Hatred in the Ashes, page 17
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hear nor see anything that seemed out of the ordinary. Ben got out of the car and stretched until his joints popped and his muscles lost their crampy feeling. He walked around for a bit and began to feel better.
He had not heard any vehicles pass on the old road in front of the long-deserted elevator.
Ben made his way through the piles of trash and rubble, keeping behind the old elevator. He sat for several moments behind good cover, glancing up and down the old road. Nothing. He longed for a cup of coffee. He settled for a smoke.
"Time to get going," he muttered, making his way back to his car.
Ben pulled out and headed back to the capital. He figured that would be the last place they would look for him. It was also where Anna was being held. He was sure of that. Where in the city or outlying area was something he would have to find out, and quickly. Time was running out.
He parked his car at a supermarket and walked around the lot looking for a car with the keys in it. No luck.
He walked around for a few more minutes, then returned to his own car and drove off. "I'll just take my chances," he said. "I don't think they'll be looking for me right in the middle of the lion's den."
He encountered no trouble of any kind as he drove around the city. Much to his surprise, none of the police he drove past gave him so much as a second glance. It was difficult for him to believe that Sandi had not called in the vehicle description, but she apparently had not. And Barbara had never gotten a good look at the vehicle, or any other kind of look, for that matter-except for the very dark interior of the trunk.
He had memorized the streets and numbers of the safe houses Barbara had told him about, and had driven by each one before noon. The house where Anna had been held looked deserted, but Ben decided he would pay it a visit that night anyway. Anna might have left some kind of 194
message scrawled somewhere ... if it had been at all possible for her to do so.
It was certainly worth a look.
Ben drove to a part of the city that had not been rebuilt. He knew that from studying intelligence reports, and from computer printouts he had gathered during the seventy-two hours Cecil had promised Osterman.
He pulled inside the garage of what remained of an old car dealership and parked. He got out and walked around, stretching his legs. He would start his prowling at dark.
"Hang on, Baby," he whispered in the silence of the old garage. "I'll find you." He paused and added, "With God's help."
Then Ben Raines, commanding general of the most powerful and feared army in the world, knelt down and prayed.
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Chapter Eighteen
Ben lucked out at the first safe house he entered. He had parked several blocks away and walked down an alley to reach the house. A couple of dogs barked at him during his walk, and that was all. He encountered no human foot traffic. Using a small flashlight, Ben prowled the rooms of the safe house and found the room where he was sure Anna had been held.
Anna favored black, crew neck T-shirts, and Ben found one in her size under the bed. He inspected the room and the bathroom, but could find nothing else. He was just about to give up when he lifted the lid on the commode tank and looked inside. Nothing. Then he noticed printing on the inside of the lid. Anna's printing. It was the name of a town about fifty miles north of the capital. Ben replaced the lid and exited the house, walking back to his car, smiling.
"OK, Baby," he muttered. "I'm on my way." He pointed the nose of his car north and drove the speed limit whenever he could on the beat up old highway. Usually he was at least twenty mph below the posted limit. The roads outside the SUSA were in terrible shape. The democrat/socialist government of the USA had not gotten
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around to fixing the highways; they were too busy making certain everyone consumed the right amount of orange juice, listened to the right TV programs, read the right books and magazines (one hundred percent absolutely positively politically correct, of course), telling people Don't smoke cigarettes or we'll put you in jail, don't even think about owning a gun (you might shoot some poor criminal who turned to crime because the coach wouldn't let him play or the prettiest girl in school wouldn't date him, or his Corn Flakes were too soggy), and for heaven's sake, don't have too much fat in your diets ... among many other very important things. Roads could wait: the people didn't need to go anywhere, anyway. There was too much work to do at home. "We must all work very hard to make sure that everyone has the same material blessings as everyone else. Fifty percent of your income is not too much to pay in taxes. Unfair? Silly you! For goodness sake, what's the matter with you? Don't you understand that under the New Democracy of the USA no one shall be rich and no one shall be poor. We're all equal. There now, isn't that simply wonderful? Of course, it is. The government says it is, so it must be, because your government is always right. Do not question your government- ever.
It wasn't exactly socialism. It was almost socialism. It damn sure wasn't anything even close to the government in the SUSA, thank God.
Ben reached the small town north of the new capital of the USA and pulled over alongside a closed service station. He had no idea where Anna was being held. She was here, but where? How to find her?
That problem was solved when a highway patrol car suddenly pulled in beside Ben, its headlights out, two uniformed men in the unit. They made it very clear immediately that they were not there to inquire about Ben's health.
"You in the car," the man on the passenger side said. "What the hell are you doing?"
Ben was growing very weary of the arrogance of the 197
new breed of police officer in the USA, all trained and, according to Sandi and Barbara, all connected directly to the FPPS ... especially the state police. He would play their game, at least for a little while, see where it took him.
"Sorry, officer. I was on my way to Wabash and took the wrong turn and ended up here. Decided to get some rest."
"Yeah? Get out of the damn car!"
That did it. "Oh, I sure will, officer," Ben said through gritted teeth.
