Carlucci had had to sell that one to Thanh himself, dusting off his law school education, sitting long nights by a flickering oil lamp, reading dusty law books rescued from basements and attics to put together the pieces of PacTel versus Oregon, Gregory versus Ashcroft, and Forsyth versus Hammond, but he’d made Thanh see it his way.
That letter was important, but the other two that Heather had secured for him, flown down to him by Bambi Castro, were what made it matter. Cameron Nguyen-Peters, NCCC of the Temporary National Government in Athens, Georgia, declared that he would use his emergency powers to enforce Judge Thanh’s decision “as consistent with constitutional restoration.” President Graham Weisbrod of the Provisional Constitutional Government ordered all Federal agents to enforce Judge Thanh’s order “without equivocation or delay.”
As on every other visit to Castle Castro, Carlucci couldn’t help noticing that Castro’s brawny, efficient, uniformed guards were much more impressive than anything Carlucci had across the bay, at what was nominally the FBI’s California HQ and actually around twenty people in a fortified office building.
Once Carlucci had convinced Judge Thanh that he was right, she had suggested that he arrest Harrison Castro under RICO and the 1903 Militia Act. And the cat should be ordered to wear a bell under the Cruelty to Mice Act.
“Okay, they’re answering.” Castro’s guard read the semaphore through his binoculars. “Permit entry, all other checkpoints pre-cleared.” He lowered the binoculars. “Well, there you go; do you still remember the way?”
“Yeah, I lived here for a few weeks last fall,” Carlucci said.
“Some of us hoped things would work out so that the Feds would work with us, and support what we’re trying to do here.”
“You never know what may come,” Carlucci said.
Between Daybreak and Christmas last year, Harrison Castro had admitted a few thousand selected refugees. About three thousand adults had sworn their allegiance to Castle Castro, and brought along maybe four hundred kids. Since then, Castle Castro had taken over about half the old San Diego waterfront, wrapped in concentric rings of zigzag walls. The walls themselves were mostly the rubble of wrecked and pulled-down buildings between chain link and boards, running across streets between intact buildings; the outer walls were more than a mile inland. Wonder if Castro got permission from all those property holders? He used to be very insistent that property rights were the whole basis of civilization… .
He hated the feeling of envy that hit him at times like this. Castle Castro had the most reliable food supply in the area, and electricity some of every day. Carlucci had two great teenage kids, Paley and Acey; like others at FBI West, they sometimes went hungry and sometimes were up all night when tribal attacks threatened, and school was a matter of reading when they weren’t working, which was rare. Castro had an actual K-12 high school in the main keep there, the only problem being it taught what Castro wanted it to.
Carlucci passed through the second line of walls and buildings; the guards came to attention as he passed. Probably standard courtesy for a visiting dignitary. He couldn’t help adding, mentally, From a “foreign power.”
The path wound past greenhouses, fishponds, and animal barns; standing a siege right now might have been awkward, but if the crops in the outside fields came in and filled up their food storage this year, and with the access to the sea and all those sailboats Castro had managed to pull together, Castle Castro would be, for all practical, short-run purposes, impregnable.
The central compound and keep had been built prior to Daybreak, back when Castro had merely been a billionaire nut enacting bizarre power fantasies. Inside its steel fences, a complex maze of roads led anyone who didn’t know the system around rather than toward the big house. Wrong routes ended in cul-de-sacs under the guns of blockhouses.
The man at the front door smiled and said, “Nice to see you again, Mister Carlucci.”
“How have you been, Donald?”
“Busy, safe, and well-fed,” the man said. “The boss is in the main office. I guess you still know your way.”
Before Carlucci could knock, Harrison Castro opened the door and said, “Dave. Welcome. Come right this way.”
The breakfast table on the balcony was set with fussy precision. “Since this is bound to involve being rude to each other,” Castro said, “I thought we might as well start off with something we’d enjoy.”
They made small talk while Carlucci let himself get reacquainted with eggs, bacon, and coffee. “One small piece of business I’d like to do before the main business,” Castro said. “Tribes are getting bigger and worse everywhere, and the beating we gave them here back in June doesn’t seem to have stuck. If you need to shelter at Castle Castro against any tribal attack, the door is open to everyone under your command or protection.”
“Of course I accept,” Carlucci said. Jeez, there could be a tribal attack up from Baja any time, and I’ve got Arlene and the kids, what else can I say but “yes”? “If you remember my number two guy, Terry Bolton, I was going to have him contact your folks for some liaison. We’ve got some ops going down in Baja and you’re right, something real bad is building up.”
“I remember Terry, and if he thinks it’s bad down there, he’s not the panicking kind; it’s bad. All right, well, I’m out of the pleasant stuff.” Castro had a sardonic smile. “I suppose you’re here to place me under arrest.”
Carlucci shrugged. “Not this time, anyway. That isn’t how the law works in this case. I’m here to serve a Federal District Court order and to deliver letters from the governments at Athens and Olympia. What you do after receiving those letters is what determines whether we’d ask the court for an arrest warrant. It’s one of those things like a restraining order where the activity isn’t illegal until you’ve been told to stop and haven’t complied. At least that’s what Judge Thanh thinks. Will you accept the papers now?”
“Sure, I’ll read anything, unless by accepting them I agree to them.”
“All you do is allow me to say you weren’t unaware of the order.”
“No harm in that I can see.” He extended a hand, took the three pieces of paper, and read them. “Shall I make a statement?”
“You could send a letter within a reasonable length of time, decline to respond but send an attorney to Judge Thanh during business hours, or tell me whatever you like. Or I suppose you could declare war and have me thrown out the window.”
“Well, definitely not the last alternative. I’ll just tell you, Dave, and I trust you to report it accurately enough. The court order and the letters cite the Constitution of the United States. It’s no longer in force. The United States of America is over, Carlucci. I wish a brave, decent, honorable man like you could see that. The Constitution was created so that the people who were worth shit could run the country, but it got bent around to all kinds of other shitty, worthless purposes. So now it’s gone, and good riddance, and though I wouldn’t have asked for Daybreak before it happened, now that it has, well, from now on you can deal with the Earl of San Diego.”
“We can’t address you by that title,” Carlucci said. “Article One, patents of nobility clause. Here’s the blunt word from a Federal court: You still live in the United States of America. Our Constitution doesn’t permit private armies, hereditary sovereignty, or titles of nobility.”