Awakening

[The Stig]

The building, right on the beach, was still new and not coated in an inch of grease like older seafood places tended to be. A cute waitress took them to their table and they settled in. Miller had just begun scanning the menu when Barnes suddenly excused himself and went to the washroom.

When he returned he give Miller a smile and a wink. “Just that easy. We’ll know something in a few hours”. Within a few minutes a man walked out of the mens room and left. Clearly the thumb-drive had just been transferred. Had anybody else been watching it would have likely been equally obvious to them what had transpired.

As they sat waiting for their oyster sandwiches to arrive, Miller was worried. He didn’t want to push Barnes too far or too fast, a classic mistake of spymasters. Having an inexperienced operative is already risky; asking them to go beyond their comfort zone is quite another. Many a spy have been caught by asking one too many questions or attempting to purloin one too many documents. On the other hand, Barnes was starting to tread in dangerous waters. He had already slipped up by using Miller’s last name in front of Cecil back at the warehouse.

As Barnes was describing the effects a hurricane five years had on the area five years previously, Miller was feigning interest and doing mental calculus. He was in a precarious position as he realized that backing off from Barnes might result in hurt feelings and resentment. It’s a short hop from there to turning Miller in. But if he didn’t rein in Barnes, there was a really good chance he’d go too far and get them all shipped off to a camp.

“About three to five blocks in from the beach were totally wiped out” declared Barnes as he waved his hand to emphasize his point. “Sad stuff. Hundred year old homes completed demolished. Pecan trees shredded. Just awful”.

The restaurant was good for a meeting like this. It was crowed enough that they didn’t stick out and noisy enough to prevent people from paying too much attention to their conversation. Miller had steered them to a back corner booth, which provided him a view of the entire dining area.

As the waitress delivered the food and pertly turned to tend to other tables Barnes continued on his monologue. “You see, people got plenty of warning but there’s only so much you can do to fight off the storm surge”

Miller nodded as he continued to mull over his next move.

“Let me ask you” said Miller after deciding his friend needed another lesson in spy-craft “how did you get the idea to send your deacon off to the less savory characters for the paperwork?” Nobody could hear them but he stayed intentionally vague.

Barnes smiled, obvious proud of himself. “Oh, just did some research on my own”

As he dipped his sandwich in some fantastically spicy mayonnaise based sauce Miller probed further. “Barnes, we both know you didn’t go to the Internet or local library for that information. Did the Deacon bring the idea to you?”

“No” Barnes replied cautiously, sensing Miller was going in a specific direction.

“Well then” Miller continued in friendly tones “did a little birdie sing it to you?”

“I see you aren’t going to let it go” said Barnes in a playful response. He could tell by the look in Miller’s eyes that he would not let the subject drop and that it was apparently serious. “I’ve been calling on a sick member at the hospice. Sad case really. This man is, well, connected to some colorful characters I suppose you could say. He’s shared interesting little antidotes from time to time.”

Rescuing a stray oyster from the sauce Miller continued. “So did you ask him straight out?”

“Geez man, do you think I’m stupid?” replied Barnes, hurt that his friend though he was a dolt. “it’s not like I declared I needed fake ID’s for a band of resistance fighters and could I pick some up at the grocery store. I got him talking one day about his exploits and led him in the direction of what I wanted to know”. In his hurt Barnes had gotten a little loud. Miller made clear from his facial expression that he might consider toning it down. It didn’t take Barnes long to pick up on the signal.

“I’m sorry, I’m just feeling a little defensive. This cloak and dagger stuff is all new to me”

Miller flashed a big smile, “and you are a fine understudy and have been doing a great job supporting our little project. Our success isn’t possible without the entire team contributing from each of their disciplines”. Miller’s was careful to speak in generalities while getting the point across. For as much as anybody knew they were discussing the implementation of software at an office building.

“I just want you to be careful. If we get sloppy the entire project can be shelved and the principals, of whom you are one, could be transferred to other branches. Next time just run the details of your proposal past management first. That’s all”.

Barnes nodded, still a bit crestfallen.

Miller wanted to be sure to not leave Barnes feeling like he failed. Agents who feel they need to redeem themselves with the boss get sloppy and overreach. “Without you, I can’t do my part of the project. You are central and I’m not just saying that. It’s just that the fewer people we involve the better.”

“I hear you” said Barnes with a forced smile.

“I’m not kidding. You have been doing fantastic. Without you my group is dead in the water.”

With that they went back to small talk and Barnes’s description of the hurricane damage. Miller stayed cautious but worked to ensure his friend was actually content. He didn’t want to leave a disappointed contact behind.

He finally got to enjoy his lunch and the fried oysters really were rather good.

****

DeMetrie, Reynolds and Lowry all toiled away at their menial farm jobs as the day wore on. Some days they’d be assigned to different crews and wouldn’t see each other until the time to drive home. Other days, they’d luck out and be on the same crew. This was one of those days.

“Mike” said Reynolds quietly, “I think me and Lowry have a good idea for another get together”. Get together was the phrase they used for an ambush on contractors. Normally Reynolds would have waited until they got back to their compound to discuss it, but he and Lowry had worked out the last final piece of the plan and the timing of the raid would be critical.

“Sounds good” replied the former Army captain. “Can it wait until tonight?”

“Yes sir” said Lowry. “But you’ll have to get us the day off tomorrow” he instructed with a sly smile across his face. A quick glance at Sam confirmed that they were serious.

DeMetrie sighed in fake resignation. “Ok, I’ll see what I can do”.

****

At the exact time Miller and Barnes were reorganizing some storage containers while they awaited the return of their new identification cards and paperwork, Cecil Davenport was at his office.

He had never heard of the Central Alabama Church of Christ Congress, and he had pretty much met everybody of importance from nearly every charitable organization within three hundred miles.

Digging out a directory of charitable originations in the area, Davenport eventually found a small listing for the CACCC. It appeared they were a legit but rather small organization out of Montgomery, Alabama. Unlike most other listings involving charitable organizations, this one did not contain pictures of the important members. He’d have to dig further.

As he dialed the phone number for the CACCC he couldn’t help but think something was strange. He knew most everybody involved in charity work in the area and it wasn’t likely that someone from two hundred and fifty miles away would come this far for handouts. There were plenty of charity groups closer to Montgomery. Fortunately Montgomery laid just inside the calling region for allowable phone calls.

“Hello” came the elderly voice at the other end of the phone.

“Yes mamm. This is Cecil Davenport from Gulf Coast Charitable Brethren Association. We’ve got a man named Miller applying to work for us. Claims he’s moving down here. Can you recommend him for the good work?” he said in his best southern gentleman impression.

There came a pause at the other end of the phone so long that Cecil almost thought they’d been disconnected. Finally the voice replied, “Sure do honey. Good man and hard worker. Honest as the day is long”

Cecil continued the charade. “Fantastic. Always glad to add another solider to the lord’s army down here. Just making sure we’re talking about the same man, can you describe Miller to me? Don’t want to fall for some scam you know.”

There was a chuckle from the other end of the phone. “Goodness no sweetie. He’s white, about six feet tall and has thick brown hair”.

