He was obviously upset. ‘When Jack Spence... died, I lost... not just a president, but a good... no, my best friend.’
He wiped his eyes, ‘I’d known Jack Spence since college when he first mangled me on the football field. I was a not particularly good wide-receiver and he was a linebacker, He put me in hospital and, that evening, he came to visit me. It began a friendship which lasted... well... the rest of his life.
‘You probably don’t know, but I was writing his biography. I have spent the last few weeks completing it and I intend to publish at the earliest opportunity.’
He stopped speaking, looking around the room at vague points near the ceiling and the carpet and the closed curtains. He was struggling to compose himself.
‘Sorry. Sorry. This is the first time I’ve spoken about it to anyone other than family,’ he said, dabbing his eyes.
He pulled himself up into a smart stance, put away his handkerchief and began to speak in a more forceful manner. ‘When the Federation arrived in New York, Ambassador Moroforon addressed the UN and I can tell you that she did not impress Jack. The Federation has all the hallmarks of communism. Their system strips the wealthy of their assets and distributes the wealth among the entire population of each of the worlds. Their robots are capable of stopping war, terrorism and civil unrest. They told us they could stop the drug trade “at a stroke” and robot police would prevent crime.
‘Robot police? Think about that. It sounds like a nightmare and that is how both Jack and I saw it. A totalitarian force of mechanical beings running our way of life. But then Jack went off with the Federation and visited a number of worlds. Three were established Federation planets. One was a new member, still in transition, and the final worlds were Arlucian’s moon and then the planet itself – the centre of government for the Federation, which, incidentally, comprises nearly a quarter of a million civilised planets.’
Bob saw a barstool in the corner of the room. ‘Pass that stool over to me, please.’ It was passed hand to hand. Bob positioned it beside the fireplace and perched himself on it, looking around at his audience.
‘I watched Jack change. It would be fair to say that, initially, he had a distinct dislike of everything the Federation stood for but, by the time he’d got back from Arlucian, he had begun to change his tune. We both became convinced that the Federation could only be a force for good.’
He pulled a small tablet from his jacket pocket and waved it at Dick Beech, ‘Don’t panic, Dick. It’s not connected to a phone network, so can’t be traced,’
He swiped the screen a few times then began to read, ‘Against the Federation: the wealthy and successful lose their vast fortunes as do the enormous companies; nationalisation on a global scale; you cannot benefit from things you invent or improve; all work is done by fleets of robots; even management is by robots; innovation would be stamped out, or so it seemed.
‘But what of the benefits: no one will ever need to work again unless they wish to; everyone earns the same income, from the person who was once a chief executive, right down to one of those starving babies which charities show us in Africa. Famine is a thing of the past, almost every disease is conquered, anyone can live anywhere they wish, but huge mansions will vanish, making way for homes for the many.
‘Even more important, war is ended, as is persecution, abuse and discrimination. I think it was the vanquishing of war which was most influential upon Jack.’
‘Let me tell you of some of these worlds he visited,’ he said and so began a talk which lasted the best part of an hour. Everyone in his audience was enthralled.
««o»»
[From Jim Collins’ notes and digital recordings. RBB]
I suppose we were all refreshed from the night in the motel at Gaston and we were soon back on Highway 26, heading southeast. Burt had managed to buy us a couple of hooded sweatshirts so that we could hide our faces if we needed to.
Charles and I were still all over the television and radio news. We’d definitely have to be prepared to conceal ourselves.
‘I think we should get off twenty-six and use smaller roads,’ said Burt. ‘You two’ll be too easy to spot. Need to get rid of this Pittsburgh registered car too.’
We pulled off towards Orangeburg. Burt left us beside one of the lakes on the northern approach and we sat quietly on a bench, watching some fishermen who were far enough away to be unable to recognise Charles.
Burt took more than two hours buying overnight bags for our clothes and then trading in the car for an anonymous looking Ford. Our communication burner rang.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Five minutes,’ said Burt and we ended the call. We’d decided to be cautious even if one of our burners was calling another. No lengthy conversations and phones were turned off immediately they were no longer needed.
Charles and I ambled back to where Burt had dropped us and, as we reached the road, the used Ford pulled up beside us. Burt had done well; dark tinted glass in the rear section. We drove for another few miles until we found a quiet junction with no nearby homes. Here we turned and headed back towards Orangeburg.