Authorities in the SUSA were nothing like this arrogant trash. Ben picked up the 9mm spitter with his right hand and stepped out of the car. He stuck the machine pistol in the face of the state cop on the passenger side.
"Say please," Ben told him. "And your asshole buddy better keep his hands on the steering wheel, or you won't have a face."
The cop paled; Ben could see that much in the dim light. "Take it easy, buddy. Ah, please."
"That's better. What happened to the good cops who used to patrol the highways?" When there was no immediate response, Ben said, "Answer the damn question!"
"They all resigned," the man behind the wheel said. "Or got fired when they wouldn't pledge loyalty to the FPPS and the new democracy. For God's sake, take it easy with that weapon, mister. Please?"
"You know who I am?"
"No, sir," the man on the passenger side said. "But I can tell you that you are in one hell of a lot of trouble."
"Oh? I'm in a lot of trouble? You real sure of that, Bubba?"
"Shut your fuckin' mouth, Frank," the driver pleaded nervously. "For once in your life, please shut that goddamn trap of yours."
"You'd better listen to your partner, Frank," Ben told him. "He's trying to save your ass."
"I guess," Frank said.
"I want some information, boys," Ben said. "And you're going to give it to me. Aren't you?"
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"Whatever you want, mister," Frank replied. "You got it." He sighed audibly. "Isn't that right, Roger?"
"You betcha!" his partner quickly agreed. "What is it you want?"
"I'm looking for the safe house occupied by the FPPS, and you're going to take me to it."
"You can go right straight to hell," Roger told him. "I ain't telling you jack-shit."
"Oh, I think at least one of you will," Ben said. "As a matter of fact, I'd bet on it" He lowered the muzzle of the spitter and gave Roger a burst to his knees. The working of the bolt on the silenced spitter could not be heard twenty feet away. Roger screamed once and then passed out, slumping over to his right and falling on his partner.
"Oh my God, mister!" Frank yelled, panic in his voice. "Oh, Jesus Christ!"
"Now, then, Frank, ole' buddy," Ben said. "Are you going to tell me where that safe house is? Or better yet, why don't you show me?" Ben jammed the muzzle of the spitter into Frank's crotch and grinned at him.
"Don't you think that's a good idea, Frank? I sure do." He pulled Frank's pistol from leather and stuck it behind his own belt.
Frank rolled his eyes and groaned. "Oh, my God!" He nodded his head vigorously. "I think it's a wonderful idea. You bet I do. Please don't pull that trigger. I'm begging you, mister. Don't pull that trigger."
"Get out of your unit and keep your hands away from your side. Take the keys out of the ignition first and hand them to me. That's a good boy.
You're doing just fine. Now walk over to my car and get in behind the wheel."
Standing outside the car, Frank asked, "What about Roger? He'll bleed to death."
"That's Roger's problem, Frank. It isn't wise to get lippy with a man who is holding a gun on you."
"No, sir."
When both of them were in the car, Frank asked, "Now what?"
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"Now you drive me to the safe house. And don't tell me you don't know where it is. This is too small a town, and you new breed of state boys are asshole buddies with the FPPS."
"I'm in trouble if I take you there, mister."
"You're dead if you don't."
"That doesn't leave me much choice, does it?"
"The way I look at it, it doesn't leave you any... unless you're a fool."
"One thing I'm not. Well ..." He cranked the engine. "I don't much like the new state police, anyway. Some folks love us, some hate us. Others just put up with us 'cause they like the New Democracy."
"And you?"
Frank put the car in gear and pulled out. "Money and power, mister. It's just as simple as that. Nobody gives us any lip." He glanced at Ben and smiled. "Well, almost nobody."
"Drive, Frank."
"Who are you?"
"My name isn't important." He reached over and removed the handcuffs from Frank's belt holder. "You just take me to that safe house and you'll be out of this game. And alive," Ben added.
"And out of a job."
Frank drove in silence for a couple of blocks. "I don't know why I'm telling you this, but there are a lot of FPPS agents in that house.
They'll kill you."
"Or I'll kill them. But thanks for telling me. It shows that you're not a one hundred percent supporter of the USA's New Democracy."
"Are you kidding, mister? It's damn near communism. Or what I think communism is. I hate it."
"But you work for the FPPS."
"It's a job, that's all. Good jobs just aren't that easy to find.
Especially ones that don't take half of what you make in taxes."
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"FPPS people and those who are connected to them get tax breaks?"
"Oh, you bet we do. And so do people in the army. But we're not supposed to say anything about it. It isn't right, though. Fair, I mean. But what the hell is fair now?"
"I live in Northern California, Frank. It's very isolated up there. We don't know much about what's taking place on the outside."
"War is what's going to happen, mister. Between us and the SUSA. And it's going to be a bad one. It's going to tear this country apart."
"I've heard a lot about the SUSA and Ben Raines. None of it good."
"Everything I've heard is good! If they'd have me I'd move to the SUSA tonight." He chuckled, but it held a sour note. "And after tonight, I'd better find me a hole. 'Cause I'm gonna be in deep shit, and out of a job."
"Well, head on down to the SUSA, Frank. Level with them about who you are, and what you did up here."
