A Time for Patriots

Ten

Patrick was reviewing the hundreds of gigabytes of sensor data that David Bellville had copied onto flash drives before their laptops were seized by the FBI. Brad was asleep in a sleeping bag on a cot just a few feet away. Patrick had been staring at sensor images for six hours and nothing was jumping out at him. He had the last twelve hours of images in front of him from two different sensor passes. The computer was flagging about a dozen points of interest, but when Patrick zoomed in on those particular spots, nothing was apparent. The computer could tell him when something had changed, but it couldn’t tell him if that particular something was relevant to anything. Besides, even if he wanted to take a look, he couldn’t — he had no planes.

Patrick activated his subcutaneous transceiver: “Jon?”

“Hey, dude,” Jon Masters replied a few moments later. “How’s it going?”

“Not bad. The FBI showed up and took all the laptops and downlinks.”

“They’ve been calling every hour on the hour, the pricks. They’d like to speak to me, Charlie, and Wayne, and they say they have a warrant to seize my plane, the CID, and the Tin Man. I referred their butts to the legal department.”

“That’ll delay them a little bit, but not for long. Where are you?”

“Classified. Hush-hush.”

“We’re secure.”

“You think so? I don’t.”

Patrick paused. “The comparative analysis that your sensor software does: it looks for changes, right?”

“I told you that already. It flags unusual changes in travel patterns over time. Where are you?”

“In my office. We’re camping out here for the night. You heard about my trailer?”

“On the news,” Jon said. “If you need anything, let me know. Gia is okay racking out in your office with Brad?”

“She’s MIA.”

“Again?”

“Again.”

“Sorry, bro.”

“All this was too much for her, I guess.”

“If she wants to hang with the McLanahans, she’s got to toughen up her act more than a few notches,” Jon said. “I’ve worked with you for fifteen years and I’m still trying to upshift.”

“Your middle name is ‘upshift,’ ” Patrick said. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For being there,” Patrick said. “For standing beside me.”

“I stand for nothing but the science and the profit, my friend,” Jon said. “Everything else is… oh, hell, I don’t know. If I’m standing anywhere, it’s with my hand out, expecting renumeration. Ideas, gadgets, and juicy contracts, that’s what I’m all about. You want anything else — well, pay me first, and then we’ll talk.”

“Sure,” Patrick said.

“You see anything interesting in those sensor images?” Jon asked.

“No — I don’t get it,” Patrick said, frowning at the laptop. “I mean, I see the flags, but there’s nothing there that I can see.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the biggest cluster of flags is around one of the copper mines around here that belongs to Judah Andorsen,” Patrick said. “It’s called Freedom-7. But why the flags? It’s a mine. They have trucks coming and going all the time. They take ore to a railroad spur that takes it to a main rail line and on to the smelters.”

“But remember, Patrick, that the computer records and compares normal activity, and then flags unusual activity.”

“I know. I get it.”

“Then you’ve got unusual activity out there, my friend,” Jon said. “Normal truck or rail movements wouldn’t be flagged after a few passes. Stop trying to rationalize it. If the computer flagged it, especially over several days, something’s going on down there, and you should go take a look.”

“That’s a problem too. They seized my plane and all the other planes with the sensors on them.”

“Pricks. Can you send me some of those images and let me take a look?”

“Sure.” It took just a couple mouse clicks to send a series of sensor images to Jon’s secure e-mail address. “What are you going to do now?”

“I’m still talking with the legal beagles, but they’re saying I have to go and turn myself in eventually — sooner, rather than later,” Jon said. “I’ll probably fly the Skytrain back to Battle Mountain with the other gadgets. What about you?”

“Not a hell of a lot else I can do except hang around here.”

“Well, I’ll probably see you out there soon, maybe even tomorrow if the legal department arranges the surrender that quickly,” Jon said, “and then we can hang out together.”

“See you soon, then.” The connection was terminated.

Patrick stared at the sensor images for a few more minutes, then made another phone call. “Hello?”

“Hi, David. It’s Patrick McLanahan. Hope I’m not calling too late.”

“No, not at all, sir,” David Bellville said. “I was just watching the latest blasts from your good friend Joseph Gardner on the evening news. Where does that guy get off saying all that nonsense?”

“Because the press likes controversy, and no one wants to take on an ex-president,” Patrick said. “Listen, I’ve been looking over the sensor images, and I see a bunch of flags that I think we need to take a look at.”

“Where?”

“One of the Andorsen mines down near Mount Callahan.”

