“Thank you, Jackson. Is the Captain on the bridge?”
“No sir. She’s in the ward room.”
“Very well.”
Kinkaid took one more look at the island before going to find the Captain.
Captain Jean Parsons was an excellent Navy officer. The crew’s efficiency ratings were always high ever since she had taken command almost two years earlier. She took the time to know every member of her crew, but she was a no-nonsense commanding officer. Morale on board was strong, but everyone knew that they had a job to do and they did it professionally at all times. Kinkaid had little doubt that she’d be promoted to Admiral within a few years.
As Kinkaid entered the ward room, Parsons was sitting at the far table having her morning coffee with two other officers. Kinkaid came to attention and waited for the Captain to acknowledge him.
“Good morning XO,” Parsons said when she saw Kinkaid. “Close the hatch and join us.”
Kinkaid closed the hatch behind him and sat down across from the Captain.
Parsons started thumbing through a stack of papers in front of her until she found the one she wanted. “I’ve received orders that I need to share with each of you. It explains a little of what we’re doing here and what’s going to be happening going forward. You may have noticed that they’re building several cyclone fences around the island. My orders now confirm that they’re building an internment facility on the island.”
“Internment facility, Captain?” one of the other officers asked.
“Yes, internment facility – similar to the camps they built to house Japanese Americans after the attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941. There will be a permanent contingent of guards and other personnel, such as doctors, cooks, maintenance workers, electricians to service the generators, dock workers, etc. There will also be a permanent Navy presence consisting of several patrol ships and two cruiser- or destroyer-class vessels. These vessels will rotate periodically, but essentially it’s a long-term duty station.”
“How long will we be here, Captain?” Kinkaid asked.
“Two more months, and then we’re home for two weeks before redeploying either back here or to one of the other internment facilities being built off the east coast.”
“Who will be occupying the internment facility on the island?”
“That,” the Captain said as she rose to pour herself another cup of coffee, “is unclear at this moment. My orders state that we’re to patrol the waters off the coast of the island and prevent anyone from landing or leaving who isn’t authorized to do so. We’ve also been ordered – specifically ordered – to shoot anyone attempting an unauthorized landing on the island or escape from the island. Under no circumstances is anyone to know that the facility exists or what goes on up there. I’ve been told that the first ‘residents’ of the facility will be arriving next week once the fences are completed and the guard towers equipped. I’m informed that all residents of the facility will have transponders attached to their ankles. We’re getting new equipment that will make it possible to track these transponders anywhere outside the fence line.”
“Can’t the residents just take the transponders off?” the other officer asked.
“No, they’re programmed to emit an immediate alert if they’re disconnected or damaged. They have biometric sensors that will be keyed to the specific individual.”
The four officers sat in silence for a while before Kinkaid asked the question on everyone’s mind. “Captain, what’s going on?”
“I wish I knew, XO. All I can gather is that the Administration is expecting a large increase in people needing to be detained far away, but for what reason and for how long, I really don’t know.”
The four officers sat in silence, drinking their coffee and thinking about the implications of the information that had just been shared.
4
May 31, 8:30 AM
Nashville, TN.
Arnold Hutchinson, editor-in-chief of the Nashville Free Press newspaper, entered his office and picked up the morning edition that waited for him on his desk every day. He sat down in his old high-back, brown leather chair, ignoring the minor cracks on the arm rests and the sound made by the cold leather as he settled into the seat cushions. He thumbed through the pages like he did each day to make sure that there were no printing issues from the night before. Satisfied with the quality of the night shift’s work, he turned to the editorial page to look at the column he had written for that day’s edition.
Hutchinson had been in the newspaper business for several decades and couldn’t imagine ever doing anything else. He started his career as a copy boy, running errands for the reporters and staff. He loved the intensity of the newsroom, even though Nashville wasn’t known for having a lot going on back then. In time, he became a reporter and later joined the editorial staff. Now he was in charge and loved every minute of it.
Hutchinson was also an amateur historian, and he spent a great deal of time looking at current events through the eyes of the past to identify trends and recurring patterns. He firmly believed that history repeated itself when people stopped remembering WHY things happened in the past and ignored the warning signs that they were happening again. This was the main point of the editorial that was published that morning.
Hutchinson believed that the events going on around the country were dangerous, even though they were popular. He quoted Benjamin Franklin: “They who can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety.” The editorial warned readers that sometimes the price of safety was too high and that Americans were getting dangerously close to having to pay too high a price. Hutchinson reminded his readers how Abraham Lincoln had illegally imprisoned people for years if they openly opposed the War Between the States and his Administration, and the editorial warned that America could be seeing the same thing happening again, if the rumors were true. The editorial ended with a call for all citizens of Nashville to be vigilant in ensuring that their constitutionally guaranteed freedoms were never taken away in the name of “safety.”
Hutchinson smiled as he finished reading the editorial. It’s one of my best. He folded the newspaper and placed it in the recycle bin next to his desk. He heard a knock on his door and looked up to see who it was.
Standing in front of him were two men dressed in brown, military-styled uniforms. He recognized the patch on their arms: Homeland Security Force. He knew of the HSF – they were everywhere these days – but had never personally seen them up close before. Out of respect, he stood to face them. “Can I help you gentlemen with something?” he asked.
“Are you Mr. Arnold Hutchinson?” one of the HSF officers asked.
“Yes I am.”
“Could you come with us please, sir?”
“What’s this about?”
“Please sir, it’s very important that you come with us right now.”
Hutchinson stood facing the officers for a moment, troubled. It was clear that they were determined to take him with them, so he nodded and stepped around his desk toward them. As they walked out of his office, one of the HSF officers took position behind him so that he was between the two officers. They exited the newspaper building, and the HSF officer in front motioned for him to get into a waiting vehicle that was parked just outside the front door.
Hutchinson got in the back seat, joined by the HSF officer who was behind him. The other officer got in the front seat and started the engine. Neither officer spoke as they drove off. After about 20 minutes, Hutchinson asked, “May I ask where you’re taking