"Oh, sure," he said sarcastically. "Let me tell you something. You don't understand about that nation. That's a tough bunch of people down there.
They've fought all over the world and they don't lose fights. They learn I worked for the FPPS, hell, they'd shoot me on the spot."
"You don't know that for sure. I've read about people who moved down there and started over clean."
"Oh, yeah? I bet you can't name a one."
"Outlaw bikers, street gang members, thugs. It's a fact, Frank."
"Really? I wish I could. We just don't get much information up here about the SUSA. Just a bunch of propaganda, is all."
"How much of that do you believe?"
"Damn little. I know most of it is a lie." He paused for a few seconds.
"But I don't ever say that out loud. Watchers and informers, you know?"
"So I've heard."
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"You ever heard any of the government's broadcasts, or read any of their literature about the SUSA?"
"I don't listen to much radio. And I've read only a little about the SUSA ... from our government, that is. What makes you think most of it is a lie?"
"Because no one would live there if it was true. I've talked to people who visited the SUSA ... before the USA put the ban on traveling there.
I was going to go until that happened. My friends told me that everybody's working, there's practically no crime to speak of, factories all over the place running around the clock. Roads are in good shape.
Trains and planes and buses run on schedule. Their economy is the best in the world. All that couldn't be happening if very much of what our government says about the SUSA is true."
Ben smiled as an idea came to him. "You really would like to move down into the SUSA, Frank?"
"Oh, you bet I would." He laughed. "Why? You going to tell me you have connections down there?"
"Well, I might. I sure as hell won't be able to stay in the USA after I raid this safe house, will I?"
"You sure as hell won't." He glanced at Ben. "Why are you going to raid the FPPS's safe house? You never did say."
"Because they have my daughter in there."
"Oh, shit! What did your kid do? Was she involved in some sort of student protest against the New Democracy? There's a lot of that going on. But the government has put a lid on any publicity about it."
"There are a lot of student protests?"
"Oh, you bet. One every day somewhere. Sometimes they get real violent.
Some students have been killed. But mostly it's just busted heads, some jail time, and then off to a reindoctrination camp somewhere."
"And they come out of these reindoctrination camps a better person, right?"
"Well, I wouldn't say better, but if they want to come 202
out at all their political views will be changed some. And you can bet on that."
"And who runs these camps?"
"Why ... hell, the democrat socialist government does. Who else?"
"I figured that, Frank. No, I mean, does the FPPS operate them?"
"Oh, sure. Not us. Not state or local cops. Hard-line FPPS people. Look, the FPPS is brand new. Nothing like the old FBI. I mean, nothing like them."
"Kind of like the Nazi gestapo of long ago?"
?Well... not quite that bad. But they might be someday, if they keep on the way they're going. Up at the end of that block is the safe house.
Are you ever going to tell me your name?"
Ben looked at the man. "Ben Raines."
Frank swallowed hard a couple of times. "Holyjumpin' Shit!" He finally managed to say. "Yeah, now it all fits. I read the bulletin on you. Do you know how much reward money is being offered for you?"
"A million dollars, so I've heard. That's a lot of money. You interested in collecting it?"
"I sure would be a liar if I said it didn't just enter my mind."
"Well? What's it going to be? You have three choices, the way I see it.
You can try to take me alive or kill me and collect that big reward and live like a king the rest of your life. You can get out of the car right now and tell the FPPS I turned you loose. Or you can help me get my kid and head down to the SUSA. What's it going to be?"
"Live like a king, huh? It doesn't work that way here in the what used to be called the Good Ole' U S of A. Taxes would take about sixty percent right off the bat. That's federal taxes. State would be another ten percent. Even if I kept my job, those taxes apply on winnings and things like that."
"So what's it going to be?"
"Aw, hell, General! Let's go get your kid. I can knock 203
on the door and they'll let me in. They know me. I won't be armed, so the rest is up to you. As soon as they open the door, I'll push the person out of the way and hit the floor-OK?"
"OK, Frank. Let's do it!"
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Chapter Nineteen
The civil war that had long been predicted between the USA and the SUSA began hours after a team of FPPS agents raided a house in Ohio. The house belonged to and was occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Harry McComb, lifelong residents of Ohio. Their son, Harry, Jr., who lived on the same side of the street two houses away, was a strong supporter of the old Tri-States philosophy of government, and had organized a small chapter of like-minded men and women. The Attorney General of the United States, acting on the orders of President Claire Osterman, authorized a nighttime raid against Harry McComb, Jr. and the others in his Tri-States chapter. According to a local government informer, they were supposed to be holding a secret midnight meeting-presumably discussing the pros and cons of several makes and models of those big ole', nasty, terrible, awful, and long-banned handguns.
The FPPS agents raided the wrong house.
The elder McCombs, both in their late seventies, were rousted out of bed in their nightclothes, shoved around, yelled at, humiliated, cursed, and belittled. Their home, which had survived years of near anarchy after the collapse
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of government, was ransacked. The McCombs' pet, a small, eleven pound dog named Chester, was stomped by one of the FPPS agents, its back broken. Mrs. McComb, upon seeing her pet trying to drag its way to her, pulling itself along by its front paws, tried to get to her pet.
