Chapter 6 

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Gordon Williams parked his car and closed the garage door, then went into the house.  He had
made his way home over a circuitous route, taking his time and giving the impression of a
sight-seer in no hurry to be anywhere.  Eventually he arrived at his home.  He was tired
and wanted to have a cold beer or two and go to bed early, but first an inspection was in 
order.  He checked several intrusion detectors he had set up before leaving, and none of
they were disturbed.  The dry sandy dust accumulated on the porch and the back deck showed
no signs of recent footprints.  It seemed there was no official interest in him.

He had the beers he had been wanting and watched some television.  The television news was
worthless and had been for years, but sometimes he would see something worth investigating,
getting the facts from other sources.  The only items of interest were a report on the 
arrest of a small militia organization believed to be conspiring to kill government officials.

If they arrested everyone who was thinking about that, Gordon thought, they would have to 
build some new prisons.  The perpetrators looked like some working-class types who had just
left work at a factory or auto repair shop, rather than determined insurrectionists.  Those
were the ones who always got caught, he thought, amateurs who had little more than anger to
work with.  As for militias, it seemed any two or more people harboring resentment against
the government and had a gun or two around was considered a militia.

Robert had explained that it was common for government agents to infiltrate these groups,
normally small and relative harmless ones who did little more than drink and talk about doing
something, and the agents would suggest actions and encourage them to plot, and then arrest
them.  It seemed rather pointless, Gordon thought, but Robert said the government types
believed it was a good propaganda tool, and would keep the really dangerous ones in line.
He also explained that they were completely wrong.  After another story about a battle
between members of a cult in Indiana which resulted in the deaths of several cult members,
the next segment was about a suspected militant attack on an Army convoy out in North Kansas.

It seemed that an Army convoy returning from an exercise in Colorado had been fired on by a
number of unknown persons, resulting in damage to some of the vehicles and unspecified injuries
to a number of personnel.  The 'update' being narrated by the young blonde woman was that no
arrests had been made but some persons of interest were being investigated.  The attack,
Gordon knew, had been much more effective - Robert had showed him some video.  Three bridges
were destroyed, and the highway was closed, with traffic being routed twenty or so miles out 
of the way to the nearest bridge over the Pine River.  And knew that a number of vehicles had 
been destroyed and there were a lot of dead soldiers.  He had wondered if it was the work of
one of the Freeholds, but something about it didn't quite fit that scenario.  Robert didn't 
know who did it either, but he had been sent a copy of the video by one of his contacts.

What he did know was that the news regarding such matters was false.  And while the news 
organizations could only pass on what they were given, they seemed quite willing to do so
without doing any investigation of their own.  Probably, he thought, curiosity was discouraged
in a severe fashion.

After the second beer, accompanied by a couple of segments about riots in Aberdeen, Ohio and 
Port McMullen in New York.  These were becoming daily events, sometimes running continuously
for days or weeks at a time.  He wondered who funded them - the rioters, even if they were
normal people with jobs, could not afford to leave and travel around the country rioting.
They had to eat, and someone had to be supporting them.  He suspected that just as the freeholds
and other organizations assisted outside groups, these people had their own sources.  He wasn't
going to worry about now, he thought.  He needed to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning he spent a leisurely hour after breakfast drinking coffee and watching
television.  He still watched television, probably more than younger people who selected
programs, whether news or entertainment, and watched them on their computers.  He wondered
how long the dying print and television media would survive - the newspaper was nearly 
dead, except for the small local papers which were mostly advertising.  He supposed 
television would eventually become on-demand digital like everything else, but wondered
how it would survive with the vast numbers of new competitors.

It probably wouldn't, he thought, as he watched the ubiquitous young blonde woman talk.
The sound was turned down and he was reading the text scrolling across the bottom of the
screen, and the occasional text that appeared elsewhere.  The words 'new constitution'
appeared, and he increased the volume.

