Silenced: Consent Of The Governed Book One Read online

  Through gritted teeth, Agent Cummings spoke for the first time. “Mister Stinger, I find it troubling that you would mention your inventory. One comprising items easily modified to produce firearms.”

  Agent Cummings’ bookworm appearance had masked a simmering anger towards her political opposites, now she directed it at Jack. Her anger was fine with him; he’d had enough. During the administration’s short eight months in power, they had honed the skill of government overreach to a razor’s edge. His taxes had nearly tripled, the endless regulations were threatening to cripple his ability to run his family’s business, and his raw materials cost had skyrocketed.

  “Agent Cummings, aren’t you swerving into the ATF’s lane? I’m not licensed for firearms manufacturing, nor am I interested in getting that license. Stinger Machinery produces parts for the automobile industry. And only that industry.”

  Agent Cummings flushed with anger. “All lanes are my lane, Mister Stinger. You’d do well to keep that in mind as our meeting progresses.”

  Jack’s eyebrows hitched. This little mouse has fangs.

  “Speaking of your inventory,” she said, “according to your Form 85MPR-Material Purchase Record, Stinger Machinery purchased eight hundred linear feet of 416 Stainless Steel two months ago. However, your Form 85PR-Production Record shows your output for that product was seven hundred and ninety-seven feet. Your Form 85WAR-Waste Accounting Record doesn’t contain the missing three feet.”

  Leaning forward, she placed the reports in front of him.

  “Is this a joke?” Jack asked, piercing eyes meeting Cummings’. “What are you accusing me of?”

  Smug and full of condescension, Cummings replied, “Mister Stinger, why would your first thought be that of accusation? Maybe the government is concerned about your efficiency when working with such an expensive item. Maybe we’re here to help.”

  Jack pinched the bridge of his nose, working hard to stuff his anger. But those words! “So, you’re from the government and you’re here to help? Well, that makes me feel much better. You should have just said something. If I had known, I would have put my business up for sale. Selling it would be much less painful than watching the government crush it.”

  Agent Cummings leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers. “Mister Stinger, your aggressive approach to our conversation, coupled with your inability to complete the mandated resource tracking forms, confirms that our decision to inject Harm Reduction Observers into your organization is the right one.”

  Jack fought his instinct to launch over his desk and strangled the self-righteous bureaucrat. “Agent Cummings, you’ll do nothing of the sort. I’ve broken no laws. If you’ll be so kind as to review my Form 85UI-Unused Inventory, you’ll note that Stinger Machinery has accounted for the missing bar stock. I will not tolerate government officials lurking around MY business.” Eyes shifting to Agent Woods, he said, “My business, the one my family built. The one I helped grow.”

  “Mister Stinger,” Agent Cummings interrupted, “your Form 85UI-Unused Inventory was filled out incorrectly and received late. Therefore, it will not be entered into record. Those resources are considered missing.”

  Jack felt the noose tighten around his neck. He was on their radar and would remain there forever. His jaw hinged open to end the meeting.

  “Tell us more about Otto?” Woods cut in.

  Thrown by the abrupt change in the conversation, Jack paused a moment before answering, “Who?”

  “Otto. Oh, what’s his last name? Oh, yes, Otto Hammer. Tell us more about Otto Hammer.”

  Jack’s gut clenched. “Are you referring to the main character in my book? The zombie book I wrote?”

  The slimy smile on Woods’ face answered Jack’s question before she spoke. “I am. Actually, we’re both curious to hear more about him.”

  Jack clung to his razor-thin shred of patience, taking a deep breath in hopes it would take the edge off. It didn’t. “Why in the hell are you asking me about my book? A book that is no longer available to purchase because it offended some thin-skinned bureaucrat sitting in her ivory tower in DC? A book I wrote as a bucket list item after my parents were killed last year. What in the actual hell does it have to do with my business?”

