Gordon Ryan - State of Rebellion

“I’ve heard enough!” Shaw shouted, standing abruptly and knocking over his chair.

Wolff remained seated. “As I said, Shaw, the choice is yours. If necessary, we can locate another more suitable person-or unit-to run this operation. What we are proposing will happen, and the Shasta Brigade will participate, with or without you. You can be in charge, and the Shasta Brigade can take the lead. . or not. Your choice.”

The two men stared at one another for several long moments while Captain Jeffs, Lieutenant Hagleman, and First Sergeant Krueger remained silent, awaiting the outcome of this challenge to Shaw’s authority.

“And who commands you, Wolff?” Shaw asked.

“ That, you will never know. Let’s just say, their objectives are in harmony with yours, and they are prepared to support your movement with unlimited financial resources and the finest weapons to bring all your dreams to fruition, so to speak. And to ease your mind, they are not foreign nationals seeking to take over a part of America. You are not being asked to participate in a treasonous action, unless you see secession as such,” Wolff said, smiling.

“And when will this happen?”

“Be patient-the political work needs to be completed first, and that’s already in process. Then the military ops will follow. But it starts today, Commander Shaw-right here, right now, in this room. In a few weeks, a couple of months at most, I’ll arrange a meeting of the other militia units and announce your consolidated command responsibilities. Now, let’s talk about what your brigade will accomplish over the next sixty to ninety days. I think you’re really going to like your orders, Commander Shaw.” Wolff smiled.

Yolo County Administration Building

Woodland, California

July, 2011

Just over a month after McFarland’s funeral, Dan Rawlings sat behind his desk in the Yolo County Administration Building, reviewing his daily planner, when Pat buzzed him over the office intercom.

“Dan, there’s a Ms. Jean Waters on the line from Waters amp; Hobson Literary Agency in New York City.”

Dan immediately recognized the name of the agent to whom he’d sent his novel. “Put her through, please.” Before picking up the phone, Dan quickly rummaged through the files stacked neatly behind his desk and retrieved a yellow folder. He pulled out the cover letter he had sent to Ms. Waters when he had mailed off the manuscript for Voices in My Blood.

“Good morning, this is Dan Rawlings.”

“Good morning, Mr. Rawlings. This is Jean Waters from Waters amp; Hobson. How are you today?”

“I’m fine, Ms. Waters. It’s a pleasure to hear from you.”

“Mr. Rawlings, I’ll come quickly to the point of my call. We’ve read your submission, and I must say, it’s very well presented. I think we can be of assistance in placing your novel, and we’d like to represent you.”

Dan had been deeply engrossed in budget issues prior to the call. He was surprised by the suddenness of the offer, and it took a few moments for him to mentally shift gears.

“Well, Ms. Waters, I’m flattered. I’ve actually done some additional work on the manuscript I sent last month. Uh, could you tell me where we go from here?” he asked, playing for enough time to digest this welcome but unexpected news. For six months, he had been receiving rejection slips from various publishers and agents. They ranged from a penciled note on his returned letter, which said, ‘Nope, not for us ,’ to a more polite, two-paragraph letter, in which the agent advised that they didn’t handle that type of fiction.

“I’d like to send you a contract for representation. Of course, I can’t promise that we will be able to sell your manuscript to a publisher, but I certainly have high hopes. It’s well written, the story is compelling, and it’s timely, given recent developments in California, especially if you could add a closing chapter or two on the growth of the militia and the secession phenomenon.”

“Thank you, Ms. Waters. Thank you very much. You’ve made my day. I’ll watch the mail for your contract.”

“You’re very welcome, Mr. Rawlings. We’ll be in touch. If you have any questions, or if you have any occasion to be in New York, please let us know. We’d like to meet with you. Bye.”

“I will, and a good day to you, too, Ms. Waters. Thank you again.” Dan hung up the phone, and less than five seconds after his phone light went out on Pat’s switchboard, she was in his office.

“Well, don’t keep me in the dark. What’d she say?”

Working to stifle a happy grin, Dan said, “She asked me if I’d like the condo on Oahu or Kauai.”

“ C’mon, Dan.”

“All right, she offered to represent me. She likes the novel.”

“Great! Absolutely great. I’m working for the next John Grisham.”

“Not so fast, Pat. I’d really like to keep this between us, please. It’s a bit premature to begin getting too-”

“I know, I know. I’ll keep my mouth shut, if you promise to tell me when something happens.”

Smiling and nodding his head, Dan got up from his desk. He reached for his suit coat. “That’s a deal, Pat. I’m going out for a quick walk around the block. I need to clear my head and think about this for a few minutes.”

“Okay. I’ll cover for you. You don’t have anything until your appointment with the county attorney after lunch.”

“In that case, color me gone. I’ll be back after lunch, about one.”

“Okay. And congratulations. I know it’s nothing firm, but it is the first big step, right?”

“I guess it is. We’ll see. But first things first. We’ve got a lot happening, with the board undecided about their stance on secession, even though most of the other counties have already voted in favor.”

“Oh, I heard three of the supervisors speaking yesterday. They want to install HotVote in Yolo County for our local elections.”

“What?” Dan asked.

“You know, HotVote-the Home Telephone Voting system. The state’s been using it since the primaries last June.”

“What is it, exactly?” Dan asked

“Our county administrator wants to know how elections and the voting process work in California?” Pat teased.

“Yeah, don’t spread it around,” Dan laughed.

“It’s absolutely a snap. You dial the 800 number first. The computer prompts you to enter your Social Security number, followed by a four-digit assigned PIN, given to you when you register to vote-sort of like the bank teller machine. Then you’re presented with a question-by-question list of issues and candidates. You know, ‘press one if you vote for Wilson, two if you vote for Johnson,’ and so forth. You can skip any issues you don’t wish to address. It’s great, Dan, and really convenient. They’ve used it in other states for several years.”

“What about the longer referendum issues? Does the computer read them to you?”

“No, silly. You have to put in some effort before the election-that is if you want to know what you’re voting on.”

“Okay, I’ve got it,” he said, an embarrassed grin crossing his face.

“It should make it easier for everyone.”

“You mean the couch potatoes get to vote, too?” he joked as he headed for the door. “See you after lunch.”

“Okay. But next election, you should try it.”

“I’ll think about it, but I kind of like the privacy and security of the booth,” he said.

“What’s more private or secure than calling in from home?” Pat laughed.

“I guess. See ya later.”

“Good evening. I’m Paul Spackman, and welcome to the Six O’ Clock Eyewitness News.