The pessimist complains about the wind; the optimist expects it to change; the realist adjusts his sails.
—William Arthur Ward
Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado
Cruz quickly glanced into Julia’s room through the small window in the door. She lay silent, her back toward him. He couldn’t tell if she was asleep or not.
“Excuse me, sir,” Weatherby said, after clearing his throat.
“Ah, yes. Thank you for coming down,” Cruz said, quickly turning around. He felt a bit like he had just been caught peeping on someone.
“No, thank you, sir. You obviously received my message.”
“Yes, yes, I did. So, she still hasn’t given approval for the procedure?”
“No, sir, and now it’s critical we do something about this or she risks dying. I can’t stress—”
“I understand, Doctor. Let me see if I can convince her,” Cruz said, cutting off Weatherby.
“Please, inform her this is now a critical time.”
“I will, Doctor, thank you.” Cruz stood with his hands on his hips. He turned and knocked on the door. He again glanced through the window; still no movement from the first lady. Not wanting to waste time, he opened the door and walked in. The air in the room was warm and had a strong medicinal smell. Cruz disliked hospitals. For him they represented death. His first childhood memories of hospitals were of visiting his dying grandparents. Between the ages of eight and sixteen, he had helped take three of his grandparents to the hospital but never took them home. Even when he was with his wife at the birth of his children, he always had a bad feeling. Somewhere, whether down the hall or from outside, he’d hear the sounds of sirens or doctors being summoned to care for a person who was near death. He thought that even now, he was about to convince his best friend’s wife to undergo an emergency surgery or face death.
“Julia, are you awake?” he asked softly. He could see her body move ever so slightly from her breathing. When he reached the side of the bed and looked down, he saw that she was awake. Her eyes were wide open; she was just blankly staring at the far wall. He extended his arm to touch her, but just before he could she turned her head.
“Hi, Andrew. I know why you’re here.” Her face was pale, almost lifeless. “You don’t need to come convince me. I’ve already made the decision.”
“I’m so glad to hear. We should get you in right away.”
“Not yet. Please sit down.”
Cruz looked around for a chair, then grabbed it and pulled it over next to the bed. “How are you?” he asked, then shook his head. “Sorry, that’s a stupid question. This whole thing is horrible.”
Her frail hand reached out and touched his arm. She gently squeezed it.
Their eyes locked. He had not seen her in this condition before. She had been through so much since the attacks almost seven weeks ago. First she lost her son, then lived through the turmoil of the attacks, Brad’s disappearance, and now this, the loss of her unborn baby.
“Andrew, please be honest with me. Do you think Brad is dead?”
The question shocked him. Because he was a politician, many ways to answer her ran through his mind. He just stared at her, not knowing how to respond. Deep down he held out hope, but he felt that Brad was probably gone for good. If he told her this now, how would she receive it? Was she just looking for a bit of good or inspiring news to keep her spirits up?
She noticed his hesitation and reassured him by again squeezing his arm. “Andrew, just tell me. I’m asking because I want to go into this procedure knowing if you think my husband is dead. I am owed that at least. Please.”
“Julia, things don’t look good; but I still hold out hope. The news we received from the special ops team did discourage me, I won’t lie. I promise you again, I will still keep looking.”
“Once a politician, always a politician. You guys just can’t give a straight answer. For God’s sakes, Andrew. I asked you a simple question. Never mind, please leave me alone.” Julia rolled back onto her side, facing away from him.
Cruz knew he was attempting to walk a fine line in his answer. He knew what he thought, but expressing that could mean the difference between her having hope and just giving up on everything, including herself. The struggle to open up to her was difficult. He then asked himself if he couldn’t have the strength to talk openly with a friend, how could he lead a country. “Julia, I’m sorry. I know you need a straight answer. Yes, I think he’s alive. I’m not hoping. I know he’s out there, and I won’t rest till I find him and bring him home.”
A moment passed before she rolled back to face him and said, “You really think so?”
He reached out and touched her hand and said, “Yes, I do.”
A tear formed in her left eye and slid down the side of her face. “Thank you, Andrew. Please go tell the doctor I’m ready when he is for the operation.”
Cruz stood without hesitation and left the room. After the door closed, he leaned his full weight against it. Fatigued from his brief conversation, he reflected. He admired those who could be open and honest without a second thought. Deep down it was something he knew was right, but it wasn’t something he could do with her. His political career was not unlike others, all politicians had an unspoken rule: “The truth, while preferable, always takes second place to getting what you want.”
San Diego, California
The failure to find Gordon and his family was at the forefront of Sebastian’s mind. Visions of them being burned along with the others haunted his thoughts. He refused to believe they’d perished; he knew Gordon was too smart and would have left before that had happened. The discovery of the remains was frightening nonetheless. Each body was stacked on top of the others like wood. The fire that had consumed them must have been intense because the flesh was burned off and only bones remained.
Willis and Jameson hadn’t talked to him since yesterday. The sight of such an atrocity haunted them.
