Partisans

---

"How far is this place?"

Harry Kellogg took out a pack of Tafallas and extracted one, offered the pack to Arthur.

"Smoke? These Mexican nails aren't half bad."

"Nah," Arthur replied. "It's just a few more miles. And those things are laced with cannabis."

"Yeah, just a touch, puts an edge on without impairing."

"It does?"

"Sure, but it may be something you have to get used to. How'd we end up with this place?"

"Our friends in Silver Mountain. They control this area, several hundred square miles. You can hide a lot in a place that big."

"One would think," Harry said. "Several hundred square miles of practically nothing. Was that town back there the jumping-off point?"

"Pretty much." Arthur slowed as they approached a crossroads. It was a four-way stop.

"When's the last time there were two or more cars here," Harry mused.

"Probably been a while," Arthur replied. "It's all farmland out here, not much traffic any time."

A short distance past the intersection Arthur turned onto a dirt road. It was in decent shape but from the grass growing on it Harry suspected it had little use. Three strand barbed wire fences ran along both sides of the road, punctuated by an occasional gate. Arthur stopped and turned through a gate into the grassy field.

Harry took a last drag from his cigarette and tossed the butt out the window. It was April and there was green grass for miles. Ahead was a smaller fenced area with several buildings.

"OK," Arthur said, "let's see what we got."

He stopped the truck and they dismounted and walked to the small portable building. A young man greeted them.

"Aristotle and Ignacius I presume," he said.

The kid couldn't be much over twenty. Clean-cut and fit he looked like most of the Sierra Lima guys, his khaki BDUs looking like they were tailored for him. They probably were, Arthur thought.

Guys out here don't know most of what's going on - probably a good thing.

"Ignacius couldn't make it," Arthur replied. "This is Amulius, the golden goose is on the loose."

"The north star was dim last night," one of them replied. At any rate the code was right. He closed the loop.

"The spotted owl is doing well," he replied.

"I see. Just over there, building six."

Building six was a permanent structure, beige sheet metal over steel trusses. There was only one set of doors on the side facing them. As they approached the doors opened and two more clean-cut young men in khaki came out. Both had the Mike Charlie shield over the left pockets of their shirts.

"Welcome to Arcturus," one said. He had another pin over his shield, a red star on a round gold disc, the other one did't. "Please come with us."

Security could seem a little over done, Arthur thought, but once in a while the enemy did get lucky. Making them get lucky more than once or twice was necessary. Arthur and Harry followed the two men inside.

Inside was a large room, about twenty by thirty feet, with a long counter occupying the center third. There were several stools behind it - only one was in use. A young woman sat on the center of the three stools, behind two computer monitors. She looked to be in her mid-to-late twenties and was dressed in a khaki outfit similar to that of the two men. Arthur and Harry approached.

She looked down at the counter for a few seconds before acknowledging them.

Looking at a scanner screen. Can't be too careful.

She tapped some keys and looked up.

"Michael will be with us shortly," she said. "He'll just be a couple of minutes."

She had barely finished speaking when the rightmost of the four doors in the wall behind her opened.

Michael Carson was a few years older than Arthur. He was wearing a sage green flight jacket over his khaki outfit as was the young woman with him. Arthur didn't recognize her.

"This way gentlemen", Carson said as he came from behind the counter. Arthur and Harry followed him down a corridor. Two men were standing by a door at the end and one opened it as they approached. Inside was a large table and a dozen or so chairs.

"Grab some seats," Carson said, as he and the woman sat down. "Toss your pieces on the table if you feel like it."

Arthur and Harry took off their gunbelts and laid them on the table. The chairs were high-dollar office furniture.

"Miranda," he said, "Arthur and Harry. Guys, Miranda is my assistant and runs the office when I'm out. She knows everything I know about this."

"Is that more than we know?" Harry asked. "Julius just said it was a Cold Lightning operation."

"It is," Carson replied. "Which means it doesn't exist in any form that can be proven. We and exactly seven other people know what is. There are about a dozen support personnel who know nothing except they they are guarding something and have no idea what it is and don't want to know."

"Who are the other seven?" Arthur asked, "Or is that need to know?"

"You need to and you will," Carson said. "They're out there and they're there until the operation is done."

"Where is there?" asked Harry.

