Gordon Ryan - State of Rebellion

Jean Wolff stood beside the golf cart, looking up as United Express Flight 2340 completed its banking turn and leveled at about three thousand feet, heading due north. Approximately two miles from shore, its flight path paralleled the coast line, and Wolff could see the aircraft only by shielding his eyes from the sun as it completed its twilight journey into the sea.

From a pocket in his Titlest golf bag, Wolff retrieved what appeared to be a small transistor radio and extended the antenna. Without a word spoken between the two men, Wolff pressed a small, brown button on the face of the device, and an immense flash appeared in the sky, the sound reverberating some seconds later.

United Express Flight 2340 disappeared from radar scan just as Captain Anderson switched radio frequency to San Francisco control.

“Good evening. I’m Paul Spackman, and welcome to the Six O’ Clock Eyewitness News. A devastating tragedy has struck our nation this evening as multiple assassinations have occurred throughout California and other parts of the country. Reports are still coming in, but at present we have confirmed that seventeen of California’s fifty-two congressional representatives have been the victims of assassination attempts. Fourteen are confirmed dead, and three are wounded and under medical care, with one in critical condition. All seventeen were party to the class action suit filed with the U.S. Supreme Court last month in an attempt to overturn the secession vote.

“In a call to this network, the Western Patriot Movement has assumed responsibility for the attacks, claiming that these congressmen and women have failed to listen to the will of the people. President Eastman has ordered around-the-clock Secret Service protection for the remaining members of California’s congressional delegation. At the site of perhaps the most devastating single attack, we go now to Sally Todd, at the Breakwater Cove Yacht Club, in Monterey Bay, where dozens of vessels were used in search and rescue attempts, looking for any survivors of a United Airlines commuter flight with five congressional members aboard. Sally, are you there. .?”

“This is Colonel Connor,” Pug said, taking the telephone from his sister’s outstretched hand.

“Pug, it’s George Granata. Have you seen the news?”

“Yes. I’m in Christchurch with family, and we’re watching the Fox News live feed right now. The news is shaky. How bad is it actually?”

“Fourteen dead at the moment, in California and here in Washington. We’ve put the others under close security, but six are still unprotected. We haven’t located them yet. The president called and said it’s time to get our operation in gear. How soon can you make it back?”

Pug glanced at his watch. “It’s just after one, Wednesday afternoon here. I can be on the evening flight out of Auckland. I’ll have my sister call you at home tonight and confirm my departure, but I should be there by tomorrow evening.”

“Good-come straight to D.C. I’ll have two agents meet your flight at National. Do you want them to take you home, or shall I book you a room?”

“I’ll go home, George. I need some different clothing.”

“Fine. The agents will take you, and I’ll ask Wendy to put a casserole in your fridge.”

“Your wife is a saint, George. If she includes a piece of her coconut pie, don’t you dare eat it before I get there.”

“I’ll tell her,” Judge Granata said. “Ambassador Prescott has set up a meeting of involved parties for Thursday morning, and she wants you there as well. The ATF ambush and now this blatant attack seem to be an open declaration of war, Pug.”

Pug glanced at the muted television set and the scenes of floating aircraft pieces being retrieved from Monterey Bay. “It would seem so. See you tomorrow, George.”

At six-thirty Thursday morning, having gained a day crossing the International Date Line on his return from New Zealand, Pug Connor stood on the front porch of his Virginia home and waited for George Granata to exit his house next door. Although neighbors for over a dozen years, it was the first time they had arranged to go to work together. George exited his front door and walked over to where Pug waited.

“Welcome home, neighbor. Did you have a good flight?”

“Long, tiring, and cramped. In other words, the usual. Any developments?”

“One further congressman found dead in the backseat of his car. He was on a fishing vacation up in Maine. The rest have all been accounted for and are in some degree of hiding. Some found the security precautions to be restrictive, and balked. The president called a couple of them personally and told them about his security restrictions. He told them that if he could endure it, so could they, and to get their egos under control-no bravado. He personally delivered the message to that militant congresswoman from East Los Angeles-what’s her name-uh, Jessica Homer, I think,” Granata said.

“Our nation has never experienced anything even remotely similar. This is the work of ruthless and unprincipled people. How can we stop it?”

“We’re at war with these militia groups, Pug. No two ways about it. We’ll see what we can come up with this morning. The president still wants to keep the task force confidential, so it will be a closely held meeting. Oh, here’s our car,” he said as a long, black limousine pulled up. The driver got out and opened the rear door.

“Good morning, Director Granata.”

“Good morning, Sam. This is Colonel Connor, my neighbor and associate.”

They settled into the backseat, and once the driver was in place, George gave directions. “The White House, Sam. They’ll be expecting us.”

“Yes, sir.”

George put the divider window up and leaned back in his seat.

“There’s one bit of information I thought to hold until you returned, Pug-no reason to burden you during your trip. You know of course that Special Agent Al Samuels, the agent in charge of the California investigation, was killed during a militia-organized bank robbery several months ago. His partner, Nicole Bentley, the young woman you met in San Francisco, became the primary agent on the case. It will be your decision whether to retain her or not. Her knowledge is extensive, but she’s fairly new, with less than two years in the bureau. We could have a more experienced agent in place immediately, if that’s your call.”

“She’s going to need a new partner in any case, isn’t she? Are you satisfied with her performance while I’ve been gone?”

“She’s intelligent, seems to have overcome her grief at Samuels’ death-she was present at the robbery and, in fact, shot and killed the man who shot Samuels.”

“I see,” Pug said. “What’s your opinion? Can she handle it alone?”

“I like her instincts. I have a more senior agent in mind to assign with her, but he would assume leadership. She clearly wants to remain on the task force, and she’s in town, at my request, although I haven’t told her about the meeting this morning.”

“I’ve been the new boy a few times myself, George. I thought she had a good head on her shoulders. I vote we keep her onboard. As for a new team leader, that’s your call.”

“Good enough,” Granata said, picking up a telephone. “Sam, please arrange for Agent Bentley to meet us at the White House. I believe she’s at the Washington Hilton.”

Granata nodded at Sam’s response and replaced the receiver.

“So, how does the president want to handle this new development?” Pug asked.

“I haven’t a clue. Prescott called the meeting, and I’m not even sure if Eastman will be there. But we can be sure of one thing-he’s not easily pushed around, even by domestic enemies, and he’s got a lot of alternatives at his disposal.”