And now, a word from our sponsor.

Over the past week, I've had numerous emails regarding the outcome of the election and things that we might be facing.  Below is a reply that I've sent to one of my readers, expanded a bit from that original response.  

Feel free to pass on this at anytime--the following has nothing to do with Distance or the prior three novels... these are just some of the rambling thoughts of the author. However, I doubt anyone would believe the situation we find ourselves, if it were in a novel. 

From a reader:

I would wonder what your take is on what is happening right now. You have an election that appears rigged, you have 42 + states with petitions to secede at the white house, and of course economic collapse is knocking on the front door.

My reply:

Needless to say I was disappointed by the election. Not that I'm a huge Romney fan, but I thought that there were enough people out there that were awake and paying attention to flip Obama out of office. You cannot win an election when the debate moderators, the media, most other nations, and the existing administration are against you. Just cannot happen. I was hopeful until 7PM, Pacific Time. After that though, I poured two fingers of Scotch. 

Obviously, there are enough people awake and 'on the dole' to realize that they've got a very good thing going with the current administration remaining in place, and don't see the need or have the desire to change it.  The "47%" that Romney mentioned didn't vote for him; he was exactly right in his comments. There were too many insurmountables for him to beat.  He couldn't even win his own state. 

So, things have tipped over. There is no going back at this point. With the Senate still in D control; the House now willing to capitulate on anything Obama wants, since the R-party is now so obviously out of touch with the electorate that they have to do what Obama wants or they become even more irrelevant than they are now. They are blustering, but they'll cave soon enough.  They weren't just spanked last weak. They were horsewhipped. I don't know what the R party is anymore, let alone who their leader is, what their goals and ideology represent--any of it. 

The R party needs to remake itself to listen to what the voters want, or it will lose the House in 2014, and that is a very real possibility. The R party leadership has disenfranchised so many people that they'll be lucky to exist at all in eight years. (Don't get me started on what they did to R. Paul at the convention).   So what do the voters want? Everything, with no threat of ever paying for it. 

So what does that mean for us?  D-Party, R-Party, same outcome, but one side wears better suits and doesn't put on phony accents when speaking to working people. 

So, among other things that we're facing: 

The Fiscal Cliff: I expect that either they'll kick the can down the road through a continuing resolution or we go off the cliff as the R party still remains out of touch and stands fast for whatever it is they believe in.  The perception is that they are for the preservation of wealth for the wealthy.  The facts be damned: No one cares that the rich people pay far more than their fair share in taxes and millions of others pay nothing or in fact get paid for breathing.  No one who voted for Obama seems to care one iota that FedGov hasn't had an actual budget since GWB's last effort.    Can you go for four years without balancing your checkbook or at least looking at the bank statement? I know that I can't.  Tax the rich 100%, and you still don't get there. Tax them 200% and you still don't get there.  

We have a spending problem, not a revenue problem.  There is no way that anyone wants to fix a spending problem. It's far too painful. But it's necessary. 

Israel/Iran: Either Israel goes it alone or they threaten Iran with both the assassination of their entire leadership tier, or they turn several parts of Iran into a glassy parking lot.  Either way, it won't be long before things Are Decided. Of course, I Could Be Wrong. They are completely capable to do this all on their own and without permission or support from the U.S. As a matter of observation, they're better off not telling anyone anything until they're on their return leg of the mission.  It's not like the U.S. leadership has proven itself competent any any aspect of foreign policy or covert actions for a long time now...

UN Small Arms Treaty: Coming to a nation near you. This could be an exec order, approved by the Senate, crafted and rammed through the same way that Obamacare was. Don't expect a bunch of hearings on it, or expect it to follow legal pathways.  Enforcement: No need to ban the weapons, just tax the crap out of ammunition; pound the manufacturers with all kinds of non-compliable compliance mandates; ban imports and exports of any kind. I visited a Cabelas over the weekend--There wasn't a black gun, magazine or any quality 5.56 left in the store by the end of the day.  AK's were going too, along with 7.62x39. Lots of talk about either capitalizing on the weapons or being ready for seizures, one boat-tail round at a time at high velocity.  It looked a **whole lot** like a Black Friday sale, but with much more determination.  

Economy: Despite the happy-talk, it doesn't matter what Obama does or doesn't do.  Europe's going down hard, and when they go, we go. Might be soon, might be a year...dunno. Read Karl Denninger's site (The Market Ticker) when you can, or daily, including the comments section. These are professional traders, and they see risks and failure where we see nothing. I'm not in that business, so I don't see the danger signs that they do.  I read the site, but seldom post. I treat that site like I do The Drudge Report.  If you want to know the news before the MSM reports on it, you need to be ahead of the MSM. It is not difficult. 

Read this: http://market-ticker.org/akcs-www?singlepost=2753128     That particular post explains the nature of exponential spending and debt accumulation.  You don't know how bad it is until you are nearly out of breathable air.  Scary as Hell when you think about it, especially in light of where we are post-election. 

Money: QE to Infinity will continue--and accelerate the destruction of our money. Europe will go first, meaning there is a flight to the perception of "quality": They will run to the dollar as other currencies die; then the dollar will go too. Things you need will continue to get more expensive--food, fuel, etc., but prices will not climb steadily and the .gov will leverage that as 'recovery'.  Bumpy, unpredictable, and drawn out for far longer than would be reasonable.  When it goes though, it will go very quickly. Think: Hours not days. Silver and gold gyrate a bunch. The old maxim applies: If you don't have it in your hands, you don't have it. 

