Kurt Schlichter: People's Republic

“I try to make a difference. But like I said, I totally don’t remember anything like that. Now, why did you interrupt my recuperation and drag me into town today?”

“You’re always charming, Kelly. Let me introduce Mr. George Ryan. The George Ryan. He’s got a proposition you need to hear.”

Ryan stepped forward while Turnbull stood, and they firmly shook hands. Turnbull sat back down. Ryan stood for an awkward moment, assessing his guest.

“You know me, correct?”

“I know of you. I know you’re rich and you’re powerful and you have really nice offices near the top of the tallest building in North America. I don’t know why I’m here, though I am enjoying this coffee and the view.”

“Well, Mr. Turnbull, you are correct that I am rich and powerful and that these are nice offices, and I’ll take your word on my secretary’s coffee, but none of that really means anything to me right now. I have a problem, and Mr. Deeds tells me you are the only man who might be able to solve it for me.”

“Clay says a lot of things. You need to watch what Clay says. He’s a spook and sometimes you can’t be absolutely sure whose side he’s on.”

Clay simply smiled. “Just to be clear, I’m on the United States’ side. You might not always see that at the time, but in the long run that’s my side.”

“Uh huh,” replied Turnbull.

Ryan went on. “Mr. Deeds tells me you were Army. Afghanistan before the Split. Other places. You helped grab Ft. Hood during the Crisis. Fought in Southern Illinois and Indiana, Indian Country, behind the lines, organizing and leading guerillas. Other places.”

“I did my part.”

“You were part of Operation Megiddo.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Turnbull said, glancing toward Clay with a frown. “That would be totally classified and anyway, I read that the Israelis took out the Iranian nukes all by themselves. Your researchers shouldn’t believe everything they read on the internet.”

“Of course,” said Ryan, continuing. “Now, you grew up in California, so you know it well. After the Split, you made a lot of runs back over the line before you left government service – well, official government service – and started doing runs on your own. You cross over and bring people out for money.”

“Well, we all have to eat. And I’m not an office kind of guy.”

“No, you are most definitely not an office guy, Mr. Turnbull. I’ve just scratched the surface on your record. You’re quite impressive. You are also clearly the best at extracting individuals trapped inside the People’s Republic and now I need you to use that skill for me. Right now. In the next 48 hours.”

“Go back in right now? See, that conflicts with my calendar. I have a lot of nothing scheduled in my immediate future.”

“It has to be now.”

“Mr. Ryan, I just came out less than a week ago. You just heard Clay mention that they’re looking for me. I survive doing this work by not pushing my luck. Don’t go in or out the same way twice, and put in a little time between runs.”

“We don’t have time to delay, Mr. Turnbull. Tell me, what was it like over there this last run of yours?”

“It was a mess and getting worse. Less food, less fuel, more cops. People were angry. It’s falling apart. The whole house of cards is collapsing.”

“Yes. We’ve been expecting this for years. The People’s Republic is imploding, Mr. Turnbull. While we in the US doubled down on what made America great, they doubled down on the blue state socialism that split the country apart. And exactly what we knew would happen is happening. It’s a police state that functions only to keep the elite separate from the consequences of its policies. They are out of money, and they are out of excuses for their people. All they have left are scapegoats. It’s going to get very, very ugly, very, very soon.”

“It is. And I don’t want to be caught in the middle of it when it all goes to hell.”

“My daughter Amanda is over there, Mr. Turnbull. In the middle of a coming chaos we can barely imagine.”

“How did that happen?”

“She defected.”

“She did not defect!” interrupted the young man. “She’s just confused.”

“Mr. Turnbull, this is my son George Junior. His twin sister is Amanda. They were close. George chose to do his military service after college. Amanda went to UT in Austin then stayed for grad school. Unfortunately, not all of the progressives picked-up and headed to a coast after the Split. Some stayed here, especially at universities, and they are like a cancer. They spread their lies and some people, like Amanda, get taken in. She decided that all this, all this prosperity and freedom, is immoral. She believed the People’s Republic was some kind of paradise. So she left. As you know, we don’t keep anyone in. We keep them out. She and some friends crossed over a year ago and we had no idea what happened to her until my sources started telling me she was appearing in PR propaganda.”

“Got a picture?”

“What?”

“A picture of Amanda. I think I might have seen one of her billboards.”

Ryan produced his smartphone and found a photo of a pretty blonde girl on a horse.

“Yeah, that’s her. Must have been a real coup for them, having the daughter of a guy like you willing to shit on her own country. I didn’t hear about it here.”

“I’m not proud of her, I assure you, Mr. Turnbull. Since there’s no real direct communication between the two halves of the country any more, it was fairly easy to use my influence to make sure this did not get out into the media. But, regardless, she is still my daughter and I love her and I want you to go in and get her and bring her back home to me.”

“Well, how do you know she even wants to come back?”

“I don’t, not for sure.”

“She wants to come home. I know it,” George Junior said, impatient. “She got confused. I just need to talk to her. She’ll see the light, and I’ll get her to come back with us.”

“Wait one, who exactly is this ‘us’ he’s talking about? I work alone. The ‘by myself’ brand of ‘alone.’ Remember the loner part that’s no doubt part of the psych profile Clay there must have given you? That’s me. A loner. Ergo, alone.”

“You need to take George Junior with you. Like I said, he’s close to Amanda. He can talk sense into her. He can get her to come home. If you try it by yourself, there’s no way she would cooperate. She might even hurt you.”

“She seems scary. But I don’t need to carry an amateur. My ruck’s full enough.”

“George knows how to handle himself. He’s a Blood Citizen.”

“Congratulations on getting yourself shot, kid. Helluva way to earn the right to vote. Now, before we continue, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here, because we seem to be operating under the unspoken premise that I am willing to go back in a week after I came out, while they’re looking for me, and go extract a defector who probably doesn’t even want to be extracted. And that is a false premise.”

“There’s no one else who can do this. I need you, Mr. Turnbull.”

“I appreciate that, Mr. Ryan, but I need me too, preferably not swinging from some rope off a crane as a spy.”

“Money is not an issue, Mr. Turnbull.”

“Well, it is for me. What kind of money are we talking about?”

“Five hundred thousand.”

“Not enough.”

“A million.”

“Still not enough.”

“Mr. Turnbull, I’ve talked to some of your previous employers. You’ve never gotten more than $500,000 for an extraction.”

“I’ve also never been asked to do a job by a billionaire. Mr. Ryan, I’m a capitalist and if I was doing this job – if – I would charge what the market would bear. And I think it would bear, say, $5 million.”