“Perfect. That’s him” came Davenport’s reply. “Thank you for your time Mrs…….”, He paused, clearly trying to draw out her last name.

“Klepper, sweetie” came the elderly voice. “Themla Klepper”.

“Thank you manm”. As he laid down the receiver, Davenport tipped back in his overstuffed office chair. Something wasn’t right to his busybody senses.

[The Stig]

A couple hours later, as Miller and Barnes were just about finished moving around some supplies, a man came to the warehouse door. Barnes immediately saw the man and met him in the office. After a brief conversation the man handed Barnes a manila envelope and left.

Miller cringed. It wouldn’t take a super-sleuth to figure out some sort of information had just been delivered to Reverend Barnes. It could have just as likely been church bulletins or an announcement of a fish fry, but Miller preferred to generate as few questions as possible.

Barnes was clearly proud of himself as he handed the envelope to Miller. Miller stepped inside the small bathroom, out of site of the windows and quickly tucked the information into the back of his shirt. Since his shirt was tucked in it provided a place to store information temporarily.

“Aren’t you going to check it” inquired Barnes.

Miller pulled his light jacket on over his shirt to further hide the envelope. “Nope. I just have to trust your man did his job right. Anybody who’s peering in the office window just saw a man arrive and hand you an envelope. Might be the handoff of visitor information cards or it could be microfiche of the JFK assassination. But when you turn and handed it to me, someone not involved in your church, it raises suspicion further. We’ll have to do a little 101 lesson on information passing when we get a chance.”

Miller didn’t want Barnes getting discouraged again. “No worries. You did good stuff here. This will help us do what we need to do much, much easier. And that last shipment of equipment was spot on. I’m glad we listened to your suggestion to use this place.” He figured a little vanity might keep the reverend turned underground freedom fighter happy.

“Thanks John” said Barnes “I appreciate that”.

As Miller prepared to leave he reminded Barnes he wouldn’t be back next week so that suspicion wouldn’t be raised. He also made Barnes recite the emergency number he had the minister memorize in the event of dire emergencies.

They shook hands and Miller made his way to the truck. He did a subtle but quick scan of the surrounding area and saw nothing. Within minutes he was on his way back north. Within a few more minutes Cecil returned to his office after observing all of this behavior and picked up the phone.

Something wasn’t right and he aimed to let his friends in the government know about it.

****

Werner and Caddy reviewed all sorts of operational details as they finished their nightcap. It was a call and refrain session where Werner would inquire about a specific subject and Caddy would supply the needed information. Then Caddy would do the same in reverse.

After a quarter hour of information sharing Werner interjected regarding the identification checks scheduled for a couple of days.

Caddy quickly reviewed a couple of pages of notes. “Looks like we’re all set” came the gruff reply. “Got the teams assembled to go to the three big employers all at the same time so they can’t swap notes. Each time is assigned and the response squad will be on alert in the event of trouble at one of the places.”

“Good” replied Werner. “We need someone to go out East. Chasing down a couple of loose ends and interviewing some elderly folks at their farms. Suggestions?”

Caddy chuckled and offered up Rick. The man had taken non-stop verbal abuse since he and his crew were found tied up and painted the previous evening. Again Werner replied “Good. This guy just flat isn’t working out. Put him on shit details for a while. Maybe he’ll quit.”


Caddy mostly agreed that Rick likely didn’t have what it took for a leadership role, but he was a good solider that he didn’t want to waste. “Rick’s a good solider. He might not be ready for a section leader role but we shouldn’t crap all over him. He can still generate revenue and get the job done as a troop.” For being a life long solider, Caddy was a surprisingly good businessman.

Werner acquiesced and moved on to other topics. As their conversation was winding down Werner made a comment that actually took Caddy by surprise.

“You know” he said thoughtfully “in some ways I wouldn’t blame people for wanting to fight back. I wouldn’t want to be told what to do”.

Caddy merely grunted a response.

[The Stig]

Hardee Park was built from donations given by a local real-estate man who had died and left a large sum of money to the City of Shelton. The park had been built in a large, bowl shaped depression that had once been the site of a factory. Lightly tree covered hills nearly surrounded the entire park

Like any other park, in any other rural city, Hardee park offered a little bit of everything; walking trails, gazebo, football field, skateboard area were among some of the amenities built with Mr. Hardees money. There was also a brick building in the center of the large park for a snack bar, offices and public restrooms.

As the birds and animals began to stir in the light mist the first jogger of the day carefully drove his car down the winding entranceway to the facility. He intended to get in a jog before his day of business meetings down on the coast. Dawn was a good time since the park was usually deserted until later in the morning.

He began stretching against the side of his car before realizing he needed to use the facilities. It was as he walked towards the office building that he realized in the dull gray light of the dawn sunlight something wasn’t right.

It didn’t take long to realize that vandals had ransacked the office complex area. Windows were busted out, trash-cans overturned, benches broken and paint splattered all over the concrete. Most troubling was the huge banner planted in the middle of the football field on large posts. It read: Aperture Consulting: Contractors Go Home” in large hand painted letters. It was obvious someone was sending a message to the contractors.

Within twenty minutes a truckload of contractors and sheriffs deputies had responded to the scene to investigate. Werner had dispatched the six men to investigate the scene, find any evidence that might lead to the vandal’s location and generally make a show of force. His immediate feeling was this was the work of some teenagers.

As the four contractors and two deputies walked the park the squad leader got an initial statement from the jogger who was then quickly escorted out of the now closed park.

For ten minutes the men stopped around the bowl of the park looking for anything that could be helpful. Mostly they found a mess. These men were used to fighting, not doing amateur police work. The lightly chilled air and the mist that stubbornly hung in the air provided a strange sense of eeriness to the still morning.

“Alright boys. This is a waste. Round up and lets do a sweep around the hillsides. Then we’ll head back”. His men, who had loosely gathered around their section leader nodded their agreement and began to disperse. All of them wanted to be back at City Hall, not walking in a park.

It was as the men were turning away from the section leader that the first shot cleanly dropped one of the men where he stood. All the contractors heard was the crack of a rifle shot bouncing around and reverberating off of the low hills that surrounded them. Two more shots rang out, one of them resulting in a contractor falling to the ground with a mortal head wound.

The remaining four men had scattered. One found slight refuge behind a metal trashcan. Two others scattered inside the building. The section lead broke and tried to run the twenty yards back to the truck. All he accomplished was dieing tired as two rounds, in quick succession, punched into his back. Before the gunfight was over he would bleed out and die in a parking lot.

The man behind the trashcan fared little better. While the small structure, smaller than a post box, offered some concealment it provided no cover to protect him from fire. While he desperately scanned the hills he heard the rifle rounds starting to impact the thin sheet-metal walls of the trashcan. The third round pierced the trashcan and the man’s upper chest. As he attempted to conform to the small shape of trashcan another round found it’s mark ending the life of another of Werner’s men.