"...and the final vote will be later this year" she said, "tentatively scheduled for
October."  That was the end of the segment, and a commercial came on.  Gordon knew about
the constitutional convention that that had ended a little over a year earlier, after 
two years of negotiations.  Or what looked like negotiations to the average, poorly 
informed citizen.  Gordon knew better.  Already disillusioned, he was nowhere near as
surprised as many of his fellow officers were as information about the process was
leaked, most likely deliberately, into the officer corps of the armed forces.

It had been written before the convention began - the charade that was the convention
was for appearances only.  Some words might be changed here and there, but the end result
was predetermined.  And what he knew was disturbing - he did not believe it would be 
implemented without much violence and destruction.  And what he had learned since leaving
the Army reinforced this belief.  Certainly the League, which he suspected was quite 
large and powerful, would resist.  And he was learning that there were other forces 
as well, some of they possibly as well equipped and prepared as the League members
themselves.

He knew he should be doing something, more than he had already, which was learning about
the situation the nation was in.  Robert was actively working, but mostly as a facilitator
for information exchange, and probably some other things like recruitment and perhaps
providing safe houses.  What part would he play, he wondered.  And how could he find out.
It was time to go to town and get some supplies, and perhaps drive around and think.  He
finished his coffee and went to get ready.   

The morning was nearly gone as he left.  Jeans, boots, a military-styled shirt with long
sleeves and two pockets with flaps.  He still wore baseball caps, but had noticed many of
the locals wore cowboy hats.  Not fancy ones, but the sort worn by working ranch hands.
Perhaps he would take up the habit at some point.

He selected his truck - it needed refueling and had plenty of room for whatever he needed
to carry.  Arriving in town, he stopped at one of his usual stations and drove up to a
vacant pump.  He pushed his card into the slot and withdrew it, selected the fuel grade
and started the pump.  The big tanks would take a while to fill, and he walked to the back
of the truck to wait, putting one foot on the bumper and leaning against the tailgate.

He had looked over at the pump for a moment, and when he turned back the other way a young
man was standing next to him.  His sudden appearance was rather unsettling - he seemed to
have come from nowhere.  Gordon suppressed the sudden unease and regarded the man - neat 
and clean, dressed much like Gordon.  His baseball cap was a wine-red color, and a small
pin above the visor on the right side caught his attention.  It looked like brass, a small
shield about an inch and half as wide.  Not police, he thought.  Something else.

"Good morning, General" he said.  He reminded Gordon of Myles,  but then so did a lot of
the young men he had seen at Mike Charlie.  They seemed a lot like young soldiers, from an
army he remembered but did not believe existed any longer.  He flipped a small round
object with his thumb, sending it spinning into the air a couple of feet, and caught it
as it fell.  Even though it was spinning, the bright gold and blue colors told Gordon 
what it was.  "When you're finished here, could we talk for a minute?"

"Certainly" said Gordon, feeling better.  The object was a medallion like the one Sir
Walter had given him three years earlier, and which had gotten him admitted into the
freehold.  "I'll just be a few minutes - what did you have in mind?"

"Probably the best thing is to park your truck somewhere, like a parking lot at a big
store, and we can talk in my car.  My name is Tyler, by the way."

"Evidently you know me" said Gordon.

"Yes, sir" said Tyler.

"OK, I'll be finished in a few minutes" said Gordon.

"My car is the white Dodge over there" Tyler said, nodding toward a car at the edge of the
log, away from the gas pumps.  "OK if I wait there and you follow me?"

"Sure" said Gordon. "Be right with you."

