Gordon Ryan - Uncivil liberties

“In a heartbeat. Any representative or senator opposed will be vilified and ostracized by his or her peers. It will cross party lines better than any legislation in memory.”

“I must admit, Rachel, that it contains some measures that will make my job a lot easier to perform. Arrest and detention, I mean. And interrogation, search and seizure of property.”

“Is that the America you envisioned when you were a child, when you entered the Naval Academy? Is a police state your idea of freedom?”

Pug shook his head. “Of course not, but we’re faced with a terrible situation, Rachel. I don’t have to explain that to you, of all people. At some point, we have to rely on our guardians to have our best interest at heart. We have to trust the police and the military.”

“And what about others who are less restrained or honest then you are, Pug? Who will curtail their actions? Who will stop them from abusing those rights? Probably some politician in South America, maybe even a well-meaning person, said it was good for their country too, then hundreds of people began to disappear and were never seen again. If you think that can’t happen in America, you underestimate the nature of people who demand to have their own way. Power is an addictive thing, Pug. Those who hold it come to believe their vision is the only one worth pursuing and violating the rights of a few people-or a few thousand-is worth the sacrifice. Not their sacrifice, of course, but those who disagree. Dissent will become a thing of the past. I’ve already seen the symptoms in the Senate. People who ran for office for honorable reasons convince themselves that their ideas are the only right ones. In some countries, they convince themselves and others that a few hundred or a few thousand people killed is little to ask for the salvation of tens of thousands of others. And it grows incrementally. People become afraid to speak against the government.”

He nodded. “I understand the concerns. It will be a balancing act and law enforcement, military or civilian, will need to police their own house to assure civil rights are not trampled in the process.”

“As I said, it hasn’t worked in many countries that we came to call ‘banana republics.’ Their citizens are oppressed, or killed, by those intent on retaining power.”

“Granted,” Pug said. “But we can rise above that.”

“I hope so, Pug. I truly hope so.”

“Thank you for tonight, Rachel. I’m very grateful you accepted my invitation.”

“For me too, Pug,” she said, stepping in close. Without comment, she leaned even closer and lifted her chin, placing her hand behind Pug’s head and pulling him close enough to kiss. He reacted by putting his arms around her, wrapping her in a full embrace. When she withdrew, Rachel leaned back and smiled up at him. “I know we need to face our potholes, Pug, and can’t run away from them, even if they seem dark and dangerous.”

“Are you suggesting that you’re willing to ‘patch’ my pot-holes, Rachel?”

“I’m suggesting that I don’t want to be alone tonight. I’m suggesting that this is not recreational sex, but that it’s an emotional need. I do care for you Pug, and it may not sound romantic, but I need you on duty tonight, General Connor.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Pug said, pulling her closer once again. “The Marine Corps is honored to be of service.”

Eisenhower Executive Office Building

Washington D.C.

July

When Pug walked into the EEOB on Friday morning, he was met in the corridor by Carlos Castro. “Seen the morning papers?” Carlos asked.

Pug raised his copy of the Washington Post from under his arm and motioned toward Carlos’s office. Once inside, Pug dropped the paper onto the table top and took a seat in front of Carlos’s desk. The headline read:

Domestic Tranquility Law of the Land

Individual Citizen Rights Restricted

“It gives us carte blanche,” Carlos said, “but it certainly ties the hands of ordinary citizens if they happen to be stopped for trespassing.”

Pug nodded. “Senator Winchester has been quoted on every talk show since last night. He’s today’s hero. Truth is, it will make our job a lot easier, with no restrictions and ten-day retention without charges being filed.”

Carlos exhaled and took a chair behind his desk. “General, America is headed down a path that may be impossible to retrace. I’m trying to see the bright side of this, but as a lawyer, even a non-practicing lawyer, I find this infringement on citizen rights troubling. Don’t you?”

Pug was still standing and retrieved his newspaper from the table, re-reading the headline. “I haven’t decided, Carlos. Anything that helps us catch the Wild Bunch… I just don’t know. We’ll see.”

“What I’m concerned about, General, is that we’ll see the fallacies of this course of action too late to reverse course.”

“I understand that. Well, let’s see what the day brings,” he said, leaving Carlos’s office. As Pug entered his office, his telephone voice mail light was flashing. Three messages were identified and he pressed the play button. The lilt of an Irish accent in the first message took his complete interest and he quickly listened to the next two, neither of which was important and both were deleted. He replayed the first message.

“Good day to yer, General Connor. If you’ve time for a stroll with a friend of the old sod, be at the Washington Memorial, Friday morning at 11:00.”

Pug quickly glanced at his watch, which read 7:45. He had just enough time to finish reading the Domestic Tranquility analysis paper Carlos had prepared and to meet with the Trojan team to discuss the pros and cons of the analysis. He pressed the intercom button.

“Carlos, just got an interesting phone message. Could you join me for a few moments, please?”

“On the way, General,” Castro replied.

As soon as Castro stepped into Pug’s office, Lieutenant Holcomb followed him. Pug smiled as both men entered the room. Holcomb deferred to Carlos at the doorway, a sure sign that the junior officers were accepting a former enlisted man in a senior position.

“Two Marines and a Naval Lieutenant in the same room. What should we make of that, Mr. Deputy Director?” Pug quipped. Holcomb had often been the foil in the service rivalry in the office.

Without the slightest hesitation, Castro puffed his chest and lowered his voice several decibels, replicating the Marine drill instructor’s soft warning that was often delivered just before the in-your-face, spit-flecked tirade. He assumed the third-person personae, so familiar with drill instructors. “General, the Deputy Director, with Marine green blood still flowing in his veins, believes that the Naval officer in question has experienced an epiphany and deeply regrets his choice of military service. It is my opinion, sir, that he has come to request an immediate transfer to the Corps,” Castro replied.

Pug laughed out loud while Lieutenant Holcomb stared silently at Castro. In the first few weeks of operation, each of the officers selected to be part of Trojan had responded well to the presence of a former enlisted man serving as Deputy Director. On several occasions, some of the team had privately shared with General Connor their admiration for the new deputy and his ability to grasp the most abstract concept of their operation.

“Hardly, Mr. Castro,” Holcomb added. “Despite your transition to the civilian world, where your co-workers have tried to teach you the protocol for the use of a knife and fork and more importantly, a napkin, this Naval lieutenant thinks it’s more likely that with two Marines in one location, and in recognition of said Naval lieutenant’s responsibility to the Naval Service, which includes the subordinate service commonly referred to as the Marine Corps, said Naval officer was required to assure protocol was observed and he felt it his duty to prevent any disparaging behavior and protect the image of the Naval service. With all due respect to our Marine commander, of course, General,” he said, a sly smile on his face.