Glen Tate - 299 Days - The Preparation

“We need the money,” Sean said. “That’s the bottom line. How do we go get it?”

“Let’s raise the income tax on high-end earners,” was someone’s predictable suggestion.

“Well, we’ve done that a lot lately,” said the Governor’s political director, whose name Grant had forgotten. “The ‘high-end’ earner is now getting down to the upper ends of the middle class.” The political director did not want her boss, the Governor, to run for re- election after raising taxes a zillionth time.

Sean shot back, “That’s our money. We need it.”

“Your money?” Grant said with obvious anger. “It’s not your money, it’s theirs.” Grant looked Sean right in the eyes.

Silence.

Everyone stared at Grant. That was twice now that Grant had said something inappropriate. Grant wanted to leave the room but knew he couldn’t. He had to be there for all the Ed Oleos, Big Sams, and Joe Tantoris. But he had nothing more to say. He had just said all he needed to.

After Grant recovered from saying something that stunned the whole room into silence, he started to think about what had Sean had just said. Oh God, Grant thought. It’s true. These people really think the people’s money is the government’s money. The people work for the government. The people need to work harder so the government can get more. Grant had always thought they believed it, but there in that conference room they had come right out and said it. It was true. He was seeing it with his own eyes. It was frightening.

Right then and there Grant decided that he couldn’t be part of this. He also realized — with absolute certainty now — that the government was worse than even he had thought. These people were thieves.

How could these thieves keep doing this and not get caught?

Grant had a second epiphany: the idiot sheeple kept voting for the thieves. The sheeple got scraps from the thieves and were too scared to stand up for what’s right. It was kind of like his mom letting his dad hurt people because she was too weak to stand up. Same thing, bigger scale.

Grant struggled to stay in his chair and make it through the meeting. When the meeting was finally over, he walked back from the Governor’s Office to the nearby Auditor’s Office on the capitol grounds. All the post-election euphoria about getting to help people from the inside had thoroughly worn off by now. Little by little, the old staff that remained in the Auditor’s Office were thwarting the new Auditor’s reform agenda. Grant knew this would happen. Now the old staff was rallying and making it impossible for the new Auditor and the handful of his new people to get any reforms done. It was getting ridiculous. Grant needed to do something about it.

He walked into Menlow’s office, and closed the Auditor’s door. “Rick,” Grant said to Menlow, “you need to fire some people or they’ll derail you.”

The Auditor did not like this. Before Grant had made it back to the office, Sean had called Menlow to tell him about Grant’s “divisive” remarks at the meeting. Menlow needed Grant to quit causing him problems. Grant’s “helping the citizens” thing had gone a little too far.

Menlow calmly replied, “Grant, I need to govern. I’m no longer running for this office when I needed to promise reforms. I need to be practical now. Maybe you could be a little more cooperative with the staff here.”

Grant understood perfectly what Menlow was saying. “Play ball” was the message he was sending to Grant. This was the beginning of the end of Grant’s government employment. Good riddance.

There was no reason to be a jerk to Menlow; it wouldn’t change anything. “I will try, Mr. Auditor,” Grant said. There was some silence and then Grant added, “I’d better get back to work.” Time to start the exit from the Auditor’s Office and get back to WAB. Grant had tried to reform the system from the inside. At least he tried.

Grant looked for Jeanie so he could vent to her. She was a hardcore conservative so she would see his point of view.

Jeanie seemed to have been expecting Grant to talk to her. Had Menlow told her about the meeting?

Grant told her what had happened and that he needed to leave the Auditor’s Office. “Jeanie, how can you stand all this?”

“I dunno, Grant,” Jeanie said with a sigh. “I need this job.

There aren’t too many slots for a Republican communications director in this state.” Her voice turned jokingly sarcastic to make the point, “Oh, wait, there’s only one and I already have the job. I need to keep it.”

Grant could see where this was going. He had stupidly put his faith in a politician and a political system. This system was not fixable. At least not without massive change. An election here and there couldn’t do it. It would take something bigger. That terrified him.

Grant had one hole in his preps: a sidearm. He had a revolver and a pocket pistol. They were fine for what they were, but he needed a tactical side arm. Or two. Like the Glock he borrowed from Pow. He went to Capitol City Guns.

Chip was glad to see him, as usual. “Care to buy anything today, Mr. Matson?” He asked.

“You got any Glocks?” Grant asked. Of course they did. Several dozen.

Grant tried a Glock Model 22, the full-size Glock in .40 just like the one he had borrowed from Pow. It fit perfectly in Grant’s hand. It had substance to it, but wasn’t too heavy. It was the perfect balance. The one he was handling had glow-in-the-dark night sights. Night sights are a must, Grant presumed.

“Special deal for you, my friend,” Chip said. “This is a gently used law enforcement trade-in. Just $399. Night sights and all.” Grant looked it over; it was in great shape. It seemed like most police only shot their pistols once a year to qualify. This thing was practically new. “And, of course, we have a liberal return policy here for our favorite customers,” Chip said.

“Sold,” Grant said. “I’ll need a few magazines, too.” Grant checked his envelope of cash he brought in from the car. He had been driving all over the state on State Auditor business so he had some pretty decent expense checks from all the reimbursements. “How about ten magazines?” Grant said. Glock magazines were relatively cheap, about $20 each, which was half of what some other pistol magazines were. Grant had at least ten magazines for every gun he owned that used magazines. A gun is useless without a magazine, and magazines break and get lost. Pistol magazines were a good investment, too. A $20 Glock magazine would be worth ten times that during a collapse. There were likely half a million Glocks in .40 out there. They were standard issue to most police departments. There would always be demand for them and for their magazines in a barter situation. With so many of them out there, there would be parts (although Glocks almost never broke) and there was always lots of .40 ammo available. With all those cops with Glocks in .40, they would have guns, magazines, and ammo to sell if they needed spare cash. It scared Grant that his vision of what was coming included some cops selling their weapons.

Grant needed some ammo. At first, he bought ammunition in fifty-round boxes. Now, he bought ammo by the case. Capitol City gave him a “volume discount” on cases and basically sold them to him for their wholesale cost. He would use roughly half a case at a time on training.

Grant would take the other half case and stockpile it. He put the ammo in .50 ammo cans like the ones he had in the storage shed and now out at his cabin. At this point, he had about two dozen ammo cans, each holding several hundred rounds, depending on the size of the cartridge. About a dozen ammo cans were at his house. He couldn’t believe his wife didn’t wonder what was in all those Army green square cans with little blue painter’s tape labels on them marked “5.56” “7.62” “12” “38” and “380.” Now ammo cans with “40” on them would be appearing.