As he returned to the side of his truck, the pump stopped as the tank  became full.  He
replaced the pump and replaced the cap on the tank,  then got in the truck and started it.
Before proceeding he took a small .35 handgun out of a concealed compartment in the back
of his seat.  He  knew the chamber was empty, and pulled the slide back and released it,
watching to see it strip a cartridge from the top of the magazine and push it into the
chamber.  He had practiced with the little Arcadia Arms gun many times and it was one of
his personal weapons with which he was most comfortable.  It didn't have anything like the
power of the .45 he would want if in a gunfight, but for defense at close quarters it
was ideal.  He put it into a small holster and attached it to his waistband,  under his 
shirt.  He was fairly certain there was no danger but it was not possible to be too careful.

As he drove away from the gas pumps he saw Tyler's car moving out.  He followed down the
street a short distance, into the parking lot of a small shopping center.  A large grocery
store, a bigger department store, and a number of smaller stores, restaurants and other
businesses surrounded the large parking log on three sides, and the parking lot was quite
busy - probably close to a thousand cars at any time, with constant arrivals and departures.
Tyler parked his car in one of the spaces, and Gordon parked beside him.  He locked the
truck and got into Tyler's car.  It was about as generic as a car could be -  a common
late model of a car used for family cars, taxis, police cars and about anything else a
relatively inexpensive and practical car would be used for.  Gordon noticed there was
nothing in the car to give clues about it's owner or use.  

"From the motor pool" said Tyler.  "They're regularly cleaned and checked for any kind
of tracking or surveillance devices.  Still, if you're a target, it's best to be moving."

He backed out of the parking space and and drove back toward the exit, and onto the busy 
street.

"Your truck is in a dead spot" he said "There are a lot of cameras there, on the buildings
and the light poles.  But it's not easy to cover every square inch, and there are a few
areas that don't get covered."

The traffic was rather heavy on the street they were on, and Tyler soon turned onto a
less travelled street, eventually going into a quiet residential area.  The streets were
lined with large trees, and from above it would be difficult to see the car.

"So you're with Mike Charlie, then?" asked Gordon.

"Yes, sir" replied Tyler.  "Sir Walter is away for a few days, and wanted me to make 
contact with you, to see how you felt about a mission."

"What sort of mission?" asked Gordon.

"We need experienced military men" he said.  "Particularly recently retired ones, with
knowledge of the Army, and if possible with contacts on active duty who can be trusted.
That last part isn't absolutely necessary, but nice to have.

"As you know, the League of Freeholds isn't the only force at work in the country.  There
are a lot of other organizations, none of they as well organized, or as well financed
and equipment as we are, but some of they are quite good.  We work with some of them,
always from a safe distance - our secrecy is too important.  Some of our agents, really
good ones, are actually inside, mostly to monitor their activities but also to help them
when possible.  We always need liaisons with these groups, or sometimes individuals who
may be of service in some way."

Gordon thought about Robert.  He knew people who knew things, but was not aware of the 
existence of the League, but certainly suspected it.  Gordon guessed that he was playing
his part, assisting where he could, but not prying - sometimes it was better not to know
too much.

"What is my part in this?" asked Gordon.

"Mainly to observe and report" said Tyler.  "You have the ability to assess men and their
potential - as we look at organizations we might want to establish relationships with,
we need to get an idea of whether it is likely to be a good strategic move.  As I said, the 
liaison role is very important - we have to keep them at arm's length, but still be able to 
help them become more effective, and sometimes assist in carrying out their operations.

"We evaluate them as thoroughly as possible from a distance, to be sure it's worth the effort 
and more importantly, not dangerous.  There are some rather unstable people out there who may
have the right idea, in terms of resistance, but are just too dangerous and unpredictable to
be involved with."

"Makes sense" said Gordon.  "I suspect you already have something in mind."

"Yes, sir.  We do" replied Tyler.  "We have an operation underway now, and it appears to 
have considerable potential, particularly in the event of an eventual general war, whatever
form it might take.  You have no doubt heard about the Army convoy that was shot up a while
back out in Colorado."

"Shot up is something of an understatement, from what I saw." said Gordon.

