The Rainstorm Revolt

By Randall Jarmon

Not so many years into the future, the U.S. federal government has grown far too big. America's ruling party has turned autocratic, and federal taxation amounts to thinly disguised theft. The Constitution matters less with each passing month. In a year, it might not matter at all.

Three mysterious persons, and a very lethal wo

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mikvelk Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Jan 15, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869068194

Randall Jarmon

Randall Jarmon, Ph.D., has followed such an unusual path that few novelists will tell a story the way he does.Dr. Jarmon started out as an English major at heart, but ended up with an engineering degree. It imparted keen interest in technology.He once got more than his share of elite military training. Those few years were a good opportunity to learn about tactics, weaponry, martial arts, and so forth.He has worked in a world-class manufacturing setting and a world-class R&D center. Part of the fun for readers with technical backgrounds is determining when the technology in his stories goes from fact to fiction. The shifts will be subtle. Expect to miss some.He earned a pretty good MBA. Later he earned a doctorate (in Management) well worth having. Among other things, he now easily explains the complex organization of human effort. Look for good plots clearly set forth.Randall Jarmon and his wife divide their time between Texas and Arizona. They have two children, six grandchildren, and a golden retriever named Virgil.MIKVELK Publishing, LLC

Book preview

cover-image, The Rainstorm Revolt

We at MIKVELK use Readers’ Favorite reviews as part of our quality control process. Excerpts from The Rainstorm Revolt reviews from years ago are shown below, with our emphasis added in boldface. The full reviews may be found at the Readers’ Favorite website.

... Drawn in from the outset, the reader is immediately by Lena's side, feeling the aches, pains, limitations and impossible odds that she must overcome in order to do what needs to be done. There's never a dull moment in Rainstorm Revolt as you're led along on an action packed quest to restore America's freedom. You won't be able to put it down.

--- Bil Howard for Readers' Favorite

... The Rainstorm Revolt by Randall Jarmon is one of the most refreshing thrillers I have read in a long time. Imagine a top-secret conspiracy against the government with a 76-year-old retired lady super spy at its forefront. Lena, however, is no ordinary 76-year-old, but a combination of amazing skill and wit. It was incredibly thrilling to follow her story as she set about piecing together her mission details.

--- Faridah Nassozi for Readers' Favorite

...This was a really good and amazing book. I loved it to the very end. Never at one point in the book did I get bored, and the plot kept making me guess at who was behind something or what would happen next, creating the perfect amount of suspense and mystery. It also had a really good mix of both action and knowledge shown through strategy. And of course there is always just a pinch of love and romance thrown in. I really enjoyed The Rainstorm Revolt and hope to read more by Randall Jarmon.

--- Sierra Edelen for Readers' Favorite

... It was an exciting read that kept me up until the crack of dawn, dying to know what would happen next for the champions of freedom. But it also made me stop for a while afterward and think about the future described within the pages. It's a sadly plausible world and that really caught me off guard. I love a book that will make you truly consider the topic it discusses and Randall Jarmon really did that for me in The Rainstorm Revolt.

--- Samantha Coville for Readers' Favorite

... The Rainstorm Revolt by Randall Jarmon is the most entertaining espionage thriller that I have read in a long while. Lena Wysocki is a force with which to be reckoned and the concept of eliminating taxation is fascinating. The subtle humor Jarmon employs (The Manhattan SomeTimes) keeps the reader actively engaged and anticipating the next turn or twist of his already fast paced tale.

--- Lisa McCombs for Readers' Favorite

The Rainstorm Revolt

by

Randall Jarmon

MIKVELK Publishing, LLC

mikvelk.com

Publishing Information

The Rainstorm Revolt is entirely a work of fiction. In other words, it is 100 percent a product of the author’s imagination. The characters, events, locations, and technology are completely fictitious or are used in completely fictitious ways. Any resemblance of any character to any living person is purely coincidental.