“Freedom-7,” David said. “Me and Fid go hunting down near there every year. I’ve got work all day tomorrow, but I’ll ask Leif if he wants to go — he knows that area better than I do. I’ll have him take Fid along if he’s available. The guy’s been asking all over town about a job — maybe a ride will cheer him up.”

“Thanks, David. I’ll e-mail the images of the area the computer flagged to Leif. Let me know what he finds.”

“Will do. Sorry about your trailer. If you need anything at all, just holler.”

“Thank you. I will.”

Patrick felt as if he had only gotten a couple minutes’ sleep when he heard a loud pounding on his office door. When he opened the door, he found FBI special agent Chastain and two other agents with jackets emblazoned with FBI. “Executing the warrant to search your office, McLanahan,” he said, pushing past Patrick into the room.

“You searched it yesterday.”

“I’m searching it again.” He stepped past Brad and went right over to the desk. “What’s this?” he asked, pointing to the laptop computer.

“I want my attorney before I’ll answer any questions,” Patrick said.

“You’ll need one, mister,” Chastain said. He found the collection of flash drives and stared at Patrick angrily. “Withholding evidence? Putting you away will be a slam dunk, McLanahan.” He and the other agents collected the laptop and flash drives, quickly searched the desk, then departed.

“What did he mean, ‘withholding evidence,’ Dad?” Brad asked.

“We didn’t withhold anything, big guy,” Patrick said. “The flash drives are just backups — they have the same data as the laptops they seized. And the laptop is new — we just bought it yesterday. He’s trying to intimidate us, Brad — that’s how he operates. He makes people feel afraid so they’ll either talk when they’re not supposed to, or start to lie, and then he’s got you.” Patrick had a troubled look on his face; he shook it off a few moments later, then clapped his hands. “Well, we’re up, so we might as well get moving.”

After breakfast at the nearly deserted base-exchange cafeteria, they went past the front gate back out to the housing area. J. Andorsen Construction crews were busy repairing the highway from the deadly bomb blast that seemed like an eternity ago but in fact was only two days. A security-forces cruiser was parked just in back of the entrance, and Patrick noticed an unmanned Avenger parked behind the former data-processing center about a quarter of a mile away.

At the taped-off investigation-scene boundary, which was a couple blocks away from where his trailer used to be, Patrick found the deputy fire chief. “Any information on the explosive, Chief?” he asked.

“Preliminarily, they’re saying it was RDX, General,” the fire chief said after checking around to see who might be in earshot — obviously he wasn’t supposed to be sharing information with anyone. “Pretty common explosive in the military and industry, fairly easy to handle, easy to mix with plasticizing materials, easy to store — a favorite with terrorists. They say it was about three pounds, based on the blast radius. They haven’t found the trigger device but it’s a good bet it was a remote detonator, probably using a cell phone. It was probably tossed out of a vehicle — they’re checking surveillance videos. It looks like they weren’t sure which trailer was yours, because the trailers near yours were vacant where the blast occurred; since you were away also, they might’ve been confused.” He looked at Patrick, concern evident on his face. “Looks like you have some pretty serious enemies, General.”

“The list is pretty long, Chief,” Patrick said. “By the way: you haven’t seen that woman I was with yesterday around here, have you?”

“Sorry, General.”

Patrick nodded his thanks and departed.

They drove the ten miles to town, checking the bus terminal, casinos, motels, and hospital, hoping to see Gia somewhere, but still no luck, so they headed back to the base. After they arrived at his office, he took a phone call: “Hi, Patrick, Darrow here,” Darrow Horton said. “I’m on my way to Reno to talk with the U.S. attorney in person, and I should be in Battle Mountain by seven P. M. I’m bringing a couple of associates. Can you get us rooms somewhere?”

“Sure — I’ll put you up right here on base at the transient lodging facility. It’s just as nice as the casino hotels in town, and the all-ranks club has great food and is begging for business,” Patrick said. “It’ll be nice to see you. What’s going on?”

“Based on my discussions with the U.S. attorney, I think he’s reluctant to indict you,” Darrow said. “I’m pushing for probation and a fine in exchange for a misdemeanor plea, but he’s getting pressure from guys like former president Gardner to push for a felony prosecution. So I’m going to apply a little pressure of my own:

“Jon Masters has arranged to fly in to Battle Mountain to surrender his equipment to the FBI tomorrow morning,” she went on. “I’ve called a news conference with you, me, Jon, Brad, the robot, and the Tin Man, and we’re going to explain our side of the story and tell what crazy, irresponsible, and probably illegal foolishness the FBI has been doing out there. I want to tell the whole story, right from the very beginning — how the FBI was supposed to be going after extremists and ended up going after you instead, through Brad. I’m hoping the U.S. attorney will drop the case today after I tell him what I’m going to do, but if he doesn’t, we’ll smear Chastain and his goons all over the breaking-news segment on every TV channel in the country. All the networks and cable news channels will be there.”