Sebastian’s stint in the Marines had exposed him to such cruel and inhumane acts. It wasn’t as if he was impervious to these sights though; he just knew how to compartmentalize them.
He enjoyed the warm afternoon sun as he walked toward the guesthouse at the corner of the property. He hadn’t yet been able to explore the more than six-acre property, but he planned on becoming more acquainted with it now that he was getting around on crutches.
The perimeter was surrounded by an eight-foot fence with large eucalyptus trees every dozen feet. This provided cover from any eyes that might be attempting to see what was happening inside. Bishop Sorenson had four armed men constantly patrolling the fence line and two at the fortified iron gate. Each day strangers approached the gate looking for food or aid. At first Sorenson had provided comfort to those starving souls who came seeking it. Soon, though, the reality of the situation made it impossible to do any more. It pained him, but they had to turn everyone away now. Survival of his own group became the priority when he realized that there would be no government response.
Sorenson would make an exception if it were an abandoned child. After the discovery of the bodies, Sebastian and his companions had been successful in finding the two children.
Sebastian was surprised the children had survived the attack and subsequent massacre. He didn’t know for sure what had happened because neither talked. Both showed signs of malnutrition, and their hygiene was nonexistent.
Jameson had found them hiding in the pump house of the community swimming pool. At first they’d struggled, but Sebastian had been able to convince them they would not be hurt.
Sebastian had two things he wanted to accomplish when he saw them today. First was to see how they were doing, and second was to find out what information they had about Gordon.
As he hopped up the stairs of the guesthouse, the front door opened and Annaliese stepped out with the kids’ soiled clothes in her arms.
“Sebastian? You should be resting,” she exclaimed.
“I’m fine. I want to see the kids. How are they?”
“I know you think you’re fine, but if you don’t rest more, especially after yesterday, you could do more harm than good.”
“Whoa, that smell is horrible,” Sebastian said with a grimace.
“I know,” she said, referencing the clothes. “Since you won’t listen to your nursemaid, don’t come crying to me if you hurt yourself again.” She stepped down, then turned. “The kids are fine, still not talking but doing much better than when they came in last night. Go ahead on in. I need to go toss these away,” she said and hurried past him.
Sebastian grabbed the doorknob and paused. He reviewed how he would ask his questions. He knew the kids were in shock, and if he wanted to get the info he desired from them he would have to be gentle. Opening the door, he glanced in and said, “Hello?” No response.
It was a quaint little single-level home. The front door opened into a living room and kitchen. The furniture was dated; he felt like he was stepping back into the 1980s. He made his way farther through the house until he found the boys sitting on a bed whispering to each other.
When they saw him, they both fell silent.
Sebastian stuck his head into the room and said, “Hi, guys. How are you? It’s Sebastian, remember me?”
Both boys looked at him quickly but then turned their eyes away and didn’t answer.
Sebastian could see how uncomfortable they were; their body language said everything. Their frail arms had become rigid and pressed against their bodies. Their now clean but uncut hair hung down and covered their tan faces. Since the grime and dirt had been wiped away, they looked even younger. He guessed that they were only eleven or twelve.
“Can I come in? I have just a couple of questions and then I’ll leave you alone,” Sebastian softly said. He stepped into the room and leaned against a chest of drawers just inside the doorway. “I know you’re both scared and not sure what our motives are. I can only imagine what you must be thinking. I can assure you that these people are good and you are now in safe hands.”
The boys just kept staring at the floor.
“Hey, there was a family that lived in your community. I want to know if you know them and if you know what might have happened to them. The Van Zandts, do you know them?”
One of the boys looked up at Sebastian, met his eyes briefly, then turned away.
“Do you know them?” Sebastian asked that boy urgently. “Gordon Van Zandt is my brother. Have you heard of him? Do you know what happened to them?”
The boy who’d looked at him looked up again. His mouth opened to say something but stopped when the other boy spoke up. “He left. He left us all.”
“He’s alive? He left before . . . before the bad people came?”
“Yeah, he and a few others left after the big fight,” the second boy said. He swept his long bangs out of his face and cocked his head.
“What fight? What happened? Are they all okay, Samantha, Haley, Hunter?”
“I don’t know a Samantha or the other two. Gordon was in charge of the neighborhood security until he was shot . . .”
“Shot?” Sebastian asked; his voice grew louder with each question he asked.
“Yeah, all I know is one day he was there and the next I heard he had been shot.”
“But he didn’t die, right?”
“No, he lived. He and his friends ended up fighting another group in our neighborhood. They killed a lot of people and then left. That’s the last I heard of him. I don’t know where he went.”
“Oh my God, oh my God. He’s alive, they’re alive,” Sebastian blurted out.
“My dad said he was an asshole,” the first boy said loudly.
“Yeah, well, that’s my brother. He’s a bit of the shoot-from-the-hip-and-mouth kinda guy,” Sebastian cracked.
“After he and his friends left, the Villistas came and killed everyone,” the first boy continued.
“I’m really sorry about what happened. Why didn’t more people leave with my brother?”