The ISBN for the current paperback version of The Rainstorm Revolt is 9798869068187. The current ebook version you now read has ISBN 9798869068194.

The Rainstorm Revolt is the copyrighted (2014, 2021) intellectual property of its author, Randall Jarmon, who retains all rights worldwide to the work, except as he may formally confer to others in writing. The quotation of small passages of The Rainstorm Revolt for review purposes is hereby permitted by the author.

MIKVELK Publishing, LLC

mikvelk.com

Dec 2023

(to Table of Contents)

Table of Contents

Quality Control Comments

Title Page

Publishing Information

Table of Contents

Sections 1 through 10

Sections 11 through 20

Sections 21 through 30

Sections 31 through 40

Sections 41 through 50

Sections 51 through 60

Sections 61 through 70

Sections 71 through 80

Sections 81 through 90

Sections 91 through 100

Sections 101 through 106

About the Author

Afterword

It’s not so many years into the future.

America’s Internal Revenue Service has been replaced by the far more powerful Federal Revenue Service, or FRS. Although the FRS was supposed to fairly administer a nearly incomprehensible tax code, it quietly stole from middle-class and upper-class Americans so that America’s ruling party could buy votes from the poor, and especially from the unskilled foreigners streaming across America’s southern border.

Taxation, in other words, has become theft.

1

It was the third night Lena Wysocki had spent alone in what had to be the most expensive penthouse suite in New York City. At age seventy-six, she was still a thin, pretty woman with bright eyes, steady hands, and classic central European features. Tonight she wore well-tailored slacks, a designer silk blouse, and her favorite tweed blazer.

She had no idea who had invited her to use the suite indefinitely. The suite’s impeccably trained staff—which had answered none of her serious questions—had left for the day. Even so, she felt safe there all alone. The pistol holstered at her waist helped her confidence somewhat. Knowing how to kill helped far more. That night Lena Wysocki was still the deadliest woman in New York City.

She ignored the majestic views outside her windows and sat in a comfortable chair reading Emily Dickinson’s poetry. Classical piano music played softly over hidden speakers. She had just reached for her large glass of bourbon when the room’s grandfather clock chimed softly. It was midnight.

Lena stood, stretched her arms, and rolled her shoulders. It was an old habit—her way of warming up for any dangers that might lie ahead. She inconspicuously slid one hand inside her blazer and pushed off the pistol’s safety. She then calmly walked from the majestic living room and into the penthouse’s comfortable study.

As promised, the images of her three, unknown hosts were on the flat screen monitor that took up half of one richly paneled wall in the study. They wore black robes of clergymen and the white masks of street mimes. Black hoods and leather work gloves completed the look. Each man—she assumed they were men, anyway—sat in a chair. The room at their end of the videoconference was otherwise empty and shadowy.

I’m Freedom 2, the center person said from behind his white mask. The voice was electronically disguised. Please take the chair in the center of your room.

She walked to the chair, but didn’t sit down. Instead, she turned to the monitor and put one hand on her hip. She wagged a finger of her other hand at the screen. Do you know how silly you three look?

The man at her left laughed and poked Freedom 2 with a gloved hand. Pay up.

Freedom 2 grudgingly handed him a fistful of hundred-dollar bills. The man at the left took the money and waved it at Lena. His voice was also disguised. You haven’t changed a bit, Lena. Feisty, fearless, and irreverent as ever. Good to see you again.

She sat down. Do I know you?

Yes. Actually, you’d recognize all three of us without these corny costumes and our Darth Vader voice effects. But put that aside for now. This will make a lot more sense to you in about an hour. Please bear with us. I mean, it could’ve been worse. Freedom 3 over there wanted us to wear camouflage hoods! He laughed again.

Lena smiled. This is going to be a good story, I assume?

Yeah, said Freedom 1. Well, maybe yeah. It sort of depends on how accurate our intelligence has been. So, to start things off, here’s a critical question: How long do you think you’re going to live?