‘No problems with the car?’ Charles asked.
‘Nah. The guy couldn’t wait to make the sale. He wouldn’t let me have the documents until he receives mine from me. Made the deal even more costly. You owe me whatever loss I make when all this is over, Congressman.’
‘Least of our problems,’ said Charles quietly. We both sat well back in our seats as we travelled through Orangeburg and found our way back to Route 26.
Once again, we were cruising at fifty-five and trying to mind our own business. Twenty minutes later we reached the 95 intersection and headed south.
‘Still think we should get off the highway,’ said Burt.
‘Don’t know,’ I said. ‘Travelling on smaller roads leaves us more likely to be seen by local police. What d’you think, Charles?’
‘The longer we stay on the highway, the faster we’ll reach Jacksonville.’
One of the burner phones rang. ‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Dick,’ the voice said.
‘Yes.’
‘Zoo. There are three car parks. Two small, sandwiching a large one.’
‘Got that.’
‘Park in southernmost small car park. Trunk open. Bag on hood. Make?’
‘Ford Endura, grey.’
‘Five today possible?’
‘No.’
‘Midday tomorrow?’
‘Yes,’ I said, and the connection was cut. I switched off that burner and removed the battery.
‘Why tomorrow?’ Burt asked.
‘Could still be four hours,’ I said.
‘Should do that easily by five.’
‘Would rather we were fresh.’
‘’Kay.’
The car progressed at fifty-five almost due south.
««o»»
[From Brad Gregg’s notes. RBB]
‘I think I’d go mad if I had nothing to do,’ said one of the militia.
‘We spoke to many people about it,’ said Bob Nixon. ‘On the transition world, Jack said that there were many people who found it difficult to adapt, but they were found useful work to do that kept them in contact with others so that there was no loneliness or isolation. The Federation doesn’t want to force you to stop doing something you enjoy. They actively encourage it to help during transition. The main pursuit of those who were finding it difficult was in actually helping others. It became a social pursuit. Many took up art, gardening, woodwork, crafts and hobbies.’
‘And everyone gets the same income, including babies, you say?’ asked another.
‘That’s right,’ confirmed Bob.
‘I’ve got four kids, my wife and my mother-in-law. Does that mean we’d have seven times the income coming in?’
‘Absolutely, and they reckon it’d be about fifty k, so your household would have three hundred and fifty thousand a year to live on,’ said Bob with a flourish.
‘That’s massive! Why should Frank have all of that when my wife and I would only have a hundred thousand?’ said another.
‘What do you do now?’ asked Bob.
‘Soldier, private.’
‘What do you and your wife earn, combined?’
‘I’m on about thirty k and Julie earns thirty-two.’
’So, your total of sixty-two thousand is nearly forty thousand short of what you’d get from the Federation system, but, and here’s a game changer, there are no property taxes and food is extremely cheap. Your hundred thousand is actually worth a whole lot more,’ said Bob.
‘Right... but I could stay a soldier?’
‘There is a Federation rapid-reaction force which you can volunteer to join, so no problem,’ said Bob.
‘It all sounds too good to be true,’ said another soldier.
‘That’s what Jack thought until he studied the nitty-gritty.’
‘And you’re sure there aren’t planets which operate like the old Soviet Union or where there’s a slave trade?’ asked a sergeant.
‘Absolutely. Jack and the other leaders chose which planets they went to and there wasn’t a whisper of discontent on any of the worlds Jack visited.’
‘So, who loses?’ asked the man called Frank.
‘All the billionaires and all the megabillion corporations will vanish over a few years. The huge corporations will be producing their profit to share with everyone and all the billionaires will have a few years to adjust.’
‘That’ll piss off the tech billionaires for sure!’ someone said, and everyone laughed.
««o»»
[From Jim Collins’ notes and digital recordings. RBB]
The radio kept us informed with its half-hourly news broadcasts. ‘The fugitive ex-general Dick Beech is still being sought. He was last known to be in Florida. The FBI say that there was a sighting of Charles Mayne in South Carolina and he is believed to be heading to meet up with Dick Beech. If anyone sees either of these individuals who are wanted for treason and insurrection, contact any police force.’
‘That’s not good, Charles,’ I said.
‘No. Burt, get us off ninety-five at the next junction. Too risky to stay on the freeway now.’
‘Will do. Damn, we just missed one, but there’s signs for another a couple of miles ahead,’ said Burt. ‘Brunswick. We can get off there.’