“My dad asked if he could go, but your asshole brother said no,” the first boy shot back.
“Sorry. I can’t even begin to explain my brother, but I’m sorry.”
“Whatever,” the first boy said. His tone had grown angry. He stood up and stormed out of the room.
“Hey listen, I’m sorry,” Sebastian called out to him.
“His parents were killed in front of his eyes. He doesn’t blame your brother, he’s just angry,” the second boy said. “I don’t blame your brother. He tried to help us, but everyone started to turn on each other. Nothing worked. No running water, no food, only a few cars. It didn’t take long before everyone tried to kill each other.”
“What happened to your parents?”
“Dead, I figure, like Brandon’s parents, but I didn’t see anything. When those men came, my mom and dad hid me in an attic space in the garage. I never saw them again. I heard a lot of guns shooting, screaming, and then nothing.
“The men came into my house and tore it apart, and then they left. I was so scared. I didn’t leave the attic till the next day. When I did, I couldn’t find my parents. I looked everywhere, but didn’t find anyone except for Brandon. I’m guessing they killed everyone else and burned them in the park.”
“I’m so, so sorry,” Sebastian said. “What’s your name?” he then asked as he stepped over and sat on the bed next to the boy.
“My name is Luke,” he said. His eyes showed the pain of the events he had witnessed.
“You don’t have to be afraid anymore, everything will be okay now.”
“No it won’t. That’s the same thing your brother told all of us. That’s the same thing that my dad told me. You know what? It wasn’t okay. Your brother left us and my dad was killed by those monsters. So don’t tell me it will be okay. I might only be eleven years old, but I know that none of us are safe anymore. It will never be safe again!” Brandon said loudly from the doorway. He had returned without either noticing and had overheard their conversation.
“I can say this,” Sebastian told the boys. Everything has changed, but I will do whatever I can to protect you both. I promise you that.”
“I don’t believe you, you’re just like every other adult. You lie!” Brandon snapped back.
Sebastian’s only experience with children had been his niece and nephew, but that too was limited. He wasn’t sure how to handle a child who had witnessed such horrors. His last attempt to soothe Brandon felt contrived. He wasn’t lying when he said he’d do whatever he could to protect them, but he knew he’d have to prove himself to these two boys. Words were not enough, he’d have to show them that not everyone in the world was bad.
Unknown military installation
Gordon’s first full day as a member of the Children of God had started early. His restless sleep ended with the loud bangs of a drum in the barracks. His agreement to join them gave him one benefit: He no longer was kept locked up. They had transferred him to the men’s barracks; the large room was similar to the squad bay–type barracks he was accustomed to in the Marine Corps. Each side of the long rectangular room was lined with bunk beds. He shared the barracks with other followers. While they readied themselves for what would be a long day filled with physical labor, he attempted to chat with his “roommates.” Everyone shied away from him, though; no one would even look him in the eye. Failing to get any particulars about his new home from them, he was determined to keep his eyes wide open once he left the barracks. Any detail could be the linchpin in his escape. But escaping with Hunter was complicated because Hunter was housed somewhere else.
The unrecognizable mountain range to the west had a steep slope that almost touched the main entrance of the base. The mountains to the southeast were high and sloped gradually down, with the western part of them almost connecting to the western mountain. From the air it would have looked like an upside-down horseshoe with the base being positioned near the bottom. If he could get Hunter, Gordon knew he’d head south over the sloping hills. There he thought he’d run into the interstate.
• • •
His first working party consisted of filling and stacking sandbags. As thoughts of escape processed through his mind, his pace slowed down.
“Keep moving!” one of Rahab’s men yelled to him. The man was one of the guards he had met just after his capture.
Gordon didn’t acknowledge him, he just focused on the task and picked up his tempo. The job he and his fellow workers had been given was to reinforce the base entry. This told Gordon that even Rahab felt vulnerable. Also, the fact that he and the others were being forced to work under the watchful eyes of several armed men told him that they weren’t truly part of Rahab’s following but slave labor.
“Do you work like this every day?” Gordon whispered to the man next to him.
The man didn’t look at Gordon; he kept right on grabbing the sandbags in the pile behind him and placing them like bricks.
“What the hell? Is everyone here deaf and dumb?” Gordon rhetorically asked louder.
“Please be quiet and just work,” the man whispered while still working. He kept his gaze away from Gordon.
“Why? Why can’t we talk, if we’re part of their group?”
The man ignored Gordon again.
Now frustrated, Gordon spoke a bit louder. “Hey, buddy, unless you answer some of my questions, I’ll just keep talking to you and get us both in trouble.”
“Fine, later tonight after dinner. Volunteer for the working party,” the man said, still not looking at Gordon.
“Good, I will,” Gordon answered, then asked, “What’s your name?”
“Derek. Now shut up and get back to work.”
