Уильям Дитц - Into the Guns

Olson took a sip of coffee. “Can you be more explicit?”

“Sure,” Victoria answered. “What if we paid you a fee each month? A retainer, so to speak. In the meantime, you would be free to work for the North.”

“ Free to work for the North? Or your employer would like us to work for the North?”

“They would like you to work for the North,” Victoria admitted.

“Okay, I like it so far,” Olson said. “Then what?”

“Then,” Victoria continued, “we’d like to hear from you on a regular basis.”

“You want me to spy for you.”

“That’s part of it,” she admitted, “but there’s more. The time could come when we would ask you to come south and fight for us. In that case, we would pay you what the North paid you, plus the monthly retainer, plus a hefty bonus for every member of your unit.”

Olson produced a low whistle. “That’s a very tempting offer.”

“And?”

“I need to consult with my team.”

“How long will that take?”

“I should know by this evening. We could discuss it over dinner.”

Victoria could tell that Olson was hoping for something more than dinner. She smiled. “Okay, when?”

“There’s a place called Rosa’s a block east of here. Would 1800 work for you?”

Victoria drained the coffee cup and gave it back. “You’re on. I’ll see you there.”

People were filing into the convention center by then, and Victoria followed the crowd. The meeting was scheduled for the largest room that the complex had to offer and every seat was filled by the time Victoria arrived. That forced her to stand in back with the other latecomers while a woman from a little-known rock group sang the national anthem. To her credit, the woman not only got the words right but hit the high notes as well.

That was followed by the Pledge of Allegiance and introductory remarks from the master of ceremonies. He was a state senator and liked to talk. It took him a full fifteen minutes to introduce dozens of dignitaries who were seated in front—and an equal amount of time to explain what the Third Continental Congress was there to do. And that was “to fully restore the United States government, including all the functions thereof, and to put a stop to the second secession.” An initiative that would be of considerable interest to CEO Lemaire and his newly formed cabinet.

“But,” the senator continued, “before we convene the Congress… I have the enormous honor of introducing Reginald Allston, the country’s newly named interim Attorney General!” None of the audience had heard of the man, so the applause was muted.

Victoria watched with considerable interest as a good-looking man in a rumpled suit mounted the stage, shook hands with the senator, and took his place behind the podium. “Good afternoon. As many of you know, the former Secretary of Energy, Samuel T. Sloan, was in Mexico on May 1, and was forced to paddle his way home in a kayak.

“Meanwhile, Vice President Wainwright was sworn in as president. But now, in the wake of her untimely death as well as that of many others, Sloan is the next in line for the presidency. It was his intention to be here today… But, I’m sorry to say that a rogue general has taken control of Fort Knox, which means it was necessary for our new president to go there to reclaim what is rightfully ours.” That statement produced a lot of enthusiastic applause—and Victoria had to join in or look suspicious.

Allston went on to say that other precious resources had been stolen from the country as well, including all of the southern oil reserves, billions of dollars’ worth of infrastructure, and the nation’s future. Those who were sitting stood to applaud, and Victoria had seen enough. The mood in the room plus the news regarding Fort Knox would go into her next report. But she had more “assets” to recruit. So she left the building and ventured out into the cold. Sleet was angling in from the west, and the Thermo suit was a blessing.

During the earlier stroll, she’d seen a six-gun artillery battery and some support vehicles parked near Olson’s unit. What if they went to work for the North? Then, at a critical moment, turned their guns on their employer? Victoria smiled. Her father would love that! She went off to visit them.

With the exception of the convention center and a nearby hospital, the city was dark by the time Victoria finished her last meeting. She returned to the BMW and wiped a layer of slush off the seat before swinging a leg over it. The ride to Rosa’s took less than five minutes. Would Olson be there? Victoria felt pretty certain he would. And that expectation was borne out as she entered the restaurant. It was lit with dozens of candles, and Olson came forward to greet her. “There you are,” he said. “Can I help remove your clothes?”

It was a joke, or a flirtatious comment passed off as a joke, and a clear indication that Olson had more than business on his mind. What about her? What did she want? Victoria wasn’t sure yet.

Once the Thermo suit was off, Olson took her to a table where a bottle of wine and two glasses were waiting. They ordered an appetizer, and rather than go straight to business, Olson inquired about her day. Victoria responded with some generalities regarding the Congress and some deliberately vague comments about the meetings she’d had. The last thing she wanted was for the mercs to collude where fees were concerned.

Then it was time to order dinner. And once that was accomplished, talk turned to business. “So,” Victoria began. “What did your team have to say?”

“Money matters,” Olson replied. “And the devil’s in the details. But, assuming we can agree on a price for each component of the deal, we’re in.”

It took the better part of an hour and most of the meal to pencil out an agreement that was acceptable to both parties. And after Victoria went to the ladies’ room, she returned ready to hand over six of the one-ounce gold wafers she’d been carrying in her money belt. Each had been valued at $1,200.00 on May 1. Now they were worth ten times that amount. “There’s your down payment,” Victoria said. “I’d like a receipt please. Oh, and one more thing…”

Olson made the gold disappear—and was reaching for a leather briefcase. “Yes?”

“If you breach our contract, we will kill you. And not just you—but every person in your unit.”

Olson looked into her eyes. “Understood. We aren’t going to have sex, are we?”

“No,” Victoria answered. “But don’t give up. Try often enough, and you might get lucky.”

Olson laughed and raised his glass. “To the Confederacy, a beautiful woman, and getting lucky.” Victoria sipped her wine. The North didn’t know it yet—but a battle had been fought and won.

EAST OF CENTRAL CITY, KENTUCKY

The only vehicle that the presidential party had been able to borrow was a yellow school bus owned by a local church. In order to fill the tank with gas, the pastor had been forced to ask her congregants for donations. Sloan had been there to personally thank each person who gave a gallon, half a gallon, and in one case a Mason jar filled with carefully hoarded fuel.

Finally, after two dozen such contributions, most of the party was able to set off for Fort Knox. The exceptions were Interim Attorney General Allston and Cindy Howell, who were sent north to represent Sloan at the Congress in Indianapolis.

The trip went smoothly at first. Jenkins was at the wheel and managed to maintain a respectable 40 mph as he wound his way through all manner of slow traffic. Sloan was thinking about the past as he peered through the droplets of rain that covered the window. His father had been a Civil War geek—and passed the affliction along to him. So he knew that Kentucky had been a border state during the last civil war. A state so vital to President Lincoln that he said, “I hope to have God on my side, but I have to have Kentucky.” And eventually, after the Confederates were stupid enough to attack them, the citizens of Kentucky fought for the Union.