In the seconds it took for the other four men to be removed from the fight, the two contractors who took refuge in the brick office building tried to figure out a plan to survive the ambush. It didn’t take long to realize their best bet was to hold out and await reinforcements. One of them had already radioed headquarters and support would only be delayed by ten minutes at the most.

In their hurry to find cover they had gotten lucky and crashed through an unlocked door into an office. They could hear rifle rounds pinging off the brick façade of the building, which served to keep their heads from poking out any of the two available windows. Several minutes pasted before the rifle fire stopped and rescue seemed to be only minutes away.

What they failed to notice was a small package in the corner of the office, which was tethered by wires to a small, ominous, looking black box. The small package was affixed to a plastic two-liter bottle containing some thick brown substance. As one of them worked up the courage to gingerly peek out the windows the other suddenly noticed the object perched on a couple of boxes of paperwork.

Just as the contractor started to scream to his partner the item exploded with a tremendous roar. For the contractors, the world went dark.

[The Stig]

Before the echo of the last shot Reynolds, Lowry and DeMetrie were disassembling their warm AR15 rifles and placing them in small canvas knapsacks. Dusting the leaves and twigs from their clothes each made his way to a small motorbike that had been hidden along the trails. Within minutes each had traveled away from the park to avoid being ensnared in a cordon.

To avoid suspicion they all took several short routes to a heavily wooded area where they began traveling overland towards a specific rally point. Within ten minutes from the first shot being fired they linked up outside a small clearing.

“Well, that was entertaining” declared Lowry, slightly out of breath from the excitement of the ambush and ride through the thick woods.

“Entertaining yes, but also far to risky to attempt again” stated DeMetrie. “We best get going it’s a long ride back to the farm”.

The three men nodded in agreement and resumed their trip through the woods.

****

In slightly less than nine minutes Caddy and Werner had rushed to the scene at Hardee Park with a small squad of men. The excited radio call from the contracts already warned them that shots had been fired and the scene could well be dangerous.

The ambushers had chosen their site well. There was only one road into and out of the park. It took Werner’s truck on a narrow and twisting path into the park. The driver, realizing he didn’t have to worry about the grass, gunned the large V8 engine and covered the distance to the body near the parked SUV by ignoring the roadway.

The second truck full of contractors dispersed immediately and began sweeping the hillsides surrounding the park. Werner, ever conscious of putting on a show, strode around oblivious to whatever danger may still exist while Caddy coordinated the men.

It didn’t take long for the contractors inside the building to be found. They were just regaining consciousness as Werner’s man found them.

“Sir” the contractor yelled out. “You want to see this”.

Werner and Caddy trotted the twenty yards to the building but pulled up short as they started to go through the entrance into the office area. Everything inside the room, including the contractors, was covered in a thick brown paste. Their efforts to scrape some of it off succeeded only in further smearing it around. The pungent order was nearly overwhelming.

“What in the hell is this?” bellowed Werner in amazement.

The contractor who had found the hapless men turned and blithely replied, “I think it’s cow shit sir”.

****

Werner was furious. This was the third direct attack on his men, and besides the financial cost to his company, the taunting nature of assaults only infuriated him further.

“These twits are making us look idiotic” screamed Werner, as he slammed his hand into his desk hard enough to knock over a can of soda. This, quiet naturally, only served to make him more angry.

“Exploding cow shit bombs? Really? This is the kind of crap we’re dealing with” he railed to nobody in particular.

Caddy calmly listened to the ranting but finally felt the need to interject. Sometimes Werner could get a little carried away. “The cow crap and painted chests were specifically to get under your skin. It’s working”.

Werner continued to fume and Caddy, wisely, decided to let him.

After a while Werner calmed down and they got to the serious business of how to deal with these attacks.

“These are obviously pros. The big banner and pranks aside, these are well executed, thought out attacks. You aren’t going to see that from an angry redneck with an SKS. Don’t screw around with these guys” advised Caddy.

Werner didn’t waste much time. “The ID checks start tomorrow we’ll leave that on schedule. I’m calling in reinforcements from our guys down on the coast. You’ll have at least twenty extra men this time tomorrow. You take your squad on some raids, we’ll work on the targets next. But make it clear to these locals that we aren’t screwing around.”

Barely taking a breath he continued on, “start roving patrols in Shelton and Lumberton. So far the attacks have been centered around Shelton, but lets assume everybody is as pure as the wind driven slush. We’ve been doing random checks, but I want restaurants, bars, stores and gas stations raided at random times to check out anybody inside.”
Caddy nodded and made mental notes as Werner continued to bark out orders. “Its time to play hardball. These rednecks want a fight, and that’s just what we can give them. Anybody, and I mean anybody who gives us the slightest whiff of trouble gets hauled off. Make it clear that these people need to get in line.”

“Looks like you’ve changed your tune from the other day when you told me to use restraint” taunted Caddy. There were times when he liked to push Werner’s buttons. When he was wound up was one of them.

Werner just charged ahead. “We’re going to nip this thing in the bud, before it gets out of hand” he declared. “Julie” he called out to the assistant who worked at City Hall. After she poked her head into the room he instructed her “make sure all the section leaders report in immediately. Make sure there’s food for everybody and make sure there is a night shift of administrative people ready. We’re going to be putting in some long hours”.

“Yes sir” she replied as she efficiently replied and turned to carry out her orders.

“We need to make a big display…send a message” stated Werner.

They got to work putting together a list of companies to raid and how they’d go about sending a message to whoever it was that was attacking them.

[The Stig]

“The cow shit bomb was a nice touch Lorwy” said Reynolds as they slumped into chairs to eat for the first time in hours. They had to leave in the middle of the night to get into place for their dawn raid on the contractors. Then the thirty-mile trip took several hours as they weaved and darted from one wood-line to the next. While they were satisfied with the results of the ambush, they were tired.

“What would have done if those dudes didn’t go in that office” asked Reynolds.

Not missing a beat, Lowry replied, “I left the door open so anybody with sense would have ducked in there once the shooting started. I almost set it off when they went in the first time but figured it would have been a nice going away present”

Reynolds and Lowry dissected the entire raid as they finished making their meal and started to eat. It soon became apparent that DeMetrie was saying little.

“What’s wrong Cap?” asked Lowry, “You haven’t hardly said a word”.

“These guys aren’t going to keep the kid gloves on much longer. What we did today was too risky, too exposed. The contractors are going to come at us in force and we can’t afford a single head to head engagement right now. We pulled off today because he had surprise. We’re going to have to be a lot more careful”. DeMetrie returned to his silence and contemplated his bowl of soup.
He brought a certain chill to the air. But he was right. The men were playing a very dangerous game and one mistake could be deadly for all of them.

****

Reverend Barnes stood in his office wondering what to do next. The words of Miller were ringing in his ears after the two contractors left his office. Just yesterday Miller was warning him of the seriousness of what he was doing, now he stood trembling after the two contractors came to visit him.

They had been very polite but also made it clear he was walking a tightrope. He was reasonably sure he’d be watched now. Miller was right, he was being too flashy and someone had reported him.