USS Makin Island, off the coast of Coos Bay, Oregon
Barone stared at the map of Coos Bay that hung on the wall in the briefing room. Red circles populated the map showing target areas for the ships to moor and strategic locations for his group to set up. His recon teams had reported back that the port was abandoned save a few people who were camped out there. The port was large; it stretched fifteen miles around the city of North Bend and Coos Bay. The deepest mooring areas were all right next to residential areas and the city of Coos Bay. Bringing the ships in covertly would be impossible. Barone knew that he couldn’t start a new country without people, and so he would go in as a liberator. He kept a few teams back to lock down the port facilities they would need and to meet with what city elders they could locate. He wanted to limit his contact with the civilian population until he’d properly established a beachhead, so he wanted to recruit the local leaders to keep the civilians calm.
One by one, his command team entered the situation room and sat down. By now his team had become accustomed to his style of briefing: blunt and direct.
Turning around, he stared at each man as they sat waiting. All looked rested, as if they’d just come back from a long leave. The addition of the families and loved ones on the ship had helped with morale. The stress and concern about their whereabouts and condition had been put to rest upon the Marines’ landing in Southern California over a week ago. With the elimination of the group that had attempted to assassinate him, Barone felt more empowered to walk the passageways alone. He knew that some men might still hold misgivings about their new mission, but he aggressively moved to temper them. He pledged to retrieve the families of those men who lived elsewhere upon their landing in Coos Bay. His plan called for teams dedicated to their retrieval no matter where they were. Another item he had promised and knew he must deliver on was to reward them with gold. He hadn’t really planned on how he’d get that gold, but when they settled into their new home that would be a priority.
He too felt more at ease in some ways. Of course, not a day went by without thoughts of his son, but having his wife and daughter with him brought great solace. The look on his wife’s face when he broke the word of Billy’s death was worse than he’d imagined. The aging lines that already etched her face seemed to grow deeper as the reality of never seeing her son again sank in. Maggie had hidden herself away in his stateroom for two days but then emerged with new purpose. She had many questions for him but never assigned blame for Billy’s death. After dutifully following and supporting him all these years while he served in the Marines, she had hardened herself and knew that this life brought great risk. She knew that Billy had died doing something he loved, and even though his death came during an upheaval in their country, she knew he died fighting for what he believed in.
Still scanning the happy faces of his men, Barone decided he would take a more personal direction in this briefing. Today, he wanted to have a conversation about where they were, not physically but where the men’s hearts were in this new mission he had brought them on. He walked over to the side of the room, grabbed a metal folding chair, and placed it in the front of the room with the back facing them. He straddled the chair and sat down.
Some of his men looked curiously at him as he did this. His signature briefings never had him sitting, and when they saw him sit, it was never this casually. Since his son’s death he had grown unpredictable, so seeing him do this made some of them a bit uncomfortable.
“Good morning, gentlemen.” Barone’s tone was remarkably sanguine.
In unison, all the men in the room replied, “Good morning, sir.”
“We’ve come a long way. Not just in miles but in the transition from men fighting for our country to pioneers of a new land. I know now that on that day weeks ago when I assembled some of you and told you of my plan to come back to California instead of the East Coast, not all of you were one hundred percent behind me. I understood then as I do now how difficult it would be for you to voluntarily join me. Some of you, I’m sure, were against it but felt you had no choice. Most of you were concerned but didn’t know what else to do. Believe me, I get it. I don’t want to beat a dead horse here, but for those of you who were reluctant because you felt we were abandoning our country, I would ask you this: What does country mean to you? I want you to process that question because I asked it of myself over and over.
“At first when I heard about the attacks, I went into gung-ho mode and vowed revenge upon those who did it. However, when I finally, truly understood the devastation that had occurred and the foolish mission the new president was sending us on, I reflected. I met with some of you and started our plans for the recovery effort.
“It was in that briefing that a young intel officer raised his hand like a schoolboy and asked this question: ‘Sir, if nothing is working at home, who is taking care of our families?’ That question alone struck me because I didn’t have a good answer. I retired to my tent after that first briefing and reflected. I thought about my own family and who was taking care of them. For years the Marines have been tasked with being the tip of the spear in protecting the United States from its enemies. I am a proud Marine who has served many years and risked my life for my country many times. But before, I knew my family was safe. I knew they were being taken care of. Now it’s different. Do you understand what I’m saying, gentlemen?” Barone asked, his tempo increasing slightly.
“As I sat in my hooch after that first briefing I decided that my country is not my government. I knew then that we fight for the safety and freedom of our families and the people. Only twice in the country’s history have fighting men been away while their loved ones were under attack at home: the American Civil War and the Revolutionary War. What was different in those times was there were standing armies and you knew your enemy. Now the enemies at our doorsteps are starvation, pestilence, and the mob. I have been questioned and even attacked for my actions. I accept that, but what I’m not is a traitor.”