Obamacare: Gets fully implemented, full-throttle.   Private insurance companies will be driven out of existence.  Health care quality plummets, and prices skyrocket.  The Death Panel won't be needed, because simple delays in getting needed treatment will kill people....just like Great Britain.  If you need a medical procedure done, get it done sooner rather than later. If you have insurance at a reasonable price now, you won't have it in a year--you might have insurance, but you'll be paying for much more of it (assuming your employer pays a portion of it now). ALSO, expect massive terminations of full time employees and hiring of part time employees, none of which will be eligible for employer-sponsored medical insurance.  Expect all kinds of current fringe benefits to be eliminated as a result, causing further downward pressure on the workers. You're going to see a massive reduction in employers, as people figure out that it's just not worth it to work hard to pay the government more taxes and end up with much less at the end of the day. This may be the price of Austerity. I think it's more the cost of bloated government. 

ScandalGate and Fallout:  An ambassador--the second highest envoy a country can have, after the President--is allowed to be killed, when numerous options were available to save him; and after dozens of failures of security were allowed to happen.  Protocol was completely ignored in multiple agencies and at multiple levels, including in the Situation Room where BHO was present and ordered 'Stand Down'.   No one goes to jail or is punished.  

Fast and Furious:  Weapons were supplied by the FedGov to Mexican drug gangs, resulting in hundreds, if not thousands of deaths.  No one goes to jail or is punished. 

CIA Compromised: The head of the CIA is banging his biographer, and isn't smart enough to use widely available, easily accessible and highly secure encryption means to express his need to get some from his mistress.  The mistress is allowed access to all kinds of classified environments and probably information, as that kind of thing happens in the afterglow.  Mistress talks, another woman gets involved, and Petraeus' succeeding General in Afghanistan decides to get involved to the tune of thousands, if not tens of thousands of emails. An investigating FBI agent gets overly involved and tries to start a relationship with one of the women, including communicating topless pictures of himself sent to her. This throws dirt on the CIA, the FBI, probably to a smaller degree State, and by extension, Obama, but he is far above the fray.  Look for Petraeus and his general-buddy to be retired in disgrace, and word to come out that both were leading Bush-men in the big scheme of things.  No one goes to jail or is punished. 

As a result of the shiny entertainment of a married four-star general getting all horizontal with a much younger woman, and the accessory collapse of several other major careers, Benghazi and the weapons smuggling is forgotten; F&F is forgotten, the CIA is reformed with new, Statist-approved leadership, as is the FBI.   No one goes to jail or is punished. 

All this proves is that the most of the upper echelons of leadership in this nation are utterly corrupt. 

Regulations: Expect many more restrictive, private-business-unfriendly regulations to come your way. Expect there to be increasing restrictions on use of any kind of fuel: Wood burning, diesel, gasoline, whatever through a Carbon Tax.  Expect environmental 'Agenda 21' stuff to grow quickly. Expect both parties to be sponsors as a way to seriously increase revenue. 

Courts: We're going to see more radical Supreme Court judges, and a vast increase in radical judges in lower courts. This isn't even on the radar screen right now. Scalia, Ginsburg, Kennedy, two Reagan appointees and a Clinton appointee, will all likely be replaced with three Obama appointees. If this happens, this will be the largest bunch of USSC judges appointed by a single President since Eisenhower. Think about that one for a long time. 

If you've read Asimov, it's time to build your version of the Great Library of Trantor.  If you've read Rand, it's time to re-read Atlas Shrugged and prepare accordingly.  If you haven't read either or can't stand Rand's endless monologues, you still have some time to catch up, but don't waste time. If you're unfamiliar with any of the aforementioned, research the purposes and functions of medieval monasteries. They weren't all about religion and were designed to exist for many lifetimes.  

I think we are in for a very rough time ahead. 

T

Distance, Chapter 47

47

Wednesday evening,

August Thirtieth

The Segher Farm

Roeland’s men went over the Jeep with the proverbial fine toothed comb, and found no electronic or paper documentation that might be expected to be retrieved by Regent operatives along Doug’s planned route.   Only by accident did one of the cousins discover a second enclosure, adjacent to the Jeep’s powertrain control module that didn’t appear to belong. A wiring harness was present, wrapped up with electrical tape that looked factory enough, tucked behind the windshield washer reservoir under the hood. The silver module didn’t quite look the same as the real PCM though.

Dinner was simple but sumptuous, with Julie holding his hand throughout the entire meal, a smile on her face. After dinner the men had headed either to patrol, to bed (for those on patrol after midnight), or to the equipment shed for work on the Jeep. Doug watched as the men carefully removed the fake module, placing it on a workbench below a bank of radios within the cage.

“Stock power and data connections for a PCM. But not hooked up,” Jake Segher said, glasses halfway down his nose. “Crack it open?” he asked.

“Yep,” Roeland said. “Any marks or seals on the case?”

“Negative,” Jake replied.

“Let’s see what we find inside.”

Jake took a tee-handled tool from a rack and quickly removed several hex screws from the case, followed by the silver cover.

“Well, that’s easy,” Jake said.  “Six flash drives, all nicely wrapped up and labeled for each location. Wanna bet they’re not encrypted?”

“How’re you going to find out without triggering a date code event?” Doug asked.  All of Regent’s files were proprietary, and any access, even to just ‘peek’ at a file, resulted in a modification date embedded in the file.

“Trivialities,” Jake replied, not looking up from the case and its contents.

“Jake has a background in these things. Best not to ask any more about it,” Roeland said.

“If those files are compromised I’m blown,” Doug replied.

