Divided States, page 11
Television stations refused to re-air the massacre. Websites declined self-censorship, however, and soon the footage was on every social media feed worldwide. A massive public outcry led to the Big Three pulling video clips, but that traffic just went to sites who quickly branded themselves as the First Amendment alternatives.
Hate boiled over on both sides. Everyone felt aggrieved. Nobody was in the mood for talking or healing or bipartisanship.
Governor Cole, claiming the White Hats acted on his behalf, declared their execution at the hands of the United States an act of war. Like the rest of the world, Lori was glued to the television when Cole and select legislators gathered on a dais during a live news conference at the old statehouse in Austin. Cole told residents they were drafting secession documents. They said a template existed for post-separation relations—the European Union. Texas could still use the dollar. Traveling from The Republic of Texas to the United States of America would be as easy as EU residents crossing into member nations. Texas already had a state legislature and executive power structure. Hell, its capitol building was taller than the one in Washington.
Texas leaders even had a plan for the military. The state’s National Guard becomes its military, and all personnel stationed in Texas can choose to join or move, with a one-year period to get your affairs in order. Possession of material and assets within its borders falls under the nine-tenths rule.
Why did Ramirez take any of it seriously? Texas owned the mineral rights to nearly half of America’s unrefined oil and natural gas. It was also home to the largest companies that extract it, transport it, and refine it.
Then there’s the infrastructure. Much of what Lori sells is manufactured in Houston, so even if America wanted to stop the flow in and out of Texas, they may run out of valves, actuators, and myriad other components needed to physically divert the hydrocarbons. The proposed Republic of Texas would also annex Oklahoma, adding to its stranglehold on the world’s most popular fuel.
Cole used this leverage and secured a secession discussion with Ramirez. The historic summit wasn’t public, but the outcome didn’t matter. Its very existence was the first domino.
California requested a secession meeting the next day, a liberal response. Having the world’s fifth-largest economy was enough to secure the meeting. Then Oklahoma rejected Texas’s terms and secured a trilateral summit with Ramirez and Cole. That opened the door for California to come back with a plan to add Nevada, Oregon, and Washington to its new nation.
In six months, the Divided States had agreed in principle to the new map—except for the Free State of Southwestern Colorado and the doomed Cimarron Territory.
The latter was an irritating strip of Oklahoma once called No Man’s Land—stolen soil Cole wanted to reacquire.
After being taken from American Indians, the Oklahoma Panhandle—a patch of prairie 166 miles long and 34 miles wide—belonged to New Spain, then Mexico, then the original Republic of Texas.
As a state, Texas amputated its tip to stay southern enough for slavery, but the strip went unassigned. Left to its own devices, the area operated independently as the Cimarron Territory until 1890, when America pinned it to the ass-end of Oklahoma.
Nearly 150 years later, during the free-for-all that was the Second Secessions, counties in the panhandle added a ballot proposition re-establishing the Cimarron Territory.
The measure passed in a landslide, but wasn’t taken seriously by Texas, Oklahoma, or the United States. President Grover Cleveland never formalized the Cimarron Territory, so how could residents now re-establish it as a sovereign nation?
But other negotiations allowed Mexico to annex the El Paso peninsula, and Cimarron Territory Rebels were outraged that their lawful vote had been disregarded.
The Republic attributed El Paso’s exit to cultural differences and geopolitics, which was much more reasonable than the weird wishes of less than thirty thousand Okies. Incensed, the Rebels took up arms and stood guard at Cimarron Territory’s southern border.
Oklahoma City tried to step in, but Beaver County residents worked twenty-four-seven and erected 34 miles of fencing along the eastern border. It was mostly symbolic, but tensions soared.
That was when The Republic decided it was done and sent a military occupation to the southern border fit for Grenada. Rebels and Oklahoma City saw no need for physical fighting over No Man’s Land. Instead, they used the USA’s distain for Texas and jointly negotiated minimal financial and defense support from The Republic in exchange for annexation of panhandle counties.
Amarillo media reported the events with the headline Republic regains land lost in 1820 and Oklahoma media reported OKC negotiates aid, military support from Texas with neither mentioning the tanks and Humvees.
Then came the Free State of Southwestern Colorado.
That coalition of rural Colorado counties, galvanized by a local marijuana farmer and dispensateur, added a measure to their secession ballots similar to Oklahoma’s. And like that effort, Colorado Territory didn’t recognize the creation of the Free State of Southwestern Colorado.
The difference became clear when Southwestern Colorado began what became the bloodiest siege of the Second Secessions, one of many that some call the Second Civil War.
When word made it three hundred miles east, Cimarron Rebels re-erected their fences. When the Republican Guard came rolling back in, emboldened Rebels emptied their AR mags, only to quickly realize that—unlike the mountainous region of Southwestern Colorado—there is no high ground on the High Plains of Oklahoma and Texas. Without such fortification, it only took a few rounds of tank fire for the Rebels to again accept their status as Texans.
