Sic Semper Tyrannis (10 page)

“As you were,” he said nonchalantly.  He surveyed the room.  It was typical government fare: white walls with no decorations other than a few maps of the tunnel systems and subways of New York, a picture of the current mayor shaking hands with President Reed, an American flag in the corner, a handful of desks and computer stations.  A reception desk blocked the entrance path and stairs in the back led to the upper level.  One square, smallish window per wall.  Very efficient construction.  He nodded.  No frills.  “It’ll do,” he said to the soldiers in the room.  One flashed a grin back at him.

They feel it too.  The excitement, the anxiety, the electricity.  We’re about to take the offensive.  In Chicago we were called in to put out a fire that had gotten out of control. 
We
were reacting to
them
.  Now it’s
our
turn to start the fire.

“Sir,” said a familiar voice behind him.  Stapleton turned.  Major Stafford stood before him with a map in his hand.  He removed his helmet and tucked it under his left arm.

“Major,” replied Stapleton.  He removed his own helmet and motioned for Maj. Stafford to take a desk nearby so they could examine the map.  “Give us some room, will you, boys?” he asked genially to the soldiers setting up comms gear in the reception area.  They quickly snatched up the dead computer terminals and monitors and cleared a space for the command staff to work.

Stafford spread out a map of Lower Manhattan and pointed.  “Here we are.  Over here,” his finger slid across the river into Manhattan, “is where our scouts have been noticing the largest concentration of rebels.  We think this is their base of operations, this cluster of skyscrapers.”

“Choke points?” asked Stapleton as he perused the map.

“Here, here, and here for now,” said Major Stafford, indicating the major tunnels and bridges.  “I have an advance team moving north securing the western half of every bridge and tunnel up the island.  The air units are already arriving in White Plains to block off the northern tip of Manhattan.  By sun-up, the first reinforcements will be in place and Manhattan will be cut off completely.”

“Excellent, Major.  I want—”

A field phone warbled in the background.  “General, sir, it’s the White House!” a soldier called out.

Stapleton closed his eyes and frowned, his finger still on the map. 
Now?  Really?
 
Christ.
  He held out a hand and put the phone to his ear. 

“This is General Stapleton.”

“
General, I’m so glad I caught you
,” said a too-slick voice he’d never had the pleasure of hearing before. 

Stapleton frowned and remained silent.  It was his favorite tactic with politicians—they hated silence and stumbled over themselves to fill the air with their own self-important words.  His silence left them off-balance and gave him the advantage they always thought
they
had.  He glanced at Major Stafford rolled his eyes.

The speaker on the other end cleared his throat and tried again.  “
General, this is Hank Suthby, acting—
”

“The FEMA Director?  Mister, do you have any idea how busy I am right now?” growled Stapleton.  A damn cabinet secretary calling him in the middle of setting up field headquarters… “I’m having a lovely little war, here.  Now is not the time—”

“
General, I am acting-President of the United States
,” the voice said calmly.

Now it was Stapleton’s turn to clear his throat.  He pointed at Major Stafford and indicated to him to pick up a second headset.  Stapleton waited until his lieutenant was on the line discreetly before continuing.  “I’m not sure what you’re talking about—”

“It’s quite simple, general, the President is dead—”

“I had heard those rumors, yes,” interrupted Stapleton.  He glanced at Stafford whose frown mirrored his own.

“
They’re not rumors, unfortunately.  President Reed has passed and until we can locate the Vice President—if he’s still alive—I’m all the country’s got at the moment
.”

God help us all. This fool thinks he’s the President.
  Out loud, Stapleton said, “Sir, without proper authentication, I can’t know who the hell you are.  This—”

“General, as you can imagine I’m a very busy man…”

Stapleton’s eyebrows raised, setting off a stifled laugh from Major Stafford. 

“
I called you to let you know I want you to contain this rebellion in New York, not attack.  My team is still evaluating the results of your work in Chicago and—
”

Stapleton barked a laugh.  “With all due respect, whoever the hell you are, I don’t give a rat’s-ass what your team is doing.  I don’t recognize your command authority
or
your voice.  I have a mission to complete and until I am ordered by my superiors to the contrary, that is exactly what I intend to do.  This conversation is over.”  He tossed the handset to a waiting soldier, satisfied with the indignant-squawking that emanated from the earpiece as it flew through the air.

“What do you make of that, sir?” asked Maj. Stafford.

Stapleton looked back at the map.  “I make nothing of it.”  He waved a hand, dismissing the interruption.  “Fucking politicians at play.  Now, where were we?  Right—I want to make sure the lead elements have a place to pull off here.  We’re going to need all the cars I saw in this parking lot here cleared,” he said pointing to the map.  “I don’t care if we need to shove ‘em into the river, just get them the hell out of the way so my men can form up…”

YES MR. SECRETARY-GENERAL, I have the situation well in hand.  I have taken control here and we will be ready for your men,” said Malcolm.

“You’re sure you will have complete control of the airport?”

“Yes.  The Army thinks we have no interest in such places, with no planes of our own.  And rightly so—why would we wish to use an airport?”

“Good.  I have acquired the help of our Russian friends in this matter.  They are already airborne and should be arriving by noon, local time.”

“And what are they bringing with them?” asked Malcolm.  He glanced down at a bloodstained map spread out on a desk in front of him.

“Besides food, water, medicine, and soldiers, they are bringing you a present that will greatly assist you in controlling New York.”

“I thank you for your support and eagerly await their safe arrival,” Malcolm said.  He had no idea the Russians were coming and part of him was quite uncomfortable with the idea.  He had the upper-hand in sheer numbers—the Brotherhood boasted thousands upon thousands in Manhattan alone—but these were soldiers that were on their way, not common men and women.