"Out there behind us. You haven't been here before, have you?"

"Nope, first time."

"This was a ranch," Carson said. "Little over twelve hundred acres in one piece, a couple of smaller properties within a few miles of here. The owner is Gordon MacArthur."

"The Sierra Verde honcho. Is he here?"

"No. He suggested we use it."

"For what?" Arthur asked.

"You know about Operation Ventura?"

"The basics. Is that what you're doing here?"

"A special operation," Carson replied. "Hagraven. Ring any bells?"

"Nope."

"Hagraven is buried pretty deep," said Carson. "You know that a number of regime official have disappeared, no big names but important pawns. An occasional bishop or rook."

"Some. Justice Department types mostly. No knights?"

Carson laughed.

"They don't think that deep. They can barely handle checkers."

"You're talking about the US Attorneys and such."

"Right. That level and below. The ones that did the grunt work - running the grand juries, the sweeps that filled the gulags with fodder for the courts."

"Quite a few of those I'd guess," Arthur said. "What are they doing with them?"

"Extracting information," Carson replied. "Names, info about how they operate, plans. And confessions."

"Confessions? And how to you get those? And what do they confess to?"

"You'd be surprised... or maybe you wouldn't. You know how American prisoners in Vietnam, later those captured by Muslim terrorists, would be tortured to get them to say something critical of the US, confess to war crimes..

"Rarely would one do it, most were defiant even when it got them worse treatment."

"Yeah," said Arthur. "Actually in Vietnam and the Middle East the government was being pretty evil."

"True, but we didn't know it then. Certainly the men on the ground didn't. In this case these people know how evil their masters are, how evil they are for obeying them. Some of them bragged about it, laughed at the victims. Those types don't have the resistance of decent people who have been deceived. So they collapse quickly."

"What do you do them? We don't torture people."

"We don't?"

Arthur didn't respond, looked at Miranda.

What's that look about?

"These are the people that rounded up thousands of people and stuffed them in gulags, the ones that assassinated citizens in broad daylight and laughed about it with cameras rolling, knowing they were untouchable. Only they weren't. You heard about the Temple of Undying Light?"

"Yeah. That's who you're after?"

"We got some of them. We're working on the rest. Miranda's kid brother was at the Temple, I'm not gonna make her relive it. You know what happened there."

"Most of it."

"I want you to have a look at something, see what you think."

"Sure."

---

Three old Dodge Power Wagons were rolled up, followed by a nineties-era Lincoln Navigator. The trucks were a dark blue, probably from a DOD auction of the seventies. Painted patches suggested the removal of the military markings.

A pair of knaki-clad young people got out of the Lincoln and opened the back doors. The driver was a young woman, long black hair in a ponytail - a man about the same age had a short haircut and neat beard. Both were wearing compact autos in crossdraw holsters. The Power Wagons each appeared to have four personnel who did not get out.

"We'll take the back seats," Carson said. "You guys can take the center."

Once aboard the convoy moved out. A short trip, not over a mile, ended in a grassy field. A half dozen old shipping containers were scattered around. This time the personnel in the trucks got out and formed a group. All but two were carrying M1 carbines apparently of recent manufacture. They were all using 15-round magazines.

Good move. I've had trouble with the 30s. Handy little gun though.

Both Carson and Miranda had put on sidearms when they left the headquarters building - Arthur and Harry had put theirs back on. There would be a ton of security on this place but not much was visible.

Three more vehicles were approaching - an old Army Jeep followed by a Ford Transit cargo van and another Jeep. Each Jeep had four men, aside from the driver all were armed with M1s. The Ford stopped near one of the containers.

"You'll find this interesting," Carson said. "I held it until you arrived."

Two men opened the back doors of the Ford. Two more emerged - a man and woman in black BDUs. A woman in an orange prison jumpsuit stood in the back - they grabbed her arms and assisted her as she dismounted. Her legs were manacled, the chain allowing her to take almost normal steps.

Looks familiar.

"Behold Nedra Stoneman," Carson said. "Assistant US Attorney, Minnesota."

Yeah, seen her on TV a lot. Doesn't look as good now.

"She got a lot of exposure during the Collier affair. Press conferences almost every day."