The cold reality now was that his efforts to help Miller would be even tougher and require more thought and deliberation. He was a man of principal and there was no doubt he’d continue to offer his support to Miller. He just realized he had to be careful.

What terrified Barnes the most was when one of the contractors mentioned “we’ve been getting reports of suspicious activities”. Someone had sold him out. Was it someone internally like one of the men helping him? Perhaps the criminals they employed for the ID? It didn’t really matter now. What did matter was that Barnes triple his efforts to be safe.

He pulled on his coat and decided to pay a visit to his friend Ron Little. While he knew the man had been involved in many bad things, probably even killing people, he genuinely liked the old man. Maybe he’d have something to cheer up the minister.

****

“He’s really not well” said the nurse. Barnes had checked in with her before visiting the dieing man. “He’s not long for this world. Tonight. Tomorrow. Who knows”.

“Good afternoon Ron” said Barnes as he tried to put on a cheery face.

In between coughs Ron was able to choke out, “come to loose more money?”

The sick man could tell something pressing was on the minister’s mind. After a couple minutes of small talk Ron asked what was on his mind. “Even a dying man knows when a friend is hurting”.

Barnes looked deeply into his friend’s eyes. It wasn’t quite sure why, but he felt a compelling need to bare his soul to the old man. It was a strange role reversal. Getting up he quietly shut the door to the room and sighed out a deep breath.

“Ron” he said hesitantly as he weighed the ramifications of what he was about to share. “It would seem I’ve tried to play a game I wasn’t prepared to play.”

“Reverend Barnes” said Ron, “you don’t think you could fool a fool did you? Tell me all about it”.

Taking another deep breath Tim Barnes proceeded to do exactly that.

****

It was several hours later, and early evening, when Reverend Barnes left the company of Ron Little. The dying ex-crime boss took the ministers confession in a bizarre reversal of roles. As the clock ticked in the remaining hours of his life, Ron relished being involved in one last caper.

Barnes grasped the key Ron had slipped him and wondered what items lay behind whatever lock fit it. He stopped at the front desk to make a quick phone call before getting in his tiny car to return to his office. He had a lot of paperwork to do as he had spent a great deal of time with Miller yesterday and Little today.

Fastening his seatbelt he glanced in the rearview mirror before backing out of the reserved parking spot. He was startled to see a man standing directly behind the car. He even gasped a small “oh” as he stomped the brake-pedal and turned to his side to see another man standing just outside his door.

Before he could turn off the ignition to his car, the man ripped open the door and forcibly yanked Barnes from his car. “Hey!” he exclaimed in complete surprise.

“Mr. Barnes” said the man who had been standing behind his car, “I’m afraid you’ll have to come with us.

“I’m not going anywhere” he started to protest.

Cutting him off with a wave of his gloved hand, the man continued. “We’re going to go for a little drive”. He gestured towards a large SUV that contained two other men. “Right this way please”.

The men proceeded to manhandle Barnes into the back of the truck. Suddenly he was situated between two men in the back, while the apparent leader sat in front. There was nothing Barnes could do as the truck pulled away.

[The Stig]

“You see Mr. Barnes, we’ve been getting some interesting reports about you” said the man in the front seat. The driver was driving slowly as he wove his way through the streets. Barnes tried to figure out where they were headed but couldn’t.

The leader of the men continued, “It would appear some of the men you’ve chosen to trust have not returned the favor”. The man let the statement hang. It was a common interrogation technique as it caused Barnes to question the loyalty of nearly everyone around him.

“You really should have chosen who you worked with more carefully”, said the man.

Driving on in total silence, within fifteen minutes they were in the parking lot of Falls Creek Christian Church. The man resumed the interrogation. “This isn’t going to be like the movies Mr. Barnes. There will be no witty back and forth or verbal sparing. You are going to tell me the names of everybody in your network of agitators or I am going to do very bad things.”

After ten seconds, which seemed like an hour, the leader nodded to the man to Barnes’s right. The man promptly delivered a crushing blow into Barnes side, doubling him over. As Barnes pitched forward in agony, the man raised his knee into the minister’s face. This move elicited a cry of pain.

“Ok Mr. Barnes” the man upfront continued. “I’ll give you thirty seconds to tell me the information I want.” So far, it was playing out exactly like the movies.

Barnes sat in terrified silence. Never once did being a turncoat cross his mind. Mostly he tried to figure out how to get away from these men. Sadly, he was just too inexperienced and the situation such that he stood no chance.

After the thirty seconds expired, the man in front nodded again. The man next to Barnes repeated the process and Barnes again yelled out in pain. Again, he remained silent.

Sighing, the leader said, “I had hoped this would be easier”. He nodded to the driver who exited the SUV and retrieved a box full of glass bottles from the stairway leading into the church. Disappearing into the church, Barnes alternated between fear, trying to figure out who turned him in and morbid curiosity.

It didn’t take long to see the giant fireballs pluming inside the church building. The flames immediately danced in the windows of the sanctuary. The driver quickly exited the building, with two glass bottles in hand. Holding the door open he lit the cloths dangling from the makeshift Molotov Cocktail in succession. Tossing them into the lobby area, it too was soon engulfed in flames.

The pal of smoke and burning materials clung to the driver as he got back into the truck. Barnes watched in anguish as the flames grew in intensity and began to consume his church.

“Mr. Barnes, you had your chance to do this the easy way. Perhaps now you will understand that we are serious men”.

The truck slowly pulled out of the driveway, but the driver made sure Barnes had a clear view of the church. Flames had already started to dance outside the roof as the building slowly incinerated.

Barnes was terrified. He really had no idea what to do.

****

By the time they pulled into in front of the warehouse building Barnes was fully terrified. The drive, made in perfect silence, only added layer after layer of tension to the ordeal. After hauling him, unceremoniously, into the building, they searched him but found nothing of value.

Tossing him into his office chair, and his belongings on the desk, the leader of the men resumed his interrogation. “Mr. Barnes, we’ve torched your church building, and one of your alleged friends has sold you out. Surely now, you’ll tell me what I want to know”.

For the third time Barnes attempted his most courageous pose and told them nothing. He thought it odd that while his life was being threatened, he remembered a famous line from a gangster movie, “never rat on your friends and always keep your mouth shut.”

Again sighing in resignation the leader said, “Alright Mr. Barnes. You’ve made your position clear. We’re going to tear this place apart. If we don’t find anything here, we’ll go to your parsonage. Between the two, we’ll find something useful. Once we do, if you’re lucky I’ll just drop you in a camp. But I wouldn’t count on that”.

Barnes didn’t want to contemplate what that meant.

The men proceeded to begin rifling through his desk and filing cabinets. The computer, a gift from a wealthy member, was booted up and one of the men began searching though files.

“This will take a while Mr. Barnes so relax. By the time we get back to your parsonage, the fire department will have nearly extinguished the embers of your former church building.”

Ten minutes into the search process the SUV’s car alarm began blaring. It startled all of the men as its loud siren made it’s whooping sound. Nearly instantly the leader dispatched one of his men outside to investigate.

“Henry, check it out” he said nodding his head towards the parking lot. “Be careful”.