"That's true," said Tyler with a quite smile.  "Evidently you already know some interesting
people if you've seen the videos.  We supplied the explosives used to blow up the bridges,
and the rifles they used.  Most of the damage was done in blowing the bridges with the APCs
and Rhinos on them - it's likely there were relatively few casualties from the rifle and
grenade fire afterward.  That was more for the psychological effect.  And apparently the enemy 
found it impressive.

"In any case, the videos you saw were shot by a couple of operatives we've worked with for
some time now.  I'd like you to meet one of them - he's a rather impressive young man."

"I've met quite a few impressive young man lately," said Gordon.  "You must be doing something
right.  So when is the meeting?"

"I took the liberty of asking him to meet us tonight in a safe place.  Can you be here around
seven?"  Tyler handed him a business card with the address of a local restaurant.  Gordon did
not patronize restaurants much since his retirement, but had passed the place a few times when
in town and knew the location.

"I believe I can manage it" said Gordon, looking at his watch.  The few errands he had planned 
to accomplish were not so essential that they could not wait.  He felt an excitement he had not
experienced since his last combat assignment in Indochina.  And while most of his past wars had
been of dubious virtue, he knew that what he was becoming part of - was part of, really - was
indeed something he need have no doubts about.

"I'll see you at seven then," said Tyler.  "Show the back of the card to the maitre d' when 
you arrive."

During the conversation Tyler had, without seeming to deliberately do so, returned to the
parking lot where Gordon has left his truck just as the conversation ended.  Impressive,
thought Gordon.  He thought he would like to build and army with men like these.

Sitting in his truck, he turned the card over and looked at the back.  A five-digit number was
printed or stamped on it - probably a stamp, though so neatly done it looked as if the card had
been printed that way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Returning home, Gordon prepared for his dinner date.  The more he learned about what was
clearly a well-organized and capable resistance operation, the more he wanted to know and
wanted to help.  He hadn't asked about the restaurant's dress code, but they were unlikely 
to refuse entry to a man wearing a suit, so he dressed in a modest dark gray suit with a 
fedora.  The had would to some degree frustrate recognition by people or machinery, and
a pair of glasses and some subtle makeup added to his disguise.

He arrived early, hoping for an opportunity to have some more conversation with Tyler
before their guest arrived.  The small Arcadia pistol went into a different holster, this
on on the back of his belt.  A couple of small double-action derringers in .36 caliber
went into special pockets inside his waistband.  They were extremely light, and while
not as powerful as the small auto-pistol and held only two rounds each, in the most
desperate circumstances they would prove to be quite valuable.  Approximately the value
of his life, as a matter of fact.

The maitre d' looked at the card and giving no clue of anything unusual - with a subtle
gesture most would have not noticed, he summoned an employee to his station and showed
him the card, before putting it into his pocket.  The young man, who looked resembled
Tyler more than was normal, showed him to a private dining room.

The suit seemed to have been the right choice, he noticed, seeing a number of what looked
like businessmen, all wearing ties - those at the bar had their coats on while those at
tables had taken them off.  And, he thought, if the young man who had showed him in was
any kind of clue, the restaurant was probably part of some resistance organization.

"Good evening, sir."

It was Tyler, emerging from the shadows at the end of the room.

"Alex will be a little late," he said.  "We're all rather busy these days.  Can I get
you a drink?"

"Tea will be fine" said Gordon.  "I have to drive home."

Instead of summoning a waiter, Tyler went out the door and soon returned with two
glasses of cold tea.  They sat down at one of the small tables, each with four chairs,
and Tyler placed the glasses on the table.  Gordon considered whether to swap his glass
with Tyler's, figured games with drugged, or poisoned, drinks could be as dangerous to
the plotter as to the intended victim.  In any case, either could simply not drink if
he was suspicious.  And Tyler was clearly everything he seemed to be.  The medallion
was probably not an easy thing to come by, even if an enemy knew of their existence
and meaning.

"Are you from around here" asked Gordon.

