The security forces had quelled all of these disorders, but the trend was ominous. Moreover, Rios-Parkinson had already been briefed that the food projections were running just 62% of the levels called for in the Tri-annual Plan. That meant the recent ration cuts would not be the end of it – the rats would have to be cut again. He had been privy to some of the discussions of what to do about the chronic food and resource shortages over the last few months. No one at the table made any truly out-of-the-box suggestions, like deregulating the food production sector and returning control to the nominal owners of the farms, processing plants, and distribution companies. Instead, they agreed that the problem was likely saboteurs and wreckers whose selfishness was responsible for the nation’s miserable output. New regulations would be drawn up, and Rios-Parkinson resolved to his comrades that he would prosecute and punish the offenders.
There was some talk of alleviating the shortages in the short term by stepping up purchases from foreign producers, but the huge commodity buys that were currently keeping the people from starving had had the effect of raising food prices world-wide, and the People’s Republic was already short of cash. China and the EU, though publicly supportive, were behind the scenes resisting the PRNA’s demands for additional credit.
There was no discussion of ending the trade embargo with the United States. And there was not any discussion of how foreign nations were selling their own production to the People’s Republic at inflated prices, then buying food for their own populace from the United States’ prosperous, barely-regulated farmers.
Nor was there any discussion of ending the Special Rations program or closing the Restricted Shops for VIPs. Rios-Parkinson had no qualms when he had shared a pair of delicious filets with Amanda the evening before. After all, to provide his very best service to the People’s Republic, he and those like him needed to be insulated from mundane concerns about material matters. Nor was there discussion of limiting the Security Force Special Rations that helped secure the loyalty of the people who wielded the guns.
Rios-Parkinson resolved that stronger measures were needed to control these outrageous betrayals by ungrateful social criminals. He would order that in the future, disorder at food centers in his region be always quelled by deadly force as the initial response. There would be zero tolerance for such disruptions from now on; he would set the example for the whole country in his area. And he expected his innovation would be rewarded.
The SUV did not bother stopping at checkpoints. The guards knew it and the ID transmitter alerted them moments before it even arrived. He was able to drive out of the security cordon around his neighborhood without even slowing down.
Once down from the hill, they made good time. Rios-Parkinson’s focus was his reports – memos on operations, interrogation summaries, interesting transcripts from wiretaps and computer monitoring operations. The intercepts rarely identified traitors, and the people with the phones and the internet access his minions monitored were primarily connected members of the elite. What they provided him was information – who was sleeping with whom, who was stealing, that sort of thing. He rarely used any of it for prosecutions. He preferred to use it for leverage. It was remarkable how compliant people became when they found out they were compromised. He had learned that watching the Hillary Clinton email debacle of the mid-teens. If they have your communications, they have you, he noted, and he resolved to be the one who had them.
The Bernie Sanders Internal Security Complex occupied several skyscrapers in downtown Los Angeles. Most corporations departed for the US once the political and economic course of the newly split blue states became clear, leaving the huge buildings almost empty. The new government nationalized them, then proceeded to attempt to connect the buildings with a series of walkways and tunnels while simultaneously renovating them to meet the newly enacted green construction standards. This turned into an utter disaster; the bureaucrats knew nothing about managing massive building projects, and the people who did were long gone. By the time the only entity big enough to fill the towers – the internal security apparatus – moved in, the buildings were barely functional. They were unbearably hot in summer and frigid in the winter, and the elevators only worked intermittently. This is why Rios-Parkinson’s massive office was on the second floor of the old Library Tower, rather than near the top.
The walls were of dark wood and covered with framed photographs of Rios-Parkinson with all manner of celebrities and legends. There was him with an ancient Hillary Clinton, another receiving a medal from President De Blasio, and another shaking the elderly Jesse Jackson’s hand. Just after it was taken, the doddering Jackson asked if he was “One of them hymies,” which Rios-Parkinson found extremely offensive. He hated that anyone might think him Jewish. It still galled him how the United States had remained Israel’s staunch ally after the Split, ruining everything by cooperating to wipe out the Iranian nuclear program that could have ended the Zionist Entity forever. Hunting Israeli spies was second only to seeking out United States spies on his personal “To Do” list.
Jacob Wiseman was waiting in the outer office when Rios-Parkinson strode in, flanked by two beefy uniformed PBI tactical officers from his personal security detail.
“Bring him in,” Rios-Parkinson had snapped as he walked past. Now the pair of goons marched Wiseman to the front of the massive oak desk. Rios-Parkinson sat in his black leather chair; Wiseman stood unsteadily.
“And?” the security chief began.
“They left yesterday,” Wiseman said. “They were gone when I got back.”
“I know that already. What else?”
“Nothing, Director.”
“Nothing?” Rios-Parkinson replied, bored. He played with a pen on his desk. “No indication at all about where my hard drive might be?”
“No, only David knows. He won’t say.”
This displeased Rios-Parkinson. It meant he had to go forward with the more risky Plan B. But then, there was a fringe benefit – he would learn where Amanda really stood.
“You know, Jacob, I am very disappointed with you, and I simply do not trust you. You signed our dual loyalty disclaimer years ago and that clearly meant nothing to you. You still believed in your ridiculous superstitions and when you had the opportunity you betrayed your country.”
“I’m sorry,” Wiseman said miserably.
“And now that we caught you – did you really think we would not find out who took our hard drive? – you are about to betray your friends to save your own skin. So why should I believe anything you say?”
“I’m telling you the truth, everything I know! I’m cooperating!”
“We will see, will we not? And you have been in the building long enough to know what happens to enemies of the state who do not repent, correct? You do repent, right, Jacob?”
“Yes,” Jacob replied softly. “Yes.”
“And you have given up your silly religion too, right? Because the state can’t allow dual loyalty. You are either obedient to your magical sky god or to the very real People’s Republic of North America. You cannot be obedient to both.”
“I will obey the People’s Republic,” Jacob said, lower lip quivering, tears in his eyes.
Rios-Parkinson smiles. “See, there you are. That was not so hard. You have a new god now. Can you feel its spirit?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, good. Now get him out of here.” The goons dragged Wiseman away.