Turning his attention back to Barnes, “Mr. Barnes, if this is some attempt at your rescue, I’m afraid your chances of only going to a camp have just been eliminated.”

“Holy shit” declared one of men who peeked out the window to check on Henry’s progress. “He’s down!”. Both he and the other man sprang up, one of them banging his knee on the desk, and began moving towards the doorway. They quickly but carefully began working down the short hallway that led to the parking lot.

“Mr. Barnes I’m tired of these games…..”

The bullet impacted his spine slightly below his neck. It was a lucky shot really as it cleanly clipped the man’s spinal cord. Like a marionette who’s strings had been cut, the former leader of the team of contractors crashed to the floor in a heap.

Barnes spun around just in time to see Miller entering the room from the door that opened directly into the warehouse. He wasn’t sure what had just transpired. He heard a dull thump but no gunshot.

“How?”

Before he could finish the sentence Miller cut him off. “No time now. Those other two will be back in shortly. Grabbing Barnes by the arm he began to pull him towards the rear exit of the building.

“Wait” said Barnes as he reached out to grab his belongings off the desktop. Securing them both men made their way to the back door of the building. Miller carefully opened the door and was relieved to see no contractors. He motioned Barnes over to some trashcans. “Get behind those for a second”, he instructed.

Miller ran to the side of the building and positioned himself in such a way that he could pop out from the corner without exposing much of his body. He really didn’t want to get involved in a gunfight.

He mentally counted to three and then rapidly, but under control, he popped out from behind the corner just enough to see the contractor, but only exposing a tiny bit of himself. Luckily, the man happened to be looking away from the corner. Miller dispatched three rounds from his suppressed pistol dropping the man in the alleyway. The contractor had only made it a third of the way down the length of the building so they might just get away with this.

Burning his fingers on the hot tube of metal of the silencer, he quickly unscrewed it as he moved to collect Barnes. Barnes, lost in the whirlwind of action, didn’t know what to think when Miller produced a motorbike from behind a tarp and some cartons.

“Had just enough time to push this into position before coming to get you. Now come on”.
Miller and Barnes hopped on the bike. With a single kick, Miller expertly started the bike and it’s small engine roared to life. He revved the engine and shot out down the alleyway like a rocket, leaving a trail of smoke and burning rubber.

The bike had made it almost a block before the remaining contractor turned the corner. Running full steam after hearing the bike engine, he turned the corner with enough forward momentum that his first several rounds went crashing into the side of the brick building beyond the warehouse. By the time he dropped to a knee to make accurate shots Miller had turned a corner and roared out of the line of fire. There was nothing the contractor could do.

They weren’t out of the frying pan yet. The remaining contractor would be sure to radio for help. And two men, riding a dirt bike in the early evening would be an odd enough sight to garner some suspicion.

Miller tried to get as much ground behind him as possible before he began traveling overland. It would be a long night’s right to get back to the farm.

[The Stig]

“Oh my god!” Exclaimed Barnes after they had ridden for nearly an hour. “What is happening?” asked the terrified and confused man.

Miller pulled the bike over into a small stand of trees and killed the engine. While he’d rather of been putting more distance between them and the coast, and any contractors following them, it was probably a good idea to regroup and make sure Barnes was under control.

“I’m afraid you were sold out by someone”, said Miller. “Tell me exactly what happened. Be quick but don’t leave out any details”.

After hearing the synopsis of what transpired it didn’t take Miller long to figure out what had happened. “Well Tim” he started “they knew enough to take you to the warehouse instead of the parsonage across the parking lot from the church. Whoever burned you knew you were up to something at that warehouse.”

Barnes nodded in agreement but still had no idea who it could have been.

“How much do you trust this old man at the nursing home?”

Barnes thought for a minute. “Well, I guess I don’t have a reason to trust him, but there’s something about him that makes me think he’d rather help someone like us than the government. That was his profession for a long time. Unless the key he gave me is a fake it would seem he’s trying to do what he can to help us”.

Barnes continued, “I’m just glad you showed up when you did. Thanks”.

Miller replied, “You were right to call when you did. I got to the church lot just as you were leaving. You being held by men in an SUV and your church being on fire were subtle clues that something was wrong.”

Even in the heart pounding terror of the situation Barnes found the strength to smile.

“You got luck really Tim” Miller continued. “They were trying to intimidate you so they took a roundabout way to the warehouse. I had just enough time to get into position by pushing the bike the last few blocks so they didn’t hear me. It was close”.

Miller was anxious to get going. “What city did you say this storage locker was in?” While Miller wasn’t keen on a wild-goose chase, nor did he trust Ron Little any, Barnes was insistent they go.

“Poplar” replied Barnes.

Miller consulted his paper map and prepared to go. “Alright Barnes, hold on. The ride is going to be bumpy. Hope this Little guy isn’t setting you up”.

Deep inside Barnes hoped the same thing.

****

It was fully dark and well into nighttime when they got to Poplar. The direct route wasn’t all that far, but between the circuitous route and overland travel through some marshy areas, it had taken longer than either man had counted on.

The found a spot just outside of the small town to stash the motorbike. Poplar had never been much of anything. There were a total of four streets in the town, two running north and south, two running as cross streets. Other than the post office, small gas station and forty houses there wasn’t much else. The one exception was the Quonset hut left over from WWII. Someone had bought it, brought it to town and had subdivided it into somewhat secure storage lockers. It had actually been a successful venture, one of the few in Poplar’s history. Between people in town, people in the rural areas and people from out of town, there was enough business to make the owner a tidy sum every year.

The biggest advantage the building had was distance from major population centers; the other was its semi-seclusion. It was located on the last lot on the edge of town, behind a small grain elevator. There was just enough traffic going into the building to prevent someone from noticing someone else was going in. Conversely, there wasn’t so much traffic that you would run into other folks inside the building.

Miller and Barnes walked quickly to the main door of the rigid sheet metal building. While only a door stood between you and the contents of the building, it was one of the most substantial doors Miller had ever seen. Barnes breathed a sigh of relief when the door handled turned and opened.

After finding the light switch, Miller and Barnes took a second to adjust to the low light of the building. It was set up simply, with a narrow hallway down the length of the building, and different rooms partitioned off to form nearly forty separate storage areas.

Barnes led them to the locker Little had told them about. “Here it is Miller” said Barnes. “Locker 12. I guess we’ll find out what Mr. Little thought was so important.”

Looking down, Miller saw what appeared to be the most substantial combination lock he’d ever seen. Miller knew nothing about locks, but he had to believe that the chances of cutting through or busting open this lock were nil. Little had chosen his stash place wisely.

“Ok Barnes,” asked Miller. “Now what?”

Barnes fell to a knee as Miller illuminated the dial with his flashlight. “No problems” smiled Barnes, “he made me memorize the number before I left. Was quite insistent”.

Quickly turning the dial Barnes worked the combination lock. He again held his breath as he gave the lock a yank. It opened up as if it had been recently oiled and ready for their arrival.