2

The transcript of a recent live editorial from the evening newscast of New York City television station KFLF:

Today we say happy birthday to the real engine of American democracy. Yes, you know who we mean: Happy birthday to the Federal Revenue Service—the best tax collectors this country has ever had, and the best tax collectors the world has ever seen.

We at KFLF are proud to say our TV station was among the many, many enlightened Americans who called for an upgraded, expanded version of the old Internal Revenue Service. Like you, we said the new FRS, which replaced the old IRS only five years ago, would bring the American dream to every single person in this great nation.

Like you, we’ve rejoiced over the years as a fair and firm redistribution of income has taken hold. The new tax cheat prisons are almost full. Public-sector spending has hit new highs. There are fewer rich and fewer poor—and best of all, there are more of us in the middle class.

It’s going to get better, too. Given five more years, Wall Street is going to look more like Main Street. Private jets and yachts will be relics of the past. The dysfunctional aspects of capitalism will have been fixed and class exploitation will end. In short, we shall all be free!

3

The masked men had referred to the long-term disease irrevocably inside Lena Wysocki. She thought about walking out of the room. She probably would have done so had their meeting occurred in daytime, but it now was late at night. Finding somewhere else to sleep would be a nuisance. Besides, she could always lie.

She said, You’ve been reading my medical records?

Freedom 3 on the right answered. Only some of them, Lena. It was necessary. As best we can tell, you’ve a chronic nervous system disease that will slowly get worse. Your doctors seem to give you eight months at most. Are they right? He leaned forward a little. This was important.

No, she lied.

Freedom 1 leaned forward even more, stretched his arm out past Freedom 2, opened his fist, and wiggled his fingers. Freedom 3 muttered something and put a stack of hundred-dollar bills into Freedom 1’s gloved hand.

Freedom 1 took the money and turned to Lena. Well done, Lena. I told them you’d lie. You and I’ve now got about enough of their money for a case of the best bourbon one can buy.

She tipped her head. You drink bourbon?

Maybe yes … or maybe no. Anyway, you do. I’ll have the bourbon delivered anonymously to the penthouse tomorrow.

And what if I’ve left by then?

Yeah. What if? I don’t know. If you leave, put instructions for delivery somewhere by the front door—how’s that?

Look inside the door near the lower hinge. She started to get up.

Freedom 1 waved a hand. Aww, Lena, wait five more minutes. A case of gold-medal bourbon is worth five minutes, right? It took me a good week to round up the absolutely best stuff in all of Kentucky. That’s worth five minutes for sure.

She stayed seated, but shifted her weight and looked at her watch. Okay. Let’s say five minutes. You’d better make it good if you want me sitting here any longer.

Got it. Five minutes. Are you gonna lie to me?

Maybe.

He laughed. Yeah. I’d feel the same way, I guess. Okay. Let’s get serious. What do you think of the super-patriots making up the Federal Revenue Service?

A trace of venom entered her voice. They’re a bunch of fascists. They make their own rules, have their own police, and use their own judges. They whimsically enforce a tax code nobody understands. Everything they do is secret. Basically, they are a new criminal class, and they just might destroy the real America that I loyally served for over forty years … How’s that for attitude?

The three hosts took it as a rhetorical question. Freedom 3 asked, Ever been audited?

No. My neighbor’s nephew was, though. He’d done nothing wrong, but lost half of everything he had paying legal bills to defend himself. It was either that or ten years in a so-called tax cheat prison. There was more venom in her voice this time.

How about the FRS’s attempted remediation of Cynthia Roberts? You know her. She worked with you once, about fifteen years ago. She got wounded and went on disability maybe a year later. Remember?

