Sanctuary

FEBRUARY 27, 2015 ^{• • •}

Conner exited the Humvee in front of Pat’s Coffee Shop. When he had heard that the coffee shop down the street from the capitol had stayed open and its owner had been instrumental in maintaining order, he made a point to pay a visit.

Pat’s Coffee Shop had been a local Wyoming spot for almost two decades. During the rise of Starbucks, Pat Coldwell, a former air force airman, opened it up. He had been stationed at F. E. Warren back in the 1990s as a security police officer, guarding the missile silos. At the end of his enlistment, Pat stayed in Cheyenne. He loved the people, the country, and most importantly the city. Cheyenne had become his new home. He was originally from Seattle but going home wasn’t an option for him. He took the idea of fine coffee and brought it to Cheyenne, where he saw success. When the lights went out, he decided to keep the place open. Even while initial panic set in, he refused to give in. When vandals began to descend on downtown, he and a few other business owners rallied and, with support of the government, squashed it. His perseverance paid off. Things had turned around for Cheyenne, and he was now being heralded as a local icon.

Conner walked into the shop and was greeted with a loud hello from behind the bar. The shop was being lit by generators that were powered by a wind turbine constructed on the roof of the building.

“Good morning! I hear this is the place to grab a hot cup of java,” Conner shouted out.

Pat was behind the counter pouring water into a small, stainless espresso maker. He looked up and saw Conner followed by a long line of armed men. He’d never seen this man before but the entourage told him this person was someone of importance.

“You heard right, sir. What can I get you?” Pat wiped his hands and walked to the counter.

“Just a coffee, large,” Conner said.

“You have a cup with you?” Pat asked.

“Ah, no, I don’t.”

“I don’t have many paper cups left, so that will be extra,” Pat said, holding up a white paper cup with plastic lid.

“Sure,” Conner answered.

Pat poured hot water from a kettle he had sitting on a Coleman stove into a French press and set it aside. “It will take a moment.”

“That’s fine. Pat, do you have a minute?” Conner asked.

Pat looked around and said, “Sure, I can spare a minute.”

Conner reached over the counter with his hand and said, “Pat, my name is Brad Conner. I’m the President of the United States.”

Pat looked shocked as he grabbed Conner’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Well, this is a surprise. Nice to meet you, sir.”

“I came in here because I heard about everything you did and I wanted to personally thank you. You are an example to other Americans,” Conner said. He looked around quickly, then turned back to him and finished by saying, “Keeping this shop open means a lot. It signifies hope.”

Pat couldn’t believe the president was standing in front of him, much less thanking him for doing what he thought anyone should do. “Sir, it just felt right. That’s all.”

“Well, we need more Americans like you. We have a tough road ahead of us, but with people like you, we can make it.”

Pat blushed from the praise. Nervously, he turned around and said, “Your coffee is ready.” He pushed down the screen and poured the coffee. “Room for cream?”

“Wow, you have cream?” Conner asked, surprised.

“Ahh, sorry, not real cream; I have some powdered over there,” he said, pointing to a small table against the wall. He handed Conner the coffee.

“Thank you. How much?”

“On the house, sir.”

“No, you made this and it has value. I insist on paying.”

“Well, things are a bit different. I can take an egg, a candy bar, something like that in exchange.”

Conner then realized he didn’t have a wallet anymore and, of course, didn’t have an egg or candy bar on his person. “You know, I’m sorry. I came in here with no way to pay for this.” He turned to one of his security, who shrugged. Cash money didn’t have value anymore.

“No worries, sir. Like I said at first, it’s on the house.”

“Pat, I’ll send one of my men back with payment. I’m a man of my word and I will pay for this. Thank you again. It was a pleasure to finally meet you.” Pat nodded in response, still shocked by the interaction.

Conner headed toward the door. Taking a sip, he turned and called over his shoulder, “This is a damn good cup of coffee.” Pat smiled.

Conner got into the Humvee. Dylan was sitting in the backseat, finishing up a call on his satellite phone.

“To the office,” Conner instructed.

Just as the vehicle began to move a few people rushed Conner’s side of Humvee.

“Mr. President, thank you. Thank you!” they yelled.

“Wait a minute. Stop!” Conner commanded.

Security poured out of the vehicle behind and came at the people with guns drawn.

Conner stepped out of the Humvee and said, “Hold on! Wait!”

In front of him were two men and a woman with a toddler. All looked weathered and tired.

The woman reached out and touched him. “Mr. President, thank you for coming to Cheyenne. You being here has given us hope!” The men spoke and expressed the same sentiment.

His team backed off and the people again stepped forward.

“What’s your name?” he asked the woman.

