CARLOS & KATRINA

A Novel by Charles Adrian Trevino
Copyright 2006, 2018
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Chapter 15

Major General Dan Murdock sat in a comfortable reclining chair in his large, elegant study and fingered the remote control in his hand.  Outside the daylight was slowly fading, stealing away the beautiful colors of what had been a most enjoyable autumn afternoon.  Murdock had entertained his son Alan and his wife earlier that day, and was most grateful for the pleasant diversion his five and seven–year old grandchildren had afforded him.  The day had been full of the sounds of their laughter, the barking of the dogs as they romped and played on the spacious grounds surrounding his mansion, the cheerful conversation of his guests, the singing of the birds and the wind rustling the branches of the magnolia trees as they sat outside on the patio, basking in the sunshine.  The respite was only a temporary one, however, and had ended all too soon; as the joyful sounds faded away with the departure of his guests Murdock once again felt a dark cloud of depression descending upon him, the melancholia that had been plaguing him since the death of his devoted wife many months earlier.  He knew what to do when that feeling came over him; bury himself in some project, something engaging enough to occupy his mind and make him forget his pain.  But on some of the darker nights he simply couldn’t summon up the energy to take the necessary steps to save himself.

Tonight was one of those nights.  Murdock had poured himself a large drink and gone to brood in his study–retreat.  Ignoring the books that he had spent some time selecting from the massive bookshelves lining the walls, he impulsively picked up the television’s remote control and started to flip through the channels.

This was a dangerous thing for him to do.  The things he saw on television always upset him, especially the news.  There wasn’t a single television news station that ever came close to reporting the truth of anything that was happening in the world, especially the military excursions of the totalitarian administration masquerading as a democracy that he was now working for.  And tonight every station was blaring the same news: the Taipangese had implemented a nuclear energy program, ostensibly for the purpose of providing power to their large population.  But according to the top political analysts of the day, this was actually a lie intended to cover–up Taipang’s real intention: to build nuclear weapons of mass destruction which they intended to use against Murdock’s country, the Unified Free States (UFS) and its chief ally, the country of Usheria, which had been built upon land wrenched from its original inhabitants by the UFS, purportedly to provide a homeland for Usher refugees who were being persecuted throughout the world.

Accordingly, the appropriate response seemed to be a massive preemptive strike against Taipang to totally snuff out the threat of nuclear war and keep the world safe for democracy.  But the UFS was already heavily involved in its present preemptive military campaigns against the countries of Persiana and especially Montania, where a terrorist/extremist strongman named Salabin was hiding out after allegedly ordering hijacked airplanes piloted by suicidal zealots to be flown into two of the Rothman buildings, those huge skyscraping glass and steel structures that were the UFS’s answer to the magnificent palaces and holy shrines of its antiquated enemy.  According to the UFS news media over 3,500 people had died in the fiery aftermath of this vicious attack, which necessitated a major push into the aggressor’s region to apprehend and punish Salabin.

Salabin fled to escape capture, but once installed in Montania the Wolfen administration had used the ambiguous Contingency War Powers Act to go over the heads of Congress and invade Montania’s neighbor Persiana, citing a need for more preemptive action to liberate this beleaguered country from its mad monarch, the “criminally insane” Jared Hassar, on the highly questionable grounds that he had murdered dozens of his own people. Intelligence agents operating clandestinely in Persiana exacerbated a power struggle between rival factions, which erupted into a bloody civil war that claimed the lives of tens of thousands of its citizens. That action, along with a never–ending series of bombings in crowded public places that regularly injured, maimed or killed innocent Persianic civilians, had given rise to an underground resistance that began to extract revenge on its antagonists, using any means at its disposal. The method of choice was to recruit an enraged Persianic who had lost the will to live after seeing loved ones blown to bits, provide him with a "suicide jacket" (a garment with hidden explosives strapped on), and instruct him to detonate in as close proximity to as many UFS soldiers and civilians as he could. All of this carnage benefited the Wolfen administration immensely of course, as it validated their reason for invading the country in the first place; these Persianics were dangerous, and had to be firmly dealt with in order to make the world a safer place.