Lena nodded and her lovely eyes flashed. I read the story. Somebody in some tax reform movement passed out leaflets. Supposedly the tax police did one of their warrantless raids on Cynthia’s little house. It was the sort of no-knock, late-at-night break-in you’d expect from a Mafia kill squad. Cynthia surely would’ve thought them killers seeking revenge. She shot the first two from her bed before they machine gunned her. Five tax police thugs took out one paraplegic who owed the government less than a thousand bucks. Last I heard, the FRS is still saying it was all her fault.

Freedom 2: How many more stories are there like this one?

Who knows? The FRS, by law, only has to tell what it wants to tell. They even ignore Congress. At least, that’s what a few congressional reps are saying. Only a few, though.

Do you cheat on taxes, Lena?

Every chance I get. I hope those blood-sucking goons raid my home some night. At least the first ten will die with me. And by the way, that’s not a lie. That’s a heartfelt promise. She momentarily looked ready for war.

Lena, I guess we’re down to the last minute you promised me. My friends and I had to do two things. First, we had to know if you hate the FRS as much as many, many Americans do—and as much as we, ourselves, do.

Count on it. Big time.

He nodded. Behind his mask he smiled, unseen. Maybe thirty seconds left. Give me the right answer about your health and we’ll give you the lead in destroying the FRS for good.

She didn’t hesitate. I’ll die in about eight months. Give or take a few weeks, they tell me. Nothing is precise with this disease. Also, I’ll lose motor control roughly two months earlier, whatever that turns out to mean. I’ll probably be able to walk, but maybe only one of my hands will work then. And who knows? Maybe only my trigger finger will work.

Freedom 1 leaned forward to look at his colleagues. He looked back at Lena.

Our plan could work in six months, but it will be a very close thing. Almost impossible. Want to stick around and hear more?

She settled back into her chair, looking as though she expected to be there awhile. Yeah. I’ve got all night.

4

From Data Leech, the weekly email newsletter sent by the FRS to its three hundred and fifteen thousand employees:

In today’s professionalism tip, we discuss the proper wearing of the FRS uniform. The unisex brown shirts are to be worn with the regulation FRS black tie. All shirt buttons are to be done up, and the tie is to be tucked in between the third and fourth button. Tuck it in from right to the left as you stand behind the tie.

The brown trousers are to be ironed daily and dry-cleaned weekly. Trousers are worn by men and women alike. (The old IRS brown skirts, though of the same color as the FRS trousers, are no longer approved for wear by women. Recall that the FRS seeks a unisex look as part of the Federal Equity Initiative.)

The two-inch-wide, black waist belt is to be shined with regulation black polish (available in your office supply unit) if scuffed or dull. The matching black shoulder belt, which would support your sidearm or ceremonial sword when one or the other is worn, should receive the same care as the black waist belt.

The black armband with the FRS logo is to be worn on the right arm, centered between the shoulder joint and the elbow. The logo is to be fully visible if viewed from the wearer’s right side.

All brass on the uniform is to be polished or anodized. Anodizing is optional and done at the employee’s own expense. Your office supply unit can provide a list of approved vendors.

Today’s final point: The knee-high black boots worn with the uniform are to be kept polished. Spit-shining is not necessary this year, but will be required next year. Your office supply unit administrator will schedule spit-shining classes in the months ahead.

Further information on the proper care and wearing of the FRS uniform can be found in the employee handbook, beginning at Section 19, Subsection F, pages 342 through 351. This material also explains how to wear lightweight body armor beneath the uniform.

5

Lena began the long night’s session. Ladies first. I want you three to start off by explaining your role. What’s your part in this plot, whatever this plot really is?

Freedom 2 said, Sure. Good question. The plot, as you call it, has two parts. First we destroy the FRS and make the entire tax code unworkable. That would be your job.

And you would help me with that first part?

Yes, again, he said. But only indirectly and only a little. We would quietly ensure you access to more money than you can imagine. We also can provide some useful information— but not enough of it. You, good spy that you still are, would need to learn a lot on your own.

What if I need people or hardware?

That would be up to you. Frankly, Lena, this is going to be so dangerous that we know you wouldn’t trust anybody or anything unless you oversaw the selection, yourself.