“My name is Belinda.”

“And yours, sweetheart?”

“I’m Faith,” the little girl said. Her blonde curls hung in her face.

“What a beautiful name for such a beautiful little girl,” Conner said, touching her hand.

Other people on the street began to gather. He now stood in front of a group of twenty or more. Seeing an opportunity, he bellowed out, “People of Cheyenne, I’m here to stay. Your country is still here and your government is still here. We will begin rebuilding this great country one brick at a time and this great city is where we will begin. Thank you for being strong during these tough times!”

The people cheered.

He finished by saying, “Please stay strong. I need each and every one of you to do that. We are in this together. Thank you!” He shook a few hands, then jumped back in the Humvee.

“Great job, sir,” Dylan said, smiling ear to ear. “That’s the Brad Conner I remember from Congress.”

“That felt really good. You know, Dylan, this was a smart move on many counts,” he said as he waved out the window, a grin on his face. “Oh, and get me some rations, and find me milk or cream. I’ll need it for tomorrow. Now, I’ve got a call to make.”

“We lost another councilor last night,” Roger Timms told Simpson.

“The colonel won’t like hearing that.”

“I don’t know what else to say—there’s no other way sugarcoat this. The mayor has managed to convince these people that having you leave is the right thing to do.”

Simpson looked down at his watch. “Sorry to make you wait, Roger, but he’s still on an important call.”

“A call?” Roger looked surprised when he heard that once-common phrase. It seemed like it had been years since he had used a telephone.

“Yes, he’s down at the CIC.”

“Who’s he talking to?” Roger asked curiously.

Simpson’s pleasant demeanor shifted. “Not for you to worry about.”

Feeling like a dog that was just scolded, Roger meekly peeped, “Sorry.”

The door burst open, and Barone energetically entered.

“Sorry to be late, but I had to deal with something,” Barone said as he walked over and sat down across from Roger.

“We have a real problem brewing.”

“Christ, do I ever get a break?” Barone blurted out.

“The mayor has convinced another councilor.”

“What am I going to do with her?” Barone asked bluntly. “She won’t meet with me. She says it’s no use.”

“We have another issue that I was hoping wouldn’t happen.”

“And that is?”

“She’s going forward with the joint town hall meeting this afternoon. She plans on presenting everything to the people and working on getting their support.”

Barone looked at Simpson with an air of disgust. “Fucking politicians, I can’t escape their bullshit!” he spat out.

Roger shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Thanks for the information, Mr. Timms. I’ll see you later at the meeting.”

Roger looked at Barone curiously at the abrupt ending of the meeting. “I’ll see you there, thanks.” He stood and walked out.

Barone turned to Simpson and said, “Where to start?”

“What do you want to do about the mayor?”

“She’s the least of the issues I’m dealing with now. I just got off the phone with President Conner and he wants to make a deal.”

Simpson’s eyes widened with excitement. “A deal?”

“I have to laugh; I thought Cruz was the president. Everything is so fucked up; they’re holed up in the mountain. It appears that Cruz is the president but also the vice president? I’m confused about the whole thing. Anyway, Conner wants to have a treaty with us in exchange for us releasing Cruz and all his people. The treaty will give us a defined area that we can call the Pacific States.”

“That’s it?” Simpson asked.

“No, there’s more. He wants an alliance with us. He’ll let us establish a country out here. He pledges to leave us alone; what he wants is Cruz and an alliance to fight these savages from the south.”

“Hmm, interesting,” Simpson mused.

“It’s interesting for sure. I have to say, I think I’m for it. We just have to carve out the area we want to call home. We then need to coordinate a plan with them against the Pan-American Empire.”

“Pan-American Empire? What the fuck is that? Are we in some kind of medieval role-playing game?”

“Remember the cartel that we bombed in San Diego? It’s that group, but now they have the backing of the Venezuelans.” Simpson nodded as Barone continued on. “It’s all tied together. The Venezuelan infantry, the flagged vessels that the USS Topeka sank the other day. It’s all tied together”

“Now you can stop being pissed at White,” Simpson quipped.

Captain White and his crew of the USS Topeka had been patrolling the coastline of Oregon and California in his submarine. Barone was grateful for White and that he had at his disposal an attack submarine. Ever since they had met up with White in the middle of the Pacific weeks ago, his sub had been the tipping point more than once, first against the USS Denver, now against the Venezuelan ships.

“It turns out his assumptions were right. These must have been the amphib ships for these self-stylized conquistadors.”

“Shall I call a staff meeting?” Simpson asked.

“Yes, but there is something else that is seriously troubling that I wanted to discuss with you. Conner told me that five more nuclear devices were set off.”

