Enemies of the State
Disclaimer: I do not own "G.I. Joe." That belongs to Hasbro.
Mancos, Colo., was about as far away from anywhere as a person could get. In the literal middle of nowhere, the town stood surrounded by the high desert of the Colorado Plateau. A few people, but more cattle and rock than anything else. That suited Dashielle Fairborne just fine. The fact it wasn't on the radar screen of the current ruling party didn't hurt it either. The wide open spaces of the west weren't a real concern for Cobra. The few people still holding on were no longer a threat.
Universal healthcare and low-cost housing drew many into the cities when Cobra offered it. Cobra Commander's rise to power mystified many, but almost a decade under the shadow of the snake, most had quietly accepted that things were going to be the way they were, no changing that. But a part of Fairborne refused to believe that, hence what he was doing in the middle of nowhere. Rumors of a rebellion and freedom slowly drew him west, away from his grief, to action. Losing Allie was the worst thing he could ever imagine. With her gone, he felt he didn't have much to live for. No matter how much it hurt, and how he just wanted to close his eyes and never open them again, a part of him wanted to believe that one morning he'd just wake up and things would go back to the way they should be. Everything felt so wrong. And his dreams didn't help. Friends he didn't have in this life, and Allie was there too, alive.
Fairborne pushed those thoughts from his mind as he pulled into the dirt driveway up to the cabin he'd rented. He parked his truck, not bothering to lock it. He walked up the stone path to the cabin, where he found a note tacked to the door. From the owner, it welcomed him to town, told him the key was under a potted cactus by the door. Folding the note and putting it in a pocket, he found the key and let himself in. A bed, small kitchen, living room area. Not very fancy, but it served his purpose. He didn't plan on spending much time at it anyway.
Tired after his long drive, Fairborne took off his jacket, sitting down on the bed. He laid back, knowing he was chancing the dreams if he went to sleep. But at least then, for a while, it was better than reality.
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Down the road, two men in an old blue Jeep pulled it to a stop, parking where they could see the entrance to the road up to the cabin.
"Think he suspects anything?" the driver said.
His passenger shrugged. It didn't matter, because they were going to be very persuasive when they had him in hand.
Breaker tightened his hands on the steering wheel. Shipwreck's uncharacteristic silence was more than enough to make him nervous, when he was already uncertain about what they were about to do. Before he could voice his concern, Shipwreck spoke.
"Let's go," he said.
Breaker nodded, starting up the Jeep. Now, there was no room for doubt.
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Across the world, in Scotland, James McCullen Destro stared out the window of his study, watching the fury of a fall Highland storm. The glass in his hand held his favorite whisky, Edradour, from the distillery at Perthshire. He swirled the amber liquid, watching it catch the light from the fireplace. It was from the last bottling, as the distillery was destroyed in the riots shortly after Cobra took over the United Kingdom. Destro took a sip, setting down the glass and picking up the leather-bound journal on his desk. He flipped to the last, and most recent entry. He read, wanting to make sure the words were as he remembered them.
Oct. 17, 2010
Everything is ready. The castle staff dismissed, and I am finally alone. At long last, I have accepted the ancient legacy of my clan, taking the mask, declaring myself Laird Destro. No longer am I James McCullen Destro. In doing so, I have sealed my fate, but I have made peace with that and myself.
Though I am ready for what I have planned, it pains me to know that I have finally lost all I have held dear in this life. Alexander, estranged and alienated, is safe with his aunt in New Zealand. I hope one day he can forgive me for my actions, and comes to understand the choices I made.
Everything now belongs to him - the castle, my wealth, my holdings – everything. It all passes to him. He will not know this for some time. Only the people of the clan and his close relatives know this. Myself, his aunt Mary, who is his mother's sister, and his uncle in America know his true identity, though I'm sure his uncle could care less, circumstances being what they are. I wish he knew that I still mourn Allison as he does, and regret there was nothing I or anyone could do to prevent her death.
Her husband does not know I have a stipulation in my will regarding him. As her husband, he was an ally to this clan, whether he would ever admit it or not. He is my brother, and will always be.
Now all that is left is calling the clan. Such a thing has not occurred since Culloden. My clan never swore its loyalty to the crown, instead holding fast to its own. We will rise, and fight for our freedom. Because it is all that is left to believe in.
Destro closed the journal, wrapping the leather strap around it, tying it. He slipped it into an envelop, writing a quick note on it. He finished the last of his whiskey, banked the fire. He slipped into his coat, fastened it, picking up the thick envelope on his desk. Exiting the den, he stopped, taking one last look around.
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Tied at hand and foot with a burlap sack over his head, Fairborne struggled against his bonds, stopping when he heard footsteps coming close.