  Sharing a knowing glance with her counterpart, Woods turned back to Jack and said, “Well, Mister Stinger, the book was quite critical of several politicians, actually an entire political party. We’re working to unify America, and your book was anything but unifying. So, I’m sure you understand our concern.”

  Jack stared, unbelieving, at Woods, worry seeping into his mind. “The book was about ZOMBIES, for Christ’s sake. You know, monsters that eat people. You understand it’s fiction, right? And my political views are my business. The last I checked, the Constitution guaranteed me the right to voice them freely.” Jack’s head swiveled between the two government bulldogs before he continued. “Do you have anything else? Because I have a business to run, something I’m guessing neither of you understands.”

  Woods leaned in close, reveling in her achievement of rattling the man. “Mister Stinger, I’m sure you’re familiar with the saying ‘Write what you know’.”

  Chapter 4

  Friend Me’s World Headquarters

  Marc Burg paced the length of his office as sweat poured down his back. Friend Me’s world headquarters had transformed into a sweltering hell. One which he now believed he would never escape.

  “Mister Roberts, our power consumption is well below government mandate. We take climate change seriously at Friend Me. Should I list the steps we’ve taken to ensure the planet is a better place for our next generation?”

  “No need, Marc. I’m sure your conservation efforts are commendable. But your Form 85EC-Energy Consumption Reports don’t lie. That monstrosity of a building is simply using too much energy.” Roberts couldn’t help but smile at Burg’s distress. “May I ask, why on earth have you chosen to bother me regarding the condition of your thermometer? This situation clearly calls for intervention by the Bureau of Energy Equality. Or possibly the Bureau of Energy Consumption would be more helpful. I might even suggest trying the Bureau of Power Supply.”

  Marc ran a sweaty palm over his slick face. “You know why I’m talking to you, Roberts! I want your Harm Reduction Observers out of my damn building. My loyalty to Eden’s administration has been unwavering. I see no reason for the intrusion. Cutting off access to my building’s HVAC system seems a punishment for my request to have them removed.”

  Drunk on power, Roberts rose to his feet. He’d been waiting for this moment, and his mouth watered with anticipation. “Marc, do you have something to hide? If you want to confess, we can grant you immunity under the Whistleblower Act.” He nearly burst into laughter when he heard Burg’s sharp inhale. “I take it you don’t, so the Observers will remain until such time as we determine we can fully trust Friend Me. Your air-conditioning privileges will be reinstated after our Observers report their findings. And, after you complete the Form 85ECRR-Energy Consumption Reinstatement Request, of course.”

  “TRUST ME! You must be joking. Friend Me has been loyal to this administration from day one. Even in the face of countless congressional probes, we held fast to the ideals of James’ vision. The only reason I’m on the phone with you is because the man for whom I risked Friend Me’s very existence won’t take my calls. My organization has nothing to hide, and I certainly don’t require the protection of the Whistleblower Act.”

  Roberts cut Marc’s tirade off. “You posed a question to me after your meeting in the Oval Office. Do you recall your question, Mister Burg? Don’t bother answering. I’ll refresh your memory. You asked who determines necessary oversight. To answer your question: I do, Mister Burg. I determine necessary oversight. And our oversight of the world’s largest, most influential social media platform is very necessary. And it will remain in place until you do as we’ve directed and eliminate opposition exposure on your platform.”

 
Burg went cold; this was how Nazi Germany operated. Control the information and you control the message. Control the message and yours is the only truth.

  “Now, Marc, Friend Me will have all opposing news outlets deplatformed by day’s end. They’re feeding misinformation to domestic terrorists, and we can’t give them a voice. It’s for the safety of our fellow Americans. Do your civic duty, or we’ll do it for you. Have I been clear?”

  Burg recognized what Roberts was saying. And the realization that he no longer controlled the company he’d built threatened to crush him. “Crystal, Mister Roberts. You’ve been crystal clear.”