But now the focus was turning to Taipang's nuclear ambitions, and with this shift in priorities had come the inevitable game of musical chairs, with statesmen originally in favor of the war with Persiana now switching stance and calling for an immediate pull–out of troops.  At the same time other politicians had begun to fan the flames against Taipang; this was quickly followed by a wave of movies and television programs laced with insults and innuendoes insinuating that Taipangese UFS citizens were unpatriotic, untrustworthy and resentful of Longfellows and Ushers.  Next had come a rash of rock stars singing imflammatory songs which encouraged their rebellious listeners to seek revenge against the enemies of their country overseas, and also those traitors who denounced the patriotic cause.  One such song by a particularly obnoxious (albeit incredibly popular) David Geeken band called Goons in Poses was urgently calling on UFS Longfellows to attack “the enemy within” and restore the country’s honor.  This band had been custom–designed for the purpose of mind control, its primary recipients being the angry masses of draft–eligible, drug and alcohol abusing young white men and women who were stewing in their own low self–esteem; for these unhappy jackals the chance to travel to another country, play army–man for a little while, and possibly shoot some poorly–armed or defenseless men and women was attractive enough, and then there was also the added incentive of being labeled a hero for defending their country.

His mood descending, Murdock switched to another channel, and then another.  It was all the same thing; various lackeys of the war profiteers advising military escalation.  This was not surprising to him, knowing as he did that the political pundits calling for more war and the people controlling the media were not merely in collusion with each other; they were for all purposes one and the same entity, part of an unseen but apparently omnipotent cell whose nucleus, a well–ensconsed cabal consisting of international financiers and attendant monetary/political scientists, remained unknown even to its more important components. It was an insidious, diabolically ingenious network which had retinues installed in key government, judicial and media positions; an invisible juggernaut that appeared to Murdock to be well nigh unstoppable.

Then, as he stared blankly at the television, “The Knee” appeared on the screen.  Murdock’s disgust was now complete.  Of all the transparent attempts to incite a misinformed and easily–led citizenry to acts of violence, The Knee had to be the most blatant.  He was a 25–year old skinhead former alcoholic and drug–addict named John Terraman who had been arrested many times for assault and disorderly conduct. Previously a dog handler who trained pit bulls to fight each other, Terraman had become a famous rage–rock star and all–around celebrity after he was carefully selected by one of the national security agencies to "co–author" a book describing his adventures in the military; the agency then used its influence to ensure that this book became a highly–praised bestseller. Since then Terraman had become a fixture in the evening news, often appearing at the sites of live–telecast battles yelling commentary over the din like an announcer at a football game, but one who was allowed to use profanity freely.  He was a frequent guest on television and radio talk shows, where he would speak about his life prior to enlisting in the military; how he used to be an “unimportant nobody” working for low pay and taking crap and abuse from people, until one day he became so fed up with his lot that he had walked into a military recruitment office and offered his patriotic services.  He had taken some easy aptitude tests, and after passing a medical examination and blood test was instantly signed up, receiving a $5,000 advance on the spot!  And that was only the beginning of the good times.

Murdock groped for the drink on the table beside him, focusing all his attention on the oversize flat–panel television screen mounted on the wall.  Against his better judgment he turned the volume up and listened in revulsion as The Knee was introduced by the news anchorman and immediately went into an angry monologue berating young UFS citizens for being stupid and cowardly losers who worked demeaning jobs and took abuse from rich people, when in fact they could easily better themselves by joining the armed forces and defending their country against the myriad forces attempting to destroy them.  He spoke about how much his life had improved simply by signing some papers and taking a few tests.  Then in response to a question from the anchorman, he gleefully related the story of how he had come by his nickname.

Terraman began by reminding the audience and viewers that the UFS had placed dangerous captured terrorists in prisons they maintained in other countries to protect the public and save money. He then explained how he had been assigned to one such prison located in the small country of Guevarria, where he quickly proved himself to be an assiduous and heroic patriot by coming up with novel and effective ways to wring “confessions” from the evil–doers, such as forcing gallons of water down their throats and denying them basic toilet privileges. But his signature tactic was assaulting them at regular intervals while they were tied with their arms upstretched to the ceiling using his knee, hence his famous moniker.

