Patriots & Tyrants

  ***

  The sun was nearly finished with its descent behind the tall buildings of Caine’s city. He looked down to see the little ants scurry about to their cars, cabs, buses, whatever their form of transportation for getting home would be. A buzzing noise from his desk shook him out of his trance. Caine walked over to the desk and pushed the red button underneath.

  “Yes?” Caine said with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

  “Sir, this is General Blackman, may I have a word?”

  “Come on in.”

  With a press of the green button, the doors unlocked. The loud sound of the clicks let Blackman know it was okay to enter. A moment too soon and the electroshock from the door handles would put him on his ass. Once inside, Blackman saluted his leader, who gave him a halfhearted salute back. Caine reached underneath his desk for his smuggled whiskey. After he poured himself a shot, he offered one to Blackman, who declined. Caine shrugged his shoulders and then took the shot in one quick swig. The burn of the alcohol felt good going down. Soon, the effects of the alcohol would calm his nerves.

  “What can I help you with, General?”

  Blackman cleared his throat. He still got nervous every time he talked to Caine. “I wanted to fill you in on what happened today.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “All the Sectors you provided for us were cleaned out. We got all the names on the list imprisoned except for one.”

  “Who would that be?”

  Blackman pulled out an index card and searched for the last remaining name that hadn’t been crossed out from that particular Sector. Age was getting to the old General, no way in the past he would forget a name like that. Sloppiness was something that he never tolerated as a military leader, but that was what was happening to him. It caused a feeling of disgust followed by disappointment.

  “William Sullivan,” Blackman replied.

  “I sent a spy after him. I added him to the list just in case.”

  “I understand. We found your spy dead on the floor. Four shots to the head. Looks like the poor bastard was knee capped as well.”

  “I see. And, he’s nowhere to be found?”

  “No, sir. His vehicle was missing. No traces.”

  Caine nodded his head. These spies he sent out were always a wildcard. Some of them were coolly efficient. Give them a job and they completed it then moved on to the next job. Simple as that. But, there were also the occasional ones like Little.

   Caine had high hopes for the youngster. He seemed to have a knack for this sort of thing. The reports he would give were detailed enough. After three successful kills before the other night, this one was looking like another success. The fact that Little didn’t report in wasn’t that much of a concern, at least not until now. He was supposed to work in secrecy. Caine assumed that the spy just moved on to wait for his next assignment.

  “Well,” Caine said, “I guess that’s what I get for sending in a spy to do the military’s work.”

  Blackman grinned, “Yes, sir.”

  “That Sullivan didn’t go check on his son, either. If he had, he’d be Swiss cheese right now.”

  “Sullivan, that name sounds familiar.”

  “It should. He took part in a kill operation that led one of Paxton’s recruits to you.”

  Blackman searched his mind then let out another grin. He remembered that kid whose mother had been killed. “That’s right, now I remember. What happened to him?”

  “He went off the deep end…beyond salvage.”

  “It pains me to see good men go that route.”

  “There are no good men out there.”

  Caine pointed to the window and Blackman nodded in acknowledgement. After that, the secret USR leader reached down for another shot. Once again he offered Blackman a shot, but the offer was again declined. Caine shook his head and told himself that it wasn’t worth losing his temper over. If the old man in front of him didn’t want to accept, well, that was his Goddamn loss. After he quickly swallowed the shot, the effects of the whiskey started to fill him from the inside. He leaned back and looked straight at the ceiling.

  “Can I ask you something, sir?” Blackman asked.

  “Anything.”

  “This new operation…is it really necessary?”

  Caine’s head shot down and his eyes lasered in on Blackman’s. “The fuck did you just say?”

  Blackman held up his right hand. “I’m just asking.”

  “Of course it’s necessary. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “It just seems, according to those under me, like a waste of good manpower.”

  “You let me be the judge of that.” Caine reached under the desk. The comment forced another swig. “You just keep doing what you’re told.”

  “Do you ever feel guilty about the things we do?”

  Caine took a shot then slammed the glass down on the desk. “Do you want to be executed?”

  “No, sir, of course not. Just asking you, man to man.”

