Secession II: The Flood Read online

  Secession II: The Flood

  By

  Joe Nobody

  &

  P. A. Troit

  Copyright © 2015

  Kemah Bay Marketing, LLC

  All rights reserved.

  Edited by:

  E. T. Ivester

  D. Allen

  www.joenobodybooks.com

  This is a work of fiction. Characters and events are products of the author’s imagination, and no relationship to any living person is implied. The locations, facilities, and geographical references are set in a fictional environment.

  Other Books by Joe Nobody:

  The Archangel Drones

  Holding Your Ground: Preparing for Defense if it All Falls Apart

  The TEOTWAWKI Tuxedo: Formal Survival Attire

  Without Rule of Law: Advanced Skills to Help You Survive

  Holding Their Own: A Story of Survival

  Holding Their Own II: The Independents

  Holding Their Own III: Pedestals of Ash

  Holding Their Own IV: The Ascent

  Holding Their Own V: The Alpha Chronicles

  Holding Their Own VI: Bishop’s Song

  Holding Their Own VII: Phoenix Star

  Holding Their Own IX: The Salt War

  Holding Their Own X: The Toymaker

  The Home Schooled Shootist: Training to Fight with a Carbine

  Apocalypse Drift

  The Little River Otter

  The Olympus Device: Book One

  The Olympus Device: Book Two

  The Olympus Device: Book Three

  Secession: The Storm

  The Ebola Wall

  Chapter 1

  The tea was bitter and dark, its tart aroma enhanced by the scents of old wool, considerably older mortar, and a hint of myrrh.

  A woman poured the blackish liquid, only the center of her eyes visible through the hajib that otherwise covered her face. After topping off the last cup, she hurried away, closing the door behind her to ensure privacy.

  The six men surrounding the small screen paid her no heed. She was the wife of the host, a woman, a non-existent entity in their minds.

  Once in the kitchen, she whispered a prayer to Allah, asking for protection from the warplanes that she knew hunted her husband and the other leaders of the Daesh, otherwise known as ISIS.

  Despite her supplication and unwavering faith, she herded the children farther away from the rural dwelling, glancing skyward as if she could see the bombs falling. The security men surrounding the remote villa laughed openly at her paranoia.

  The gathering was a rarity in several respects. Not only was it dangerous to collect so many prominent men in the same room, but also a newscast was streaming on the television. Such technology was deemed a false god and forbidden for the average citizen of the caliphate.

  Regardless of such beliefs, an exception was being made today. All six sat quietly, eyes unwilling to peel away from the images being broadcast throughout the Arab world. Al Jazeera was no doubt having a banner day of advertising revenue.

  “We are awaiting a statement from the President of the Republic of Texas and the Israeli Prime Minister,” the announcer stated. “I’ve been told both men will appear behind the microphone at any moment.”

  As if on cue, a shifting of bodies signaled the arrival of the two leaders. One after the other, all smiles and nods, they stepped up to the podium. President Simmons of Texas spoke first.

  “I would like to thank the people of Israel and the Prime Minister’s staff for being such excellent hosts during these negotiations. Their hospitality and openness have reaffirmed that our two peoples have so much in common. Both nations share a love of freedom, individual liberty, and a democratic form of government.”

  The Israeli Prime Minister then stepped forward, a sly smile painted on his face. “And both of our nations are at the top of practically every opinion poll measuring popularity.”

  A hearty round of chuckles and laughter circulated through the audience, despite many of the foreign press not understanding the joke. There was no reaction from the tea drinkers.

  The PM continued, “Seriously, President Simmons and I are pleased to announce that Israel and the Republic of Texas have come to terms on a series of historic agreements that I feel will change the political landscape of the Middle East, as well as benefit our newest friends in North America.”

  Despite being the worse possible scenario, the announcement drew little reaction from the six. One man gave his long, gray-black beard a pious stroke. Another sipped his tea, his steely gaze quickly returning to the broadcast.

  Simmons again moved to share the massive cluster of microphones. “As a starting point, we have agreed upon a bilateral defense pact that will ensure the mutual security of both of our nations. After approval by the Texas Senate, any attack on Israel will be considered an act of aggression against Texas. In kind, any aggression toward our Republic will be regarded as an act of war against Israel.”

  There was a round of applause from many of those present in Jerusalem, the camera pulling back to show expressions of joy and happiness from the government representatives and their teams.

  Simmons continued, “In addition, we have agreed upon several development initiatives between the military and industrial organizations of our two nations. Israel and Texas share the same type of terrain, and both of our military organizations are defensive in nature, so it only makes sense to cooperate in the development of weapons and technology.”

  As before, there was little reaction around the tearoom as the translator struggled to keep up. With a slight grunt, one of the men whispered, “Dogs, cowards, and liars… all lying in bed together.”

  Yet another man rose, straightened his robe, and reached to power off the television. “And so, our enemy grows stronger as we become weaker. Every day, the American jets harass our movements. The Kurdish infidels do not run like their Iraqi cousins, and by the hour more Iranian demons join the ranks of those who oppose our caliphate.”

  The eldest of the group shrugged, “Allah will protect the faithful. We have accomplished much.”