“Oh my God, where?”

“He needs our help because five of the major bunker systems were destroyed.”

“Sir, do you think this is also tied to the Venezuelans or the cartel?”

“Could be. They were able to test the signatures from the bomb detonated outside Denver. They found out it was a Russian device.”

“So the Russians are involved?”

“I don’t think so; they didn’t get out of this whole mess unscathed, so I don’t think they had anything to do with it. Their government is too fractured, according to the Australians. I think whoever did this got their devices from Russia.”

“If the Venezuelans pulled this off, what a brilliant operation. How could they keep this quiet? I mean, this had to include many different players, rogue governments, terrorist organizations. Think of the structure of this plan. Unbelievable!” Simpson said incredulously. While the outcome was awful to him, he respected the ability to pull it off.

“It is unbelievable. What’s even more unbelievable is that we will soon be back in the good graces of the United States. Funny how things turn full circle.”

Simpson nodded and stood up from the table. “Sir, if that is all, I’ll go call the emergency staff meeting.”

“Very well. Let’s hold it here at fourteen thirty.”

“Roger that.”

“I almost forgot. I know you’ll cover this, but how’s the call back of our forces going?”

“Very good sir; all patrols are coming back. Nothing really to report.”

“Good. It’ll be nice to have all my men back.”

Simpson nodded and left.

A deep feeling of satisfaction filled Barone. He had made a bold move when he mutinied and now he had a way to get out of it with a country of his own. He just hoped Conner was a man of his word.

“I don’t have you here to complain! I have you here to tell me what we should do, not to tell me we can’t!” Pablo yelled at his commanders, his words bouncing off the walls of the Senate chamber.

Bad news kept pouring in for his army and his mission. They had lost all of their ships. Two of their patrols had come under attack from what they thought were U.S. military forces to the north. Civilian resistance had grown quickly in Sacramento. They had dealt with occasional resistance but this was more organized. In the past two days, their forces had been attacked almost a dozen times. These attacks weren’t just from random armed citizens; several of their convoys had been hit by IEDs. One of their camps had been assaulted by a large force armed with machine guns, rockets, and grenades. He knew they’d eventually encounter an insurgency, but now that it was upon them so quickly, he struggled to know how to best address it. His forces were conventional, and he knew that when dealing with guerrillas, it was necessary to shift tactics. Pablo liked to work with a well-defined plan; without one his mind would drift, overwhelmed. Outwardly, his confidence was still intact, but secretly, he was rattled by how quickly the tides had turned against him.

He was getting mixed messages from his commanders. General Pasqual and half of his staff believed that he needed to keep the momentum and move on to the next objective quickly. The other half believed in moving more diligently and carefully. Pasqual recommended that Pablo deal with the civilian resistance harshly, with suggestions of mass killings of everyone in an area, including women and children. The contrarian opinion believed that tactic would backfire and only cause further and deep-seated opposition.

“Sir, we must show everyone we conquer that resistance will be met with severe consequences. If you show too much mercy, you only breed contempt and greater resistance,” Pasqual stated.

Colonel Gutierrez put down the cigar he had been smoking and responded, “General, you and I both learned in Academy the consequences of enraging the civilian population.”

“Colonel, hasn’t invading their nation already enraged them?” Pasqual shot back.

Both men went back and forth with snide comments. It was clear now to Pablo that these two didn’t like each other, both professionally and personally.

“Gentlemen, this is not a school yard. I need adults here presenting me with a road map to navigate through these challenges we have!” Pablo barked.

Pasqual and Gutierrez stopped talking and focused on their leader.

“I am a student of military strategy, but I’m also a student of history. We can use the American adventure in Iraq and Afghanistan to see what happens when military forces are dealing with a civilian population that begins to rise up against their rule. The Americans also had a civil war that we should look toward and learn from. The Union Army was losing the war until Ulysses S. Grant took command. He changed the policy of how civilians were classified. You see, he had smart council that I don’t seem to have here. His old friend and confidant by the name of Francis Lieber helped him draft a code to present to President Lincoln. In it, it gave him the authority to execute warfare against any civilian who contributed to the aid and comfort of the Confederate Army. Running supplies, assisting, feeding, et cetera, was considered tantamount to fighting on the battlefield.”

All the men at the table were staring, a look of surprise on some of their faces as Pablo continued with his history lesson. Like a professor lecturing his students, Pablo went into excruciating detail about the historical factors that led to Grant using the force he did against the Confederacy.