  “I think this conversation is over. You can see your way out. It concerns me to hear you talking like this.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Blackman gave another salute which was not answered by Caine. The old General simply bowed his head, turned, then walked out the door. Once out, Caine picked up his red phone. He told the female voice on the other line to come up to his office alone. While he waited for his mistress, he thought about what Blackman asked him. The only feeling of guilt he felt was that the world had gotten as bad as it had. The world needed men like him to teach what was right. He briefly thought about issuing a kill order on Blackman, but then decided against it.

  Blackman would be needed. For now.

   

  .49

  The tall leftover pulled the truck to the side of the road and then put on the emergency brake. After the engine was shut off, he grabbed his phone and dialed in to his bosses. He gave them a status report, that the truck was broken down, but he wouldn’t require any assistance. The voice on the other end of the phone pressed him, but he continually declined it. He told them that if he couldn’t fix it, then he would call, but he reminded him that he was the best mechanic on the payroll. After taking that into consideration, the voice on the other end told him to hurry his ass up.

  The night air outside felt cool as Statue opened the door and walked to the front of the truck. He rubbed at his face while he tried to remember what Reed taught him about hacking into the GPS system. The trick being that he had to make sure those watching his progress couldn’t see that he veered off course. The systems the USR used on their own vehicles, of course, were state of the art. However, every computerized system, according to Reed, could be hacked.

  Statue stared off into the black distance as he grabbed his pack of cigarettes. They would be needed at this critical juncture of the mission. After all that planning, carefully packing away a weapon here and there, and it all came down to this one little procedure. If he couldn’t fool the Agents watching him with the truck, then it was all for naught. Statue didn’t like all this pressure put squarely on him, but what else could he do? He was the truck driver. Nobody else on the team could do it.

  Even with being a heavy smoker, Statue never smoked all the way to the filter. Usually when he threw out a cigarette, it was about eighty percent depleted. With this one, though, he smoked it all the way to the filter and didn’t realize it at first. He threw the butt into the woods on his right and then moved back into the truck. After a quick, silent prayer, he grabbed his black bag. Inside, he took hold of the black, rectangular device and plugged it in to the receptacle by the truck’s radio. In the heat of the moment, he forgot where the power switch was located. Once he found it, he clicked it on. A green light at the top started to blink, letting him know that the device was hot. There was another black cord at the bottom. At the end of the cord, the plug matched that of the GPS system.

  Statue was almost afraid to touch the GPS. One w
rong move would tip off those watching him. This old truck he was driving wouldn’t stand a chance against a host of USR squad cars. Not to mention, the resistance would be short on their weaponry. His left hand was visibly shaking as he reached towards the GPS. With his right hand, he grabbed the screw driver from the bag. Once all the screws were out, the GPS was free to move. He had it out of the console then looked around for the right plug to pull out. Unplugging the wrong one would surely tip off the USR that something was wrong.

  He scanned all of the plugs then thought he found the right one. It was instinct that told him to pull at the black plug in the upper right hand corner. He took a deep breath then put his left thumb and index finger around the square plug. In his right hand was the plug from the device. Reed explained that what the device would do was read the coordinates that the USR put into the GPS system. Once the coordinates were read by the hacked device, it would fool the GPS, making it look like the truck was still moving in the proper direction. Once that happened, Statue could drive anywhere he wanted to go and anyone keeping track of the truck would have no idea.

  The only problem, and it was a doozy to Statue, was that split second when he unplugged the GPS and then plugged the device into it. This maneuver would be caught if the person who kept track of his truck watched with any kind of intent. Statue prayed that they weren’t. He considered another cigarette before doing the switch, but thought better of it. It was now or never…

  His hands were quick. The plugs were switched in less than a second. That was what was impressed upon him when given the job. There was a feeling of accomplishment inside and he quietly applauded himself. Statue also hadn’t breathed in several seconds so he finally exhaled. He stared down at his phone, waiting for the dreaded call from dispatch demanding to know what had happened to his GPS. The call never came. He exhaled again and pulled out his other phone. With his now calm fingers, he typed in the numbers and waited. The other line rang two times before an answer.

  “This is Statue, Operation Blackbird is a go.”