Barone stood now, taking his normal towering posture. “We swore an oath to defend our country. I go back to what it means, our country. To me, it means the people, but most importantly, our families. What have I accomplished if I go and attempt to fix what can’t be fixed? I accomplish nothing. The traitors to their own people are the fools who listen to orders that do more harm than good. So I ask those who have challenged me, would they have gone and allowed their families to starve? Really? If a man knowingly leaves his family to die, he is not a man of honor but a mindless fool,” Barone said. “I know you didn’t want to go through this again, but I have never given anyone except those few the true time line and reasons why we are where we are.
“After I thought that day, I attempted to contact someone of higher authority. Because of the attacks and the catastrophic failure of all the infrastructure nationwide, I couldn’t reach anyone but a general at an Air Force base in Oklahoma. I knew then the sheer damage done. Gentlemen, my decision has created many different consequences, some bad; but overall we now have our families next to us.”
Barone paused and looked at his men, all still staring wide-eyed at his openness. “Many people, specifically civilians, think of us as robots, that we are somehow emotionless and only listen to commands and mindlessly obey. When I joined the Marines many years ago, I did so because I wanted to defend my country. I ask again, what is country?” He looked at each man’s face, seeing if somewhere in their expressions they were processing this question. “Gentlemen, I feel vindicated after having seen with my own eyes the damage and chaos in San Diego. If I hadn’t made that tough decision, we’d be spinning around our anchors off the coast of Virginia. Now we are sitting off the coast of Oregon about to take another turn in our new lives. Out there offers us a chance to rebuild a country and to help those Americans who want to join us. The old way is gone, taken from us. We didn’t ask for it, but it happened.”
Again he paused. This time he looked back at the map on the wall. On it he saw a new world for him and his men. Turning back to face them, he drew his speech to a close. “Men, I will finish my little explanation by telling you something that I’ve never mentioned before. When I spoke to that Air Force general over seven weeks ago, he explained to me what had happened and commanded that we follow standard operating procedures by departing Afghanistan and heading back east. I asked him about our families out west and what was being done to help them. He explained that he wasn’t sure about our families back in California because a lot of communications were down and almost nothing was working.
“I wasn’t satisfied with his answer, so I again stressed the point about finding out about our families. He then pointed out what he called the ‘fact’ that we were Marines and our obligation was to our government. I paused when he said that, ‘our government.’ No, I thought, our obligation was to our country. I could hear the frustration in his voice, and this is where he made everything clear to me. He said, ‘Colonel Barone, the priority right now is not taking care of the people, it’s government continuity.’ This statement told me everything I needed to know to make my final decision.”
He grabbed the chair he had been sitting in and put it back. The room was very still. He took his place in front of the room again and said, “Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, let’s dive into the briefing.” His tone had gone back to his typical professional and direct tenor.
The briefing went on for approximately thirty minutes as he explained that his recon Marines had located safe mooring for all the ships. He covered in detail his plans for incorporating the civilian leadership at some levels, but they would not have any real operational control.
He then discussed with them his long-term plan of making their way to Salem, the capital. There he wanted to establish his own seat of government. The task ahead would be tough, but Barone knew exactly the advantage he had. Even though he had lost a significant percentage of both battalions along the way, he had been able to replenish a lot of the losses from all the bases back in the San Diego area. His force now stood at more than four thousand combat-tested Marines with more than twelve hundred naval personnel. He had tanks, dozens of light armored vehicles, dozens of helicopters, half a dozen jump jets, over one hundred Humvees, dozens of artillery guns, thousands of rifles, millions of rounds, and tons and tons of potable water and food. Barone had a force to be reckoned with and he knew it. The two MPS ships they had taken from Diego Garcia were not included in the count. Once they landed in Coos Bay they’d be able to see what bounty was hidden in those ships’ hulls.
Barone assured his men that no harm would come to civilians unless they threatened his force. He knew that in order to establish a new country he would have to win the hearts and minds of the people. As he paced the room answering his men’s questions, one was posed that many hesitated to ask but all wanted to know the answer to.
“Sir, what are we prepared to do about the remnants of the U.S.?”
Barone stopped pacing, looked directly at the Marine who’d asked the question, and responded forcefully, “We mean them no harm, so if they wish to do us harm we will defend ourselves. I have to admit, though, it’s now over seven weeks since the attack and I can’t imagine what force is left of the U.S. that can be effectively deployed. Some of you who went ashore saw for yourselves the chaos and anarchy. Where was the government, much less the military? They’re hunkered down taking care of themselves. So what we’re doing is no different than what they’re doing. I don’t expect much resistance now from what is left of the federal government. I hope that answers your question, Captain.” Barone finished and looked at the young officer, who nodded back. He looked at each face; these would be the faces he’d create a new country with. With no more questions to be answered, he closed the briefing with one final statement. “Men, before I dismiss you, I want to say thank you. Thank you for believing in me, thank you for letting these ships reach our families. Together, we will make Operation Rubicon a success and build a new country.”
Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado
“General Baxter, now is the time to continue forward with our mission to Portland. I will be leading it. Please put together a team and make all arrangements,” Cruz said to his secretary of defense.
Both men were relaxing in Cruz’s office, a large room built for the commander in chief to be used for just this type of circumstance.