Pablo finished by saying firmly, “Gentlemen, the moral to the story is this: The only way Lincoln could win the war was to crush the spirit of the Confederacy. In order for us to win, we need to crush our enemies. We need to send the civilians this message: If you oppose us, we will kill you and all of your families. We will take Lieber’s Code and expand on it. Initially, I thought we needed to show a bit more mercy. And yes, we can extend mercy to those who are willing to help us. However, if someone lifts a finger against our crusade, we will exterminate them. This will send a clear message to all that opposition will be met with severe consequences. Unfortunately, in order to conduct this type of warfare, we must have the resources to do it. I want to resurrect my Villistas—they will be the ones to execute this plan. However, we will need more time in each area to train and equip them to do this. The question I have for all of you is: Are you willing to do whatever it takes to succeed?”

Some of the men’s faces couldn’t hide displeasure with Pablo’s new directive. All military men are trained and educated in the rules of war. What Pablo was suggesting was doing away with these guidelines. What he was proposing could lead to genocide.

Pablo took note of the initial reactions from each man. The last person he looked at was Pasqual.

Pasqual was born into the military; his father and grandfather were both officers. The first time he had heard that he and his army had been sold to Pablo, he was disgusted. But as the weeks progressed, he had grown to love the victories and intensity of combat more than anything. It had become a drug to him and he was now addicted. When he met Pablo’s gaze, he smiled.

“General, how long will it take to get a battalion of Villistas trained and ready to tackle the insurgency?”

“Sir, it will take at least sixty days to find enough men willing to join our cause and to get them outfitted. But as far as the training, that’s easy, I believe. Just give them orders to hunt down insurgents and let them do it. If the rules of engagement are that no quarter will be given, then there’s not too much to teach them.”

“Sixty days? I hate the thought of sitting here but…” Pablo said, then paused, thinking that it gave him time to court Isabelle. “Okay, General, take the time you need; if we’re going to do this, it should be done right.”

Others in the room kept their opinions quiet; they knew now that going up against Pablo and his directives was a death wish, and they didn’t dare to stray from his orders.

Gordon’s eyes burned as he opened them. The sunlight forced him to squint but the pain and burning sensation was something he’d felt before. Fallujah, he thought. The smoke from the blast and subsequent fires after Rahab blew up himself and the entire north end second floor had scorched his eyes.

He didn’t remember much after he had grabbed Lexi and pulled her out of the room. They had only managed to make it to the hallway when the blast went off. As his vision focused, he noticed he was no longer in the compound. In fact, from the noise he appeared to be in a chopper. He was confused, and tried to look around, but a wave of pain hit him.

He went to move but restraints on a backboard prevented him. He panicked a bit, not knowing who was transporting him or where he was going. Lifting his head farther, he saw someone who appeared to be the crew chief. Looking right, he saw a familiar face: the little girl from Rahab’s compound, sitting wrapped in a blanket next to a corpsman.

The corpsman saw Gordon’s movements and came to his side. “Sir, you need to be still.”

“Where are the people I was with?” Gordon asked as he grimaced in pain from moving his head.

“Sir, please lie flat. You might have sustained a spinal injury, we can’t risk…”

“My head is killing me, oh my God it hurts so fucking bad,” Gordon complained as he attempted to loosen himself from the straps.

“Sir, stop moving around,” the corpsman ordered with a gruff voice.

“Is Corporal Rubio here?”

The corpsman shook his head.

“A woman, did you find a woman near me? Her name is Lexi,” he asked, then grabbed his head. “Damn it! This pain is excruciating.”

“You and the little girl were the only ones our team pulled out alive.”

“What happened to Jones and McCamey?” Gordon was delirious.

“Sir, you really need to rest and you have to stop moving around. Please just rest.”

Gordon listened to the corpsman’s commands, defeated. He rested his weary head back on the thinly padded board. His mind raced as he attempted to remember the events that had occurred right after he grabbed Lexi and after the blast. He remembered grabbing her, that she resisted, and that a shot rang out. He pulled her out into the hallway. All he saw as he was pulling her was the door, walls, and floor. He didn’t remember seeing Rubio. He remembered the sheer violent force of the blast hitting him. Spotty memories came and went, and he attempted to decipher whether they were real memories or dreams. He remembered feeling a sensation of falling, not just to the ground, but far down. Had the building collapsed? Did he fall from the second to the first floor? Think, he told himself. Nothing came. The blast, then he was here on a chopper, headed to some unknown location.

Gordon drifted off to sleep. He awoke to the corpsman adjusting the straps on Gordon and examining him. Gordon grabbed his sleeve and asked, “Where are we going?”

“We’re heading back to Coos Bay.”

Samantha sat in the empty dining room attempting to enjoy a hot cup of tea when Nelson walked by on his way to his bedroom. He had just come back from his scheduled guard duty.