Murdock grimaced as he recalled how the Wolfen administration had justified its illegal detention and torture of captured prisoners simply by declaring them to be “enemy combatants” rather than prisoners of war, thus denying them the internationally agreed upon protections afforded actual POW’s.  The issue of their judicial rights was neatly sidestepped simply by keeping them out of the UFS entirely and holding them in notoriously sadistic detention centers like the one in Guevarria. Under this reasoning, any and all foreign dissenters who opposed the administration could be arrested, imprisoned indefinitely in other countries, and left to the tender mercies of the deranged and largely unsupervised goons that were handpicked to guard and interrogate them.  Most of these interrogators were former criminals who had been declared mentally ill and violently inclined by doctors; some had escaped long prison sentences by volunteering for the military.  Encouraged by their superiors to extract information from the detainees which would supposedly help avert casualties to UFS servicemen overseas, these sociopaths were given absolutely free reign to do whatever they wished to their helpless prisoners, who had been completely stripped of the human rights normally afforded by the existing rules of war and the laws of civilized nations.

Some unaccountable authority had come up with a number of remarkably bizarre and cruel punishments, such as binding the prisoners together completely naked in painful positions that made them appear to be having sex with each other, allowing sexually frustrated female guards to taunt and malign them, dragging them around by dog leashes affixed to collars around their necks, holding large snarling dogs inches away from their faces while they kneeled helplessly with their hands bound behind their backs, and making them stand for hours without relief, among other things. Not surprisingly, the interrogators obeyed their orders with gusto, terrifying, humiliating, beating and torturing their helpless charges.

It was a sign of the deteriorating times that John Terraman had become a national hero, instead of being reviled for the common psychopathic thug that he really was; it was also a reminder of the Ushers' ability to destroy their enemies or elevate their pawns via the media.  His superiors had approved and implemented Terraman’s confession–wringing suggestions, and promoted him for his initiative.  His shadowy security agency handlers had also rewarded him richly; he had somehow suddenly become a “rage rock” phenomenon who appeared in huge stadiums bellowing out profane, barely coherent lyrics of hate and revenge to tens of thousands of crazed, screaming fans who banged their shaven heads together in a patriotic frenzy.  A major motion picture starring The Knee as himself was already being distributed throughout the country.

After finishing the amusing story of how he earned his name, Terraman then angrily began to denounce the people who were protesting the treatment of the evil detainees, advising that all such traitors be investigated by the Federal Police.  He concluded by expressing his fervent desire to see the UFS returned “to the people.”  The program ended with a still picture of Terraman holding the UFS flag in one hand and a gun in the other, with a popular Goons in Poses song playing in the background.

Murdock clicked his remote control and the television switched off, leaving him sitting in silence in the dark room.  He finished off his drink and set the glass down, fighting a strong urge to pour himself another and get drunk.  Instead he rose and walked slowly over to the window.  The floodlights outside had automatically turned on with the passing of the daylight, but the beauty of the gardens they illuminated did nothing to ease his depression; he was thinking of the detainees cowering in their rank disgusting cells, waiting for the next phase of their interrogation/torture to begin.  He knew for a fact that most of the detainees were non–military civilians who had done nothing wrong, possessed no helpful strategic information and had no connection whatsoever to the so–called “terrorists” -- many were not even political activists, let alone extremists. They were merely citizens of besieged countries who had been overheard voicing their disapproval of either the UFS’s policies or the manipulation of the UFS by Usheria, and were now paying the ultimate price for their boldness.

As Murdock stared out the window, a large raccoon ambled out of the woods and crossed through his gardens.  He paid no attention to the animal; he was deep in thought.  The internationally agreed–upon laws protecting the rights of captured enemy combatants were put in place by people of greater vision and higher understanding; anyone who had ever actually been taken as a prisoner of war or had enough imagination to picture themselves in such a position could see the need for such laws, but that group generally did not include financiers, politicians, upper–echelon war profiteers or judges of the country's highest court, and it was just this sort of privileged governor that held the fate of the detainees in his uncallused hand.  Recently the UFS High Court, the supreme court of law in the country, had refused to even hear the legal appeal brought by the detainees’ lawyers.  Only three judges had opposed this action; to Murdock this was the lowest point the country had ever descended to, and he was well aware of its history. Needless to say, nothing was being done to relieve the people who had been rotting away for years in the hellish conditions of the camps.  Many had died or had somehow managed to escape their misery by suicide; most had been completely broken of spirit and were devoid of hope.

