View Halloo!¹

Source

Senator Franklin Hawthorne, the senior senator from Oregon, took another sip of cognac, sighed, then stepped off the porch which surrounded this grand "hunting lodge" which lay in the mountains north of the small town of Frank in West Virginia.

He doubted that it had ever been used for hunting and the sheer size of the place made it much too grand to be called a lodge. No expense had been spared in its construction, it had its own well and was powered by a combination of solar panels and propane-powered electrical generators. The place could easily sleep fifty people and had food storage to feed that many up to a month.

Hawthorne chuckled, he was damned glad that the taxpayers had footed that bill. Stupid bastards had been told it was to finance a light rail system in his own home state and that of California.

He was disgusted by the recent turn of events, the people he had been counting on to help him and his fellow members of the House and Senate stage a coup had all failed rather badly. Especially that idiot of a Secretary of Defense and his fellow idiot Sheppard, over at the FBI. But they had resources which had yet to be revealed. Their odds of success were down, but he still felt that with a bit of luck, they could still pull this off. He fully expected to be sitting in the White House within three months, half a year at the latest.

"What are you so happy about, Franklin?" Congresswoman Estelle Chavez came into the living room from the kitchen, yet another martini in hand.

"Well my dear Congresswoman, I'm thinking of our chances, things may look bleak at the moment, but I still fancy our chances of success."

"How so?"

"Well, Nakagawa is just settling in, the American people have no idea who he is and they are starting to feel the pinch with the economy virtually at a standstill as Wall Street waits to see who's going to come out on top."

"How does that help us?" Chavez demanded in her usual strident manner of speaking. Hawthorne wondered how the people of Newark had ever seen fit to send her to Congress.

"Rumor and innuendo, spread by our many friends in the media. They too have much to lose, after all, they backed the wrong horse. If Nakagawa gets to keep the Presidency, a number of them might actually see the inside of a prison, and not as reporters."

"Or worse."

Hawthorne and Chavez turned to the Senator from Massachusetts who was coming down the stairs from the upstairs sleeping quarters.

"Look, we know Nakagawa is a veteran, he's seen combat. I have no doubt that he'd have no problem ordering people shot. Including us."

Chavez went very pale, "He wouldn't dare."

Hawthorne finished his cognac, "Oh yes, I'm afraid he would."

"What d'ya think the big shots are doing up on the mountain tonight?" Willis Mayfield was getting tired of the routine. Patrolling the nearby forests, watching the roads, guard duty at all hours of the day and night. He'd signed up for the promise of free stuff. Didn't these folks realize "free" meant ya didn't have to work for it?

Curt Bachmann took one last puff of his cigarette then dropped it to the ground, grinding it out with his boot heel. "I dunno, probably eating, drinking, plotting, as long as they pay me and feed me, I don't care."

Both men had had very brief careers in the Army, both had lasted less than two years before being discharged. They had both been hired on with a private security firm who liked the idea that they'd both trained as infantrymen. The security firm didn't care about their behavior in the Army.

"Look sharp you two!"

Both straightened up as their squad leader came up. "Nothin' going on here, Sarge. Anything going down up at the big house? Sure be nice to get outta the boondocks for a change." Mayfield pointed out.

Sergeant Jack Hollister gave Mayfield a look, "Nothing you need to know about, Mayfield. Just keep your eyes and ears open. The Dozen seem a little worried today. Now look sharp!"

As Hollister headed down the trail to the next guard post. Bachmann shook his head, "Big shots are worried? 'Bout what, they gonna run out of caviar or something?"

Mayfield grinned, "Buncha rich Yankees anyhow, who cares?"

Jason Howard set down his field glasses and keyed his microphone, "Did you see that, Avram?"

Avram Stein, nestled behind his Barrett sniper rifle, answered with a simple, "Roger." He then turned to wink at Hector Driscoll, "They aren't exactly the first team over there, are they?"

"Rejects, criminals, and wannabe thugs, that's all Deepwater² can afford." Driscoll scoffed.

He'd done a lot of research on that company. They paid their employees poorly and charged their customers outrageous fees. The bosses lived like kings, the actual guys providing the muscle lived in barracks and were treated like scum. He was surprised anyone would work for them, then again, most of the guys who worked there couldn't get jobs anywhere else.

Howard brought his glasses up again and spoke softly to Chuck Bertram, "No more than thirty security people on site, all of the Dozen are present. Send that by burst transmission on our next contact."

"We could take these guys, Chief, no problem."

"Not without orders Chuck, not without orders."

¹ In fox hunting, a cry meant to indicate that the fox has broken cover and is in the open.

² Fictional private security firm, no relation to any actual entity past or present.