“Sounds good to me,” Patrick said. “I’m ready and anxious to tell my side of the story to a judge, but I’m more than happy to tell it in front of news cameras too.”

“You bet we will,” Darrow said. “We’ll be in their face every week polluting the jury pool until the trial starts. We’ll make everyone in America thinks Gardner has a vendetta against you — which he probably does.

“Now, I probably can’t protect you from what the Tin Man and CID did to those agents, and we might even be facing a felony plea, but I think we can avoid confinement,” Darrow went on. “My plan is to have you admit that the Tin Man and CID were operating under your orders — I’m not even referring to the operators as persons. The U.S. attorney would rather focus on you than Macomber and Turlock, although they might get misdemeanor charges as well.”

“I agree,” Patrick said. “They were definitely following my orders.”

“But you were protecting yourself and protecting your son from Chastain and Brady, the best way you knew how. Good. It’ll be easy to make them the bad guys and the robot and Tin Man the defenders. So, how’s Gia? Am I finally going to meet this woman?”

“She left sometime yesterday morning, after we got back from Scottsdale. I think seeing the trailer destroyed was too much for her.”

“I’m sorry. Try not to let her distract you too much. Tomorrow will be a big day.”

“Okay. Give me a call when you get close and I’ll meet you at the front gate.”

“Can’t wait to see you again, Patrick,” Darrow said, and she sounded very sincere about that.

“Well, I can’t see anything from here,” Leif Delamar said. Leif was a retired mail carrier and avid hunter, and his rugged six-foot-five frame, creased face, and weathered hands were living portraits of his longtime love for the outdoors. He was looking through a pair of binoculars at the base of Judah Andorsen’s Freedom-7 mine. He and Michael Fitzgerald were in Leif’s Land Rover about a half mile from the mine at a barbed-wire fence that marked the edge of Andorsen’s land. He handed the binoculars to Michael. “What do you see, Fid?”

Michael searched for a few minutes, then lowered the binoculars and gave them back. “Nothing. Looks like business as usual.”

Leif studied the printout he made of the computer image, rotating the page so it was oriented the same way they were facing, then started tracing the different roads snaking up and down the face of the open-pit mine. “Okay, I see the two main truck roads going in,” he said, “and the west terraces here.”

“They’re called ‘benches,’ ” Michael said.

“Well, aren’t we the mining expert today?” Leif quipped. “Anyway, I see the haul roads, and the benches, and…” He picked up the binoculars and looked again. “I see a couple tunnels built into the sides of the pit. Do you know what they’re for?”

“Usually they’re just relief bores to keep water from loosening the rock,” Michael said. “They sometimes reinforce the walls with cables or shotcrete from inside the bores. If this mine ends up becoming a landfill in the future — most of them do — they also have to dig drainage tunnels to keep the pit from becoming a lake.”

“You are just a veritable font of fascinating information this morning, Fid,” Leif said. He focused in on one of the bores indicated as an activity spot on the printout. “Well, those bores look pretty big — almost like tunnels. I do see a lot of water coming out, and… hey, I think I see a couple cars lined up near one of those bores.” He looked more carefully. “Why, I think one of those cars is a sheriff’s cruiser.”

“What?” Fid took the glasses and looked. “It sure does. What in heck is the sheriff doing down in an open-pit mine?”

“Doing his job, I hope,” Leif said. “That’s the first sheriff’s car I’ve seen in days. Very weird.” He took the glasses back. “I don’t see anything else all that unusual. Maybe the sheriff is investigating something they found inside the bore, or they’re… holy shit !”

“What?”

“There’s a panel truck coming out of that bore!” Leif said. He studied the scene carefully for a few moments, tracking the newcomer, then exclaimed, “It’s a blue Air Force maintenance truck!”

“A what ?” Michael said.

“It’s one of those big blue Air Force ‘bread trucks’ we see all the time on the flight line,” Leif said. “The ones usually driven by the maintenance supervisor. Now what in heck would… ?” At that moment Leif was interrupted by the sound of a vehicle driving up the dirt road behind them. It was a two-door Jeep Wrangler, with two men aboard.