  “God helps those who help themselves,” responded another. “We cannot let this development go unanswered.”

  “And do what? Attack Texas? Declare and lose another war with the Jewish pigs? We are but a flea who nibbles on the Western dog. A mild annoyance at worst. Even after our faithful assaulted that blasphemous paper in Paris and our believer executed the recruiters in America, nothing happened. We are not powerful enough to detour their campaign against us.”

  All the while, the youngest member of the ruling council sat silently and listened. When it became evident that no one had any particular response or plan, he cleared his throat.

  Abu was only in his 50s, a mere child compared to the rest of the attendees. Despite his youth, inexperience, and questionable knowledge of the Quran, everyone became respectfully quiet when he wanted to speak. A former intelligence officer in Saddam’s army, Abu had proven his brilliance on more than one occasion.

  “Perhaps we are thinking about our enemies in the wrong way,” he began. “We are all brave men, accustomed to facing our foes straight up and toe to toe. Nevertheless, this is not always the best tactic to prevail. When the opponent outsizes and outclasses in every measurable way, the only option is to employ ruse, deception, deceit, and treachery.”

  The elder nodded, “It is true that Allah will forgive such acts when they are necessitated to protect the faith. But as you pointed out, we are honorable men. We have no knowledge of such methods. Our souls are not soiled with such experience.”

  “I am no expert, but it seems only logical that if Texas is strong
and America is stronger, we should try to manipulate the two giants into a conflict with each other. Create a situation where they expend their resources in a battle that involves only them. Then we can engage a weakened enemy.”

  “I think we all agree,” answered another. “But how? We are noble men. How do we initiate such a campaign?”

  Abu smiled in agreement before continuing. “I, like all of you, am not qualified to manage such an approach. But I know men who are. I would suggest we elicit their help, and let them justify their own actions come judgement day.”

  The council members glanced at each other, silent messages passing among them. Finally, the elder spoke. “I agree that such activities are justified. How expensive do you think such an endeavor will be?”

  Shrugging, Abu responded, “Does it really matter, my friends? If we can weaken America, NATO, and Texas, we could then purge the world of these non-believers. Is the cost at all relevant?”

  “Our oil revenues are declining,” spoke up another. “The infidel’s warplanes have bombed so many facilities, and the Turkish authorities become harder to bribe with each truckload of oil crossing their border. Funding… for any project… is soon going to be an issue.”

  “Not to worry,” Abu retorted. “God will protect and provide for the faithful. I’m sure that includes helping us budget for such an operation. As it happens, I’ve already recruited the perfect man for the job. Some months ago, I engaged his services for a few minor initiatives against our foes. They will soon bear fruit. In fact, he’s in Israel, even as we speak. Surely this is a prophecy from Allah himself.”

  Zach paused to read the small, shiny brass plaque. “Embassy – Republic of Texas,” he whispered, “I wonder if I’ll ever get used to that.”

  The ranger’s eyes took in the rest of the structure, scanning the tinted windows, granite exterior, and freshly painted wood trim. “Not too bad for the world’s newest democracy.”

  The sound of excited voices distracted the ranger’s architectural admiration, his gaze traveling down Agron Street where the United States Consulate General’s compound was located.

  Evidently, a motorist had made a wrong turn and found himself at the gate of the heavily fortified facility. In addition to the massive, hydraulically activated barricade, a small army of embassy security personnel blocked the driver’s way. But they didn’t venture too close.

  Car bombs were a security man’s worst nightmare, and despite Jerusalem being one of the most secure cities on the planet, the threat was considered always clear and present.

  As Zach watched a single, brave soul approach the vehicle, he couldn’t help but move behind one of the concrete pillars fronting Texas’s first diplomatic establishment.

  The uniformed, battle rifle-toting security man exchanged a few words with the driver, and then it was all smiles and waves as the car’s reverse lights came on. Zach watched the wayward sedan back away and then continue down the street.

  Exhaling, he mumbled, “Thank the Lord in heaven I’m not going to be assigned here permanently. I’d be gray-headed in a week.”

  Flashing his badge at the threshold, Zach was buzzed into a small lobby. There, a crisply uniformed, fresh-as-homemade-apple pie ROT (Republic of Texas) Marine sat behind a waist-high counter. “Good morning, Ranger Bass,” the polite, young man greeted.

  Zach was again buzzed through an impressively substantial door, leading to an interior that was bustling, boisterous, and in a state of total mayhem.

  Rows of cubicles filled the primary space, embassy employees rushing here and there carrying laptop computers, stacks of papers, and important-looking folders. Most were sporting expressions of confusion or bewilderment, others were clearly frustrated, and a few were damned mad.

  “The phones aren’t working again!” shouted a female voice from somewhere in the distance. “Can somebody with a working cell please call Jerusalem Telecom?”

  Zach continued walking, occasionally having to sidestep a hurried worker or avoid a pile of binders waiting to be filed.

  He passed two painters, the duo on the receiving end of a scolding from a distinctly unhappy supervisor. “You promised that section would be finished three days ago. Now I’m forced to change the ambassador’s itinerary. This is unacceptable.”