“I contracted for the National Security Agency for three years; Department of Defense two years before that as an information assurance officer. I’m very, very good at what I do,” Jake said, not raising his gaze from the computer enclosure. “And these are not flash drives. These are covering up the real data on the board underneath them. There’s a mini-USB port on this board. The flash drives are probably explosive charges. That one on the left there is a little electro-magnetic charge to wipe the data.”

“What?” Doug said in surprise.

“Self-destruct. Not enough to blow up your car. Don’t worry,” Jake said. “I’ll need to get my gear and bring it here. This is a fairly sophisticated piece of work for the civilian world.  I can have the data retrieved and this back together by morning.”

“I don’t really need the Jeep until…”

“No, you need this tomorrow. You said you’d be in Fairfield in the morning, right? Told the police?” Jake said, still studying the case, the fake flash drives and the circuit board beneath.

“Yes,” Doug replied.

“That commitment you made to file a report, and any other communications made mentioning your name have already been communicated electronically. Which means that your corporation knows it already. They don’t expect you to drive a different vehicle I would expect, so if you show up and file a report in Fairfield, your vehicle would show up there. You’ll gas up there, use a credit card, call your office and report what’s happened to your house. There may well be some electronic track that can ping off of this,” Jake said, “and report back to the mother ship.”

“How can that possibly be true?” Doug said. “They’d have to monitor everything all the time.”

“It’s not that difficult for an entity with means and desire,” Jake said, looking over the top of his glasses. “Believe me. Child’s play when the cell network was in operation—and lots of the infrastructure is still intact, despite what you’re being told. The bandwidth is being used for other things,” he looked up as Julie entered the equipment shed. “It appears you have an appointment with your wife, Doug.”

“Yes, I do,” Doug said, looking at his curvy bride. “See you in the morning?”

“Most likely.”

Doug took Julie’s hand and closed the man-door behind them, greeted by the setting half-moon, just above the trees in the east.

“Do you have any idea how much I love you?” Doug asked.

“Very nearly as much as I love you. But not quite,” Julie said as they sat on the edge of an ancient wooden table between the shed and the back door of the farm house. “I have missed you every single day and had a lump in my throat just thinking about you. I don’t want you going back. I want you to stay.”

Doug paused for a moment before speaking. “I don’t want to go back. I just don’t know how not to. I don’t know what to do next. People I know…knew…are dead. I think my company killed them. How am I supposed to behave, knowing that? What am I supposed to do?”  Doug found himself sobbing, finally giving in to the pent-up grief and months of stress.

Long hours later, well after moonset, they went to their bedroom and relieved pent-up stresses of another nature, in much more intimate and pleasurable ways. 

Thursday morning,

August Thirty-first,

Fairfield, Iowa

Doug pulled into the concrete parking lot of the Jefferson County Sheriff’s office, parking next to concrete barriers that were placed to keep vehicles away from the building.  After parking his reassembled Jeep, he was met by an officer at the entry.

“Business here today, sir?”

“Name’s Doug Peterson. I need to make a report.”

“The Kliest murders. You’re on the list. Carrying?”

“Huh?”

“Are you carrying a weapon, sir?”

“Oh. No, actually. Not on me.”

“See Officer Schwartz.  Second door on the left, down that hallway.”

“Thanks,” Doug said. It was only then that he noticed the second officer, inside a ballistic enclosure with a shotgun on top of the counter, facing the door.  Half the lights in the entry lobby were out, burned out or damaged.

Doug made his way to the assigned office, and knocked on the door jamb.  Officer Schwartz was a much older man, Doug guessed well past seventy. He removed a headset from his right ear, keeping the left one in place. A haphazard collection of radios were to Schwartz’s right.

“Sit,” Officer Schwartz said, covering the mouthpiece to his headset. “Be with you in a minute.”

“Dispatch to two four tango, proceed on assigned patrol route.”

One of the speakers in the radio bank replied, “Two four tango,” and the transmission ended.

“What can I do for you?” the officer asked.

“I need to make a report.  I live near….I lived across the road from the Kliests.”

“You Peterson then?” Schwartz asked with a critical eye.

“Yes, sir.”

“They hit your place too, then I take it?”

“Yes.  There is, though more to it than that,” Doug said.

“Go on,” the officer said, leaning back in his chair a little.

“Mr. Kliest worked for a real estate firm, which was affiliated with the company that I worked for, Regent.  They’re in the food business—Regent Performance.  Wholesale, distributing, the works,” Doug said.

“You think there’s a tie-in?”

“I don’t know. Might be coincidence.”

“You’re working for the Federal government now?” Schwartz asked, looking at the paperwork in the Kliest’s file, with Doug’s business card.

“Yes. Food and Drug Administration. Based out of the Denver Federal Zone.”

“What was stolen from your home?”

“Some things were removed by my wife—she’s doubling-up with some family friends.  There were a number of items that were stolen. Mostly electronics,” Doug said, not mentioning the security system. “I guess what surprised me was the destruction.”

“Deputy Earle said it looked like explosives. That right?”

“Yeah, I guess. It’s not like I’ve seen grenades go off before. The house is all but destroyed,” Doug replied. “The big generator out back…looked like they melted it. No idea how they did that.”

“All right, Mister Peterson. Here’s our packet for reporting stolen property. If you’d fill this out, we’ll see what we can do,” Schwartz said, with a ‘cold chance in Hell’ tone of voice. “You can use that meeting room across the hall if you’d like.”

“OK. Thanks.  Is there a public phone I can use?” Doug asked.