“Looks like a couple of Andorsen’s guys,” Michael said. “No sweat — we’re not on Andorsen’s property here.”

Leif lowered the binoculars, folded up the image printout, stuffed it in a pocket, and watched the Jeep approach. It roared to a stop a few yards away, and the passenger got out while the driver started talking on the radio. “Hey, guys,” Leif said. “We’re just out here checking deer trails. What’s going on?”

The passenger walked up to Leif and Michael, pulled a.45-caliber semiautomatic pistol from a hidden holster, and fired two shots.

The cameras were rolling and the media crews were ready as the C-57 Skytrain II glided in for a landing and taxied over to where the podium was set up outside the Civil Air Patrol hangar. It shut down engines, the landing gear extended to make room underneath the plane to unload cargo, and the cargo-bay doors opened. Meanwhile Jon Masters walked out of the belly hatch and came over to the podium, followed by Wayne Macomber, wearing the Tin Man armor but carrying his helmet in the crook of an arm. Behind them, Jason Richter and Charlie Turlock retrieved the folded Cybernetic Infantry Device and carried it over to the podium.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Dr. Jonathan Masters of Sky Masters, Inc., a major American defense contractor and aerospace engineering firm,” Darrow Horton said into the microphones. Beside her were Patrick and Brad McLanahan, already at the podium. “He is here complying with an order from a federal judge in Reno to surrender this aircraft, various electronic components, computers and storage media, and these two pieces of technology: the Tin Man armor system, being worn by Mr. Wayne Macomber of Sky Masters, Inc., and this: the Cybernetic Infantry Device manned robot, of which I think you’re aware after one was attacked by extremists several days ago while on an FBI assignment.”

Darrow nodded to Charlie, who then began to speak: “CID One, deploy.” The large case began to move, and in seconds it had unfolded itself into the crouching robot. The reporters gasped in astonishment as Charlie spoke again: “CID One, pilot up,” and it assumed the boarding position.

“This is Miss Charlie Turlock, an engineer who works at Sky Masters, Inc., who was piloting the robot when it came to General McLanahan’s assistance against Agents Chastain, Brady, and Renaldo,” Darrow went on. “They are all here to cooperate with the FBI investigations into the bombing outside this base, as well as the allegations made against General McLanahan that he was conducting illegal spying operations against local citizens, and the even further heinous allegation by former president Gardner that the president of the United States ordered General McLanahan to undertake these flight missions.

“But make no mistake, ladies and gentlemen: we are not here to be bullied into submitting to frivolous and intimidating activities by the FBI or by inflammatory accusations and outright lies by Mr. Gardner,” Darrow went on. “First, we completely reject the idea that Special Agent Chastain return to Battle Mountain to conduct these investigations, in light of what happened here when General McLanahan defended himself and his son, Bradley, against the malicious actions of Agents Chastain, Brady, and Renaldo. He’s here because he wants revenge on General McLanahan, and that is unacceptable. We call on the FBI to immediately assign another lead investigator.”

While Darrow spoke, an Avenger security vehicle and a maintenance vehicle had arrived at the C-57, parking near the Skytrain’s tail, keeping a distance while the press conference was going on but ready to service the Skytrain if necessary. The arrival of both vehicles got Jon Masters’s attention — no one got near his planes unless he knew about it, especially ones with guns and missiles on it.

“Second, it is completely unclear why the FBI has ordered the seizure of Dr. Masters’s aircraft and these two defensive systems, the Tin Man and the Cybernetic Infantry Device,” Darrow went on. “They were not involved in either occurrence and are completely outside the purview of this investigation — Dr. Masters merely sold and installed the sensors that General McLanahan and his friends used on their private aircraft for personal reasons. Again, the FBI is using this opportunity to punish Dr. Masters, Mr. Macomber, and Miss Turlock for their previous actions, and that is completely unacceptable.

“I would like to invite General Patrick McLanahan to make a statement,” Darrow continued. “As you all very well know, Lieutenant-General McLanahan is a retired veteran with twenty years of service in the United States Air Force, rising to the rank of three-star general. He has long proved himself the champion of the American people and of the cause of justice in every corner of the globe. Even when faced with tremendous odds and strong opponents, General McLanahan has consistently and unerringly taken the challenge upon himself, and he has taken the fight to the enemy, protecting our country, our people, and our allies from certain destruction.