She nodded and looked around her. Have you got any bourbon in here or do I have to go back to the living room for my glass?

Freedom 1 chuckled. There’s a big drawer under the small table by your chair. An amazing bottle of bourbon is inside. Also, a glass. No ice. You haven’t started adding ice to good bourbon, have you?

She looked in the drawer and pulled out the bottle before answering. She poured a big glass of outrageously expensive Kentucky bourbon as she spoke. Nope. No ice. Can’t stand the tinkling.

Lena raised her glass briefly toward the three men on the big monitor, drank slowly, and then smiled. That’s very good. Is this what I get a case of?

Freedom 1 smiled back, his expression again hidden by his mask. Only if you want it. Lena, the case of bourbon I have assembled for you is noticeably better.

She sipped again. Better, huh? Okay. I’ll take that case—just to see if you’re fibbing.

Freedom 2 resumed his explanation. You will recall, Lena, that there are two parts to the plan. The first part is substantially up to you. That’s all about destroying American taxation as it exists today. We’ll get to the particulars later.

There are a lot of these particulars? She spoke as if she didn’t seem to care much, even if there were.

In my opinion, yes. But let’s move on to the second part. Once America’s bizarre, corrupt, and ridiculously complex federal tax system is gone, it will need to be replaced. Government, alas, runs by forcibly extracting wealth from defenseless citizens. Our job will be making very sure that whatever taxation system comes next will be a fair one—fair by U.S. standards, anyhow.

Lena held the big bourbon glass in both hands, tipped her head slightly, and let her disbelief show. And you can do that? Really?

Yes. We are highly confident we can. We are betting our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor on it—if you allow me to steal the words of earlier patriots. That part—the aftermath part—is already very well-developed. It might even be close to perfect.

And the first part? She tipped her head the other way, skepticism still unassuaged.

Freedom 1 took over. The first part has gone from square zero to square one. We have found you, have vetted you, and—I hope—will recruit you tonight. Square two and all the other squares for the plan’s first part will be largely up to you.

She laughed and nearly spilled her drink. You’re kidding. Actually, you might be crazy. You want me to invent a plan to topple the FRS and its manifestly evil empire? She laughed again before he could answer.

Freedom 1 seemed annoyed. Lena, be careful! That’s good bourbon you’ve nearly spilled … And I think I can change your mind. Tell me when you are ready to be serious.

She chuckled, took a big sip, and swallowed it slowly. She savored every moment as she did so. Lena then was ready.

Okay. Anybody who knows his bourbon might know other things. I’ll give you a fair hearing.

Thank you, Freedom 1 said. I would guess the short story will take me about half an hour if you mostly hold your questions until I finish.

That will never happen, she said. She smiled, though.

Yeah. I’d guess we’re looking at two or three hours. And maybe I should’ve been clearer about squares one, two, or whatever. We have your basic plan done for you, Lena. You mostly just need to find the people—about three, four, or five of them, we’re guessing—and orchestrate how the work gets carried out.

Okay. I’m listening, but it already sounds impossible.

Freedom 1 waved a glove hand as though dismissing all the obstacles at once. It’s not impossible, Lena. You see, you’re going to be using nuclear weapons.

6

A television interview was being conducted by Albuquerque, New Mexico TV station WBBS in front of the newly completed FRS Data Center 4, a massive concrete structure in the New Mexican desert an hour west of Albuquerque.

An attractive young redhead, new to journalism, gushed into her microphone. We are honored today to be with Representative Carson ‘Buster’ O’Leary from Massachusetts. Congressman O’Leary is the Chairman of the House Ways and Means Committee.

The gray-haired, pot-bellied congressman thereupon pointed to a massive concrete structure in the distance behind him. It seemed about as large as an aircraft carrier.