Nedra Stoneman was a thirty-something, reasonably attractive, sharp dresser. Wore a scarf every day and must have had quite a collection of them. The scarves became her trademark and her wardrobe was invariably discussed by colleagues. She gleefully read the list of indictments and invited guests to comment. She wasn't sharply dressed now and the makeup was gone and her hair hung dull and limp and obviously hadn't been professionally dressed in a while.

Miranda looked at her without any sign of emotion but Arthur could see there was something just under the surface...

Yeah, her brother.

The two men who had removed her from the van now herded her towards the nearest container. One unfastened the locking bars and swung the doors open.

Arthur looked at Harry, who shrugged. He looked past the prisoner into the container. It was empty.

Except for the apparently dead body.

What the fuck?

Carson addressed the prisoner for the first time.

"Enjoy your stay," he said. "That corpse in there outlived its usefulness. How long you live depends on you. These containers are nearly air-tight and it's already seventy out here. We'll be back in twenty-four hours. That should be enough time for you to think about things."

"No. Please." She was already frazzled, hoarse, her voice weak. "Please don't do this."

Miranda, dressed as she was in a plain knaki uniform - except for the Mike Charlie shield above the left pocket - was a striking contrast to the prisoner. Her shoulder-length dark auburn hair framing her green eyes, even without much makeup she was startlingly beautiful.

"I saw you, laughing," she said. "My brother and two dozen other people dead, shot down by government goons. Half an hour or more in makeup for a ten-minute segment, maybe watching a rerun afterwards to see how you did. You had a condo over on Hamilton, played tennis and golf at Sage Meadows. That's right sweetie, we watched you for a while before we grabbed you. That's all over now, think about it when that door closes. You've got one chance to get out of this alive, and alive is the best deal you're gonna get. Understand?"

Damn, I wouldn't want to be on her bad side.

"You're going in the box," Carson said. "We'll check on you this time tomorrow."

"Please," the prisoner croaked. "Please, I'll do anything."

"You probably will," Carson replied. "We'll see."

The two men closed the doors and engaged the locking bars. It really was near air-tight, Arthur knew. They used a lot of them at various installations. There were a few million of them around, there having been a steady flow of them from Asia since the 1970s, almost everything consumed in the U.S. being manufactured there and with nothing to send back but empty containers it was cheaper to keep them. He had doubts about the prisoner being alive in twenty-four hours.

"You think she'll be alive this time tomorrow?" he asked.

"There's a monitor in there," Carson replied. "If she gets in a bad way we'll know. People can easily live for twenty-four hours without water but it won't be pleasant, which is the general idea. We grabbed her two weeks ago and she's had some conditioning already - this will make her see she's got only one faint hope, and she'll grab for it."

"Who was the stiff?"

"Guy named Steven Anderson. Heard of him?"

"Dude on PPN?"

"Yeah. PPN is a regime operation from the ground up. We got plenty from him."

"What happened to him?" Arthur asked. "You don't kill people, except in self-defense."

"We don't?"

"You execute people? That's not nice - without a proper trial anyway and even then...."

"Perhaps we should," Carson replied, "but no. We squeezed him pretty hard and maybe we shouldn't have but he was one evil guy. He was pretty high up, put in by the government. He knew a lot and we wanted to get every bit we could -- we were about to send him back to regular detention but he died on us. We took him over to medical but it was too late, so we brought him back here to let him do one more service."

"I wouldn't want your job," Arthur said. "I know it's important and believe me I know how evil these people are, but we have to have some boundaries."

"We do and we try to stay inside the lines. It's an ugly business but we're not the ones that made it that way."

"You're gonna leave Miss Stoneman in there with a corpse for, how long?"

Carson looked at his watch.

"It's 1420 now, we'll come over about 0700 tomorrow. We'll see what kind of attitude she has - we haven't had any actually resist, and she's the first one we've put in with a corpse."

"I guess it is a bit of a shock," said Arthur.

"Quite," Carson replied. "They live in a bubble, no idea of what the real world is like. Outside that environment, shielded by security and surrounded by sycophants, they fold immediately."

"What do you need us for? You seem to have things under control."

"We need you to sit in on some interrogations. You're out there, you see things. These people, depending on which ones of course, may say things that wouldn't mean anything to us but might ring a bell with you. But first I want to debrief you guys. We're doing a workup on the Cherry Valley affair."

