William Johnstone - Fire in the Ashes

“Was for the people who chose to live under those laws. Not for everybody. No, Miss, once the battle is over, my people will return to the site of the old Tri-States—or wherever they choose to set up, and there we shall live out our lives, under our system of law, all the while paying a fair share of taxes to whatever central government you people happen to set up.”

Reporter studied soldier. Roanna slowly nodded her head in understanding. “You could set up your… Tri-States right now, couldn’t you? You don’t have to do this thing—this battle, do you?”

“No, Miss Hickman, we don’t. It’s just that… I believe that a people should live as freely as possible, and not under a dictatorship, such as the one Lowry and Cody and Hartline now seem to have.”

“General, you are not… you have ideals and, I guess, a certain amount of compassion that was not reported about you when you opened your borders a couple of years ago.”

Ben shrugged. “I’ve always maintained, Miss Hickman, the press doesn’t always report the truth, or do it fairly. They report what they perceive as the truth.” He looked at Ike. “Ike, would you take Miss Hickman and have her tested?”

Roanna looked at Ben. “General, what happens if I fail the test?”

“You will then be questioned under drug-induced hypnosis.”

“And if I fail that?”

Ben’s smile held no humor. “Why… you won’t wake up, Miss Hickman.”

The reporter shuddered.

“VP Lowry’s got the hots for you, baby,” Hartline told Sabra. “I showed him the film of you going down on me and it got him all worked up.”

They lay on tangled sheets in Hartline’s Richmond townhouse. Sabra had not asked what had happened to the occupants of the townhouse. She felt she knew. She fought back a shudder and lit a cigarette. Even after all these years since the world blew up, the cigarettes still tasted like shit. “And what did you tell him?”

“Nothing, yet, baby.” The mercenary’s fingers were busy between her legs.

Respond—respond! she told herself. Get into the act and make it good. She closed her eyes and pictured her husband, Ed, making love to her. She felt a warmth begin to spread down her belly. “Do I make brownie points by fucking the VP?”

Hartline laughed. “You’re all right, baby, you know that? I never miss with gals. I can peg ‘em right first time, every time. I knew you fucked your way to the top.”

I got there by hard work, you son of a bitch! Sabra silently cursed him. “You’re very astute, Sam. But you didn’t answer my question.”

“Sure, you get brownie points, baby. What the hell! You ever seen Lowry’s wife? Jesus,” he shuddered. “What a bag. Tell me,” he asked offhand, “what have you heard from little Roanna?”

“Nothing.”

Quicker than a strike of a snake, Hartline cupped a breast and brutally squeezed it. Sabra screamed in pain.

“Don’t lie to me, baby—I don’t really trust you; not yet. But don’t ever lie to me.”

“I wasn’t lying to you!” Sabra gasped the reply.

“Oh, I know it,” Hartline said, shifting into another personality. “That was just a little reminder not to ever lie to me.”

He raised up on an elbow and kissed the bruised breast.

Sabra waited for the pain to subside and said, “Have you given any thought to my doing the story on you?”

“Yeah. But I haven’t made up my mind yet. And I don’t look for little Roanna to come back.”

“She’ll be back.”

“Maybe, and maybe all this is some sort of little tricky game you cooked up inside that pretty head. We’ll see about it. Right now, you get me hard. You know how I like it.”

Sabra shifted positions without hesitation and took the mercenary orally. Her breast still hurt from the squeezing of Hartline’s hard hand. There were too many lives at stake for her to slip now. She was committed. But had she known what Hartline was thinking while she performed fellatio on him, Sabra would have cheerfully bitten his cock off.

“How are we receiving these from Levant?” Ben asked, after reading the first secret communiqué from the senior FBI agent.

“Scrambled radio messages on an old military frequency,” Cecil told him. “The man’s taking a hell of a chance doing this. Got to admire his courage.”

“So Lowry got to all these top senators and representatives through fear.”

“And rape,” Ike said. “These others,” he pointed to the second row of names, “are the ones President Addison can trust. The only ones who would vote aye on anything Addison proposed.”

“But not enough of them to make any difference,” Ben noted.

“Yeah. Lowry’s slick, no doubt about it. But this other message, right down there, interests me more.”

The message read:

Lowry might be unstable. Showing signs of slight mental deterioration. Believed the VP about to ask Hartline to set up liaison with NBC chief in Richmond, Sabra Olivier. Has video tape of lady with Hartline; watches it daily. Must warn you if lady is playing games, she is playing in the big leagues, way out of her field. If aforementioned lady is working with you people, ease her out. Hartline is insane, but brilliantly so. If he discovers the game—if any—the lady will die hard.

“You know what this tells me?” Cecil said.

Ben and Ike glanced at the black educator-turned-Rebel.

“The Secret Service is not happy with Lowry either. Levant has some of them on his side, as well.”

“Yeah,” Ike slowly nodded his head in agreement. “No other way he could have gotten this without their help. Or at least it would have been very difficult.” He glanced at Ben; but the man appeared deep in thought. “Ben?”

“Maybe we can do this without a lot of bloodshed,” Ben finally spoke. “Maybe we can pull a Banana Republic coup d’etat.”

“Assassination?” Cecil asked.

"If the Secret Service has people loyal to Addison who will go along with it.”

“Those guys aren’t exactly your average hit-type person,” Ike reminded him. “They’re a pretty true-blue bunch of men and women. You know what I mean.”

Ben grinned at his friend. “Not like us old Hell Hounds and SEALs, eh, Ike?”

Ike returned his grin, the gesture taking years off the Mississippi-born Medal of Honor-winner. “Yeah. They ain’t been trained with piano wire and K-Bars. I mean, don’t get me wrong; I’m not questioning their courage. They’d die for the people they’re protecting—that’s one of the risks of the job. But to cold-bloodedly kill… I don’t know, Ben.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Cecil injected. “If there is a chance we can stop any further mass bloodshed; any way to get this country out from under Cody and Lowry and Hartline… it’s worth it.”

“All right, let’s see if Levant goes along with it,” Ben said. “All he can do is tell us no; he can’t say any more than that without exposing his own position.”

“I wish there was some way to help the Olivier girl, Nancy,” Ike said. “Fifteen is a rough age to be initiated into the kinkiness of a noodle like Hartline.”

“I prefer not to think about it,” Ben said. “But I must admit, I haven’t been successful since Miss Hickman mentioned it. And speaking of Miss Hickman…” Ben cut his eyes.

The reporter was walking along a path with Dawn. Roanna had been in the camp for less than twenty-four hours, had successfully passed her PSE testing, and then, to Ben’s surprise, had voluntarily requested the hypnosis testing. She looked a little shaky, with Dawn holding on to her elbow.

“Doctor Harris said she fought the drug,” Cecil said. “Seems she had some… events in her past she was reluctant to bring under the light of memory, to use his words.”