Gordon Ryan - State of Rebellion

Watching her shuffle away, her wrists handcuffed and leg restraints in place, Pug had suddenly felt humbled by the confined life most people led, restricted by their view of the world, which in many cases was limited to a short fifty-mile radius with the highlight of their life being a trip to Atlantic City, or for the more fortunate, Las Vegas.

Bentley parked the car in the hotel basement, and she and Pug entered the elevator. Three days earlier, when Granata had called Pug in New Zealand and arranged this meeting in San Francisco, he’d briefed Pug on the members of the task force, including Bentley.

“She’s been with the bureau just under two years. Assignment to your task force is somewhat unprecedented for one so inexperienced, but she comes highly rated. Her partner, Al Samuels, is the agent in charge of the FBI’s militia investigation in California. Bentley has been working with him for just over a year. His reports on their progress so far indicate that she shows excellent instincts and that she’s learned rapidly. However, the choice of whether to keep her on the task force or not is up to you, Pug. Once my appointment is confirmed, I could assign someone more senior, but they would have less knowledge on the specific units we’re concerned about. Besides, she works pretty well with Samuels, it seems.”

“I’ve been the junior man on a new team a few times myself, Judge. Have you had a chance to talk with her?”

“A couple of times.”

“What do you think?” Pug asked.

“Very intelligent woman, but I don’t want to influence you. It’s your call. These two California-based agents will be key to your success, and you need to have full confidence in them.”

“Judge,” Pug said, “it’s now your agency. In the years I’ve known you, I’ve not yet found a reason to question your evaluation of anything. I say let’s keep her on the team.”

“Here we are, Colonel,” Bentley said as the elevator reached the fourteenth floor. “Room 1426, to the right. Agent Samuels should already be here.”

Bentley knocked on the door, and Samuels opened it immediately.

“Good afternoon, Colonel Connor. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” he said.

Pug shook hands with the man, guessing Samuels was approximately his own age. “Let’s start off informally, what say?” Pug said. “I’ll be Pug and you be Al. Or would you prefer Alfred?”

“Al will do fine, Colonel, and my partner is Nicole, Nicky, or sometimes Annie Oakley, when she outshoots me on the pistol range,” Samuels said, chuckling.

“Just Nicole, please,” Bentley said, offering her hand again to Pug. “Don’t mind Al. It sticks in his craw that my shooting seems to, uh, be a bit more accurate.” She smiled.

“I’d prefer we work by first names, if that doesn’t violate FBI protocol.”

“No, uh,” Samuels said, “we’ve kind of developed our own protocol on this assignment. By the way, Judge Granata just called and said he’s about ten minutes out. And Pug, please don’t be offended if we refer to Judge Granata as ‘Director.’ The casual atmosphere only goes so far, if you know what I mean.”

“Absolutely, Al,” Pug laughed. “Ten minutes until Director Granata arrives, you say?”

“That’s what he said just a couple of minutes ago.”

“Well, then. I think I’ll use the bathroom to shave and clean up a bit. That was a long flight.”

“How about some lunch when you finish?” Nicole asked.

“Great. A club sandwich and a lemonade or a Sprite, if you please.”

Judge Granata was, in fact, nearly forty-five minutes late, giving Pug ample time to shower, change clothes, and have a bite to eat. When Granata did arrive, the four of them immediately launched into a review of the militia activity that had occurred during the previous twelve months.

Pug shook his head. “These guys have clearly stepped over the line, and certainly they’ve gone out on a limb, claiming responsibility for murdering federal judges. But do you actually believe they consider themselves involved in open warfare with the United States government?”

“Clearly, the core leadership does,” Judge Granata said, nodding. “But it’s not as farfetched as it seems at first glance. Let Samuels and Bentley update you further. Though the president’s idea to form an independent investigative task force was new, you’ll be pleased to know you won’t have to start from scratch. The FBI has been on this issue since before the first referendum. We’ve compiled quite a file.”

“That’s what Agent Samuels was telling me before you arrived.”

“Agents Samuels and Bentley will be your direct link with my office. For about eighteen months this has been their sole assignment-investigation of the northern California militia groups. They’ve compiled dossiers on the leadership and have uncovered some very interesting linkage. What you don’t know, and it’s still restricted information outside of this group, is that they’ve an undercover FBI operative inside the Shasta Brigade. Through him, we understand that more bank robberies are planned. We’re hoping our insider can provide more detailed information on timing so we can stake out a few of the likely targets.”

“Do you have any other inside intelligence sources?” Pug asked.

“Agent Bentley can answer that question, Colonel,” Al Samuels said. “She’s had primary responsibility for membership and background.”

“None, unfortunately, Colonel Connor, at least no one else inside the brigade,” Nicole responded. “We do, however, have a fairly complete membership list of the organization-that’s included in what I gave you in the car. At last count, about a hundred and twenty-five fully active members, with maybe thirty hard-core, experienced military types. Of course, total membership is probably five times that number, but most of those have no idea how involved the units are in these killings and robberies.”

Pug leaned back, resting his arms on the side of the paisley lounge chair.

“Nicole, in my experience with foreign groups, thirty dedicated, capable men, or women for that matter, can cause a vast amount of devastation.”

Nicole nodded and looked toward Samuels.

“That would hold true in this case, too, Colonel. Nicole?” he said, nodding for her to continue.

“Colonel, this secession issue, as Director Granata indicated, goes much deeper than anyone had imagined. Popular support exists, make no mistake, and in fact is still growing, but we have reason to believe that someone, or, more likely a group of people, have infiltrated the system in California and have rigged the elections.”

Nicole paused, allowing Pug time to reflect on the magnitude of her statement. Judge Granata and Al Samuels sat silently. When Pug didn’t react, waiting instead for her to continue, Nicole looked at the judge, puzzled.

Pug leaned forward in his chair. “People, let’s get something straight. Ms. Bentley,” he said, looking directly at her, “you, Agent Samuels, and Director Granata should not assume that I am so naive as to be astonished by any revelation that might come forth from an investigation of this sort. Terrorists and fanatics of the kind we’re dealing with here are willing to do virtually anything to further their cause. If we didn’t know that before Oklahoma City and the USS Cole and the events of 9/11, we certainly know it now. Sometimes the motivation is no more than to get one single person out of the way so some other faction can lead. I’ve seen it. And if they think it’s required, they’ll take down a whole plane load of people to kill one person. Granted, domestic origin is a new wrinkle, and one that makes our job even harder, but it’s not to be unexpected.”