"No, sir" replied Tyler.  "I'm from Springfield, back in South Kansas.  So I already
lived close to the Mike Charlie freehold."

"How long have you been part of it?" asked Gordon.

"About three years." Tyler replied.  "I had never heard of them before that."

"I've wondered how they recruit, and how an organization can have two to three thousand
members and still keep its secrets and maintain discipline."

"As for the latter" said Tyler, "I suppose a lot goes into selection of members, but
that is rarely a perfect process, so there are potential problems.  No as many as one
might think, though."

"For some reason I think I should know you" Gordon said, "but I can't remember from where.
How did you happen to be part of it?" asked Gordon.

Tyler laughed.  "That is one of the more interesting stories you're likely to hear.
It was through no fault of mine."  He paused.  "Or maybe it was.

"The reason you didn't recognize me is probably that I didn't take my sunglasses off
on the helicopter ride three years ago.  And my hair was longer, and I was quite a bit
thinner.  You've got a good eye."

"The prisoner exchange at Mike Charlie." said Gordon.  "You did look different then.
I wasn't told anything except to release you when I went to pick the prisoners at Mike 
Charlie and keep my mouth shut.  They traded the entire batch of about sixty prisoners
for you - they must have wanted you bad.  But what were you doing in prison?"

"I was engaged in what I then thought was a productive form of resistance - being 
involved in various organizations, discussion groups, that sort of thing.  Sometimes
we participated in public demonstrations, protests, printing pamphlets.  We knew 
things were bad, and likely to become worse, but we really didn't understand just
how bad it could be.

"One night I was awakened by someone beating on my door.  Four of them, in fact.
I barely got the door open before they handcuffed me and dragged me to a car, 
stuffed me in and drove away.  

"Like the old movies.  Knock on the door at midnight, men in black take you away
and you're never seen again.  Apparently some people in my position were indeed
never seen again."

"How did you get away?" asked Gordon.

"Apparently rebellion runs in the family." said Tyler.  "I didn't know it, but my
brother Travis had already joined a smaller freehold in South Kansas.  But in my case
it was luck, or whatever controls these events.  My sister, Tanya, has a close friend
who knows someone in Mike Charlie.  In fact, she is Myles' sister, Sarah.  Tanya was
terrified, of course, when she found out what had happened.  She went to Sarah, who
took her to see her brother.  They ended up staying at Mike Charlie."

"Did Mike Charlie mount a rescue operation?" asked Gordon.

"No sir, not exactly.  It's stranger than that.  Myles knew from Tanya's description
of what happened that I had been arrested, if it can be called that, by government
operatives.  Apparently they have some knowledge about these operations, but not enough
for them to know where I was.

"It was after the attack on Mike Charlie that they were able to extricate me.  They
agreed to release the survivors of the attack only if they released me.  I suppose it 
was quite a trade, but truthfully they were ready to be rid of them.

"And so here I am."

"I see" said Gordon.

"The rest of it, as you are sufficiently courteous as to not ask" said Tyler "is that
they did torture me.  Not the bloody, ghoulish stuff you see in films - though they
might well have gotten around to it.  But there was considerable, one might say, rough
treatment.  Along with the other usual tricks - starvation, light, darkness, etc.  
Threats against my family.  I didn't know what happened to Tanya and that really scared
me.  I knew Travis would be safe, but they could have found Tara, my other sister, 
easily enough.

"It's not easy to talk about - I recovered from the physical abuse easily enough, but
the rest of it will probably never go away.  Especially the dreams.  But you need to 
know, we all need as much information as we can get."

"I understand" said Gordon, taking a sip of tea.  "I'm guessing this place is under the
control of friendly forces."

"Yes, sir." replied Tyler. "In fact the Tango Zulu freehold owns it.  A safe house, of
sorts, that makes a profit."

A barely audible buzz cased Tyler to look down at his watch.

"It looks like Alex has arrived" he said.