The action was far less one-sided in the San Juan foothills, where a coalition of preppers and sympathetic defectors from several Western Territories brought in military armaments. The Colorado Guard could’ve won, but Denver decided the death toll wasn’t worth control of such a small, politically insignificant area. The Colorado Territory capital told its Guard to stand down, calling an end to the battle and allowing for the rest of the Allied Nations to formally recognize the Free State of Southwestern Colorado.
The tiny nation-state now looks like a mistake on Clarke’s map, but its only alterations are large, bulbous push-pins securing the name of Fowler’s other salespeople. Or should she call them his officers?
Nothing looks out of place until she sees a pin in Hawaii. She’s never heard Eric talk about doing business there. The pin is next to Pearl Harbor and secures a slip of paper with the name Phoebe. It’s probably nothing. A new hire she isn’t aware of.
But in case she’s wrong, Lori wants to remember it.
“The map on Clarke’s wall has a pin in Pearl Harbor indicating a FAST employee named Phoebe lives there.”
Lori’s voice gets recorded, same as everything else. She used to sound like a crazy person at crime scenes, muttering to herself. Same for APD’s homicide bullpen, reading case files aloud.
She hustles to the desk and starts opening drawers. They’re nearly bare. Nothing extra. In the side drawer that didn’t hold the spare clothing are folders, all of which are neatly filed, labeled in smooth handwriting, and full of documents that appear to be on the up-and-up. There may be secrets in them, but it only takes so long to change into clothes.
The rest of the drawers are similarly free of odd or superfluous items. Lori pulls the painting from the wall and finds no safe behind it or documents fastened to the underside. Clarke must not be a part of Eric’s covert operation, just a business partner.
Satisfied with her effort, Lori peels off her clothes once again. She’ll have to wear the socks and bloody boots again, but she’ll enjoy the hell out of fresh pants and a nice top. Lori sits in Clarke’s ergonomic chair and pulls off the footwear. She stands to take off the rest, then takes a moment to stretch, exhausted. Her shirt and pants are piled on the floor, and she’ll leave them there. Let Clarke deal with it.
She lifts the jeans off the desk and puts in one leg. Clarke was right. Pulling them over her thighs and ass isn’t easy, but she’ll live. Lori sits to slip on her socks and boots but feels something press into her ass, so she lifts her right cheek and reaches into the back pocket to pull out the object, a wad of crumpled paper.
It’s a receipt. She smooths it out on the desk. The charge is for coffee from a shop on the Frontier, and not a city marked on Clarke’s map. She must’ve used her Thanksgiving vacation to visit a boyfriend. A sugar daddy, based on the location and price of the drinks.
Apparently the outfit was for more than unannounced visits from whales.
She starts to crumple up the receipt for depositing into Clarke’s deskside garbage can.
Then she hesitates.
Just in case.
“I found a crumpled receipt in the back right pocket of a pair of Clarke’s pants. It’s from Northtable Café. The address is thirty-seven twenty-five Village Lane, Teton Village, Wyoming, eight three zero two five. The date is November twenty seventh, just over a month ago. The charge was for two cups of coffee, one pumpkin spice, one black with half-and-half, two pumps of vanilla and C-N-M-N, which if I’m reading it right is cinnamon.”
Pumpkin spice doesn’t tell her much, other than Clarke might be a little more basic than Lori thought.
The other order is much more specific.
23
ERIC
Eric’s thankful Lori made up an excuse to leave. She wasn’t reacting well to his apologies, and he wasn’t sure how to move the discussion along.
Plus it gave him time to catch up with Boudreaux, who’s sitting on Eric’s couch and in the middle of a story when the door to Eric’s office opens behind him.
“I was beginning to wonder if you’d fallen in,” he says without turning around.
When Lori doesn’t respond, he turns around to find that it’s not Lori. He checks his watch.
“A little early to start calling clients, isn’t it?”
Rita doesn’t respond. Her eyes are wide and looking past him at Boudreaux, who stands.
“Oh, right.” Eric stands, too, remembering how much pride Boudreaux takes in his manners. “Rita, meet Boudreaux.”
Her eyes widen further. “The Boudreaux. The one you met in Brazil?”
“Sounds like me.” He steps toward her, right hand extended. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”
Boudreaux’s hand hangs for an awkward moment before she lifts hers. “Please, call me Rita. I’m Eric’s business partner.”
Eric can’t tell if Rita’s smitten with Boudreaux, reacting to putting a face to the stories—and she’s only heard the mild ones—or just too tired to function properly.
“Did you get any sleep?” he asks.
Rita takes her eyes off Boudreaux for the first time since walking in. “Not really. Kind of hard given the circumstances, so I thought I’d start compiling the list of our most important clients so I can start rolling calls at eight.”
“Smart.”
“Sometimes. By the way, I ran into Lori and gave her some clothes to wear. Poor thing looked awful.” She turns to Boudreaux. “Did you two fly in together?”
Boudreaux nods. Before he can explain, Lori’s in the doorway. “Ears burning?” he says. “You clean up nice.”