“If you have time, I’d like a bit of company. I have hot tea,” Samantha said sweetly.

Her proposition made him stop in his tracks. Samantha had been rather distant since her apology in the barn; not cold, but just as if she knew she’d overstepped her boundaries. He looked at her sitting there alone and said, “Sure, sounds nice. A good cup of hot tea will hit the spot right now.” He tore off his heavy coat and draped it over the chair.

Samantha poured him a cup and slid it across the table.

“You’ve really turned me into a tea drinker. As you know, I used to be quite the coffee drinker,” he said as he dumped in a spoonful of sugar.

“I have that effect on people. You might know this, but Gordon had never eaten sushi before he met me,” Samantha reminisced, a slight smile on her face.

“I didn’t know that. Us guys, or, I should say, guys like me, we don’t pay attention to that stuff. It’s funny, I grew up practically living on the water, surfing every day, but the reality of eating raw fish sounded repulsive.”

“It took some persuading but Gordon came around. He actually did that on a lot of things,” she said. Her voice had taken a more somber tone.

“You kinda saved Gordon. After spending time with you, he became a better man than the rough-and-tumble knucklehead I knew. Yeah, he was still an ass when he wanted to be, and yeah, he had a bit of hardness about him.” Nelson was smiling as he spoke fondly of his friend. “Then you came along and took those rough edges and polished them.”

Tears started to run down Samantha’s face as Nelson spoke. She wiped them away and said, “I’m sorry I’m such a mess. I can’t stop crying these days.”

Nelson reached over and took her hand. “Samantha, you have been through things I can’t fathom. You’ve lost so much.”

“I’m getting better. I know I haven’t been there for Haley, and after what happened the other day, I realize I don’t have the luxury of mourning. I have a responsibility to her and to the group. I’ve finally come to realize that people are going to die, people we love especially. I don’t why this has happened to any of us, but I promise you that the Samantha you’ve been dealing with over the past few weeks is gone.”

Nelson gripped her hand tighter and said, “I’m here to help and support you until Gordon returns.”

“Thanks, Nelson. He makes me so mad. If he were here right now, I’d smack him. But God, I love him so much. I know in his heart he is doing what’s right for us. I just wish he were here to explain what that was, exactly.”

Nelson sensed that the conversation was headed toward the questions he had wanted to avoid.

She looked at him and asked point blank, “What happened that day you found them?”

Nelson had spent hours thinking of how he would respond to this question from Samantha. He knew how he answered would make a huge impact on their lives.

“You want to know what I saw or just what he said?”

“Tell me everything. How did you find them? What happened?”

He took a long, deep breath and began his well-rehearsed answer. He started with finding Gordon on the cross, then finding Hunter almost immediately after. Nelson didn’t want to go into the gory details of her son’s death; he knew that would put any mother into a tailspin. Instead, he described Gordon’s condition, the large wound on his face, then went into great detail to describe Gordon’s emotional pain. He told her how Gordon held Hunter for the longest time. At that, her face tightened and she looked like she was going to cry again. But she swallowed hard and Nelson felt it was okay to continue. He went on to describe how Gordon had told him his plans for revenge.

“Did you challenge this plan?” Samantha asked, looking him directly in the eyes.

“Of course I did. I felt he wasn’t thinking straight. We went back and forth about his decision not to come back, but you know him. When he has his mind set, there’s no changing it.”

“Oh, I know. That damn stubborn Van Zandt blood.”

“He told me that the man who had killed Hunter was still out there and that he had a small group of people who wouldn’t stop killing. He came at this with two thoughts: He needed to stop this man, and he needed to exact revenge.”

“Didn’t you tell him we needed him here?”

“Of course I did,” Nelson said, a tad defensively.

“When you tell me his reasons, I hear the idealistic Gordon. I hear his head. Where was his heart in this?”

“My opinion is that he couldn’t face you. Deep down, he feels he failed you and Haley by getting captured, then by not being able to stop Hunter’s murder.”

“Gordon, Gordon, Gordon… he’s such a proud man. Part of that pride has been about his ability to protect us. This was the one time that he thinks he failed. He doesn’t know that more than anything…” She stopped, trying to hold back tears. “More than anything, Haley and I just need him here. We can’t heal without him.”

Nelson nodded. “So what happens when he returns?”

“I don’t know if he’ll return. How long has it been?” Samantha said with a note of resignation in her voice.

“He’ll come back.”

“It’s dangerous out there and he could get himself killed. But Gordon’s resourceful and capable—more than anyone I know. It’s not the world that will stop him from coming back. It’s Gordon himself.”

With that, she set down her cup of tea.