“In retirement, General McLanahan’s main job is raising his son, Bradley. But he also serves as a volunteer mission pilot for the Civil Air Patrol, the U.S. Air Force auxiliary, as does Bradley, and both were recently credited with a find and a rescue of an airplane crash victim. General McLanahan also performs charity medical flights for Angel Flight West, helping needy medical patients get lifesaving treatment free of charge. His is still serving his country and his community to this day. Ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to present my client and a genuine American hero, General Patrick McLanahan.”

As Patrick took the dais, the Avenger air-defense vehicle suddenly moved its gun and missile turret from a stowed position to unstowed, and it began to move toward the C-57 Skytrain. Jon Masters turned and walked toward the aircraft.

“Jon, where are you going?” Charlie whispered.

“Why is that thing heading toward my plane?” Jon asked. “Whoever’s driving that thing better be careful.”

“It can wait, Jon.”

“He should have a wing walker out there. I’ll be right—” Suddenly the Avenger roared off at high speed toward the Skytrain. “Hey!” Jon shouted. “Watch out!”

Patrick turned and saw a blue Air Force maintenance van racing down a taxiway at very high speed, heading right for them! “What the…?” At that instant, the Avenger’s twenty-millimeter Gatling gun opened fire on the van. The audience screamed at the impossibly loud BRRZZZZZZZ! sound erupting from just a few yards away. Patrick waved at the audience. “Get back!” he shouted. “Back toward the hangar! Run!”

“Jon, get back here!” Charlie shouted, and she dashed off after him. Jon had run all the way to the Skytrain’s left wingtip, waving at the Avenger. “Jon!”

“What’s he trying to do — rip my airplane to shreds?” Jon shouted, pointing at the Avenger as heavy-caliber rounds continued to pour from the cannon. That’s when he noticed the maintenance van heading toward him, faster and faster. “Hey, what’s that van doing? Someone tell that jerk to steer away from—”

The heavy machine-gun rounds ripped into the van. Tires and glass exploded, and something inside the engine compartment detonated, blowing the hood completely off.

“Get down! Everybody get down!” Patrick shouted, and he grabbed Darrow and Brad and pulled them down to the tarmac…

… just as the van exploded in a gigantic fireball, less than a hundred yards away.

David Bellville walked into the waiting room of the small base clinic, dressed in scrubs and removing a surgical mask, cap, and latex gloves. The room was packed with people: some looked seriously hurt, with bandaged faces and limbs, while others had less serious wounds. He came over to where Patrick, Brad, Whack, and Darrow were standing, along with Rob Spara and John de Carteret, who had arrived at the clinic shortly after the blast. Three of them had some cuts and scrapes, and their clothing was burned in places; Whack was still in the Tin Man armor, but had suffered some burns on his face. “Hey, Patrick,” David said.

“What’s the latest, David?” Patrick asked.

“Your friend Charlie has some burns and a concussion,” David said. “There were a number of severe burn injuries and injuries from the explosion, but luckily it was far enough away.” He looked directly at Patrick. “There was just one fatality.” Patrick closed his eyes, and he half leaned, half stumbled back against the wall for support. “I’m sorry, Patrick.”

“What?” Brad asked, looking back and forth from Patrick to David in confusion. “Who?”

Patrick reached out and hugged his son tightly. “Your uncle Jon, son.”

“Wha- what ?” Brad gasped, and he started to sob into his father’s shoulder. “Uncle Jon’s dead ?”

“I’m sorry, Brad,” David said. He waited a few moments, then went on: “There’s more, Patrick.” He pinned a white plastic tag on their shirts. “They detected traces of radiation at the blast site — another dirty bomb. No lethal levels have been detected yet on the survivors — I think the bomb was so big that it cooked off most of whatever was in the van — but the blast site is pretty contaminated. The base is being evacuated and closed down. We’re going to transfer the casualties to Andorsen Memorial any minute now — everyone else will be taken to the high school for more examinations.”

“Jesus…” Patrick breathed, then hugged Darrow as well as his son. “I swear to God, I’m going to find these terrorist bastards and make them pay, I swear it.”

“Let the authorities handle it, Patrick,” Darrow said. “This… this is just too massive, too dangerous. It’ll take the Army to stop those terrorists. Your son needs you right now. You’ve done all you can. Let the authorities take charge.” Patrick could do nothing else but hug his son and Darrow — the energy just seemed to flow from his body like air escaping from a balloon.

“Dad?” Brad asked. “What’s going to happen? What do we do?”