  Roberts loved this part. Destroying capitalists was quickly becoming his drug of choice. “Good to hear. Submit your Form 85ECRR-Energy Consumption Reinstatement Request directly to me. I’ll expedite it and get your air conditioning back online; we can’t have those beautiful servers overheating. Consider it a bone from your master.”

  Burg stood staring at the blazing California sun through the wall of windows bordering his office, his government-issued cell phone clutched in his hand. “Tell our team to remove them, deplatform every single one of them. Every news outlet, advertiser, and individual user gets shut down. If they so much as supported a single policy of the previous administration, deplatform them.”

  Alana wiped a tear from her eye. She had heard the entire call and knew what it meant. “I’ll make the call to our moderators now.” She tried to make eye contact with Marc, but his head remained bowed. “Can we stop them?”

  Marc simply shook his head.

  ***

  Roberts leaned back in his chair, letting his buzz wash over him. He was the second most powerful person in America, and he loved it.

  His bliss snapped when his personal cell phone chirped, the unique ringtone leaving no doubt who was calling. “Mister Rosos, I’ve been awaiting your call. I’m pleased to inform you that everything is on schedule.”

  Roberts went silent, listening intently to Rosos. “Yes sir, I have my pen in hand. Please continue.” He scribbled furiously, trying to keep pace with Rosos’ rapid-fire dictation. He’d learned early that his keeper expected perfect execution. He was tempted to request that Mister Rosos transmit his instructions via email or their encrypted messenger app. But he bit his tongue. The verbal beating he’d endured when he’d made the mistake of asking for emailed instructions two years ago remained a fresh wound. And he was too close to the prize to have Rosos scuttle his career.

  “Mister Rosos, I’ll act on your directives immediately. Phase two commences today.”

  Chapter 5

  The Pentagon

  Major General Adam Stein read the directive for the third time. The words hadn’t changed. He glanced at the wall in his office, the one which told the story of his service to the United States.

  Stein had graduated from West Point in 1990, then deployed to the Middle East sandbox and lived in the gritty shit-hole non-stop during his first ten years of service. He’d lost soldiers, took the lives of countless enemy combatants, and witnessed the worst of mankind. But this directive shook him to his core. In the middle of his wall of memories was the Oath of Commissioned Officers, one line standing out among the rest: “I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same.”

  He held in his trembling hand the greatest challenge to his oath. “Enemies foreign and domestic,” he mumbled as he sorted through the directive’s true meaning.

  His cell buzzed, jolting him from his fear-induced daze. “Chairman Alderson, I’m assuming you received the directive from Eden,” he said, sans military formality.

  “General Stein,” Alderson responded, “I have reviewed the directive. I was also fortunate enough to receive a call from Chief of Staff Roberts. He cautioned me that disobeying a direct order from the President is an Article-92 offense. He then reminded me of the ramifications of being found guilty by a military tribunal. I’ve tried to reach Eden, but he’s still not taking my calls.”

  “Sir, this directive, this order, isn’t lawful. I can’t, in good conscience, enact it,” Stein protested.

  “Stein, you can, and you will. The directive specifically states that President Eden sees a clear and present danger posed by a contingent of rogue military service members loyal to the previous administration. As Director of Manpower and Personnel, you will do as directed.”

  “Where’s the proof, the intelligence, confirming his fears? I’ve seen nothing to support that accusation.”

  The words next spoken nearly stopped his heart. “They’ll manufacture it. I’m not losing my pension over this. Start the review process today.”

  Stein placed his phone carefully on his desk. He’d anticipated budget cuts and slanderous news headlines. But he’d never anticipated this move. Eden was aiming to cripple the military. His directive would transform the military into a worthless husk, a shell.

  Stein pulled his personal cell from his breast pocket. He was in no mood to allow Eden’s gray suits to listen to his personal calls via his newly issued government cell. Considering the conversation he’d just had while using it, he was probably already on their watch list. He thumbed through his contacts list until he found the number for his friend and former mentor. He needed the man’s guidance. But mostly, he needed to vent.