Opening the door both men quickly stepped inside the room that was barely wider than their shoulders. On both sides of the small isle were shelves running from floor to ceiling. They got progressively lower as the curved walls of the building sloped downward. There were various items on the shelves ranging from boxes of paperwork to canvas bags with old rifles and pistols. One bare bulb hung from the ceiling to almost illuminate the space.

But what Miller and Barnes were most interested in was the small canvas satchel near the back of the room. Little had been specific that this was what Barnes needed to get. Barnes quickly found the bag and opened it.

He literally gasped when he opened the bag.

“Holy lord” he exclaimed. “I can’t believe this”.

Miller leaned in to get a look at the contents Barnes was showing him and was impressed. Little had stashed away some items that might be of use to someone on the run. Or in Miller’s case, several someone’s.

After going through the contents Miller was able to find at least one hundred thousand dollars cash, a small revolver, a Browning High-Power pistol with a barrel threaded for a suppressor and several maps with odd notations. Of most interest to the men, however, were the various fake drivers licenses, complete except the picture. Obviously they were forgeries but fantastic ones, and as an extra bonus, up-to-date.

Deep at the bottom of the bag was a leather-covered notebook. Miller thumbed through it and found nothing but names and phone numbers. Each name had a small symbol, number or letter behind it.

“If I had to guess, I’d say these are important contacts, but I doubt the numbers match up. Most be in some sort of code. And these symbols mean something, but who knows what?” said Miller.

Smiling back up to his friend, Barnes was pleased to have the upper hand for once. “Ron said to pay attention to the name with three iron crosses behind it. It was the most important.”

“David Benner” said Miller after finding the name deep within the book. “And there appears to be notes associated with the map.”

Miller began placing the items back in the bag. “Lets clean this up and get out of here”.

Barnes put up no resistance to the idea. He was suddenly very tired and he knew they had several more hours of riding, at night, to get to the place Miller called the farm. Following Ron Little’s instructions, they skipped over the other items on the shelves, pulled the door shut and relocked the combination lock. Soon they were heading back off into the night.

What neither of them noticed were the small metal contacts at the top of the door. Had they noticed them, they might have followed the wires to the switch box and realized the door was wired to signal someone if it was opened. The wires ultimately led to a house a hundred yards away from the Quonset hut. Shortly after Miller and Barnes entered the room a small buzzer went off inside the drab kitchen.

The owner of the house simply got up, and made a short phone call to a nursing home on the coast.

After getting the call Ron Little leaned back against his pillows, smiled, and breathed his last breath knowing that he would help pull off one last caper.

[The Stig]

Clarissa Donner was worried. Today a host of contractors would descend on ClarMar Farms under the guise of double checking everybody’s identification papers. She wasn’t particularly worried about that process as she was reasonably sure her employees were legit.

What bothered her, and was keeping her up nights, was that a group of the contractors would most likely be wandering around her property. In general this bugged her anyway. This was her property and people just looking under tarps, and in drawers, was just plain nosy. But she worried at what else they might find.
They had already worked at making sure there would be nothing to find and setting up an inspection station of sorts out near the front of the house. This would help her father, Greg, to keep an eye on things from his usual command station, the front porch. The inspection station had tables, chairs and even power. Clarissa intended to try to manage the situation as much as possible.

She told herself not to worry and forced herself to go through her normal routine as her day started. After the operational meeting with the staff, she sat down to review the mail and correspondence from the day before. Years ago she imagined herself in a house full of children as the dutiful military housewife. Mark and her had never had children, a situation that served to start a rift in their relationship. The years of active duty, deployments and, of course, the baby dieing had further driven their relationship into the ground. Clarissa knew the marriage was dead but in her heart she still loved Mark and held out a grim hope that something would change. At the very least, she was going to wait until an appropriate time after he returned from this latest deployment before ending it. She refused to distract him from his work in combat by sending a Dear John letter.

She had to chuckle to herself about her situation. Never in a million years would she have guessed she’d be running a successful independent farm and be a hard-nosed businesswoman. The farm generated profits from the day she took it over and continued to produce revenue despite the situation the country was in. She took pride that her business provided good jobs to those willing to work. Owing the farm also provided other freedoms that helped her pursue other rewarding activities.

She was walking from the farm office back to the house when she spotted the lone sedan driving slowly down the long driveway. “That’s odd” she said aloud as it was far too early for the contractors to arrive and they would have brought more men anyway. Waiting on the porch steps she kept an eye on the non-descript sedan as it pulled into the circular part of the driveway.

The two men, somewhat robotically, exited the car, smoothed out their military uniforms, and strode directly towards the farm office. Intercepting them, Clarissa called out asking them what they needed.

“We’re looking for Mrs. Clarissa Donner mamm” replied the officer.

“You found her. What can I do for you gentleman today?” she asked with a beaming smile. Her beauty struck even the chaplain that was calling on her.

“Can we talk in private mamn?”

Leading them into her kitchen Clarissa couldn’t figure out why these two men where here. The contractors were the ones doing the ID check later that morning, not the US Military. She certainly didn’t have any involvements with the military other than her husband. Hopefully her houseguests were not the cause of this impromptu visit.

The guests politely refused her offer of coffee as they sat around her kitchen table. Greg was watching a television program in the next room. As usual, the TV volume was near ear shattering levels and all three people at the kitchen table laughed in silent understanding of the ills of getting old.

The man who had done all the talking thus far cleared his throat and spoke up. “Mamm, we regret we have to inform you that your husband, Staff Sergeant Mark Donner was killed in the line of duty. Your country thanks you for your sacrifice.”

The words hit Clarissa like a freight train. She sat in stunned silence as the men talked through all the available counseling and insurance options. It wasn’t like Clarissa to have a public emotional breakdown, but she felt the tears welling up in her eyes. While she knew her marriage had long since been over, she still loved the man. And respected him for being a warrior.

The rest of the twenty-minute conversation went on in slow motion as she numbly went through the motions of answering their questions and reviewing their checklist. She didn’t hear them as they explained that other people would contact them about the details and their expressions of sympathy.

Greg might have been old, and nearly deaf, but his sixth senses were not dead. Sensing something was wrong with his baby girl he slowly made his way into the kitchen. He knew what was happening as soon as he saw the two men and her tears. He understood the hardships of a military marriage and never blamed Mark for the strains on the marriage.

After several minutes Greg escorted the men back to the front porch while Clarissa stayed glued to the kitchen table. When he was sure he was out of earshot he said to the men, “Indulge an old Gunnery Sergeant, what happened?”

The lead man spoke up first. “Sir, we don’t know the details, but apparently it happened at what is being called the Battle of Franklin, in Pennsylvania. Staff Sergeant Donner has been recommended for the Medal of Honor. I’m sorry for your loss sir. He must have died heroically.”

Greg was never one for being maudlin. He’d had men die in his arms before and witnessed the horrors of war first hand. While the marriage to his daughter was over, he never doubted that an honorable spirit flowed through Mark’s blood.

Watching the car drive off, on what was sure to be a day full of morbid notifications, Greg wondered what the hell was happening to his country.