Malcolm dished out the pleasantries and said good-bye before he handed the radio gear to one of the HAM operators.  He sighed and turned to Samir.  “I hate politicians.  Even ones that are trying to help us.  They reek of lies and misinformation.  An abhorrence unto Allah.”

Samir nodded and adjusted the glasses on his nose.

Malcolm took a deep breath and looked out over the skyline of lower Manhattan.  The sun was just starting to kiss the eastern sky, making the outlines of the nearby buildings barely visible through the floor-to-ceiling plate glass window.

“The Russians are coming to help us,” Malcolm said, hands behind his back as he surveyed his new kingdom.

“The Russians?” asked Samir.  “So soon?”

“Yes.  They require an airport.  I have promised the Secretary-General that we control LaGuardia.  It was true when I was in Montreal—is it still so?”

Samir rubbed his hands together and stepped up next to Malcolm.  “Brother, holding an airport was not something that I deemed high-priority.  I have been trying to keep our people from starving or killing each other or…”

“The stairwell,” said Malcolm.  “Yes, I understand, Brother.  You have done no wrong.  Just tell me, do we control the airport?”

“As far as I know, no one does.  There is no need to care—no one has any planes or fuel.  Why would anyone want it?”

Malcolm grinned.  “Well, we do, now.  At least the Man has not sensed what we are about yet.”  He turned to one of the men when radio headphones on his head.  “Any news?”

The man nodded.  “Yes, Brother Malcolm—the Army men are definitely setting up a camp of some sort on the other side of the Holland Tunnel.  The scouts are reporting more and more trucks and helicopters are arriving every minute.  They’re making a lot of noise over there.”

Malcolm nodded his thanks.  Turning back to Samir, he said, “That is where they will strike from.  I know the leader of these men—he is aggressive and leads from the front.  He did it in Chicago, always pressing forward, always on the offensive.”  He rubbed his chin for a moment, frowning at the stubble.  He needed to shave—maintaining grooming standards at all times pleased Allah.

“This is what I want you to do,” he said to Samir.  “Begin to place our fighters in the area around the Holland Tunnel.  Do it quietly—but do it quickly while we still have the cover of darkness.  I want them in every building and townhouse near the tunnel entrance.  When the Man emerges, we will be ready to surround him.  Prepare a trap.”

“Of course, Malcolm,” said Samir with a nod.  Malcolm noted with approval that the nervous energy Samir had been displaying since his arrival had been diminishing by the hour. 

Perhaps he just needed something to do other than hold things together.

Malcolm set his mouth in a grim line.  “Make no mistake, my friend, we are about to go to war.  There will be much blood and many lives will be lost.  This army devastated Chicago and nearly burned the city to the ground.  I will do everything in my power to make sure that doesn’t happen here.”

“Yes, Brother.”

“I need you to send your most capable leader to secure LaGuardia Airport.  We will have reinforcements around noon if we can hold the airport.  Do you understand?  I want the best you have—they will need to be quick and ruthless.”

“Of course, Malcolm,” said Samir.  “Consider it done.”

“Good,” replied Malcolm.  “Starting now, I want everyone ready for war.”

HANK SUTHBY PUT THE phone to his ear and closed his eyes.  He couldn’t believe he was about to speak to the rebel leader that had started all this mess—but it had to be done for the safety of the nation.

“Hello?” he said into the headset.

“Greetings
.”  The voice was calm, well-enunciated and mature.

“To whom am I speaking?”

“
To whom am
I
speaking?
” echoed the voice.

Suthby bit back a curse.  “This is Hank Suthby, acting President of the United States.  And are you…?”

“
Hello, Mr. Acting-President.  You may call me Malcolm
.”

Suthby gave a thumbs-up to Daniel and the other nervous-looking staffers in the room.  A few smiled, then got back to work pouring over reports and maps.  Hank cleared his mind and focused on the task at hand.

“I’ll cut right to the chase Malcolm.  This little rebellion of yours is costly—in time, energy, manpower, and resources—exactly the four things that this country cannot afford to waste at the moment.”

“
I see.  I was unaware that the plight of the enslaved was considered a ‘waste of time’.  Though, I must confess, I am not surprised to hear you speak thus.
”

Suthby blinked in surprise. 
Who the hell is this guy, a philosophy professor?

“Mr. Acting-President, what is it you want to talk to me about.  As you can imagine, I am a very busy man.”

Hank gritted his teeth and bit back the snide comment he was about to make.  Instead, he said, “Malcolm, I’m proposing we hit the reset button.  What do you say?  Let’s just put all this nonsense behind us.  I’ll call off the Army, get the states and their local cops in line, and you put an end to the rioting and violence in the cities.  Let’s just take a breather and sit down as adults—”

“No, Mr. Acting-President.  I will not agree to such terms.”

“But—”

“You, the white Man, enslaved my people for hundreds of years—”

“Oh, you have
got
to be kidding me!” said Suthby with a snort of derision.  “You’re playing the race card…
now?
”

“
There is no ‘playing’ involved, sir
,” replied Malcolm’s voice. 
“I intended to strip away the lies and deceit the Man has built up over centuries, to open the eyes of Americans across the country, and take back
our
nation
.”

Suthby laughed. 
“Your
nation?”

“Yes
,” replied Malcolm in a clam voice.   “
Slaves built this nation from the first day Europeans set foot on these shores.  If this nation belongs to anyone, it belongs to us
.”

Suthby rubbed his head with his free hand.  “Malcolm, I’m not going to get into a race debate with you—or argue with you over your misguided view of history.  Look.  I’m offering you a chance at real peace.”