“We’ll deal with it, son,” Patrick said softly, hugging Brad tightly. “We’ll be okay.” He turned and looked toward the entrance to the clinic… and saw none other than Judah Andorsen talking with FBI special agent Chastain…

… and standing beside and behind Andorsen was Michael Fitzgerald! He looked at Patrick with a painful, horrified expression, then averted his eyes.

Andorsen noticed Patrick looking toward him and stepped forward. Fitzgerald did not move, and he kept his eyes averted. “Hello, General,” Andorsen said. Both his voice and demeanor were completely changed — he no longer came across as the “aw, shucks” grandfatherly country rancher. “It’s good to see you’re okay. What a horrible thing, absolutely horrible. And I just heard they’re evacuating and closing the base today. God, what a mess. I’ll sure miss all of you, but I think it’s the best thing for the community. Obviously the base has been targeted by extremists, and even the Air Force’s best security can’t seem to keep anyone safe.”

He took a step toward Patrick, and sensing danger, Patrick pulled his son away from him and guided him into Darrow’s arms, then took a step toward Andorsen. The rancher got face-to-face with Patrick, then said in a low voice: “As you know, General, I like aircraft, and I like airports. I like this airport — nice long runways, lots of hangar space, lots of land, and, of course, the cool underground hangars that my father and grandfather built. I think I’d like to have this airport, and I think the county will sell it to me for next to nothing right after the Air Force gives it to them — after it’s been cleaned up and decontaminated, of course.

“I’m thinking I might get into the resort and hunting-lodge business — you know, fly wealthy folks in, have some golf and tennis and a spa for the ladies, take guys out hunting for bighorn and deer, then serve them a big meal in a five-star restaurant,” he went on, happily smiling at Patrick’s shocked expression. “We could turn the underground hangars into a big year-round shooting range. Or how about a big sex grotto, like Hugh Heffner’s? The world’s biggest brothel? That sound like fun to you? It’s perfectly legal here in Lander County, of course.”

He looked Patrick squarely in the eyes. “We don’t need the Space Defense Force, the Civil Air Patrol, your high-tech gadgets, or any of you creaky retired ex-military jocks here after this base closes,” he said, “and we certainly don’t need hotshots like you who think the military is the be-all and the end-all. You’ve had your day, General, but as of right now, it’s over. I have a suggestion for you: when you get out of federal prison, why don’t you just go back to wherever you came from, go find a nice comfy rocking chair, and stay put? You’re not welcome here. Take my advice, for the safety of your son and your friends: get the hell out of northern Nevada.” And with that, he left, Fitzgerald following close behind him.

“Why was Mr. Fitzgerald going with Mr. Andorsen, Dad?” Brad asked.

“That’s something we need to find out, Brad,” Patrick said. He shook his head in confusion, then turned to David. “Didn’t Fid go with Leif to the Freedom-7 mine?” he asked.

“Yes,” David said. “I spoke with him while they were on their way out there. He didn’t call you to tell what they found?”

“I never heard from either one of them,” Patrick said. “I assumed they didn’t get a chance to go.” He wore a very worried expression. “Now Fid is back — with Andorsen — and no one’s heard from Leif. Not good.” He thought for a moment. “We’ve got some work to do. Whack, I want the CID.”

“I think it was blown over by the explosion, but it should still be operable,” Whack said.

“It might have to be cleaned and decontaminated, but hopefully it won’t be damaged or unusable,” Patrick said. “Check it out. We’ll meet at the Space Defense Force building.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Whack said, and he headed out the door.

Patrick turned to Brad. “You stay with Miss Horton, okay, Brad?”

“I want to go with you, Dad,” Brad said.

“You can’t. It’s too dangerous.”

“Hold on a second, Patrick,” Rob Spara interjected. “We all want to go with you.”

“These guys are dangerous — they’re killers,” Patrick said. “The Tin Man and CID are our best weapons to use against them.”

“With all due respect, General — no, they’re not,” Rob said. “Those ‘guys’ are our neighbors — they may even be our friends. The best answer to this situation may not be the best weapon — maybe it’s just one neighbor telling another neighbor to knock it off and join the real world again.”

“We’ll get the whole squadron,” John de Carteret said. “I don’t know how many guys we’re up against, but we should be able to muster a bunch of guys to head on out there with you.”

Patrick thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “We’ll meet out at the Space Defense Force building,” he said, “and we’ll come up with a plan.” He turned to Brad. He was about to tell him he couldn’t go. But he looked into his son’s face, and he didn’t see his son — he saw the look of a determined, angry young man, ready to go to work, resolved not to stay behind.

He clasped Brad on the shoulder and nodded. “You’re with me, Brad,” he said.