“Need to check in with Denver? I hear they’re all in a dither today,” Schwartz said as one of the radios came to life.

“What’s that?”

“Those nutjobs back East. Call themselves the ‘New Republic.’ Decided to declare their independence.  I hear it’s all over the television, where they have television. Guess the President’s called some emergency meeting or other.”

Doug involuntarily moved back in shock, and caught himself. “I…hadn’t heard. Radio’s been off.”

“There’s a phone in that meeting room. Dial nine for an outside line,” Schwartz said. “Close the door if you need privacy. That room’s pretty quiet, but not soundproof.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it,” Doug replied. He gathered up the papers and moved numbly across to the empty room, closing the door behind him.

He fished out the small, leather-bound notebook with his contact information and the security codes to gain access to the Federal communications network.  Within a few moments, he was connected to his secretary in Denver.

“Lorraine? This is Doug.”

“Hi, Doug. You looking for the Deputy Director?”

“Thought it might be a good idea to check in. How’re things there?”

“Unevenly distributed,” she replied.  A career civil servant, she’d seen all kinds of chaos over the years.

“What was that?” Doug replied.

“When it hit the fan first thing this morning, the output was not evenly distributed. For a change, the folks upstairs got the lions’ share.”

“That’s pretty good,” Doug said with a grin. “Director in?”

“No, actually. Very few of the folks upstairs are in. There’s word that they’re in an emergency meeting over at the Central Hall. We can’t get through at all. Security is Red throughout the zone.” Red was the highest level in the five-tier system.  ‘Lock Down’ was more accurate.

“All right.  Listen, there’s been some trouble out here. A couple of my neighbors were…murdered. My place was pretty much ransacked as well.”

“My God! That’s terrible!” Lorraine replied. “You aren’t close to the New Republic areas, are you?”

“I just heard about them from the police officer that I’m making my report to.  I don’t know anything about them.”

“Are you in a location where you can get an electronic dispatch?” E-dispatches were encrypted files normally sent to Federal locations only, with special log in information required to access the terminal, and upon approval, the actual message.

“I’m in a police station in Fairfield, Iowa.  Not exactly up to Federal security levels,” Doug replied.

“Let me cross check locations in your area,” Lorraine replied. Doug could hear her entering his location in her computer. “You have a National Guard Center there. If you’re at the Fairfield Police Station, they’re about a thousand feet north, northwest. Head west to Twenty-Third, head north to West Stone, Turn right. They’ll be on your left.  I can send your account the flash traffic immediately and you should be able to log in there.”

“Perfect, as always, Lorraine. I’ll have to finish up the police report here, and then I’ll head over there.”

“Remember that at my performance review in October, OK?” she laughed quietly.

“Done.”   He ended the call, and then deciphered the number for the Columbus office on a piece of scratch paper from his small notebook.   It might look suspicious to have his former employers’ corporate headquarters phone number in plain sight in his ‘official’ contacts list, he’d figured. He simply disguised it by scattering the numbers across a series of pages in apparently random locations.

“Good morning, this is Regent Columbus Operations Center. May I help you?” the pleasant voice answered.

“Yes, this is Doug Peterson, with the Food and Drug Administration.  I’d like to speak with Kevin Martinez if possible?”

The pleasant voice paused before answering. “Do you know what division Mister Martinez is assigned to? I believe that he may be in the shipping department,” the pleasant voice asked as the challenge question.

“No, unfortunately, but I believed that he was in quality control. I was given this number to contact him,” Doug replied with the correct response.

One moment, Mister Peterson. I’ll try to connect you to that number.”

Doug heard several tones and a loud blast of static, and then Martinez answered.

“Mister Peterson.  What can I do for you today?” the familiar, and intimidating voice answered.

“What were those noises on the line?” Doug said, irritated.

“Internal protocol to check your phone line for anyone listening in…local, on your end. Big Brother’s always listening.  Where you calling from?”

“A police station near my what’s left of my home. Kevin, do you know August Kliest?”  Doug asked. He was met with a few moments of silence.

“Of course,” Martinez replied.

“Do you know that he and his wife were murdered?” A longer silence.

“We have not been in contact with Mr. Kliest in three days.  We had assumed that there was a power issue. This has happened several times in the past two months.”

“I came home from Des Moines. I topped the hill near my place, and Augie’s driveway was full of emergency vehicles.  They were apparently shot in the back of the head, execution-style. From what the deputy said, it sounded as if they may have been died in a manner similar to people that I worked with in Des Moines. A bolt gun,” Doug said, referring to Rob Dowling’s death.

Martinez didn’t answer.

“Did Regent kill these people?” Doug pressed, trying to keep his voice quiet.

“No,” Martinez responded finally. “No Regent, or subsidiary company acted to terminate the Kliests. There is…”

“Terminate? Really Kevin?” Doug said, losing his temper.  “They were slaughtered. Bound with zip-ties. If they weren’t murdered by Regent; if Rob Dowling and Francine Redmond weren’t, then who? Four people in my immediate circle are dead!”

“Regent did not kill the Kliests,” Martinez replied.

“Did Regent kill Rob and Francine?” Doug pushed.

Martinez paused. “Not on my orders.”

“So yes then? Jesus Christ! Who made the call? They didn’t know anything about RNEW!”

“Higher ups,” Martinez said quietly. “It is not prudent of me to look into it. Des Moines was certainly an internal action. I’ve only found out about this in the last two hours.”