****

The associates arrived at ClarMar farms as anticipated and quickly and efficiently got to work. Within thirty minutes they were ready to begin the process of having all the employees checked for identification and questioned. Werner’s goal was to ask general, broad questions in an attempt to pick up on any stories that didn’t gel or people acting suspicious. The whole event was a big fishing expedition.

Clarissa had pulled herself together enough to great the leader of the team of associates and help them get started with the onerous process. Her puffy eyes belied her cool and business like demeanor as she also coordinated another team of associates who were going to do some nosing around the property.

She wasn’t particularly worried about them finding anything. They had made it clear that they would only look in a couple of buildings, and not look at anything that wasn’t in plain site. There was a whole charade going on to give the proceedings an air of legality when they clearly weren’t.

What did worry Clarissa was the squat, barrel-chested, associate who spent most of his time leaning against one of the SUV’s , chomping a cigar or talking on the cell phone. He looked like a Marine drill instructor from Paris Island in 1945. She was savvy enough to know that he was both in charge, and spending his entire energy observing. There was little doubting that he was experienced enough to sense when things were not as they appeared.

Busying herself coordinating the background checks and managing the legitimate operations of the farm kept her busy throughout most of the day. Finding a minute when the older associate was apparently distracted on the cell-phone she made sure to whisper in her fathers ear.

“Dad, keep an eye on that one” she said as she leaned over to pour him another glass of tea.

Greg chuckled. “Already am sweetheart. He’s been watching everything from the minute they arrived. He’s the dangerous one”. Greg might have been in the waning years of his life, but the old Marine hadn’t lost his faculties.

[The Stig]

Clarissa was wise to be wary of Caddy as he was doing exactly what she thought he was. His sole goal was to observe the identification checks and see how everybody was responding. Werner had gotten some reports of some suspicious employees from one of his snitches. There was nothing solid, but Werner and Caddy both felt it warranted some follow-up.

There was a younger supervisor running the entire operation so nobody directly approached Caddy. He stood within a few feet of the SUV and simply watched. He had survived many dangerous scrapes in many dangerous corners of the world by noticing a small detail or sensing a strange vibe in the room that others had missed. It was his ability to notice the grass bent the wrong way to disguise a trip-wire or small detail an operative mixed up that Werner wanted around the inspection of ClarMar farms.

Little escaped Caddy’s notice including the three men that exuded military experience. Their clothes were wrinkled, several had facial hair, and their haircuts were no longer high-and-tight but there was no mistaking that the three men were fighting men. They walked differently, paid more attention and carried themselves with a demeanor that the other itinerant workers didn’t.

They hadn’t come through the lines together, but Caddy noted the time so he could call the men aside and question them later. Perhaps they were recently discharged from the army but that wasn’t likely since most of the troops up North had stayed loyal to President Alan and reenlisted in droves. If anything, they were deserters from units in the south as many had simply walked away when Senator Donovan’s actions became more sinister.

They could possibly be simple deserters, in which case, Aperture Consulting was duty bound to apprehend them and return them to the military for court-marshal. A more threatening aspect of having former military men in the area was that they were the most likely to act as partisans. And dangerous opponents they would be.

As the inspections were winding down Caddy strode over to the inspection table. The teams that were searching the buildings had long since reported in and were doing what military men spend most of their careers doing; waiting around for something else to do.

“Finkle” he called out to the young man in charge “how’s it looking?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary sir except one man. His ID is coming back as a convict currently being held in the state penitentiary. We’re making phone calls to verify right now”

“Where is he?” inquired Caddy.

“Right over there sir. Under the big tree with Scott” said the section leader as he gestured to the black-man and one of the associates sitting under a tree. They both laughed out loud like two men talking shop or swapping good jokes. Werner had instructed all of the men to keep things light and jovial unless the situation dictated otherwise.

Caddy turned and studied the man. It turned out that he was one of the three men he had noted as possible ex-military throughout the course of the day. This only served to deepen his suspicions.

“Thanks Finkle. You about done here?” asked Caddy.

“Yes sir. Another twenty minutes and we’re out of here”.

“Outstanding” said Caddy as he was turning and starting to stride towards the black man who had been pulled aside. As he got closer Caddy’s sixth senses started going into overdrive. The man locked eyes with him and never broke as Caddy covered the distance. This man was experienced and Caddy didn’t care for it.

Just as he was about to get to the tree a younger associate dashed up and distracted his gaze with the suspect worker with the shaky background.

“Sir” said the young associate as he got Caddy’s attention. “Sir, the Gunnery Sergeant on the porch requests a few minutes with you”, said the man gesturing towards the porch of the main house.

Caddy turned to see the older man in a rocking chair smiling back at him. Glancing back at the suspicious man under the tree Caddy turned away and broke back towards the porch. His impromptu interrogation would have to wait.

****

“What can I do for you Gunny?” asked Caddy as he shook hands with the old man.

Motioning to the seat next to him, Greg replied, “humor an old Gunnery Sergeant would you Marine?”

Despite the stubby cigar in his mouth Caddy had to smile. Marines could usually smell each other from a mile away.

“When were you in Gunny?” replied Caddy.

“Left Paris Island in late forty-three and got to wade ashore at Guam and Okinawa. Good times those were. You?” asked older man.

“Was on the Island in 1980. Joined up after the thing in Iran at the embassy. Got an all expenses paid trip to Granada and Panama, amongst other places. But you didn’t call me over here to swap service records did you Gunny?” asked Caddy.

“No” Greg chuckled. “No I didn’t. See son, I spend a lot of my time on this porch. I watch people come and go all day long. I know who’s supposed to be here and who’s not.”

Caddy nodded as the older man continued. “We’ve been getting deliveries of supplies from Expedite Fright Lines. Have been for years, but the driver is new.”

“Pardon me for saying it Gunny” replied Caddy, “but having a new man on the route isn’t a crime is it?”

Greg took a long drink of his iced tea. “No, I suppose not. But I’ve noticed him pacing out distances between buildings and writing notes in a small notebook while he’s waiting to be unloaded. Worse off, he’s one of those Arabs”. Like a lot of people of his generation, Greg pronounced it a-raab.

“Well Gunny” replied Caddy after thinking for a minute. “Now you have my attention”.

“On his last trip in” continued Greg “he was snapping shots with one of those cell-phone camera things. He was trying to look like he wasn’t, but I saw him”.

Caddy stood. “Thank you Gunny. I’ll check into it. Expedite Fright Lines right?”.

Greg nodded and shook Caddy’s hand. “You’ll have to excuse an old Gunnery Sergeant for not getting up.”

“Not a problem” said Caddy as he descended the stairs. “You see anything else you let me know”.

****

“So what’s the story on this guy” Caddy said as he got back to Finkle.

Checking a sheet of paper the younger man replied, “clerical error sir. We had his middle initial wrong. He’s clear. In fact, we just released him”.

Caddy wasn’t buying it. He watched the young man walk back across the yard and disappear into a building.

“Alright” he said suddenly. “You wrap things up here. I’m taking my detail back to headquarters. Report in once you get back. Good work here Finkle”.

“What did the old man want?” asked Finkle.