‘Tailback ahead,’ said Jim.
We slowed to a crawl as we joined the queuing vehicles. Now it was stop-start and much of the time was stop.
‘We definitely wouldn’t have made Jacksonville by five with this hold-up,’ said Burt. ‘Looks like an accident. I can see police lights ahead.’
The traffic continued to crawl along but, as we could see traffic management, we hoped we’d not be too long getting through the delay.
‘Jim, Charles, problem!’ said Burt.
‘What?’ we asked in unison.
‘I don’t think it’s an accident. It looks like a roadblock. Cars are being checked. We’re in trouble,’ said Burt, indicating left and pulling into the middle lane when one of the cars behind felt amenable. Next he moved into the outside lane.
‘What’re you doing, Burt?’ asked Jim.
‘There is a break in the central barrier about fifty yards ahead. I’m going to cut through.’
I looked at the traffic on the other carriageway. It wasn’t too busy, but pulling through into faster traffic would be hazardous. If we caused a problem, there’d be horns sounding and the police would realise we had something to hide. I guessed there was no alternative.
The traffic continued at a crawl and we were now just a couple of car lengths from the break in the barriers. I estimated that the roadblock and police were only about a hundred yards ahead.
‘They might not see us if you’re quick, Burt,’ said Charles. ‘They’re concentrating on seeing who’s in the cars. If you can get through and out of the way of any traffic, we might not be noticed.’
One car length remained. Burt pulled as far over to the right of the outer lane as he could without letting anyone come through on the outside.
‘Fucking van is making it impossible to see the fast lane on the other side,’ said Burt.
I could see his problem. When he turned, he’d be side on for just a second and would have to go quickly or he’d draw attention to us.
I watched him slowing his crawl and preparing to cut through.
‘Hold tight,’ he said, and the car swivelled.
I saw him look right at the oncoming traffic and then he shot across the carriageway and into the middle lane. A car in the outer lane blasted us with his horn, but we were past him and accelerating northwards. Charles and I looked out of the rear and saw a couple of police staring in our direction. The question was, did they see what we’d done, or would they assume it was a couple of rubberneckers getting in each other’s way as they came past the roadblock?
Burt was quickly doing fifty-five and keeping out of the way of other traffic. The Brunswick off-ramp was less than a mile ahead.
‘Shit!’ Charles said. ‘Blues and twos coming up behind rapidly.’
Burt floored it and the Ford leapt along. Soon we were doing ninety and he hit the off-ramp at speed, tyres squealing as we took the shallow bend, but there was an intersection right in front of us. We all looked left as Burt slammed on the brakes and cut through traffic into the fast lane of another dualled road. I caught sight of a sign which said, “Golden Isles Parkway”.
‘The cops have got delayed by a truck,’ shouted Charles.
We rapidly approached another junction. There was stationary traffic for red lights. Burt cut onto the central grassed area where we bounced and hit concrete near the junction. There was a sickening crunch from beneath the vehicle, but we were still moving and Burt steered us through the intersection and accelerated down a side street, throwing us violently sideways as he swung into a Holiday Inn car park, drove us round the hotel as if on a race track and out the far side, turning into more hotel car parks.
One was packed with vehicles. Burt found a space which was concealed from view, cut the engine and we all sat, panting, looking around for the police.
Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes passed. No sign of any pursuit.
‘Go get us three rooms, Burt. We’ll lie low,’ said Charles.
We watched Burt leave the car and stand up straight as if stretching after a long drive, but also looking in all directions for any sign of the patrol car. Once he was sure we were all in the clear, he walked back out of the busy car park and across to the Holiday Inn.
When he returned, thirty minutes later, we were very much relieved. We both pulled up our hooded tops and grabbed our bags.
‘Take everything,’ said Burt. ‘I’ve got us a hire car. Mind the oil on the off side.’
I picked up the map, the bag of used phones and our snacks bag. I stepped over a pool of oil, spreading from underneath the vehicle. Must have cracked the sump. We followed Burt into the Holiday Inn, sighing with relief when we reached our rooms without anyone paying us any noticeable attention.
Later, we ordered a Panera meal which Burt collected for us. After eating we got an early night and tried not to allow our precarious situation to keep us awake. We were only a couple of hours from Jacksonville zoo. Hopefully Dick Beech had some security to offer.