“The internal security system at my house was removed, and then my home was blown up. Removed. Not stolen. Cameras, digital recorders, cables. Gone. All of it,” Doug snarled. “The backup generator was melted somehow. Kliests’ place might’ve had similar damage. I don’t know.” 

“There is more in play here, Doug. It was not a Regent operation,” Martinez said.

“Is this hit tied to this New Republic bullshit?”

Martinez took a long time to reply. “Doug, there is more in play here. It’s not Regent. I do not know if the ambitions of the Republic play into it.”

“What do you know about them?”

“The New Republic? They want to overthrow the United States Government from within. Decentralized resistance, masterfully orchestrated. Cell-based units, shaping up to be classic revolutionary tactics. They’re pointing out all that is going wrong and all that the Federals are doing badly, and right now there is no voice that opposes them. Their words don’t match their real goals though.  This Senator Blackburn,” Martinez paused a moment, “is ostensibly the leader.  She doesn’t fit the mold though. Someone is pulling her strings.”

Doug didn’t know what to say.

“You still there, Peterson?” Martinez asked.

“Yeah,” he replied more calmly, now with brow furrowed. “I don’t get it.”

“What’s not to get? The traditional parties have both failed the country in the past few years, because they’re essentially the same and are utterly unwilling to do what they need to do. Most people call the current Republican President the best Democrat in fifty years. Can you blame someone for coming up with something different? Or for people to get behind them? Look at the results of the last three elections. Damned close. All of them. Meaning that there’s an ‘Us versus Them’ atmosphere. Ripe.”

“Yeah. I can spread blame around. You just described how people like Hitler came to power.”

“Yeah. Yeah it is,” Martinez said.

Doug reviewed his FDA itinerary with Martinez, who knew little of Doug’s pending trip, only that at the conclusion of the trip, he’d likely be recalled to Regent for his next corporate assignment.  He was poised to ask another string of questions when he saw Officer Schwartz get up from his desk and hurriedly rush to the front of the station, carrying a pistol-gripped shotgun.

“Kevin, I gotta go.  The cop across the hall just ran to the front of the station with a shotgun.”

“Make contact when you can,” Martinez replied as Doug hung up.

Doug quickly moved toward the door, peeking out the window to the front hallway before opening the thick door.  He couldn’t see anyone, and opened the door slowly. 

Moving into the hallway, he saw Schwartz and three other officers with weapons drawn on a scraggly blonde male, face down in the parking lot, struggling with more force than Doug would’ve expected from a man his size. Another officer zip-tied the man’s hands and ankles after hitting him with a taser. Within moments, two of the officers hauled the young man to his feet and dragged him through the front door.

“Back in that room!” one yelled at Doug, who complied but watched the proceedings. 

The young mans’ face was not quite smiling, his eyes black….and soulless, he thought. The officers hauled him through the entry lobby and down another hallway; Doug assumed into a holding cell.  Schwartz returned to his office a few seconds later.

“What the Hell was that?” Doug asked.

“That might be the murderer of your neighbors. He just shot four people at a food co-op.  His car was full of electronics. Maybe you can I.D. some of it,” Schwartz said, breathing heavily. “I’m getting too damned old for this short of shit.”

“Who is he?” Doug posed.

“No I.D. Didn’t speak. Apparently he walked in, emptied his gun, and stood there. Some God-damned druggie from the city is my bet,” Schwartz spat. “This way.  Deputy Ryan should have the vehicle out back right about now.”

Schwartz led Doug through a poorly lit hallway, through a massive door at the back of the station. He heard someone start screaming from another hallway to the right.

“Bastard probably just figured out he’s been caught,” Schwartz said.

Two officers were looking over an ancient, rusted-through S-10 Blazer. The back of the small SUV was stuffed with clothing, boxes, and electronics. Doug immediately recognized three cameras as being similar, if not identical to those from his home.  Upon further inspection, he saw one of the video displays and a digital recorder from the security system.

“That’s from my house.  Augie might’ve had the same stuff though,” Doug said to Schwartz, before noticing several other packages. He picked one up.  It was from Regent.

“You sure about that?” Schwartz asked.

“Yeah. Absolutely,” Doug said, flipping over the Regent package, and then picking up another.

Both were RNEW-line products from the small markings on the packages. Doug knew that the combinations would produce the altering effects desired by Corporate. Doug scanned the rest of the contents of the SUV, now being unloaded, and saw dozens of RNEW-line packages…most empty. 

There were far too many for an individual to have consumed over a couple of days’ time—and neither he, nor Augie would’ve had RNEW products on hand.  Doug noticed among the debris in the passenger-side foot well, a map of the region. Despite the stains on it, he could make out yellow highlighting on a highway into Fairfield.

“Step away if you would, Mister Peterson.  We need to process this all as evidence,” Deputy Schwartz asked.

“Uh, sure,” Doug said, walking around the front of the beat-up Chevy.  

The license plate was from Ohio; the plate frame from a Chevy dealer in Columbus. 

Distance, Chapter 46

46

11:40 a.m.

Wednesday,

August Thirtieth

Near Fairfield, Iowa

The drive away from Des Moines was completely uneventful.  Nothing in the way of traffic—nothing. Roadblocks obviously thrown up earlier in the year were unmanned, in some cases wind-blown soil had drifted around the concrete barriers. Doug had never seen the farm fields of Iowa completely bare of crops.  The appearances of the scattered farmhouses east of Interstate Thirty-Five alternated between ‘abandoned’ and ‘fortified.’ Twice, west of Centerville, he spotted single riders on horseback, watching the highway. He didn’t slow down to see if they were armed. He realized later that there were probably many eyes watching that he never saw.