Pulling his stubby, chewed cigar from his mouth and inspecting it as if it were a nuclear bomb Caddy replied, “If I didn’t know better I’d say he was stalling me from talking to our friend, the employee of questionable background”.

[The Stig]

“Dad” exclaimed Clarissa Donner. “that was a hell of a risk you took. Besides, that driver from Expedited Fright isn’t Arab. Frank’s from Oklahoma for Christ’s sake”.

They sat around the table in the darkened kitchen of the farmhouse. The day was done and the sun long since dipped below the horizon. They shared a small, simple meal of fried chicken and beans. Since it came fresh from their farm it was a hardy and delicious meal. The kitchen still smelled like fried chicken grease.

“You told me to keep an eye on him” Greg protested.

“Yea, but I didn’t say make up cockamamie stories about poor old Frank being a crazed Al-Qaeda bomber. They are probably going to storm his house in the middle of the night and haul him off to the swamps” cried Clarissa half jokingly and mostly serious.

Shaking his head and using a dinner roll to soak up some juice from the beans Greg replied, “no such thing will happen. They’ll run his records, see that he’s not even Arab and write me off as an old kook”.

“You better hope so,” chastised Clarissa.

After some more small talk Greg finally addressed the subject they were both avoiding. “I’m sorry to hear about Mark. I know you two were over, but he was a good man”.

“I don’t want to talk about it now Dad” said Clarissa as she stared down at her empty plate. Silence filled the room as the light from the candles danced across the ceiling.

“Sweetheart” said Greg gently “you aren’t ready now. But someday, when you need to talk, I’m here”. Despite being a cantankerous old Marine, Greg was sentimental father who still saw his middle aged daughter as the little girl he bounced on his knee. Clarissa had been born when Greg was well into his forties but it still seemed like yesterday.

After several more seconds of awkward silence he reached over to grab her hand. “Dad, not now” she said brusquely as she jerked her hand away. In the process she launched her ice tea glass all over the floor. She was mad. Mad at her glass. Mad at the Army that took her husband. Mad at the kingpins in the North that were destroying lives with their political pissing match. But mostly she was mad at her dead husband.

“Should I come back later?” came the voice from the doorway.

Looking up Greg could just barely make out the figure of the man in the dim candlelight.

“Come on in. You are always welcome at our table” announced Greg as Clarissa cleaned up the spill. She was embarrassed that their visitor witnessed her outburst.

The man and Greg engaged in some small talk while Clarissa put together a plate of food for their guest. Even in the midst of her heartache and the turmoil of the country, Southern Hospitality was never dead.

“Here you go,” she said with a forced smile as she handed the man her plate.

Looking up into her tired but beautiful eyes, John Miller could find nothing to say.


****

Clarissa, Greg and John Miller spent the next several hours reviewing the details their respective adventures. Clarissa and Greg both sat, mouth agape, at the escape of Miller and Barnes from the contractors and for his part Miller was happy to hear nothing major came of the inspections.

“Did Reverend Barnes get settled in with DeMetrie and the boys?” asked a Clarissa. It was her nature to be concerned about those she called friends, or those her friends called friends.

Miller smiled, “Yes. He’s a little shook up, but I got him settled into the compound and DeMetrie got him a bunk and some chow”.

“I’m glad to hear that. And Lowry and Reynolds liked the last delivery of supplies I brought over?” she continued on.

“Absolutely, Lowry about went nuts over the peach cobbler”.

The arrangement had worked out well. Miller had known the Donners since shortly after he and his wife had relocated to the South. Clarissa and Christy Miller hit it off right away and became good friends. When the mess in the north resulted in Senator Donovan’s power play, and the resultant influx of contractors and military to the area, Miller had his wife and daughter relocated to the north in a daring midnight escape on a plane.

It hadn’t taken much effort to convince Clarissa and Greg to allow the base of operations to be housed on their vast property.

The four buildings Miller, DeMetrie, Lowry and Reynolds had been using as a base camp were located at the far distant end of the massive spread of land that made up ClarMar Farms. Clarissa could easily siphon off supplies from the farm without arousing suspicion and the farm provided the men a place to blend in and maintain an existence until their operations were up and running. For now it was the perfect base of operations for a resistance movement.

“These guys are getting out of hand. Coming in here like that and demanding identification papers” piped up a clearly irritated Greg.

“Tell me about it Dad” bemoaned his daughter. “They stomped all over my farm buildings and gave my people the third degree”.

Silence fell for a few seconds before Greg interjected, “Maybe they’ll leave us alone now”. It was clear from his tone that he didn’t believe what he had just said.

Miller, as he was so skilled at doing, took the lead and guided the conversation. “These guys aren’t leaving anybody alone. Based on what DeMetrie told us, and what interactions we’ve had, this Senator Donovan isn’t just going to turn tail. That means he’s trying to set up a power base strong enough that when the mess up North settles down he’ll be unassailable. From there he can negotiate anything he wants. In the meantime, these contractors are hauling people off into the swamps and setting up a police state”.

He let the words of his speech hang in the air for emphasis.

“The bottom line is they are coming back to ClarMar, one way or another” declared Miller. “So far we’ve been pissing in the ocean in our attacks. We need to put together something a little more dramatic. First, we need to continue to send the message that the contractors aren’t supermen. If we are going to get something more wide spread going we need to add people to our ranks because the four of us can’t carry the load forever.”

Greg grunted in agreement while Clarissa straightened up things in the kitchen.

She said, “Sounds like you have something in mind”.

“Oh yes” he chuckled “Yes I do”.

Greg pounded the table with excitement. “Hell yea. This is why I liked this boy. A man of action!”

Chuckling Miller said, “You still have that special dispensation to have freight hauled out of the southern zone right?” Donovan realized he couldn’t completely isolate the southern areas and utterly destroy commerce. The shut down of the Internet and phone services had nearly done that. So he allowed select businesses, which could show cause, to make shipments outside of the Southern zone. Miller had seen the benefit of a link to the outside world and convinced Clarissa to apply.

Thus far they had used their truck sparingly to pass messages to Miller’s family in Wyoming. It just so happened that one of the farms biggest customers was in the state. Once the truck got out of the Southern zone the trip wasn’t so bad. The western states were mostly staying out of the fracas in the North East and life operated mostly as normal. However, crossing over the border, and at random spots along the route inside the Southern zone was an entirely different matter.

Trucks would be inspected, down to the last nut or bold if needed, should something not be right with the paperwork. Many businesses had entire loads of freight confiscated because a guard had a bad feeling about the driver. Crossing would be a risky proposition at best. At worst, ClarMar could be exposed to a lot more attention than they desired should their shipment be stopped.

“Yep, in fact another load is supposed to go out in the morning,” replied Clarissa.

“Good, we’ll have to pass a note to the driver that he’ll be bringing back some special cargo” advised Miller. Greg and his daughter merely exchanged glances.

“You’ve got stocks of fertilizer and diesel fuel for use around the farm right?”

“Of course” she replied with a puzzled look.

“I may need to borrow some of it and that old farm truck in the bean field barn”.