Secession II: The Flood

by Joe Nobody

  He’d dialed the number after wandering around the desolate location, taking note of the thick woods that surrounded the place. Being from a desert environment, the dense trees and undergrowth seemed like a natural defensive barrier. There was an old barn in the back, perfect to conceal the cars that would soon arrive.

  He’d met the owner, taken a quick tour, and paid cash – fake cash.

  The proprietor lived on a ranch just up the road. He’d hesitated to accept Texas money, but when Ghost had offered a bonus, the man had finally agreed.

  “Now, you’re not going to go and start one of those meth labs in my place, are ya?” the man had questioned, pocketing the green.

  “No, not at all. I am waiting for a Visa to enter Texas, and until it is approved, I need someplace close to the Texarkana immigration office. They said I might be called in for an interview at any time.”

  His first act after taking the possession of the keys was to purchase four packs of thick, white construction paper and several rolls of tape.

  Throughout his career, glass, or more accurately, window glass, had been a problem. He’d lost count of how many men he’d killed… or seen killed, with a single shot through a windowpane.

  And then there was ease of entry. Doors could be secured, at least against all but the most vigorous attempts. There was little that could be done to reinforce glass.

  During his time with the Legion, Ghost had conducted his share of snatch and grabs, breaches, and other clandestine operations. Since leaving, he’d performed even more. Windows were always the weakest link, whether in a car, office building, or home.

  None of that took into account the possibility of observation, including both visual and audio devices.

  So he’d used the thick paper, carefully taping sheet after sheet to the interior. It wasn’t as secure as he’d liked, but it would stop anyone from observing from the outside.

  It had taken a day longer than he’d planned for the counterfeit money to be discovered. That was just fine, as there was very little of the original shipment left. It was time to initiate the next phase of their operation, and for that, he needed a remote location. The country home, accidental or not, was perfect.

  Out of pure habit, he toured the interior, making double sure he was alone. Only after he’d checked every window lock and closet did he finally relax.

  Filling a plastic cup with water, he sat in the living room, processing the next few days’ planned activity. The team would be arriving soon, gathering at the truck stop and waiting for his signal. He’d lead them back here where he would teach them everything they required for the next phase of the plot.

  Zach approached the property from the side, taking his time, rocking each footfall from toe to heel. He was convinced the man they’d followed was the same individual he’d seen talking to the Butcher. He was also confident that whoever he was, the stranger possessed significant skills.

  The ranger’s first stop was the SUV, using it for cover, keeping it between the house and him. It wore temporary tags… from Louisiana no doubt… adding to the intrigue. For a moment, he thought to note the number, but cross-border cooperation was practically nonexistent. It could be days before they received any information, and Zach was convinced that whatever was going to happen would go down quickly.

  For a second, he longed for a flashlight to scan the vehicle’s interior, but then realized that even if he’d had a torch, he wouldn’t use it. The beam was nothing but a big, fat target. The man who had shot Bubba was an excellent marksman, and Zach had no desire to accentuate himself as a target.

  Scurrying the last few steps, the ranger made for the home’s corner and began to work his way down one side. Just as he’d observed from the road, every window seemed to be completely covered with some sort of white paper. He confirmed another item to be added to the list of suspicious activities and coincidences.

  Zach was halfway around the perimeter when the back door squeaked. The racket probably saved his life.

  The Texan initially froze, aware that motion draws the human eye. It then occurred to him that he was completely exposed. One big step and a crouch found him mostly concealed behind a waist-high bush.

  He didn’t hear the suspect, the guy never emitting a sound. Suddenly, there was the outline of a shape standing beside the SUV. Zach thought for sure the spirit-like vestige was staring right at him. His hand tightened on the .45’s checkered grip.

  The ranger exhaled when the SUV’s dome light came on, the faint rattle of keys indicating the stranger had unlocked the door. But he didn’t open it.

  Instead, the guy circled the vehicle, being careful to stay out of illuminated pool generated by the interior light. Who the fuck are you? Zach pondered. You’re either the best I’ve ever seen, or you are one paranoid son of a bitch.

  Once again, Zach was sure the guy was glaring in his direction. The ranger remained unmoving, a drip of perspiration rolling down his cheek.

  The SUV’s door opened, and for the first time, Zach got a clear look at the elusive figure. He’d been right; it was the unknown man who’d been eating with Butcher. There was no doubt in the Texan’s mind.

  Zach was tempted to rise from his hide and arrest the man right then and there. The realization that he didn’t have a single shred of evidence of any crime, combined with the fact that he didn’t have any jurisdiction stopped the ranger cold.

  The stranger pulled a heavy-looking, steel case from the backseat, and then a small shipping box from the rear hatch. The Texan watched as his prey moved back toward the house, relief flooding through Zach’s veins.

  The ranger started to rise from his perch… but then froze. The back door hadn’t squeaked.

  Again, the faint outline appeared at the corner, standing absolutely still like he was waiting for someone or something. He’s listening, Zach realized. He’s like that old Indian guide my dad used to hunt with. He’s using his ears.

  Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the screen door screeched, verifying the stranger’s reentry.

  Now spooked, Zach didn’t move for several more minutes, having images of the stranger opening and closing the door in an attempt to draw the lawman out of hiding.