"Doubt we have much you don't already know but OK, whenever you're ready."

"Soon as we get back I'll call Bryan and let him know."

"He's here?" Bryan Redmond was the Branch IV honcho.

"This is his base for now," Carson replied. "We've got a lot of subjects to process and more are coming in. We're feeding Manticore and Cyclops both with the info we get here."

"This must be big."

"It's big all right," said Carson. "We're in a position to get our hands on a lot of these people. We have agents in all the major cities - including DC - operating with impunity. They may have to be pulled out after a successful operation - the cell that brought Miss Nedra in had to be shut down - but they're replaced by another clean cell if we want to continue operations there.

"We're compiling data, cross-checking the confessions and accusations and comparing them with what we get from other sources, putting together cases for prosecution later."

"Trials?"

"Exactly."

"You think we're that close?"

"Not close like next month or even this year," Carson replied, "but it will come. Operation Metallion will create chaos, a chaos that is order to us because we designed it. We're already like ghosts to them. When the regime falls we'll harvest large numbers of subjects to be brought to judgment afterwards."

"Our own show trials?"

"No doubt some will call them that, if there is any serious opposition left. The difference is that the regime fabricates crimes and tries people with predetermined outcomes. We will have massive proof of monstrous crimes and the perpetrators will happily turn on each other to save what little skin they have left."

"Proof obtained through torture," Arthur asked.

"We'll have enough from other sources. The interrogations we're doing now tells us where to look. But these people are so gutless they won't even allege torture. And locking them up in the hot box is about the worst we do."

"That's the difference between us and them," Arthur said. "The few of us they have in custody resist to death."

"Yeah," Carson said grimly.

Arthur knew there had been some deaths, most of them not even partisans, just people that didn't figure out in time to shut up and keep their heads down.

Won't mind seeing a few of these trials.

---

Arthur set his alarm for the 0500. He wanted a leisurely cup of coffee and a smoke before the show. They had put him and Harry up at one of several cabins that looked to be of recent construction. Like a high-dollar hotel - each room was a small suite with an outdoor patio. He poured a second cup and went outside, sat down at the small table and lit a cigar.

"Ready to get started?"

Harry came around the partition separating the patios. He looked ready.

"We got almost an hour," Arthur replied. "Sit down and have a smoke."

Harry sat down and lit a cigar. They smoked and sipped coffee for a few minutes.

"Should be interesting," Harry said, "when they open that door. I'd be interested in a before and after psych evaluation. That could do something to your mind."

"Weak minds, yeah. And weak minds is that almost those people have. Our people were different to start with and being tossed in the gulags was rough but it mostly just made them angrier and more stubborn."

"I don't look for that here," Harry said. "She was near hysterical yesterday."

"Indeed. I suspect she'll be easy enough to interrogate but how much really information she has is another matter. We probably have most of it already but having additional confirmations helps. Guess we might as well get over to headquarters."

---

Carson and Miranda were in the lobby when they arrived. Both were dressed as before, in fresh uniforms. Arthur wasn't surprised - most League installations of any size had all the amenities of a military base and laundry service was a necessity.

"Ready to check on our guest?" Carson asked.

"Wouldn't miss it," Arthur replied.

As before they were accompanied by the convoy of trucks and the van from the day before arrived shortly afterwards with its escorts. They watched as the doors of the container were opened.

Nedra Stoneman was lying on the floor, apparently asleep. She stirred as the doors opened, blinking in the sudden light as she turned her head to face them. Two guards stood over her.

"Get up," one of them said.

She complied slowly, mechanically, rising to her hands and knees but no further. The guards grabbed her arms and pulled her out onto the ground, holding her upright between them. The orange prisoner jumpsuit she was wearing was dirty, her hair tangled. She blinked occasionally but did not speak.

"Get her into the van," Carson said. "Take her over to central holding. They'll know what to do. We'll be over in an hour."

They watched the convoy depart.

"Let's get on over there," Carson said. "We'll see what she has to say for herself."

Central Holding was a large building that looked much like the others. Three years ago there hadn't been any buildings here. It had two floors, the upper floor mostly windowless. On the ground floor they followed Carson to a room on one of several corridors that divided the area. A large table was surrounded by several moderately comfortable office chairs.

