rights were transferred to the UN Mandate of Articles. It made the ownership or possession of a weapon or a firearm of any kind illegal. This had created the night of guns for peace when the new Congress permitted the UN forces to enter the country and homes to confiscate all weapons in all three sections. The new country had now been subjected to the indignity of being serfs.
Tork had crossed the Oakland Bay Bridge to Frisco and was on his way to Mo’s Place, a rather out-of-the-way all-night diner, a friendly place. Mo’s Place was on a backstreet, an all-night diner frequented by night workers and insomniacs. It had good food, coffee, and friendly people. The best food was there. Mo Brodrick owned it, an old friend of Tork and Cal’s. The diner was a favorite of the local constabulary, a frequent stop for the beat cops and a safe place for them to meet. Cal knew he would be safe there if he could make it in one piece. With the country virtually police-controlled, it paid to know them.
Tork pulled up in the small parking lot and looked for Cal’s car. It wasn’t there. He had hoped Cal would have made it before he did, for he was closer than Tork. Also, Tork had to shower and dress before leaving.
When Tork arrived, he went in looking for Cal and thought maybe he might have parked on the street and walked down to Mo’s.
“Hi, Charlene,” Tork called out to the redheaded server. “How yah been, ginger? Still my sweetie?”
Charlene smiled, winked, and replied, “Sure, sweetheart, and yer still the kidder. What brings you out this early in the morning?”
“Oh, just meeting Cal. Have you seen him?”
“No,” was her reply. “I haven’t seen him for some time, but Mo just said he thought he saw his car go by. He told me it seemed odd. Said Cal usually parked in the rear and comes in from there.”
“Thanks, Charlene. Which direction was he going?”
“Toward the bay,” she replied.
It concerned Tork for he hoped he had arrived in time. If Cal was headed for the bay, he was going to come around back and park behind Mo’s. He had to go up two blocks and circle back to the parking lot in the rear. Tork went to the back of the diner and opened the door. Just as the door opened, he saw two men pulling Cal from his car. One of them held a gun in his left hand and tried to pull Cal out of his car with his right. The second guy kept getting in the way of his partner.
It was the edge Tork needed. He slipped up behind them both and cracked one of the men across the head with his 9 mm. He went down quickly. The other turned to see what had happened. Tork shoved the gun deep in his gut and said, “Drop it, stupid, or I’ll blow your spleen all over the parking lot.”
He was good, and he was fast. Before Tork could pull the trigger, the man had let go of Cal. Sidestepping and grabbing Tork’s gun, he pushed himself back and with his gun in hand slapped Tork across the head. Tork dropped as fast as the other guy. He found himself on his knees trying to protect himself and to see where he had gone wrong when he was hit a second time. Everything slowly started to fade. Grays became blacks. He could hear someone in that black spinning pit calling his name. As they called, the name got louder and closer. Then a blurred image started to take shape and blackness.
“Tork, Tork, wake up! Wake up! Are you okay?”
Another voice was saying something. Tork wasn’t sure who it was, but it was somehow familiar. His eyes opened, and as his senses returned, he could feel the pounding in his head. Boy, he thought, I need a big bottle of Lortab right now.
Why couldn’t it have been simply, “I need money,” when Tork asked Cal what he needed when he called him? No, nothing’s that simple with Cal. Tork guessed that’s what friendship was for. Tork got stuck with all the bumps and bruises and Cal gets out of trouble.
A dark void suddenly changing to multicolored lights, echoing sounds, and noises enveloped him. Stars and waving colored ribbons were all around him. He felt himself drifting off as the noises and sounds around him faded in and out. Then the waving colors slowly drifted into blackness.
Tork lay there unconscious, as Cal and Charlene turned him over. Cal took his pulse and breathed a sigh of relief when he felt a strong and steady pulse. “He’s okay,” he said. “Just out like a light.”
Charlene felt the strain release and the tears flowed across her cheeks. A little “thank God” escaped her lips.
Others in the restaurant had heard the commotion and came out in time to see a car leave the area and Charlene and Cal kneeling over Tork. Charlene picked up Tork’s gun and put it under her apron.
Realizing the police would soon be there, Cal said, “Quick, Charlene, give me the gun before the cops get here.” Cal quickly stuffed the gun in his waistband in the middle of his back. He knew what could happen if the police caught anyone with a gun. It could mean years in a federal or a UN prison.
The new laws allowed for the UN to build prisons and staff them with their own personnel. The host country then paid for them out of tax money. It was part of the UN law that a previous president signed and was never ratified by Congress until this administration took over. It also meant that the new American soldiers or civilian had no rights anywhere in the world including all of North America. Americans were now under foreign control—UN control to be exact.
Chapter 2
Waiting for the Prey
Wednesday, May 27
“I send you on a simple job and both of you blow it.” The elderly man was obviously chastising both men for failing to complete their assignment.
“I’m sorry, Colonel. We almost had him. He was putting up a good fight, and we would have collared him if this other guy hadn’t shown up. We suspected he was a cop. He hit Thomas with an automatic, and I had it in my gut before I knew it. If I hadn’t moved when I did, he probably would have fired. As it was, I managed to hit him and stun him enough to hit him a second time and knock him out.”
“If you knocked him out, why didn’t you grab your target?”
“He pulled loose from me when I—”
“I don’t need excuses,” the colonel said. “Both of you get out there and find the guy. If the other one is with him, bring them both in. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” they replied.
“Pick up another car. They’ve probably made the one you were using. This time, get him or them and bring them back here.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Another thing, keep the network surveillance on him. Keep on your toes this time, Thomas, or do you enjoy getting slapped across the head with automatics?”
With that remark burned into his head, Stewart T. Thomas and Marvin A. Prackett departed for Frisco with determination and resolve.
Col. Donald D. Duncan, North American air force commander of operations, was busy calling his superiors. “I know it’s a setback, sir! The intruder stumbled in on the strip and turned around and started back before we could intercept him… Yes, sir, we got his license number from one of our road cameras and have identified him… Yes, sir. I sent two men out to get him and bring him in.… No, sir, nothing serious. We’ll keep him incognito here… Yes, sir. Until the operation is completed… Will do, sir. Goodbye.”
All the best laid-out plans and all it takes is one unknown to screw it up. Colonel Duncan picked up the phone, hit a patch number, and said, “Ops, has that stealth reported in yet?… I want to know the minute it does, and I want it patched in directly to me. Understand?… Thank you!”
The colonel sat back in his chair, picked up a half cup of cold coffee, and started to think about the mission and why. What is the price of freedom? They, the administration, had destroyed the family, and we the American people kill more babies each year than Hitler did during the war. Border jumpers have more rights than our citizens. We reward our citizens when they loot, burn, and kill