He’s not kidding. Eric’s never seen her in denim that tight, which would be inappropriate to wear for business—even one where looking good is her ticket into the offices of blue-collar buyers. He’s seen the shirt, but it fits differently on Lori, hangs more loosely. She’s also washed her face and arms and smoothed out her hair.
Lori walks past him toward Rita and Boudreaux. Eric smells soap. He owns this floor of the building and knows there’s only one restroom, but for a second Eric wonders if she found a secret shower.
Boudreaux’s captivated.
Rita’s less impressed.
“My shirt looks good on you,” she says, setting up an insult. “A little loose in the chest, though.”
They’ve never been friendly, but Rita usually keeps her claws retracted until Lori leaves. Eric’s the reason she dislikes Lori more than any of the other salesmen. He lets Rita believe a romance is brewing with Lori. Necessary to keep her from knowing too much about MANIFEST, but unfair—perhaps cruel—to the woman who remains in love with Eric.
But he also knows Rita can love him and want to sleep with other men. Men like Boudreaux, whose presence is the new variable tonight.
“I think you look just fine,” Boudreaux tells Lori. “Especially given how I found you.”
“And how was that?” Rita asks.
“Like a mouse drowning in her own blood.”
A succinct and colorful way to put it. Lori coldly described the massacre and being kidnapped by Moore’s men after leaving the hospital. Boudreaux took over from there, equally clinical in recalling a conversation with a military contractor who pointed him to the office building, his neutralization of Moore’s bodyguards, and a car chase to the airport where his pilot buddy was waiting to sneak them into the country.
“Sounds like we’re lucky you came.”
The overt flirting is making Eric uncomfortable. He’s not in love with Rita anymore, but it’s still not fun to see.
Even Boudreaux’s not sure what’s happening, and Eric’s seen women fall over themselves trying to get his attention.
“Who else needs some coffee?” Boudreaux says. “Break room?”
Eric points. “End of the hall.”
Boudreaux starts toward the door, but as he passes, Rita puts a hand on his chest, now free of the flak jacket and covered with a black T-shirt.
“I’ll go get you some. How do you take it?”
“Thanks. Black.” He motions to Lori. “A splash of milk and two packets of sweetener for her.”
Rita frowns but leaves without objection.
“What about you?” Boudreaux asks Eric. “Still not man enough to drink coffee?”
Lori’s snort might ordinarily bother Eric, but he’s preoccupied with Rita. He needs to get ahold of this situation. He doesn’t know exactly how her behavior could jeopardize MANIFEST, but if Eric, his operators, or his assets are emotionally compromised, chances for error increase exponentially.
“Nope, still drinking your caffeine cocktail.” He picks up the empty aluminum can and glass on his desk. “In fact, I should go make myself another one.”
Eric leaves Boudreaux to describe the drink’s origin. On the way to the break room, he rehearses the lecture. This is an extraordinary night, but she’s at the office. Boudreaux is a guest of their company. Lori’s her employee.
He enters the office, sees Rita leaning against the counter beside the coffeemaker, back to the door.
“What on earth is wrong with you?”
So much for the lecture.
“I’m sorry,” Rita says, still facing away from him. “It’s just, you’ve told me how competitive you two can get, and the way you turned me down earlier tonight because you were worried about her, I just”—she turns around, leans her elbows back on the counter—“I wanted to make you jealous, I guess.”
Rita’s rambling. She only does that when she’s flustered, like when she finally came clean about her out-of-town conferences, or the first time she came into his office late at night after giving back her ring.
In fact, she was in this spot—this exact position—the last time he gave in.
“Look, it’s not what you think.”
“Then tell me what it is,” she says, voice a notch above a whisper, “because I don’t know how much longer I can handle this.”
Rita knew he worked for the Agency. Eric tried to keep it from her, but when the salesmen he wanted made no sense, she tried enforcing the clause in their contract that gave her veto power on new hires. She freaked out. Everything she had was wrapped up in their business, but Eric told her building the business was integral to his plan, so making FAST a success was just as important to him as it was to her. After that, she took over the business side and he ran the covert side.
She hadn’t asked for specifics until now. And she already knows more than Gates had ever intended.
“We talked about this. There are things I can’t tell you. It’s for your own—”
“Bullshit,” Rita says, voice full of hurt rather than rage. “She’s not one of your spies. You hired a woman you wanted to screw, did it, and now you’re flaunting her it in front of me. That’s about us, not your covert missions or whatever.”
Eric hates it when she refers to them as a couple. It’s hard to blame her, though. Their relationship was borne of proximity. He never acted on his attraction at OU, and their communications for the two-and-a-half decades after had never taken a romantic or sexual turn. But during that first year after she returned to Oklahoma from Silicon Valley, Eric and Rita spent eighty hours a week or more together. It might’ve been stranger if they hadn’t started sleeping together.
As he watches Rita pout at the counter, Eric sees for the first time how much damage he’d caused. He’d seen Rita’s jealousy grow and hoped it would get her to stop trying to fix what she’d broken. It would’ve been easier than confronting her.
I can’t keep doing this. Rita’s cheating had crushed whatever trust they’d built as a couple, but she’s still one of Eric’s oldest friends.
