Home Invasion - J. A. Johnstone [61]
Unfortunately, one of the conservative politicians who had tried to expose this fraud had made the mistake of comparing the FPS to the Gestapo of Nazi Germany, and the media had gone ballistic, screeching nonstop about how anyone opposed to the FPS’s formation was just fear mongering and, anyway, how dare anybody compare the President and Congress to a bunch of Nazis? That just wasn’t called for and was an example of how people who were opposed to their policies were just evil and stupid and unpatriotic. And on and on, ad nauseum, as usual, cheerleading for the radical politicians they adored.
So it was no surprise that the FPS bill had passed Congress in a strict party-line vote a couple of weeks earlier, the same way every bill in this administration and the previous one had passed, and the President had signed it into law immediately, hailing it as a new step forward for the country.
Everyone involved with the FPS claimed that no one had been recruited, trained, and equipped for it yet. That process was just now supposed to be getting underway.
And yet, as Alex pulled into the high school parking lot and saw all the vehicles with hundreds of armed, black-uniformed, helmeted figures moving around them, she knew that was yet another lie from the left. A military force like this one couldn’t be pulled together in a couple of weeks. It was clear to her that for all practical purposes, the FPS had existed for at least a year before the bill authorizing its creation became law.
Chances were, nobody could prove that, and even if they did, the media would ignore it, the politicians would deny it, and the gullible sheep who had put those people in office would believe whatever they were told.
Alex knew that, but the knowledge didn’t make her any less angry right now. She had heavily armed personnel setting up shop in her town, and she didn’t like it.
Not one damned bit.
She brought her police car to a screeching halt, got out, and started toward a huge black RV bristling with antennas. All that communications equipment told her that this was the FPS command post. It had the organization’s logo emblazoned on its side: an eagle surrounded by a band of stars and also encircled by the words FEDERAL PROTECTIVE SERVICE.
A couple of men carrying assault rifles moved to block her path. “Excuse me, ma’am,” one of them said. “Please state your name and your business here.”
Alex bit back an angry retort. She knew how to deal with the military, and despite the idea that the FPS was supposed to be a “police” force, she recognized these men for what they were, elite shock troops.
“I’m Alex Bonner, chief of police here in Home. I’d like to speak to your commanding officer.”
One of the men nodded. They wore black goggles that were attached to their helmets, so she couldn’t see their eyes.
“Yes, ma’am. Colonel Grady wants to speak to you, too, and gave orders that you were to be escorted to him as soon as you arrived.”
“So he knew I was coming, did he?”
“I guess he figured you’d want to know what was going on, ma’am.”
“He was right about that,” Alex muttered.
The two men parted, then flanked her as she walked toward the RV. Someone inside must have seen her coming—they probably had video cameras monitoring everything—because a door in the side of the vehicle opened and another black-uniformed man lowered some folding steps to the asphalt of the parking lot.
“Right this way, Chief,” he said.
Alex climbed the steps into what could have passed for a control room at NASA. There were video screens and computer monitors and gauges and blinking lights everywhere. She experienced a moment of mild disorientation because it appeared that the inside