  “So, how’s retired life treating you? Getting fat, or are you still futzing around that withered jumble of weeds you call a garden?”

  “General, I’m sorry, Major General Stein. I woke up this morning with a bad feeling, and now I know why.” His friend laughed as he spoke. “Christ, tell me you’re not planning on visiting me! The fishing’s good on Lake Erie this time of year, but I’d probably end up tossing you overboard.”

  Stein, as serious as a heart attack, said, “Well, Colonel, I’ve been asked to contact you regarding your Form 85VRP-Vital Recourse Production. Seems you failed to submit it to the proper authorities prior to cultivating your land. Our gray suits will be paying you a visit later this afternoon.”

  After a long silence, his friend asked, “Is this your gov-issued cell?”

  “I’m always on it, especially when conducting official government business.” A mischievous smile curled his lips.

  “Good, tell Eden he can kiss my ass. And tell your gray suits that I may be old, but I can still pull a trigger!”

  The long-time friends shared a lengthy and much-needed laugh, but when it stopped Stein’s mood darkened. “Do you have ten minutes? I really need to talk.”

  ***

  When the call ended, Stein knew what he needed to do. His friend had predicted this, spouting off about the corrupting lure of absolute power. He had called him crazy, but now he wasn’t sure.

  “Miss Jones,” he barked from his desk, “I need every commanding officer on a secured line by tomorrow afternoon.”

  Chapter 6

  Stinger Machinery

  Jack leaned against his Yukon’s grill, staring at his building while sipping piping hot coffee from his travel mug. This place held so many memories. Jack had spent every day after school here, waiting for his mom to pick him up on her way home from the hospital where she worked as a nurse. He could still hear his dad yelling at his seven-year-old self to leave the machinists alone. How’d that go? Unless you’re ready to run one of those machines, you best find your ass a seat in the office. Pronto!

  The place was much smaller back then. The addition he’d added after his dad passed almost tripled its footprint and nearly bankrupted him. But it’d been paying dividends ever since.

  He kept the original structure intact, unable to see it razed to make way for the new building. His Uncle Willis seemed disproportionately happy with that decision. Too many memories in that building to tear it down, he’d told Jack. He’d converted it to their much-needed office space. Jack learned quickly that growing the business meant more than simply expanding Stinger Machinery’s production
capabilities.

  The offices now housed a substantial sales force, a human resources manager, and a full-time accountant. He’d been outsourcing the latter two positions until last year. Stinger Machinery was becoming a major industry player.

  “Was being the key word,” Jack said while sipping his coffee. He’d been resisting the BHR’s attempts to inject their bulldogs into his business. Several heated phone calls culminated with two gray suits arriving unannounced yesterday. He’d refused to allow them to enter, turning them away before they’d made it to the building’s front door.

  Today, bright red spray paint covered the building. The graffiti boldly proclaimed Jack a racist, capitalist pig.

  “Well, they got the capitalist part right.” The voice belonged to Armin, and it nearly scared Jack out of his skin.

  He pivoted to face Stinger Machinery’s long-time shop technician, and Jack’s right hand man. He recognized the look on the man’s dark features. Armin was angry.

  “Why the hell would they do this, Jack? I mean, we both expected them to turn up the heat after yesterday. But this, it’s just intimidation. They’re trying to bully you into submission, bully us.”

  “Armin, things are changing quickly. The BHR and BCR are the equivalent to Nazi Brownshirts. Our Friend Me and Chirp accounts have vanished as well. I checked them this morning, and they’re gone. No error message, no technical issues, and no temporary suspension notice. They’re gone. No trace of them. I’m afraid…”

  Jack’s phone buzzed, cutting him off. “Where are you guys? I called over an hour ago,” he said, assuming it was the police department responding to his early morning call about the vandalism.