"It will be a while," Carson said, taking out cigar case and proferring it. Arthur took one but Harry declined, taking out a pack of Tafallas. Miranda also had a pack and lit one up.

Wonder if I should try it.

About a half hour later their prisoner was delivered. Flanked by two guards she shuffled in. She was clean now and in a fresh jumpsuit, her hair still damp. With no makeup she didn't look half bad, Arthur thought. Nothing special but not bad. He remembered her on the news shows, hair and makeup done by professionals just before going on.

The PPN shows were completely scripted, the appearances on supposedly independent channels weren't much better - just not as polished. The first time he saw her she was reading a statement. The Phoenix Five indictments. She read the names and ages of the arrested men and the charges. Then the interviewer, one Savannah Rogers, responded.

"I love that scarf," she said. "Is that a Sarah Rosenberg?"

"As a matter of fact it is," Stoneman replied, laughing.

"I suppose the people whose names you just read are not thinking about scarves now," Rogers said with a smile. Both laughed.

Wonder if they should play some of those videos for her. I probably would.

As it turned out Carson had the same idea. After Stoneman was seated he picked up a remote and activated one of the video screen on the wall.

The video was another of her appearances - after the raid on the Temple of Undying Light. Arthur looked at Miranda - she was expressionless but she would have known what was coming.

The burning buildings could have been any news broadcast of recent years - a few seconds in a chyron identified it.

Calhan, Colorado. A young woman holding a microphone appeared, KARV47. Melissa Davenport.

The sound was turned down and they watched as reporter Davenport interviewed a couple of people. Arthur looked at Stoneman, who was as expressionless as Miranda. Carson paused it when a commercial break occurred. He selected another video and started it.

This one featured another PPN show, featuring Stoneman at a press conference. She pointed to someone in the audience, a reporter shouting a question Arthur couldn't make out.

"The operation was unfortunately a necessity," she responded. "We had reliable information that hostages were in danger of being killed and delay was unacceptable."

Another question.

"While we were aware that children were present in the compound," she said, "our information was that the hostages were in a segregated section in which only adult militants were present. Unfortunately the children were, apparently, moved into that area. We believe it may have been deliberate."

Carson stopped the video again.

"Everything you said was a lie," he said to Stoneman, "and you knew it. You know most people watching would know you were lying and you didn't care. There were no hostages, most of the people in there were unarmed."

"My brother was unarmed," Miranda said. "I was in there several times. They were a pacifist organization, didn't even have armed security. You people went in there and killed them and burned the place to silence one man."

"If you don't want to go back in that box you'll cooperate," Carson said. "You have no way of knowing what we know and if you lie you'll that's where you'll find yourself."

"What do you want from me?" Stoneman asked.

"We want information," replied Carson. "Factual information and a lot of it. As I said we have some of your pals in custody - you know about some of them or at least know they disappeared before we acquired you - and believe me not a one of them has any spine.

"Whatever happens you're not going back to your old life. No more rehearsed interviews with a regime tool chatting about your wardrobe - do you have any idea how many people were seriously pissed at you and the regime puppets laughing and talking about a fucking scarf before you casually chatted about killing unarmed women and children? Of course you didn't you sick bitch - you never thought it could happen to you.

"Well bitch, it's happened now. Did you recognize your roommate?"

She was unable to suppress a shudder.

"Not surprising you didn't," Carson said. "He wasn't wearing a high-dollar suit and just out of makeup - he set up quite a few sessions for you and your pals. He outlived his usefulness. Get it?"

"I get it. What do you want me to do?"

"You'll be transferred - temporarily - to a regular prison. You'll have a bed and sanitary facilities and regular meals, which is more than most of the people you put in the gulags had. What happens next depends on you. We'll give you a few days to think about it."

Carson nodded to Miranda who tapped her Commpad a couple of times. A couple of minutes later two security personnel entered.

"Take her to Section 4," Carson said. "Standard program."

"We'll let her stew for a couple of days," Carson said. "She's broken already, just a matter of harvesting data."

"Must be quite a shock," Arthur said. "A lot of people like that, thought it couldn't happen to them. Word is most of them are hunkering down, even in the supposedly secure sectors. Most of them won't venture outside what they believe are safe zones and even inside they won't go outside without security escorts. A lot of people are very afraid."