Thank you, Belinda … and I’m pleased to be here! It just plain feels good all over to see the last of the FRS Data Centers completed. Americans—for the first time ever, I believe—can be assured their tax records are protected against theft, loss, terrorism, or natural disaster.

Chairman O’Leary, is it true that American income tax records used to be stored in the cloud?

Sadly, that is true. Some of the old IRS records were stored in the cloud—which meant they could end up being stored just about any place on Earth—because the IRS simply ran out of its own server space. You probably heard the horror story about the vice-president’s last two tax returns somehow getting sent by the cloud to servers in Beijing?

She nodded vigorously. Yes. It was a national disgrace! There were dozens of rumors about that, especially after one of the big server farm companies went bankrupt. The company was sold to the Chinese, along with all its data. But—at least for tax information—that’s all behind us now?

It is! Emphatically so. Not only that, Belinda, but no terrorist on Earth is going to get into these buildings and destroy America’s critical taxation records. Why, the security measures protecting the four FRS Data Centers are better—I think they’re even five times better—than the security measures around a nuclear power plant!

He smiled reassuringly, in turn, at each of the two cameras on him.

What about an earthquake, Mr. Chairman?

Won’t matter. The outer walls are steel-reinforced concrete---two-feet-thick steel-reinforced concrete!

He paused for two more reassuring smiles.

I understand, Mr. Chairman, that all the FRS data is backed up in real time?

He closed his eyes for a moment, holding up both hands as he did so. It looked as though he underwent two seconds of pure political bliss.

Yes! And that’s a wonderful story all by itself. Each FRS Data Center not only holds all the data for its FRS region, but it also holds all the data for every other FRS region. And those vast data stores are synchronized.

Belinda looked impressed twice—once for each camera—and tried to offer some perspective for her viewers. Let’s suppose meteors from outer space hit three of the FRS Data Centers. Suddenly the centers are gone. Could the FRS continue to operate?

This time he held out both arms, as though welcoming an astonishing new era of data center security. Absolutely! The FRS will never be shut down. Even in a national calamity, it would continue to collect the taxes needed to help ordinary Americans like you and me get back to our normal lives!

7

Three hours later—somewhere around three a.m., and after a five-minute break—Lena’s bourbon glass was still half-full. She’d stopped drinking once she realized their plan, as they called it, wasn’t crazy. Not at all, she told herself. The broad-strokes version looked viable.

All this is why you need somebody like me, who is terminally ill? Because in seven or eight months I won’t be alive to lead any federal investigators to you?

Freedom 1 answered. Correct, but it’s not just that you’re terminally ill. You’ve been one of America’s best spies ever—a high-end government assassin, even. For about fifteen years, you ran the ‘dirty work’ side of a tiny federal agency that did not officially exist, but that caused the bad guys endless problems. You know how to do cloak-and-dagger stuff at its very best, Lena. And you’ve done a little consulting since you left government service. You still know people with useful skills. Frankly, the FRS can’t be destroyed without you. We’ve no other candidate for what you can do.

She looked at the ceiling. Anybody who ever found out about my role would say I was a traitor.

Freedom 3 leaned forward. This was one of the questions he was supposed to handle. The timid, benighted leaders of the U.S. might call you a traitor. Some of them would, anyway. But ordinary citizens wouldn’t think that—not if they or their loved ones had been among the FRS’s many victims. More importantly, Lena, America’s Founding Fathers would all declare you a patriot just like them. Remember, they led their own tax revolt.

She seemed satisfied, but kept on looking at the ceiling. So, I’d be alive and able to do this work for maybe six months. During that time, if the plan collapsed, I still couldn’t identify you three. Waterboarding, execution, or whatever—I wouldn’t know who the men in the hoods were … You’re all men, aren’t you?

Freedom 2 shook his—or maybe her—head. "Don’t ask, Lena. Each time the feds know the sex of a suspect, they can rule out half of America’s adults. Let’s make it hard on them, if it ever comes to that. Who knows? Perhaps next time the three of