"I'm going to untie you, then take off the sack. Move and you die."
The last was punctuated by the sound of a gun clicking. Fairborne relaxed as he felt someone untying the ropes. Last, off came the sack. He blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the light. He counted four other men in the room with him.
The first leaned against the door frame, blowing bubbles with his chewing gum. Sitting on a chair nearby was another man, with dark hair and a full beard and mustache. He was dressed in a sweater and black cargo pants, a green and yellow parrot perched on his shoulder. The bird started to whistle, but he silenced it, putting a finger to its beak.
Back against the wall, arms crossed, was a younger man with dark hair, in a black t-shirt and jeans. Standing next to him was a taller man, blond, with the same blue eyes. They glanced at one another, and the blond spoke.
"Mr. Fairborne, I'm sorry we had to kidnap you, but you left us no choice."
Fairborne frowned. "Who are you, and what do you want with me?"
"I'm Duke. This is Falcon. The one with the bubble-gum is Breaker, and that's Shipwreck. You can consider us enemies of the state."
Fairborne bit his lip. It looked like the rebellion found him.
The others left the room, leaving him alone with Duke.
"We've been tracking your movements for weeks," he said.
"Why me?"
"You're unhappy with the way things are. And you've lost something very important to you. Plus you happen to have your wife's notes on the artifact currently owned by Cobra Commander."
Fairborne rounded on the other man.
"What the hell are you talking about? I can't tell you anything about it. Yes, I have her notes, but that doesn't mean I've taken the time to read them. And seriously, you can't believe those stories. . ."
"I can and do. Tell me, have you had dreams of people you don't remember in the waking world, and have the feeling that things aren't the way they really should be? That all of this is wrong somehow?" Duke said.
"Sure. But doesn't everybody?"
"What if I told you I have proof?"
"Then I'd say you were crazy," Faireborne said.
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Duke walked outside to the front porch, where his brother sat, watching the sun go down.
"How'd he take it?" Falcon said.
"Not well," Duke answered.
"Can't say I blame him. He can deny everything all he wants, but you and I both know sooner or later he'll have to come around."
"I know. But I don't think we have that much time."
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Faireborne offered to help fix dinner. The parrot man, Shipwreck, seemed glad for the extra hand. He put him in charge of breaking eggs while he saw to bacon and biscuits.
"Why breakfast for dinner?" Fairborne said.
"Well, considering we're on a ranch with chickens, eggs are easy to come by. Sourdough starter's simple and keeps on giving. And bacon, we get from a Mormon rancher in exchange for keeping the authorities off our backs. If it was later in the week, we'd be eating steak. Couple of times a month this old Ute cowboy drops off a side of beef. Thanks to them, food is one less thing we have to worry about."
"Mind if I ask another question?"
Shipwreck put another biscuit in the pan, wiping his hands on his apron.
"Sure."
"Why Shipwreck and Breaker and all that?"
"Codenames. Duke's idea. That way no one knows our real names, keeps our families out of danger. What family most of us have left, that is."
"How did you end up this way?"
Shipwreck didn't hesitate to answer.
"I was stationed on the USS John S. McCain in Yokosuka when the coup happened. Before we could leave port, the ship was boarded, the crew detained. They conscripted the ship into the Cobra navy. A couple of us managed to escape. We tried to get the rest of the crew loose, but they killed them all. After that, I managed to hook up with some friends who helped me get to Taiwan. There, instead of turning me over to Cobra, I spent two years in a Taiwanese prison. It wasn't bad, considering the alternative. Once the furor died down, my friends got me out and we started a little salvage business targeting gun runners and smugglers working for Cobra. That's how Duke found me, asked me to join, so here I am."
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After dinner, Duke asked Fairborne to join him outside. He followed him out to the porch, taking a seat. Duke stood, leaning against the railing.
"I want you to know you're safe here. I'm sorry about how you got here, but that couldn't be helped. Cobra is looking for you. They want you dead," he said.
Duke let that sink in. Fairborne didn't say a word, only glared.
"They want your wife's notes on the artifact. Those notes could be the key to their defeat. With your help, we can end all this," he said.
Faireborne stood, pacing. He walked to the end of the porch and back, thinking.
"What makes you think I'll help you?"
"It's not like you have many other options. But I can tell you this―remember the fire at the fuel depot in Denver last winter? And of course, do you believe the real reason for all the fuel shortages? That fire was us. And the shortages in part, we owe to people living out on the Ute, Navajo and Hopi reservations. Cobra's drilling on sacred land, and the locals don't like it."
"A few acts of sabotage and you expect me to just roll over? I don't think so. You said you have proof that things aren't right. Well, what is it?"