The route that Regent prepared for him was seemingly random, taking Doug farther south than he’d previously traveled, which allowed him to approach home from Keosauqua, well south of his ‘Regent’ home.  He could’ve just as easily turned south and ended up at the Farm, but it would probably be in his best interest to stop at his ‘home’ before heading to the Farm.

He slowed well before he needed to, still well south of his home and that of Augie Kliest.  A cluster of emergency vehicles at the Kliests was an unwelcome sight.   He pulled in behind a City of Fairfield fire truck and paramedic unit, with an ambulance off to the side.   A Jefferson County sheriff’s car was parked near the garage.  A deputy approached Doug as he got out of the car.

“You have business here, sir?” the deputy asked, right hand on the butt of his holstered handgun.

“Uh, no. I’m a neighbor,” Doug replied, pointing to his house across the highway. “I’ve been out of town for most of the summer. I work for the Food and Drug administration. Mr. Kliest was watching the place for me. What’s happened?”

“Can you verify your whereabouts for the last several days?” the deputy asked.

“Well, I suppose so. I was in Des Moines until this morning; yesterday I arrived there from Denver,” he said, handing the deputy his Federal I.D. card and drivers’ license.

“Can you prove that?”

“I have my travel papers from the Denver office in my bag. Is that enough? What’s happened here?” Doug asked again.

“We’ve had a number of people in outlying areas killed by raiders. In some cases it’s appeared to be neighbor on neighbor. Mr. and Mrs. Kliest are deceased.”

“Good God. The Kliests wouldn’t harm a fly,” Doug said.

“No matter,” the deputy replied. “That your place?” he said pointing across the way to Doug’s place.

“Yeah.  I’ve been gone since…June.”

“Pearson! Over here, now!” the deputy shouted over his shoulder to the house.

“Sir?” a very young man appeared in the doorway.  Doug then noted a muddy boot print on the white door, and the destroyed door jamb. Something didn’t add up, though, because if Kliest had the same type of security that his home had, a mere kick on the front door would’ve just frustrated the would-be intruder. A kick wouldn’t trash the door jamb like that. A battering ram maybe…

“Escort this gentleman to his home over there,” the deputy pointed.  “Do not enter the residence if you see anything out of the formerly ordinary. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” the young man replied.  Doug noted he was armed with a revolver that had seen better days.

“One of our volunteers,” the deputy said to Doug quietly. “If there’s anything that looks like it’s been tampered with, do not enter the home. Got it?” he said to Pearson.

“Sure. It’s not like there was much in the place,” Doug replied, not mentioning the extensive security system.

The young man jogged ahead of Doug’s government vehicle, down the Kliest’s driveway and up the hill to Doug’s place.  He stopped dead in his tracks, forty feet from the house.  Doug got out of the Cherokee as the young man waved him back. 

“Be right back sir.  Better not go in there,” he said.

Doug’s front door was rammed in; most of the windows in the home were shattered.  Some sort of explosion had taken place inside, blasting glass and the wood mini-blinds apart and scattering them across the yard.

“Good God,” Doug said again, this time to himself.    Looking to the ‘concealed’ fuel pump, he noticed the ‘shed’ had been ripped open and the pump was missing.   A few moments later, the Deputy’s Chevrolet pulled in around Doug’s Jeep.

“Well, they got yours, too,” the deputy said.  “Stay here while we clear the place.  You got a basement?”

“Yeah,” Doug said, giving him the details on the layout.

“Hold fast here,” the deputy replied.  “Pearson, holster that thing.” 

Doug noted the young man had the weapon out and had both hands on it, ready to move into the house. 

“Shotgun’s for close quarters work,” the deputy said, handing the young man a pistol-gripped shotgun. “Try not to shoot me.”

The deputy armed himself with his own shotgun, this one equipped with a small flashlight, and moved into the home through the front door, weapon ready.  Pearson followed.  Five long minutes later, both exited the home.

“Mister Peterson, come ahead please,” the deputy told Doug.

“What’d you find?”

“Looks like a couple of grenades.  Your place is a wreck. Pretty well stripped, too,” the deputy replied. “Pearson will walk you through it,” he said, handing Doug a huge flashlight.  “I need to get back across the street.  Check in with me when you’re done with your walkthrough—let me know what they’ve taken.”

“Uh, okay,” Doug said, checking the flashlight.

Pearson kept quiet as Doug entered the wrecked house, smashed and blasted by explosives thrown through the front windows, blast marks radiating from several points on the floor.  While the home was sparsely furnished, it appeared to Doug that several pieces had been taken out before the home was blown up.  He was shocked to see some of the sheetrock blown into the voids between the wall framing—the walls now looked corrugated, and most of the ceilings had collapsed. Hunks of the wood flooring were blown out, with holes into the basement in the front room.

The security closet though, told Doug a different story, beyond simple theft and destruction: The closet was empty, cleared of all cables, connectors and hardware that held the Regent security system.   Reviewing the rest of the house, the security cameras were also missing—carefully removed. The upstairs rooms had been hit by several small explosions—one per room—blowing out the glass and destroying several walls.   Shattered parts of doors and wood trim covered the floor.

The basement had been stripped of all supplies—but Julie might have removed them.  The furnace, hot water heater, and most of the plumbing was destroyed, again by some sort of small explosive. There was nothing undamaged in the home.

“I’d like to look out back. There was a generator out there,” Doug told Pearson, not looking for permission.

