“And if I was?” Harvath asked indignantly.
“Then you’d be silenced.”
“How?”
Nicholas shrugged. “I didn’t write the plan, but I think you get the idea. Certain people are going to need more pressure applied than others. If you have a bad enough event take place, if something like martial law is imposed, then habeas corpus can be tossed out the window, and your rights don’t mean anything. You get thrown in a cell and that’s that.”
“Except we wouldn’t call it martial law. We’d use the term state of national emergency,” Harvath replied.
“Correct. And under a state of national emergency, Congress can be bypassed and an incredible array of extraordinary powers get swept into the Oval Office. Just for starters, property and commodities could be seized, private sector businesses could be told what to do and how to do it, all means of transportation and communication could be taken over, the list goes on and on. It’s quite remarkable how quickly a democratic republic could cease being democratic.”
“But sometimes in an emergency, if it’s bad enough, certain things are necessary. Kind of like the way blood in the body races to protect the internal organs.”
“I’m not arguing,” said Nicholas. “I’m just laying out the facts. That’s a lot of power to concentrate in one location. And based upon what we know of Damien and who we saw leaving his estate, I think we’ve got more than a little reason for concern.”
“Never let a good crisis go to waste,” Harvath deadpanned, quoting a former White House Chief of Staff.
“Exactly. By all accounts, Main Core is nothing more than an enemies list. It incorporates people from across the ideological spectrum who are united by one thing, opposition to the Federal Government. The list exists only to identify and quash dissent. The First Amendment notwithstanding, what if that dissent is warranted? What if some of those voices are valuable, particularly at a time of national crisis?”
Harvath had heard the Federal Government likened to the Star Wars character Jabba the Hutt. It sat in Washington, D.C., gorging itself and increasing in size. If you suggested it go on a diet, or you threatened it in any way, it would send bounty hunters like Boba Fett after you in the form of multitudinous Federal agencies which no longer served the citizens, but were part and parcel of Jabba and only concerned about protecting themselves.
Nicholas’s question about the value of certain dissenting voices concerned him. In the 1970s, a Senator named Frank Church had begun to ring the alarm bell about the incredible surveillance capabilities the United States was building. When focused outward on the rest of the world, America’s giant listening ears were unbelievably valuable. But the Senator warned of a day that might come when those ears would be turned inward on the American people. That was exactly what had happened in the wake of the 9/11 attacks.
Church’s biggest concern was that under the banner of “protecting” the American people, the Federal Government would pursue more and more invasive means of gathering, sifting, sorting, and storing personal information and private communications. He referred to it as crossing the Rubicon and warned that if — even generations hence — the U.S. Government ever began tilting toward tyranny, it would be impossible to mount any form of resistance whatsoever. Such was the government’s ability to read everything, listen to everything, and know everything before it even happened.
“So how does Main Core help Damien?” Harvath asked.
“To understand that,” Nicholas replied, “we’re going to need to get a look at who’s on the list.”
CHAPTER 42
Harvath had called ahead to alert Lara that people were going to begin showing up at the house. By the time he and Nicholas arrived, the Old Man’s vehicle was already parked in the drive.
Harvath’s home, as well as the surrounding acreage, had been deeded to him as a thank-you by a prior U.S. President. In exchange for his one-dollar-per-annum rent, Harvath was expected to maintain the historical property in a manner befitting and contributing to its stature.
Overlooking the Potomac and just south of George Washington’s Mount Vernon estate sat Bishop’s Gate — a stubby, yet elegant stone church and rectory. During the Revolutionary War, it had been home to an outspoken Anglican priest and dedicated loyalist who had given aid and comfort to British spies. As a result, the church was attacked by the colonial army and left in ruins.
Bishop’s Gate remained that way until the late 1800s when it was taken over by the United States Navy, renovated, and repurposed as a covert training center for the Office of Naval Intelligence.
Eventually, the ONI outgrew the facility, and after a short stint storing dead files, it was relegated to “mothball” status.
Although not as upscale as some of the other properties in the Navy’s portfolio, its location was exceptional, as was its access to the water. The history of the estate, though, was what had won Harvath over.
On his very first exploration of the rectory attic, he had discovered a beautiful, hand-carved sign. Upon it, had been written the motto of the Anglican missionaries: TRANSIENS ADIUVANOS. I GO OVERSEAS TO GIVE HELP. It was as if it had been carved expressly for him. The moment Harvath had seen it, he had known that he was home.
It had taken some doing, but he had gotten the place into great shape. He was good with his hands and knew his way around a toolbox. Fixing things was becoming a lost art. When Lara visited with her son, Marco, Harvath liked to find projects for the two of them to do together. He had even gotten him his own little boy — sized tool set. It gave him no end of joy to see the sense of pride and accomplishment in Marco when he successfully completed one of their tasks together. He was a good boy.
Entering the house, Harvath and Nicholas passed the Anglican missionary sign in the entry hall and walked toward the sound of voices in the kitchen. Argos and Draco trotted ahead. Nicholas spent a lot of time at Bishop’s Gate, and the dogs knew their way around. It had become like a second home to them.
Carlton was seated at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in front of him. Lara was leaning against the kitchen counter smiling, a cup of coffee in her hand and something simmering on the stove behind her.
“That smells good,” he said, kissing her.
“Arroz Carreteiro. Your favorite.”
Both of Lara’s parents were amazing cooks and they had passed on their love of cooking to her. Arroz Carreteiro, which roughly translated into Rice Wagoner or Cart Riders, was a popular dish from southern Brazil. Meat, rice, tomato, onions, and spices — it was perfect for this time of year.
Grabbing a coffee cup, he looked at Nicholas, who nodded. After pouring coffee for each of them, he suggested to Carlton that they walk back to his study.
It was one of his favorite rooms in the house. Here he stored his vast library in floor-to-ceiling bookcases. There was an old desk, a large fireplace, a leather sofa, and two comfortable side chairs. He motioned for his guests to find a place to sit while he looked for his remote and powered on the television.
“Have you heard about the new cases?” Harvath asked.
Carlton nodded. “But that’s not the worst part of it.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“The dead ones, the ones who bled out, all of them travelled to Saudi Arabia for the Hajj. The bad news is that hospital emergency rooms, minute clinics, and family doctors across numerous cities are now reporting a surge in patients who haven’t travelled outside the United States, but who are presenting with high fevers and other symptoms believed to be consistent with the initial stages of African Hemorrhagic Fever.”