Revolt: the book

Fontaine had a few problems, as he liked to call them- “growing pains” during his first term in office. He had a tendency to appoint people with less than perfect backgrounds. Some of them made it through, but others had to be cut out. Fontaine was secretly pleased with the level of forgiveness in the American voting populace, especially when you promised them things they wanted to hear. Publicly, he was a stalwart defender of the little guy. Privately, he felt that most if not all average Americans were idiots and fools. This is one of the reasons he felt compelled to lead them into the new era. Fontaine was careful though; only a select trusted few around him knew how he felt.

President Tyler Fontaine was a tall angular athletic man of fifty two. His dark straight hair was kept short and combed back in a suave fashion. The women loved him, especially those in the media and entertainment world. He could be very convincing and persuasive. Some people swore could talk a nun out of her habit. But at the moment, Fontaine wasn’t thinking about sex. He was sitting back in the thick leather chair at the head of the long dark oak table. A number of important people were also seated around it. Fontaine was holding a meeting in one of the secure rooms in the White House. He picked the room because he was sure there were no bugs or other surveillance devices that would be able to record anything said inside. Absolute secrecy was necessary for his plan to work. Fontaine surveyed the group he had ordered there. He, like all the men there except one, were dressed in the obligatory dark suit and power tie. At the table to his left sat George Chandris, secretary of Treasury and the mastermind behind the monetary policies. Next to him was the deputy director of the FBI Robert Johnson. To Johnson’s left was the only man not dressed in civilian clothes, he was the key to it all. That man was the head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Army General Vladimir Chechecko, a second generation Yugoslavian, whose father was a great freedom fighter in World War Two. His uniform displayed numerous medals regaling Chechecko’s almost thirty year service. Across from the three sat two other men, Daniel Stoner the Secretary of the Interior and Walter Weedman the Majority leader of the Senate.

When I wrote this book I never thought I’d find myself yelling at the TV “read the book!” It was this summer when I pulled the manuscript off of the shelf and began working on it again.

Why do I think there is something here? Because people are people and history is history. Just because we are the United States of America doesn’t mean we are immune to failure and defeat. Our founding fathers did their best to create a system strong enough to resist the temptations humans have to rule without conscience. They hoped balancing three branches of government against each other would allow for the times  when one branch lost its collective mind (so to speak) the others would push back against any abuse. That works well, if the branches are doing their job. They aren’t today.

Where does the journey lead? Read the book. Over the next several months, I’ll be posting some excerpts. Hope you enjoy.

Through his sniper scope Crawford counted ten men either sitting in or standing behind the five green Humvees parked in a line on the one side of the road.  The men standing in front of the Humvees were all dressed in the standard digital camouflage BDUs issued by the army.  But this group consisted of federal agents; part of the negotiating team agreed upon earlier. About fifty yards away parked on the opposite side of the road were Crawford’s people, all standing next to their old Ford and Chevy pickups.  Mostly ranchers and farmers, the men were all dressed in jeans and regular shirts, their heads covered from the sun with beat up cowboy hats and faded ball caps.    The two groups were faced off, like a couple bulls deciding who owned the territory they stood on, which in essence was what this was all about.

I hope they don’t decide to fight over it, Crawford thought.  Things could get real ugly. Crawford caught a slight motion from James.  He glanced over and saw James motion with just his finger slowly to the far ridge.  “We’ve got company,” he whispered.

Crawford slowly swung his scope over onto the ridge were James had pointed.  Sure enough he caught a quick flash of light coming from some scrub brush on the edge of the far ridge.  It was a reflection of sunlight bouncing off either binoculars or a scope.  Damn! If they had snipers on their side they must figure on some trouble.  He looked back at James with a question on his face.  James whispered, “I’ll take the ridge.  You cover the targets.  Radio in that this looks shitty.”