“Sir, can I ask you what your thoughts are on the president’s status?”
Cruz chuckled then answered, “Sorry for the impolite laugh, but I had to laugh because of the coincidence of the question. You see, earlier today, the first lady asked me that identical question.”
Baxter just looked at Cruz; he didn’t respond to his comment but again asked a similar question: “Mr. Vice President, do you think he’s dead or alive?”
“General Baxter, at the moment, I don’t know how to be quite honest. Between you and me, I would say my friend’s chances are dimming with each passing day. This doesn’t say we stop looking. But we can’t hold off on his plan of going to Portland to get a new capital up and running. I agree with the president. We must show that the federal government is here and doing something. It’s time to leave the bunker and take some real action.”
“Agreed, sir. I’ll get working on that ASAP.”
“How long before we can be ready to depart?”
“Give us a week, sir. Our advance team is still in Portland in a secured location. They’ve made contact with the governor in Salem. So a week should be all I need to make sure your trip out there is safe.”
Baxter closed his leather binder and stood up, but Cruz stopped him. “Hold on, General.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sit down, please.” Cruz pointed back to the seat his secretary of defense had just been sitting in. “Do you drink at all?”
“Yes, sir, I do. I have to admit I haven’t really enjoyed a drink since the attacks last month,” Baxter said. He sat upright in his chair, a bit apprehensive.
“I have some quality sipping tequila, will that do?”
“Sure, that sounds fine, thank you.”
Cruz walked to a cabinet against the far wall. The furniture in the office was from the 1990s, the last time the bunker had been renovated. He opened the top cabinet door, pulled out a bottle, and grabbed two stemmed glasses.
“I have to laugh now because Brad gave me a hard time about all the luggage my family had when we joined him in Florida. I told him that I had some nonnegotiables. Plus, I didn’t know if I’d ever go home again. I wanted to make sure I had some things that I enjoyed and that reminded me of a different time. That’s this here,” Cruz said, holding up the bottle. “If you haven’t had it before, I can tell you, it’s magnificent.”
“I’m not familiar. What is it?” Baxter asked. He squinted to see if he could read the label as Cruz poured the tequila into the glasses.
“This is AsomBroso La Rosa reposado tequila,” he said as he handed the general a glass. Cruz then held his glass up, swirled it, and continued. “It’s aged over eleven months in French oak barrels used once for vintage Bordeaux. It’s one of the best, if you ask me.” He then brought the glass to his nose, closed his eyes, and sniffed. “Aah, perfection.”
Baxter watched Cruz’s performance. He’d never seen the vice president like this. It was interesting to him to witness what people found pleasure in. While he didn’t hold tequila in the same regard as Cruz, he did like a good drink. He too smelled the tequila, but he thought it smelled like any tequila. Without waiting another second, he took a sip. The liquid felt good against his lips and mouth. The slight burning in his throat was a welcome feeling. He instantly felt more at ease.
“It’s good, right?”
Looking at the glass, he answered, “Yes, sir, it is.”
“Good, good.” Cruz sat down after taking a sip himself. He relaxed into the chair and opened up on why he wanted to have this more casual meeting. “General, you’re aware of what happened before with Conner and Griswald. You see, I don’t want us to have that type of situation. Maybe we can prevent that collision of ideals if we really get to know one another. I took the liberty of looking at your personnel file. Very impressive, but I’d have to say that we as people are more than profiles or files.” Cruz closed the folder and tossed it on his desk.
Baxter didn’t know what to say. He looked at the glass he held, now resting on his leg. He took a quick sip to give him a few more seconds to think.
“Sir, I’m not much of a conversationalist, so I’ll tell you straight. I agree that we need to prevent another situation like before. If assurances are what you need from me, you have them. I’m on board with everything. I’m a dedicated officer and will give you my counsel when asked, but when given an order, I will comply,” Baxter finally said. When he finished he took another drink.
“Good, glad to hear that. Like you, I’m a team player. My family came to this country as immigrants from Cuba. I grew up seeing my parents go from struggling to prospering. This country saved me in many ways, and this is why I intend on saving it. I won’t just roll over and let her die. I will fight and do what is necessary to ensure she rises again. Knowing that you’re with me makes it easier. Our first step toward getting her back on her feet is to let the people know we’re still here.”
“Sir, sorry to interrupt, but what if we don’t find the president before you leave? What do you plan on telling the governor?”
“Aha, the eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the room. What do we say about the president? For the moment, I think we should just keep it quiet. Say that he’s back in the bunker to remain safe.”
“So, just stick with the story we told him about why we never made it out there at first?”
“Yes, no need to panic them any more. Just tell them after the attack on the president we feel it’s better to keep him here.”
“That’s easy to do for now, but you do know that eventually we’ll have to make a decision the other way.”
“Don’t remind me. I think about it all the time. Right now, it’s not critical that we inform anyone of anything. Let’s just keep moving forward with his plan and keep the hunt for him active.”
“Yes, sir,” Baxter said, then took a final swallow of his drink.