The door to the generator shack was hanging from a single hinge.  Inside, the remains of the generator showed the level of effort put forth to destroy it.  The entire room was blackened by fire and reeked of burned oil.

“Looks like it’s…melted,” Pearson said from over Doug’s shoulder.

“Yeah, it does,” Doug replied. He had no idea what could possibly melt a hole through the cylinder head and block of the big generator. A pool of hardened metal lay on the floor beneath it.

Doug sent the young Pearson back to Kliest’s with the deputy’s flashlight after retrieving one from the Jeep, and spent a few minutes collecting a few possessions as he mulled over the situation and tried to come to a different conclusion than the obvious one: Regent had killed Kliest, his wife, and sanitized the houses.  

It was a full five minutes before he realized that the Segher Farm might have been sanitized as well. He headed back across the road before heading to the Farm, heart pounding at what he might find.

“You make a list of what’s been stolen?”

“Too much to list,” Doug told the deputy.  “I’m heading to my wife’s place—she’s been staying with friends all summer,” Doug said as two men carried a basket with a body bag from the home.

“Who would that be exactly?” the deputy asked, noticing Doug’s stare.  Doug gave him the name of the Seghers, as the second body was removed.  The deputy wrote it down. “I’m going to need you to make a report on your home, Mister Peterson, whether you elect to go back there or not.”

“I’ll be happy to, tomorrow. As is, there’s nothing left worth anything to me.”

“Here’s the location of the Sheriff’s office,” the deputy said, handing Doug a business card.  “You can file your report there.  Sooner the better…as in, before close of business tomorrow. Got it?”

“Got it,” Doug said. “One thing though. How did they…die?” 

“Looked like a single gunshot wound to the base of the skull. They were both bound with zip ties before they were killed.”

“My God. That’s horrible.”

“That someone entered their home, and that they didn’t see fit to defend themselves as whoever entered, tells us something. Either they didn’t see a threat coming or they knew who their killers were,” the deputy said as the doors to the ambulance were closed.

“When did it happen? Can you tell?”

“Yesterday morning, by the looks of it.  Breakfast dishes were on the table,” the deputy replied.  “Quite a few things look to have been taken, along with both of their vehicles. And firearms.”

“Do they have family?” Doug asked, feeling bad that he didn’t know.

“Son in the Navy. Two daughters.  We haven’t located any of them yet.”

“I’ll stop in at the Sheriff’s office tomorrow.”

“Thanks. Appreciate it,” the deputy replied.

Almost absentmindedly, Doug drove south toward the Seghers, and almost missed the turn east that led by the farm.  Augie Kliest did not strike him as the kind of man who would let a stranger inside; and if Regent was involved, the pieces fit that they were eliminating loose connections. ‘Am I next?’

The entry to the Farm had a new, very heavy-duty gate blocking the road, and the earthworks on either side would prevent anything from entering from the road. The gate sported a very heavy chain and lock.  Doug grabbed his backpack and started to pull out his rifle when he heard a shotgun slide.

“Don’t even think about moving until I tell you to, Fed,” an unfamiliar voice ordered.

“No problem,” Doug replied.

“Hands where I can see them.  Back away from the Jeep,” the man said. Doug complied immediately. “Hands on the hood, feet back and spread ‘em.”

Again, Doug complied.

“What’s your business here?” the man asked.

“To see my wife, Julie.”

“Really.  What’s her given name?” the man asked, unfazed.

“Julia Kristen Forsythe. We were married on Easter Sunday.”

“Stay put,” the man said.   A moment later, Doug heard a chime from the direction of the house, and the man spoke quietly, he assumed into some sort of radio.

“All right. Sounds like you might be who you say you are. Relax,” the man said. Doug turned around.

“I’m Kurt Segher. One of the many cousins,” he said, lowering the shotgun.  “You’re Doug?”

“Yes. Good to meet you,” Doug said, shaking the man’s hand. He looked like a much younger version of Arie, and had just a hint of Arie’s accent. “Where are you from? I don’t remember hearing of you the last time I was here.”

“California. Not a good place for dairymen these days. Arie and the family were kind enough to help us get settled in here,” Kurt said as he unlocked the gate and pulled the chain free.  “We’ll talk more later. I’m on patrol for the next couple of hours.  Drive up to the equipment barn, and right inside. Doesn’t pay to have cars outside.”

“OK. Thanks,” Doug said as he got inside the Cherokee.

Julie was on the porch as he drove up, slowing for Arie who waved him into the equipment shed.  The massive outer door was open, and Doug parked within a metal, fence-like cage inside.   Julie met him as he opened the door and almost crushed him with a hug.

“You’re here! And early!” she said as she buried her face in his neck.

“I am, finally,” Doug said, finally kissing her as Arie closed the huge door. He noticed something different. “You’re…”

“Pregnant,” Julie replied softly. “Congratulations, Daddy,” she whispered in his ear as she kissed his neck. “I didn’t want to put that in a letter.”

Doug was stunned by the news, in a good way, and didn’t have any coherent reply. It took him more than a few moments to come up with words.

“That’s the best thing I’ve heard in a really long time,” he said quietly.

Julie loosened her grip on him and smiled.  “Something’s wrong,” Julie said to him, taking a good look at him for the first time. “What’s happened?”

“Let’s go inside,” Doug answered, taking her hand.

After a robust handshake from Arie and a hug from Maria, Doug sat at the worn kitchen table, holding a giant mug of strong tea in one hand, Julie’s hand with the other.

“My neighbors, the Kliests, were murdered yesterday. I was up in Des Moines, drove down today.  Thought I’d stop by the house to see how it was, talk with Augie.  Cops, paramedics and firemen were there.”