Murdock stood by the window for a long time looking out at the moon, pondering the enormous complexity of civilization.  He was not so naïve as to believe that there would ever be a perfect utopian solution for the natural conflicts which were bound to arise between people; there would always be wars.  One of the reasons he had followed his father into the military was because he knew damn well that there were people just like him in other parts of the world that would invade his country; it was inevitable, and it seemed foolish not to be prepared for such an inevitability.  Later he had been taught that war was as natural an act to a growing imperialistic nation as running down game was to a wolf; if that nation were to survive and not go under to competitors it had to abandon the constraints of morality and expand its power, just as a starving wolf didn’t concern itself with the issue of morality while killing its prey.  He had always accepted that idealogy without question; Murdock was a realist.

The problem, as he saw it, was that a man was not a wolf. There were, or at least should be, differences between animals such as wolves and soldiers of consequence like himself.  What bothered him most was the question he had been asking himself more and more of late: just how far could a man go in furtherance of the expansionist concept before the “abandoning morality” part drove him to despise himself?  Then there was the uncertainty about who it actually was that men like himself so patriotically and immorally fought for.  It was one thing to abandon morality and kill for his own country’s survival; it was quite another to wantonly inflict untold misery on the enemies of insanely vindictive Ushers that were in league with opportunistic politicians who condoned mass–murder for profit, as if he were some kind of mindless professional mercenary; a merciless, self–serving soldier of fortune.

Murdock was suddenly struck with the clarity of the entire situation. He was one of a select group of individuals who were in a key position to do something to try to stop the madness at a top–management level, which would certainly entail an enormous amount of risk; but by failing to act, he was relegating himself to the same level of complicity as the august billionnaires and profiteers of human misery that he detested and was constantly criticizing. The thought of such a thing was disgusting and intolerable to him; he would have to fight them. But how was a person to fight an enemy that was invisible? There was a way...

The raccoon crossed through the garden once again as Murdock stared out the window, this time walking in the other direction. His thoughts drifted off briefly as he watched it, wondering what it ate, where it would sleep; the nights had been getting colder. Poor raccoon; but then again, it didn't have his kind of sordid dilemmas to deal with.

Murdock turned and walked out of the study. He was glad he hadn't given in to weakness and gotten drunk. From now on he would need all his faculties to steer him through the course he was on, a tentative plan that had begun to manifest itself in his mind immediately following the death of his wife, and was now becoming inexorable. It seemed like a mad plan; but then again maybe it was time for something crazy. Something so crazy that nobody would expect it. A surgerical strike that would not disturb the surface waters, would not endanger innocent people or cause social or economic turmoil. And it would have to be executed quickly.

A coup d'etat; a bloodless, smoothly executed operation that would only affect people at the uppermost levels. It would require a synergistic effort from various key individuals in finance, government and the media. And Murdock and his trusted associates had those contacts, people who were of the same mind; but these people were reluctant to come together and brainstorm a solution to a problem which they all agreed existed and had to be dealt with, for fear of being accused of secretly assembling to conspire against the government, which was now a capital crime. Murdock could provide them with a place to meet and work out their plans, safe from any prying electronic eyes or ears; his expertise in all things related to surveillance would ensure their privacy, and his high-ranking military brass friends could carry out any necessary collateral actions.

Murdock had racked his brains for months before finally giving free reign to his mad plans for a nationwide revolution... a revolution that could spread to other countries that were being run by hapless, manipulable puppets of the same satanic cabal that ruled the UFS. It wasn't a crazy pipe dream anymore; the thing was plausible.

As he climbed the wide stairway to his bedroom where he kept his protected private computer, Murdock looked up at the beautiful paintings adorning the walls and sighed; if he continued with his plan, life would surely be very different for him from this point on. If he failed, he would forfeit his life. It was a sobering thought.

He had some research to do; then he would retire early and try to get a good night's sleep. If he still felt the same way in the morning, he would commit himself to action.

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Copyright 2006, 2018 by Charles Adrian Trevino.