Just by happenstance, I recently picked up a copy of Trevayne, written by
Robert Ludlum. In his introduction, he mentioned that he wrote the book after
the Nixon Watergate scandal. In part he says of Watergate: “Here was the
government, the highest of our elected and appointed officials entrusted with
the guardianship of our system, not only lying to the people but collecting
millions upon millions of dollars to perpetuate their lies and thus the
controls they believed were theirs alone to exercise.” He goes on to point
out that their meaning was to keep the country theirs. Not yours or mine, or
even the neighbors across the street or across town. Only theirs. “The rest
of us were somehow neither relevant nor competent. They knew better, therefore
the lies had to continue and the coffers of ideological purity kept full so
that the impure could be blitzkrieged by money and buried at the starting gates
of political contests.”
It was like that during Watergate.In my humble opinion, it is even more so
now.
Yes, this is political. I offer you trigger warnings for language and sexual
and racist slurs and comments. Future episodes may also contain rape, abuse,
and other unpleasant things.
Chapter 2: Captain Flynn
Captain Tyler Flynn closed the electronic notebook
after Bill Brown was taken away. On either side of him, Lieutenant Daryll Moss
and Lieutenant Lee Woden, stood up. They’d been at the interviews all afternoon.
“Why do they all say the same thing? I want to slap
every one of them.” Moss shoved his chair under the table.
“I hear ya.” Woden did the same with his chair and
they headed for the door. “You’d think one of them could say something
original.”
“Captain Flynn?” Moss stopped a moment at the door. “More
of this tomorrow?”
“Yep.” Flynn tucked the notebook into his briefcase. “The
round-up are continuing.”
“Jesus Christ.” Woden opened the door. “Who knew so
many non-whites were in the country. Like that last guy. Didn’t even know he
was black?” Woden shook his head. “No wonder the country’d gone to hell in a
hand basket.”
The officers left the room. Flynn headed for his
office. “See you tomorrow, guys.”
“See ya,” the two offices said as they went the other
direction.
Flynn knew the statistics, a good portion of the
country had genetic markers for other races than Caucasian. That poor bastard
Brown was turned in by a neighbor for unpatriotic activities. Flynn saw from
the report it was bullshit, but the genetics didn’t lie. So he’d been rounded
up. Flynn sighed to himself. Cameras were everywhere so there was no show of
questions or remorse allowed about carrying out commands from headquarters.
At his office he locked the notebook in the safe, it
had records of thousands of people in it, and checked for end of day messages.
Nothing important, he was relieved to see, so he headed home.
The next morning, he was in a meeting with the
Commander, 43rd Mobilization and Relocation Squadron and other squadron
department heads. It was near the end of the meeting and Flynn was feeling thankful
nothing strange was relayed today. Since President Master’s had declared marshal
law and declared himself President for Life, things had been crazy. Hopefully
it would settle down now.
Commander Green cleared his throat. Flynn looked up.
That always signaled bad news. “Gentlemen.” The commander took a breath. “Any
remaining female officers and enlisted in your departments are hearby issued
orders to report to Personnel for honorable discharge.”
All around the table, each department head’s notebook
began chiming. “Those are the orders. Share that information with your female
subordinates and send them on their way. They’ll have a week to clear base
quarters if they reside there. Personnel will take care of everything.”
Flynn was relieved. The Immaculata had been male only
from the start, the seventh year of President Master’s legal presidency. He’d
hate to face good subordinates with that news. The other people didn’t look happy
but said nothing. There was nothing to say.
He wasn’t so relived at the next announcement.
“Lastly, the transport company we’ve been using for
prisoner transport has lost their contract. Now we’ll be using Weyland
Industries beginning Monday. They’ll also be responsible for prisoner feeding. You’ll
find new forms available to you starting Friday. Call Contracting if you have
any issues. That will be all. All hail President Marshall.”
“All hail,” each man at the table responded in unison.
Then they all rose and left the room.
Outside the command admin, Captain Dean Joyce caught
up with Flynn. He checked the hall around them and in a soft voice asked, “Isn’t
Weland Industries owned by the President’s sister?”
Flynn gave a short nod. “Yep.”
“Isn’t that nepotism? At the least, conflict of
interest?”
Flynn gave Joyce a look, eyebrow raised.
Joyce took the hint. “None of my business, I guess. I
just hope they feed these poor bastards better than the last company. I wouldn’t
feed that swill to my dad’s pigs.”
A short shake of the head was Flynn’s response. “Seventeen
hundred calories is the regulation. Doesn’t say anything about the gourmet
level.”
“I guess.” Joyce dropped back and turned right into
his corridor.
Flynn agreed with the guy, but he wasn’t going to say
so. Too many cameras and out in public spaces especially, microphones too. He
was sure his office was bugged. He was also sure his car was too. No matter. He’d
joined the Army fifteen years ago. He’d pledged to support and defend the
country every four years since then. He’d been chosen to join the Immaculata.
An elite force, he’d been told. Part of Homeland Security, helping to combat attacks
against the United States.
And so it seemed, the first couple of years. They’d
rounded up several groups identified by the FBI and the CIA as fomenting
dissent and radicalizing youth, especially in urban areas. He thought he’d been
doing some good. Now, this wasn’t what he’d signed up for but there didn’t seem
to be any way out. His own wife was Army. While he didn’t have any female members,
his wife worked in Communications, the squadron commander, for Pete’s sake. Dinner
was going to be unpleasant.
At his office he reviewed the interviews for the day. He
was a third of the way through the list when a name popped out at him. Zuri
Flynn. His breath caught in his throat. It was his sister-in-law. His heart
sank. Her family was Jewish. His brother was going to be crushed. He loved
Zuri.
Flynn closed his eyes. Thank God there were no
children. That would be too much. Why did they put her in his interview room? A
message, he was sure. If it could happen to his family, it could happen to
anyone. He leaned over and grabbed his trashcan and vomited. Better to get it
out of his system now. He wouldn’t be able to offer any emotion in the room.
Zuri would be devastated.
Thank you for reading.