“That’s terrible!” Julie responded immediately. Maria looked shaken as well.

“This man,” Arie said. “The one you spoke of? Worked for your company? Security man I believe you said, yes?”

“Yes,” Doug said.

“Someone he knew then,” Arie surmised.  “You think company did this?”

“Distinct possibility. No. More than that…there’s more to it though,” Doug said before explaining the condition of his home and the relatively undamaged Kliest residence.

“Outsiders did this,” Maria said.

“I agree.  Several of my colleagues in the Des Moines office have also been murdered recently. The Kliests may have been murdered in the same manner. Perhaps by the same people. I don’t know,” Doug said. “It’s not plausible that the Kliests were murdered randomly and that the security system equipment in our home was surgically removed prior to the house being trashed.  Either Regent did it, or they didn’t. If they didn’t, then someone else knows what’s going on and acted. If Regent did it, then I’ve brought trouble here.”

“How do you find out?” Julie asked. “Can you…contact Corporate?”

“I can probably try from Fairfield tomorrow.  No cell phones of course,” Doug said. “I’ll need to make a police report, so I’m already going to be in town.  I’ll try to get through to Columbus.”

“How long are you here?” Arie asked.

“I’m to be on the road on September Eleventh. I’ve a number of locations in the Midwest that I’m to visit as part of an FDA inspection tour.  I also believe that there are materials in the Jeep that are to be retrieved by Regent agents in those locations, or on the way,” Doug said.  Arie quickly leaned back in his chair, hands on the table.

“Maria, call Roeland,” Arie said. “Douglas, with me please. We’ll be back soon,” he told Maria and Julie.

Doug and Arie walked back to the equipment shed, met by Roeland just inside. He’d obviously been on patrol on the Farm.

“What’s going on?” Roeland said, barely acknowledging Doug.

“His vehicle,” Arie began before Doug interrupted him.

“It has information aboard.  Maybe marching orders from Columbus or Denver or both,” Doug said. 

“If it can be retrieved without appearing to have been tampered with, do so.  You have men for this,” Arie directed Roeland.

“Yes. I’ll contact them as soon as I can.  Doug, when do you leave?”

“I’ve got time.  I don’t leave until the Eleventh. I’m off the grid until then.”

“Good.  Plenty of time for us to put you to work. You remember what ‘work’ is, don’t you?” Roeland said with a smirk.

“I’m sure I can figure it out.”

“What’s the story on the contents of the Jeep? Roeland asked.

“My personal bags, a few firearms.  The boxes in the back are supposed to be Regent Preferred.  Not altered.”

“Supposed to be?” Arie asked. “You believe otherwise?”

“I suspect otherwise,” Doug said. 

“Have you checked for marker tags?” Roeland asked, referring to the radio frequency identification markers that could be hidden in any package, garment or vehicle.

“No point in checking.  The technology has advanced dramatically.  The chips could be buried within the packaging and I’d never see it. Some of the samples I know of were paper thin and a sixteenth of an inch wide,” Doug said. Arie looked through the cargo area windows suspiciously at the cardboard cases bearing the Regent logo.

“That’s OK.  We’ve ways to find them if they’re here, and ways to find the repeater unit in the car if there is one,” Roeland said. “Not that any signals are going to get out of here,” he said off-handedly.

“Huh?” Doug asked. “Why not?”

“Look around,” Roeland said, pointing to the huge cage that held the Jeep.  “The cage is designed to shield electromagnetic signals.” Doug noticed the steel cage had numerous copper wires fastened to it in a grid. “The cage seriously limits the effectiveness of radio transmission or reception. On the flip side, something like this cage could save our sensitive electronics if another nuke goes off and we’re smart enough to stow them inside.”

“Would you mind if I tried the radio?” Doug asked.  He was skeptical that the cage would do what Roeland stated.

“Go for it,” Roeland replied.

Doug got in the Cherokee, turned the key on, and turned the radio on.  Hitting the ‘scan’ button, the radio was unable to lock onto any station. Nothing but static.  Switching to the FM band, he was met with similar results.   The Cherokee also had a scanner for emergency services and weather bands.  No signals were detected on any of the bands.

“This really does seem to work,” Doug said.

“It does a very good job for what it is.  Your RFID tags and any on board repeater are almost certainly completely blocked,” Roeland said.

“If Regent were tracking me, I’d have gone off-grid,” Doug replied.  “And they’d wonder how that happened.”

“Yes, but the transmitter systems don’t have a strong enough signal to go very far.  You need a cell phone type repeater to provide a fix on your location, and two or three towers to triangulate your location. Since the cell towers…and the cell systems have been dead since the war, you probably went off-grid as soon as you left the neighborhood in Des Moines.”

“What about satellite?”

“GPS’s are dead.  Sat phones are too. Without functioning satellites, GPS’s are just fancy bricks.”

That relieved Doug a little, knowing now that Regent didn’t know exactly where their products might be. Even so, they knew were he was heading, and he’d hardly be staying at his wrecked home when there were other options available.  He still struggled with the Kliests deaths.  He felt as if he were being herded, his options limited by others to suit their needs, not his.

“Roeland, you do what you can with this. Douglas, what should we do with this…stuff in the back of your Jeep?”  Arie asked.

“I can’t recommend eating it.  I don’t know where it’s from or what’s in it, unlike product made in my own plant back in the spring,” he said. “Feed it to the pigs or something.”

“Not sure they’d eat it,” Roeland replied.