Richard Stephenson - Resistance

“Why can’t you just refuel?”

“Howard won’t allow any of the stealth jets to land outside the PSA.”

Max was amused. “If Howard deems it so, then your pilot, Hal, must certainly agree.”

“Exactly.”

Max grunted as he reached for his pill bottle. When he married Elizabeth, he promised to never take Vicodin or any other narcotic again. He’d been taking Tramadol to manage his pain. Healthcare in the PSA put the UAE’s system to shame. “Look, Richard, I know you’ve been planning this invasion for quite some time, but I’m sure you can delegate your plans to your second-in-command. All of us will understand if the rescue of your daughter takes priority.”

“It’s a huge risk; I’d like some definitive proof that it’s her. A girl named Christina could be anyone. I don’t even have an approximate age on this girl in Orlando.”

“Richard, you’re forgetting one very important resource.”

“What?”

“We do have a mole inside Sterling’s camp.”

“Stacy Reid! How could I forget?”

***

Stacy Reid was sitting at her desk trying not to think about her former boss, President Malcolm Powers. Today was Malcolm’s birthday. She doubted she’d be able to stop reminiscing about past celebrations they’d shared and what she might have done today had he still been alive. She missed him terribly.

Stacy wondered how much longer she could keep this up before she lost her mind. She was terrified of Simon Sterling and what he might do to her if he discovered she was a spy. The only way she could ease her troubled mind was to keep telling herself that the UAE was crumbling from within and she was, in large part, instrumental in its welcomed demise. She was in constant contact with Howard and fed him valuable intelligence. Howard had programmed Hal to connect with his sibling computer, now under President Sterling’s watchful eye. It enabled Howard to watch Simon’s every move, listen to all phone calls, and read all his digital communication. Howard Beck was the President of the Pacific States of America and didn’t have time to watch his nemesis every minute of the day, counting on Stacy to alert him whenever Sterling was up to something.

Stacy called up the holographic display on her desk and opened a window that showed the hallway leading to her office. The second window connected to the command center in Beck Castle. The face of Howard Beck stared back at her.

“Mr. President.”

“Good morning, Stacy. How are things in my home?”

“Everything’s fine.”

“How’s my wife’s cat?”

“Nala is fine. Sterling hates the animal, but he leaves her alone. He knows I adopted her as my own so he tolerates her.”

“Good. Anything to report?”

“Yes, something very big.”

“Do tell, please.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard the news of Regional Governor Weygandt’s unfortunate accident?”

Howard rolled his eyes. “And so soon after his declaration against the slavers. I’m sure his untimely demise had nothing to do with that.”

“Everyone knows Sterling had him killed, but no one dares breathe a word. You’ll be interested to know that Sterling and all the regional governors will be attending his funeral in Miami. Sterling has restricted all travel south of Orlando for a week. Miami and the surrounding areas are on full lockdown.”

“A wise precaution. The entire leadership of the UAE will be gathered in one place. A very tempting target, to be sure.”

“I thought you might see it that way. I’ll send you the details.”

“When’s the funeral?”

“A week from today.”

“I just might have to send my condolences.”

“It’ll be rough; security will be iron-clad.”

“I’ll see what I can do. On another topic, I have a request for you.”

“Anything.”

“General Dupree has some credible evidence regarding the location of his daughter, Christina. A man by the name of Benjamin Black runs a community at Disney World. Recently, they murdered a group of slavers and liberated the slaves. The report mentions a girl named Christina, but that’s all it has. No last name, age, or image.”

“I’m on it. I’ll doctor some orders from Sterling requesting detailed identification of all liberated slaves.”

“Thank you, Stacy. Richard extends his gratitude as well. What can you tell me about Benjamin Black?”

“He’s a force to contend with. There are men like him all over The Pulse Zone. They set up large communities and provide protection, food, shelter, everything. I have to go, Howard. I’ll get the funeral details to you soon.”

“I’ll talk to you later.” Howard terminated the link. His brilliant mind sped into high gear, exploring a number of scenarios that all closed with the same grand finale: the deaths of Simon Sterling and his miserable lackeys.

“An interesting turn of events, wouldn’t you say, sir?”

“Hal, we have a week to figure out how to take them out. We could end this struggle and begin taking back the country in less than a day.”

“I will endeavor to formulate a suitable plan of attack, sir.”

“I know you will, Old Man.”

“Sir, General Dupree is waiting outside.”

“Send him in, please.”

“What’d she say?” Richard asked as he strolled into the command center.

“Stacy is going to send out orders under Sterling’s name to properly ID all liberated slaves.”

“Excellent. Thank you, Howard.”

“We had a deal, Richard-you command my army, I help you find your daughter.”

“Would you be opposed to Max leading the invasion force? If I find out my daughter is in Florida, I’ll be leaving immediately.”

“Max has my full confidence. I’m also certain your senior officers will be able to carry out their duties in an efficient and timely manner.”

“What are you going to do about the cruise ship in Seattle? You think you can convince those people to live somewhere else?”

“I have no idea what will happen. I’ve never been the sociable type, and I hate public speaking with a passion. I’ll probably just get pissed and start yelling.”

“I’m sure Max won’t let that happen.”

Regional Governor Roberto Jimenez awoke in his Malibu home and pressed the button to summon his nurse. Roberto’s decades-long battle with multiple sclerosis had cost him the use of his legs. If not for Andrew, his faithful caregiver, the governor would be completely bedridden. As much as he loathed his emasculating dependence, Roberto knew he no longer had the physical strength needed to tend to his own basic personal needs.

“Good morning, sir.”

“Hurry up. I need to piss like a racehorse.”

“I keep telling you, Mr. Jimenez, there’s nothing wrong with using the bedpan.” Andrew did his best to sound like a concerned caretaker so as not to embarrass Roberto.

“And I keep telling you, I’m not pissing in a fucking jug!”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Remember, you promised to watch your temper. We need to keep your blood pressure down.”

“Whatever. Just get me to the bathroom.”

Andrew lifted Roberto out of bed and placed him in his wheelchair. Roberto maneuvered himself into the bathroom and shut the door.

“Do you need any help, sir?”

“No, I’m fine. Computer, report.”

“In the wake of the Golden Gate Bridge attack, widespread demonstrations have sprung up in San Francisco, Anaheim, Los Angeles, San Diego, and Sacramento.”

“Is that so? Show them to me.”

Five separate windows appeared on the bathroom mirror, each broadcasting similar reports of somewhat peaceful demonstrations threatening to erupt into violence at a moment’s notice. Picket signs delivered tasteless racist slogans as groups of malcontents billowed in the litter-filled streets.