“Here, have another,” Cruz offered.
Holding his hand out to cover the top of the glass, Baxter said, “I’m good, but thank you. I still have a few more hours left on the clock.”
Cruz smiled and poured a bit more in his glass.
“If that is all, sir, I need to go.”
“Sure, you’re excused.”
Baxter stood up holding his binder and headed for the door. As he turned the handle Cruz asked a final question.
“General, do you think the president is still alive?”
Baxter turned and answered, “Yes, sir, I do.”
Unknown military installation
Gordon couldn’t find the appetite to eat the MRE he had been served. He had only gotten as far as ripping open the thick plastic bag and removing its contents. Laying before him were cardboard packaged “food-type” products. It had been years since he had eaten one, and his memory told him it wasn’t a pleasant experience. He picked up the largest packet and read the box it was in: “Spaghetti with meat sauce.” His stomach ached with hunger, but the slight depression he was experiencing prevented him from opening the container. As he glanced around the room, the waning sun’s light made it hard for him to make out each person’s face. By a rough estimate he counted almost forty people. People like him, imprisoned by Rahab. He asked himself how each one of them had ended up here. How did they fall prey to this man? Were they just looking for food and came into contact with him? Were they attacked like he was?
Whatever the reason, they all had the same purpose, escape. Rahab had done a good job at segregating everyone. Gordon knew there were women because he saw them working on the base too. However, that was as far as contact came with them. The women slept and ate in different locations. He already knew the outcome of the children, sent to live with Rahab and his inner circle; there he assumed they were being brainwashed and indoctrinated.
When the guard asked for volunteers for the working party, Gordon promptly raised his hand. He wasn’t sure what to expect or what type of work he’d be doing, but if it meant he could find critical information, he was up for it.
One of the guards instructed Gordon and the other volunteers to line up against the wall. Gordon made sure he stood next to Derek. The guard came by, tapped each one, and gave them a location. When he tapped Derek’s shoulder the guard asked, “Latrines?”
“Yes, sir, I know what to do,” Derek said.
“I’ll help him,” Gordon spat out.
The guard nodded and proceeded down the line.
• • •
The guard didn’t say a word as they trekked across the darkening base to the makeshift latrines outside the male barracks.
One of Gordon’s unfavorable memories from the Marine Corps was doing latrine duty while on a training operation outside of 29 Palms. After leaving the Corps, he never imagined he’d be handling large quantities of human waste beyond changing diapers. The smell of feces filled his nostrils, causing him to cringe with disgust.
“So what do we have to do?” Gordon mumbled from behind the hand that covered his mouth and nose.
“Here,” Derek said, offering him a surgical mask to wear.
“Thanks,” Gordon answered, quickly placing the mask on his face. His first breath through the mask introduced him to the smell of lavender.
“Before you ask, during another working party I found some body sprays in a locker. The lack of decent hygiene has made this stuff come in handy. It especially helps for this duty.”
Gordon looked around; the sun’s rays were quickly fading behind the mountains to the west. He swiveled his head in all directions to look for the guard. Only he and Derek were there now.
“Where did the guard go?”
“I always pick this job because the guard never stays around. The smell might be bad, but it’s good for us. Plus, they take this time to go over there,” Derek said, gesturing with his head toward the female barracks.
Gordon looked in that direction; the female barracks was similar to theirs.
“They’re over there having sex with the women?”
“If you want to call rape sex, then yes,” Derek said as he opened a hatch to expose a fifty-five-gallon drum cut in half. He put on a pair of work gloves and carefully removed the drum.
The sloshing of the contents made Gordon feel nauseous for a moment. Once the drum was removed, Derek stopped and looked at him.
“Get over here and help me.”
A handle had been cut out near the top edge of the drum, making it easy to carry. Both men picked up the drum and started to walk very slowly toward the runway. Just ahead of them were two structures that resembled large Xs. Gordon had seen them the day before and was curious about what they were. They stood more than six feet tall with a three-foot separation between them. They were constructed with an almost black stained wood resembling railroad ties. At the top and bottom of each arm of the X were leather straps. Seeing those straps, Gordon knew they were for restraining people. He wondered if these had anything to do with Rahab’s ceremonies.
The sight of structures and their presumed use added to Gordon’s somber mood. They both walked slowly and steadily down one of the short runways toward the southern berm of the base. Gordon hadn’t been this far out, so taking advantage of the diminishing light, he looked around. Once they reached the berm they stopped next to a large pit and dumped the contents of the drum.
“Now you can see why I asked you to volunteer,” Derek commented.
“Yeah, I can. No one is around, and this gives us a chance to get a better perspective of the base.”
“I know you have a lot of questions, but let me give you a bit of sound advice first. Watch yourself here; these people are bad and will kill you without thinking twice. You saw those two large Xs over there, didn’t you? That’s where they execute people. So when I tell you to shut up, shut up.”
“I heard some screams the other night. Was that an execution?”
“Yeah, it was.”
“So what exactly is going on here?” Gordon asked with a pleading tone.
