Fire in the Ashes

But his sleep was troubled, and he called out for friends long dead. Men he had known in Southeast Asia; men he had fought with during his years as a mercenary in Africa—that period of his life when the adrenaline-surging high of combat would not be appeased by civilian life. But he'd finally gotten it out of his system and returned to a normal life, as a writer.

He called out for friends who had stayed with him after the bombings of 1988, men and women who had toiled, giving their sweat and blood, and ultimately, their lives for a dream called Tri-States; a country within a country. It was a dream carved out of three states, an area free of crime and unemployment, where men and women could leave their homes unlocked and the keys in their cars and trucks, knowing they would not be robbed or their vehicles stolen.

Ben Raines and his Rebels had proved their concept of government could work; that people do not have to be bogged down by government bureaucracy and red tape. That schools could function without the Supreme Court and federal judges interfering with the process of education.

Tri-States worked. It had worked. And it would work again.

Ben groaned on his cot.

* * * *

“You bring back Ben Raines's body,” Al Cody told a group of agents. “I don't care if it takes you six months to find the rotting bastard—you bring it back."

“Wild country out there, Mr. Cody,” the FBI chief was reminded.

“I am well aware of that."

“And still full of Rebels,” another agent said.

“Take as many men as you need. Do it. Find the son of a bitch and bring it back. I want it on public display. The people have to learn that this is a law-and-order society. Anarchy will not be permitted."

The agents left the office and drew weapons. They called their wives and girlfriends and told them they were going on assignment.

No, they did not know when they would be back.

They boarded a plane at Byrd Field and headed westward. The agents were in high spirits. Hunting traitors was the name of the game. They were loyal to the red, white, and blue, Ben Raines and his Rebels were all traitors and anarchists, and that was that.

It was all cut and dried. No gray area between the white and the black.

By tomorrow at this time, all the agents would be dead.

* * * *

“We hit them here,” Colonel Hector Ramos told his Rebels. He thumped a wall map and smiled grimly, a big predatory cat on the trail of a blood scent. Ramos had lost his entire family to government troops back in ‘98. His wife and daughter had been raped and tortured and then cut open like pigs, left to die in the sands like hunted animals.

Ramos looked at his people. “Our informants in Richmond said the agents left two hours ago. A planeload of them. Fifty agents, all heavily armed. They are to find General Raines's body and return with it to Richmond; put the body on public display..."

A hand shot up.

Ramos said, “Captain Garrett?"

“Let's not kill the pilots, sir,” the young captain suggested.

“Oh?"

“No, sir. Let's send the agents back in the plane. All sitting up very nicely in the seats. All dead."

“I think General Raines would approve of that, Captain,” Ramos said. “Thank you. A very nice touch, indeed. I would like to see Director Cody's face when his men return."

Just as their cousins and uncles and fathers and mothers had done years before, many people of the United States, instead of turning in their handguns and heavy-caliber hunting rifles, had wrapped them carefully and buried them. Then they had formed underground networks of small cells of dedicated men and women, all with one goal in mind: To keep Ben Raines's dream alive. To restore America, not to what she was before the bombings, but something better; something very much like Tri-States. And just as their relatives had done before them, if they had to die to preserve that dream of a government truly “Of and for the people” ... so be it. They were prepared to do so.

* * * *

“Will you get your ass back into bed!” Chase shouted at Ben. “Good jumping Jesus Christ."

Ben bit back the pain and said, “Hector Ramos on the horn. It's big, the operator said. I'll just talk for a minute then back to bed. That's a promise."

“Hard-headed son of a bitch!” Chase yelled at him.

“You shouldn't talk to the general like that,” a young Rebel said, speaking before he thought.

“I'll talk to him any goddamn way I please to talk to him!” Chase roared.

He was still roaring at the young man when Ben slipped on the headset in the communications tent. “Go, Hector."

“How'ya doing, General?"

“I'm alive, Hec—but don't ask me how."

Ramos brought him up to date on the flight of the agents. Ben smiled a toothy tiger's smile as Ramos told him the plans. “I like the captain's plan, Hec. Can you carry it out?"

“No sweat, General. They'll land at the new Air Force base just outside Flagstaff late this afternoon. My people will be in position when they come in. We'll hit them as they deplane, then ship the bodies back the same day."

“What about the personnel at the base?"