She started to turn away, but he spoke again. “Ma’am, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, Campbell,” she replied.
Lightning struck nearby, and the light flashed in their eyes, followed by a loud crack.
“Ma’am, in your briefing you said we was here to protect the Arab folks here against being attacked and stuff, right?”
She braced herself, half expecting to hear an argument against the mission of protecting the neighborhood. “Yes, that’s right.”
“Well see, that’s the thing, ma’am. When you go around that corner, you’ll see what I’m talking about. Bunch of guys in sunglasses and whatnot are rounding up a lot of folks. Banging down doors and stuff, ma’am.”
He looked away, and then steeled his resolve. “I know we’re here to support the DHS, but it just don’t look—it don’t look American to me, ma’am, if you take my meaning. Looks like more of the same as the Saturn plant, ma’am.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Thanks. I’ll have a look, Campbell.”
Bracing herself, she walked on through the rain. As she reached the corner, Stanson followed her in the humvee.
Sitting in the open rain, soaked and miserable, hands cuffed behind their backs, a group of fifteen men and boys who appeared to be Arabs sat with their backs against a shop window. A man with an automatic rifle stood guard over them. He wore a black raincoat with the letters DHS emblazoned on the back.
Two other men kicked in a door about fifty feet away. They were covered by a third, this one armed with a rifle. A woman screamed in a foreign language, and then she heard indistinct male voices shouting. One of the agents shoved a woman out of his way, roughly. A moment later the two armed men came out, dragging a fourteen-year-old boy between them. He struggled, terror on his face. They threw him to the ground and one knelt on the boy’s back while the other cuffed him with plastic ties. They unceremoniously dumped him with the other prisoners.
Her face tightened. It was him. The son of a b*tch who killed David Firkus, Agent Ben Matley. He was one of those under investigation by the Harpers Ferry DA, and they had the stupidity to bring him here and allow him to treat American citizens like cattle. Shoving women and kids around like they didn’t matter.
Not on her goddamn watch.
She marched back to Corporal Stanson, who still sat in the humvee. He unzipped his plastic window and leaned out to hear her.
“Call the platoon leaders; have them move the men to the edge of the intersection where they can see. I may need some backup; I’m putting a stop to this. And call Major Elkins right away. Tell him what’s happening, then catch up with me.”
“Ma’am, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” His eyes were wide.
“Sure, Campbell,” she replied.
Lightning struck nearby, and the light flashed in their eyes, followed by a loud crack.
“Ma’am, in your briefing you said we was here to protect the Arab folks here against being attacked and stuff, right?”
“Well see, that’s the thing, ma’am. When you go around that corner, you’ll see what I’m talking about. Bunch of guys in sunglasses and whatnot are rounding up a lot of folks. Banging down doors and stuff, ma’am.”
He looked away, and then steeled his resolve. “I know we’re here to support the DHS, but it just don’t look—it don’t look American to me, ma’am, if you take my meaning. Looks like more of the same as the Saturn plant, ma’am.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Thanks. I’ll have a look, Campbell.”
Bracing herself, she walked on through the rain. As she reached the corner, Stanson followed her in the humvee.
Sitting in the open rain, soaked and miserable, hands cuffed behind their backs, a group of fifteen men and boys who appeared to be Arabs sat with their backs against a shop window. A man with an automatic rifle stood guard over them. He wore a black raincoat with the letters DHS emblazoned on the back.
Two other men kicked in a door about fifty feet away. They were covered by a third, this one armed with a rifle. A woman screamed in a foreign language, and then she heard indistinct male voices shouting. One of the agents shoved a woman out of his way, roughly. A moment later the two armed men came out, dragging a fourteen-year-old boy between them. He struggled, terror on his face. They threw him to the ground and one knelt on the boy’s back while the other cuffed him with plastic ties. They unceremoniously dumped him with the other prisoners.
Her face tightened. It was him. The son of a b*tch who killed David Firkus, Agent Ben Matley. He was one of those under investigation by the Harpers Ferry DA, and they had the stupidity to bring him here and allow him to treat American citizens like cattle. Shoving women and kids around like they didn’t matter.
Not on her goddamn watch.
She marched back to Corporal Stanson, who still sat in the humvee. He unzipped his plastic window and leaned out to hear her.
“Call the platoon leaders; have them move the men to the edge of the intersection where they can see. I may need some backup; I’m putting a stop to this. And call Major Elkins right away. Tell him what’s happening, then catch up with me.”
“Ma’am, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” His eyes were wide.
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