“The first thing you need to realize is that Rahab is a psychopath and his followers are a bunch of Kool-Aid drinkers who will kill for him. Be careful what you say or do, okay?”
“I will. How long have you been here?”
“Almost four weeks now. I came with a group from San Diego. We saw the signs for the main base. While we were driving there they attacked our cars. They killed two people in my group and took the rest of us prisoner.”
“You came from San Diego? Where abouts?” Gordon asked.
“Near downtown, but none of that matters now. What is important is that if you’re looking to get out of here, I want to go too but we have to play the game.”
“Here’s a problem I have. My son is here too. He’s being—”
“Yes, I know, Rahab has him. That complicates things a lot,” Derek said, interrupting Gordon.
“How many men does Rahab have? He told me over a hundred.”
“Oh, I would estimate almost fifty loyal followers. The rest he counts are people like us. He has about fifteen in his inner core; they are the same bunch of whack jobs that followed him before.”
“What do you mean by followed him before?”
“Rahab has been around preaching his insanity since before everything went to shit. He had a church or a better word would be a cult in San Diego. I first ran into him when he came before the city council to seek rezoning for a building in Claremont Mesa. We shot him down right after several abuse cases came to our attention.”
“Wait a minute, now I know where I know you from,” Gordon spoke up.
Derek didn’t respond, he just looked at Gordon, waiting for the answer to spew forth.
“You’re that gay guy who ran for mayor a couple years ago, aren’t you?”
“Why is it I’m the gay guy? I don’t say, ‘Oh wait, you’re the straight guy who did xyz.’” Derek shot back, clearly irritated.
“I’m sorry, but it’s not every day you see a gay Republican run for mayor of San Diego. It’s kinda like seeing bigfoot,” Gordon said, attempting a bit of humor.
“Do you want to know more about Rahab and this place or do you want to keep going with this?”
“I’m sorry, I really am.”
The sun finally dipped below the mountains to the west, creating an eerie orange glow in the sky.
Derek pulled out two headlamps and handed one to Gordon. “Here, put this on; we’re required to wear them at night.”
“What happens if we don’t?”
“Just put it on.”
“How do we get out of here?”
Derek turned on his headlamp. The light splashed across Gordon’s face.
“I don’t know. If it were you and me, I would say we make a run for it on a night like this. The guards usually keep themselves busy with the women, so we can pretty much do what we want. With your kid being here, I don’t know how we get him and then get out without being noticed.”
“Do you know anything about where they keep the kids?”
“As much as you. They sleep in the same building as Rahab and his council.”
“Who is this guy? Where did he come from?” Gordon asked.
“I’ll tell you more of what I know as we finish,” Derek said.
As both men walked, Derek explained what he knew about Rahab.
Rahab’s view of Christianity didn’t fit with any of the churches he attended in San Diego. One by one they asked him not to return. His deeply held views on the end of days turned many away from him. However, they did attract a few, and those few were as fanatical as he was. He eventually started his own ministry, and his church grew.
When Derek ran into Rahab that day before the city council, Rahab had already created a solid core of followers. The city council was set to vote to allow his rezoning when the stories of Rahab’s legal troubles were brought to light. Several people were suing him, and the local police were investigating him and his church for possible kidnapping and fraud. The council immediately changed course and denied his application. Rahab was able to avoid the legal trouble based on a few technicalities.
Knowing that he was now a target in San Diego, Rahab took his followers into the desert, just a few miles from where they were now. He set up a compound and kept his head down. His flock grew, but not by much. He took to the Internet like many did to preach his word of the end and the coming purge, as Rahab called it.
As Derek kept detailing what he knew, it triggered a memory for Gordon.
“I now remember reading about this guy. A few men sued him because they claimed their wives had been coerced into giving him their life savings,” Gordon said excitedly.
“That’s him,” Derek replied.
On their final return to the latrines, Gordon abruptly stopped at the X structures. His light illuminated the bloodstained wood.
“What happens here?”
“I’ve only seen it once. One of my staffers who had come with me was wearing a pink triangle necklace . . .”
“A what?”
“It’s a symbol for gay pride. Anyway, they found it. They asked him what it meant and he stupidly told them. Without hesitation they brought him here.” Derek pointed to the large X. He just stared at the ominous wood structure, its shadow long against the tarmac.
“Never mind, I get the picture,” Gordon quietly replied.
“No, you don’t. They tied him up and then Rahab came out. He said a few things out of his book and then plunged a large knife into Chad’s chest. It was awful.”
“Come on, let’s go,” Gordon said and stepped away from the X and Derek.
After a few steps he noticed Derek wasn’t coming. Gordon turned; he was holding the empty drum in one hand.
Derek was now touching the center of the X. His fingers were shaking as he ran them across the rough wood surface. Looking up at Gordon, he said, “You know what they call this place? They call it the ‘cleansing cross.’” He paused, his hand still touching the cross. “We can’t allow this to be our fate. We will find a way to get your son and get out of here.”