“The closing of the air base is only the beginning,” Judah Andorsen proclaimed loudly to the three hundred men, women, and even children assembled before him in the massive hollowed-out cavern carved into the side of the open-pit mine. Standing beside and behind him was Michael Fitzgerald. “That base was a symbol of the waste, inefficiency, and incompetence of the American government. They failed to protect themselves, and they failed to protect the citizens that trusted the government to help them. Those people from the Knights of the True Republic lost their lives because the government promised to help them, and broke their promise. Government is incapable of protecting you. Only we the people can protect us. No one else but ourselves.” The audience clapped and cheered their agreement.

“When the base reverts back to its rightful owners…”—and the audience chanted, “We the people! We the people! We the people!” —“… we will be able to solidify our control over how we are governed in this territory. We’ll be able to see the enemy coming. They won’t be able to fly in aircraft to watch us, or bring more weapons to kill us. We’ll be able to better consolidate our influence over the various so-called established government entities, the corrupt county and state governments, and prove to the world that sovereign citizens can and must run our own lives, free of the influence of the broken and dysfunctional Washington bureaucratic elite. Remember this day, my friends and fellow patriots: today was the twenty-first century’s ‘shot heard ’round the world’—the opening shot of the renewed fight for true freedom.”

At the mine entrance, two pickup trucks with four men, all armed with hunting rifles fitted with night-vision sniperscopes, stood guard just inside the closed steel gate and cattle guard. The pickup trucks were arranged nose to nose, blocking the road but making it easy for them to maneuver in case they were needed.

“Pretty good turnout tonight, eh?” one of the guards said. “I brought my brother-in-law and his teenage kids. They got to meet Mr. Andorsen personally.”

“We might need a bigger cavern pretty soon,” another said.

“Soon we’ll move out to the air base,” another guard said. “I heard that after it’s cleaned up, we’ll use—” He stopped, then started scanning the area outside the gate with his night-vision sniperscope. “Did you hear something?”

“What? Like a car?”

“No — sounded big, running, like an elk or something.” He stopped, then reversed his scan. “Hold on… I see… shit, what the hell is that ?”

Moments later, the Cybernetic Infantry Device ran up to the gate. “Evening, guys,” Brad McLanahan said in an electronically synthesized voice from within the CID. “Nice night tonight, isn’t it?” Brad shook the heavy steel gate experimentally a few times… then lifted it up, snapping chains, locks, and hinges, and tossed it aside as easily as tossing a shoveful of dirt.

“I’m going to need a little room here, guys,” Brad said. He put both hands under the front bumper of one of the pickup truck and lifted, and the pickup flipped end over end through the air, finally coming to rest about twenty yards away. He reached over and grabbed the rifles out of the hands of two stupefied guards, then punted the second pickup truck away before disarming the other two guards.

Brad then grabbed the two guards he’d just disarmed and held them close to his head. “Would you mind dropping your radios on the ground?” They hesitated, numb with fear. “Drop them, now !” Brad shouted. They did as they were told, and Brad crushed the devices under his armored feet before doing the same to the other two guards’. “Thanks, guys. My squadron mates will be coming through shortly. Don’t get run over by accident in the dark. See ya.” And he trotted away to the next guard post.

As Andorsen was speaking, a man came up onstage to him and whispered, “All of the guard posts missed a check-in, sir.”

“Damn,” Andorsen said. He turned to Fitzgerald. “We’ll go out the north relief bore — that’ll take us all the way to the north side of the ridge, about a mile walking. I’ve got two Harleys waiting outside the bore. We can ride to my airstrip near Austin and take the Turbo Commander to—”

Just then the entire assemblage heard the large, heavy steel doors at the back of the cavern rattle, as if it were being blown by a powerful gust of wind. Then they heard a metallic knock knock knock — followed by both doors being ripped off their hinges like banana peels, and the Cybernetic Infantry Device entered the chamber. “Is it too late for the door prize?” Brad asked in his electronic voice, holding both steel doors in his armored hands. He held up the doors and rattled them as easily as shaking two pieces of paper. “Get it? ‘Door prize’?”

“Everybody take a good look — this is what the government has sent out against us!” Andorsen shouted over the terrified voices echoing through the cavern. “They sent the most destructive weapon in the Army’s arsenal against unarmed innocent citizens. Don’t be afraid of it! You want a perfect example of what the federal government is willing to do against sovereign citizens — there it is! The federal government will stop at nothing, and use every weapon it possesses, to squash your freedom!”