  Eventually reaching the back of the building, Zach used his keycard to open yet another security door. He passed through the threshold and into a much calmer environment.

  A yet-unmanned receptionist’s desk greeted the lanky Texan, the new facility’s personnel manager still interviewing prospects for the opening. Zach meandered by, eventually winding up in front of a door marked “Security Services Conference Room.”

  His first move was for the nearly empty pot of coffee along the back wall. After draining the grainy remnants into a paper cup, the lawman looked for an empty seat among the gathering throng.

  There was a mixture of professions present and accounted for, military uniforms from both Texas and Israel intertwined with other rangers, private security contractors, and members of the Jerusalem Police Department. The briefing was about to begin.

  A stocky, bulldog of a man entered just as Zach landed in an empty chair. With the measured step of a career military officer, the most recent arrival marched immediately to the front of the room. Given his rod straight spine, squared shoulders, and high and tight haircut, any newcomer would anticipate a bellowing, full frontal assault to spew forth.

  Instead, the voice that emitted from Colonel Callan’s throat was flat, even, and smooth. Zach thought the man had a secondary career narrating National Geographic documentaries. “Let’s get started people. You all can finish gossiping after the briefing. We’ve got work to do.”

  The room settled quickly, most of those present having already experienced Colonel Callan’s management style. He might have been an eloquent speaker, but he was also known far and wide as someone who tolerated zero bullshit.

  A career Marine Corps officer with countless overseas assignments under his belt, the colonel had been tasked with the new embassy’s security. Zach couldn’t think of a better man for the job.

  The briefing began with all attendees receiving a hard copy of the day’s scheduled events. As Zach scanned the pages, the colonel noted any last minute revisions and personnel reassignments. It was mundane but important stuff.

  The new Republic of Texas didn’t have a Secret Service, capital police force, or Bureau of Diplomatic Security to protect its elected officials. That assignment, at least temporarily, fell to the rangers, a few individuals recruited from the military, and an assortment of private firms.

  Zach wasn’t considered a top-tier bodyguard. His training and education had centered on fighting crime and catching bad guys. Were it not for the fact that President Simmons and his extensive entourage were conducting their first international visit, Ranger Bass wouldn’t even be in the Middle East. He couldn’t wait for the ten-day commitment to be finished.

  The briefing continued, Zach paying close attention, waiting for any specifics regarding his assignment.

  Given the president’s presence in country, most of the experienced embassy staff had been tasked with protecting the top dogs. That translated into secondary priorities being handed off to men and women like Zach.

  Today, as usual, his charge was the ambassador’s daughter, a 12-year old spitfire who was sure she understood the world better than anybody else. Zach and a female Israeli cop were given the job of keeping the young lady out of harm’s way. It wasn’t the ranger’s first time protecting the little snip, but he hoped it would be the last.

  Glancing across the table at his co-protector, Zach flashed the attractive woman a curt nod and friendly eyes. Sergeant Penina Kott was an 11-year veteran of Israeli law enforcement, having joined the local PD after spending four years in the Israeli Army. The ranger found her competent and polite, her local knowledge invaluable given the task at hand.

  The meeting broke up on schedule, the atte
ndees mulling around for a few moments before heading to begin what would be their busiest day yet. Zach didn’t have to wait long for Officer Kott.

  “It looks like you’ll get to see the museum today,” she greeted.

  Zach thought the sergeant’s accent was kind of hot. “Looks that way. I hope our charge doesn’t go wandering off again like she did in the historical district. That kid is going to give me a heart attack.”

  Pen nodded, “Yes, she is definitely an energetic child.”

  Grunting, Zach had to smile at her choice of words. “You’ve got to stop hanging around all these diplomatic types. It’s starting to rub off on you.”

  Rolling her eyes and then lowering her voice, she whispered, “Being an armed babysitter isn’t all that bad. I’ve had worse duty.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Now that the announcement has been made, your president will be flying home. I bet you are eager to return as well.”

  Zach grinned, “I’m afraid I’m not much of a tourist. This trip has been enlightening, but you’re correct. I miss West Texas.”

  Twenty minutes later they were off, an embassy driver chauffeuring Pen, Zach, and one very fidgety Missy Remolds. “Have you ever been to the Bible Lands Museum, Ranger Bass?” the adolescent asked from the backseat.

  “No, Missy, I have not. This will be a great experience for both of us.”

  “What about you, Sergeant Pen?”

  “Yes, I’ve been there a few times. I’m sure you’ll enjoy the exhibits.”

  “I think I’ll start at the Age of Patriarchs display. The others seem stuffy, and I have no interest in Bronze Age artifacts or the beginnings of written communication. Besides, everyone knows China had developed inscriptions 600 years before anyone in the Middle East. Who would want to see the evidence of this society’s inferior development?”

  Zach tried to keep his attention focused on their surroundings, his eyes incessantly scanning for trouble. It was a difficult task, the ranger tempted by the local venues, wishing he could be a sightseer and gawk at all the attractions. Man, I would love to send Cheyenne a selfie of me floating in the Dead Sea or touring the Old City of Jerusalem, he thought. All work and no play….