“This has nothing to do with the federal government, Andorsen,” a voice said… and Patrick McLanahan stepped past Brad into the chamber. “This is about your fellow citizens putting a stop to your killing spree.” Behind him came Rob Spara, David Bellville, John de Carteret, and fifty more members of the Battle Mountain Civil Air Patrol squadron.

“These are the criminals who have been spying on you!” Andorsen shouted. “These are the ones who tried to kill the Knights of the True Republic, then lured them onto the air base and slaughtered them! They are the ones using radioactive bombs. Don’t listen to them!”

“My name is General Patrick McLanahan,” Patrick shouted. “You know who I am. I’m a retired lieutenant-general of the United States Air Force and a member of the Civil Air Patrol — and I’m also your neighbor. We are all your neighbors. I’m here to tell you that Judah Andorsen has been lying to you. He doesn’t want to protect you. He doesn’t want to create a peaceful self-governing society. He’s an anarchist. He wants to create an empire in the heart of Nevada that operates by creating fear in the people, our elected officials, and in law enforcement. He creates fear, then proposes a solution: band together, join him, and he will protect you. It’s a lie.”

“Who is creating fear now, McLanahan?” Andorsen asked. “Who is ripping apart doors and killing our friends outside? You’re the real threat here, McLanahan, not I. You can’t stop us. You can’t terrorize us.” He waved his hands over the audience. “What are you going to do to us now, General?” he asked. “You going to call the police? Call the Army? Call the National Guard? You do that, and you’ve proved that government only takes freedom, not provides it — and you’re an instrument of the government, just as we always thought you were.”

“Why did you kill Leif Delamar, Andorsen?”

“You mean, the man spying on us yesterday morning?” Andorsen asked. “ Your spy? He deserved to die.”

“He was unarmed.”

“He was a spy and a traitor, and spies and traitors are executed — that’s the law of war.”

“Why did you kill all those members of the Knights of the True Republic?” Patrick asked. “More innocents murdered, by you .”

“They were cowardly sheep, betrayed by their leader into agreeing to come onto the air base for their so-called protection and assistance,” Andorsen said. “They are better off dead than surrendering themselves to the government!”

“So who else do you intend on killing with radioactive dirty bombs, Andorsen?” Patrick shouted. “What other innocents will die?”

“I never used dirty bombs on anyone!” Andorsen shouted. Now the assemblage was looking suspiciously at him instead of Patrick or the CID. “That’s a lie! Prove that I’ve ever used dirty bombs! Yes, I have explosives, and I’ve lashed out at enemies of this community! But I’ve never used dirty—”

“You’re a liar, Andorsen,” a voice shouted behind him. It was Michael Fitzgerald, pushing a cart carrying a large wooden crate with J. ANDORSEN CONSTRUCTION stenciled in black letters. “If you’ve never used dirty bombs, what’s this ?” And Fitzgerald kicked the crate open…

… revealing a large steel-and-concrete cask, marked with radioactive-material symbology.

“You planted that on me!” Andorsen shouted. “It’s a plant! You’re trying to set me up!”

“You murdered my friend right in front of my eyes, you lousy bastard,” Fitzgerald shouted. “You had me spy on my friends and inform on them to the FBI. All I wanted was a job, Andorsen — you turned me into a traitor.”

“No one’s going to believe you about anything, you stupid loser,” Andorsen said, “especially if you’re dead !” And he reached into his jacket for his Smith & Wesson.357 Magnum revolver…

… but Fitzgerald was faster. He pulled out a Browning M1911 semiautomatic pistol and fired three times before Andorsen’s revolver could clear the flying jacket.

“I may be a loser,” Fitzgerald said, “but I can draw and shoot better than you any day.” He stepped over the body, off the stage, and over to Patrick, Rob, David, and John. “I’m sorry, guys,” he said. “I told Andorsen about your surveillance, the Tin Man, the robot, and the backups, and he told the FBI. I was just trying to get into his good graces so he’d give me a job. I set up Leif with Andorsen’s guards, but I didn’t think they’d kill him! Then I helped the van get on base. Jesus, I really screwed up.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Patrick said. He turned to the crowd. “Go home, everyone,” he said in a loud voice. “Go home, hug your family, and try to trust the government again. It may not be perfect, but it’s ours. If you don’t like it — fix it. Don’t try to destroy it.” He looked up at the CID. “Let’s go, big guy.”

“Okay, Dad,” Brad said — and Patrick thought he could hear Brad’s own voice, not the electronic one.