  It was a slight noise from inside the house that gave Zach the confidence to come out of the bushes. Without a backward glance, he hustled off into the night, eager to tell Sam of his discovery.

  “You’re sure?” Sam asked, a doubting expression crossing her face. “Absolutely sure?”

  “Yes. I said I was. What is your problem?” Zach responded in a somewhat exasperated tone.

  “You were 40 feet away, watching a guy dig around in his car. There’s no way you could have gotten a really good look. Most dome lights aren’t that bright, and your angle couldn’t have been perfect.”

  “All that’s true, but I’m certain. Absolutely positive. He’s a man you don’t forget.”

  Sam had only gotten a fleeting glimpse of the stranger at the truck stop, but that had been enough to set off her warning signals. Maybe Zach wasn’t losing his mind after all.

  That was when Sam chose to ask the most important question of the night. “So what do you want to do?”

  “Well, I do believe our suspect is in for the evening, but there’s no way to be sure. I also think it would be smart if we called in some help,” Zach said.

  Sam nodded, reaching for her cell phone. “Major Putnam?”

  “No way! Besides, after our last conversation, the man might not even take our call. Here, let me get in touch with Hinton. I think he’s still taking some time off after being overseas.”

  Zach retrieved his cell phone and found the number. Ranger Hinton answered on the second ring. “And to what do I owe the pleasure, Ranger Bass?”

  “I need a favor, big guy. Can you talk for a second?”

  A deep grunt sounded through the line, “I already put in a good word to the major on your behalf, Zach. Other than that, I don’t like the idea of sticking my nec
k out.”

  “Do you remember when we were in Jerusalem, that dude we saw having dinner with Butcher? The one you said must have been a magician to have disappeared so quickly?”

  “Yeah, kinda. I didn’t get a good look at him. I was busy keeping those energetic, young Arabs off your skinny ass.”

  “Well, I did get a good look. And guess what? He’s holed up in a remote farmhouse in Arkansas, just outside Texarkana. He just tried to dump four grand of bogus Texas money at an exchange over here.”

  There was a pause on the other end, Hinton digesting the information that Zach had just relayed. “I was supposed to have another week off, but the major is calling everyone in. I haven’t answered the message yet. Maybe I’m still out fishing for another day or two.”

  “You’d do that, buddy? I mean, I need some help and all, but I don’t want to get you into hot water too. Believe me, the major’s shit list is not the best enabler of rest and relaxation.”

  Hinton ignored Zach’s comment, his mind still thinking about the man from Jerusalem and the fake bills. “This counterfeit currency shit has Austin’s panties in a bigger wad than that oilfield equipment showing up in Syria. A couple of hours ago, some U.S. Senator even went so far as to speculate that Texas was printing the fake bills because we needed to boost our economy. Can you believe that shit?”

  Zach didn’t want to be distracted. “Look, Buck, I could use your help over here. Sam and I are staked out down the road from the house, but we don’t have any of our gear. I can’t call the locals, as I’m sure they wouldn’t be impressed with my reasoning – or the fact that I’m tailing private citizens around on the wrong side of the border.”

  Again a pause, followed by, “All right, Zach. I’ve had a few beers tonight. Let me put on a pot of coffee and grab some kit. I should be there around dawn.”

  “Thanks, Buck. Call me after you cross the border. I’ll give you the directions.”

  “Be careful, Ranger. If this is the same dude, he’s a sneaky one. Those are the kind that get guys like us killed.”

  After disconnecting the call, the two rangers exchanged knowing looks. It was going to be a long night. “I’ll go first,” Zach said. “Why don’t you lean your seat back and try to get some shuteye?”

  Nodding, Sam didn’t argue, opening the door and stretching her legs. The two switched places, allowing the “on watch” officer the seat behind the wheel. Upon seeing her partner’s contorted frame curl around the steering column, she noted, “I should have gotten a bigger car.”

  Sleep, however, wasn’t in the cards.

  After reclining the seat and wallowing in an effort to get comfortable, Sam had just managed a semi-acceptable position when the headlights appeared. “He’s leaving,” Zach announced in a soft voice, almost as if he was apologizing for the event.

  “Shit. What do we do?” Sam asked, snapping her seat upright. “If we follow him, he’ll know someone’s tailing him for sure.”

  “I think we have to just stay here,” Zach nodded. “Whatever is going to go down, this is ground zero. If we spook him now, we’ll never find him again.”

  The control moved again to recline Sam’s seat. “Promise you’ll wake me if anything else happens… or at two hours… whichever comes first.”

  Ghost arrived at the rendezvous point, a truck stop not unlike the one where he’d tried to dump the last of the counterfeit bills.

  After scanning the parking lot for any sign of observation or law enforcement, he entered the building and made a beeline for the restroom, just like a man who’d been on the road for an extended period of time.

  The restaurant was the next stop.

  He spotted them all. Two seated at the counter, perched on stools, bent over cups of some steaming liquid, most likely java. That was good, as they were all going to be alert for a long time. The others were scattered around booths and tables, mixed with the usual assortment of truckers and travelers. Nothing appeared out of place.

  Ghost approached the counter and ordered coffee and a sandwich to go. He then pretended to shop a substantial rack of audiobooks, making sure that he and the same hat he’d used in Lake Charles, were visible to the entire room.

  He saw them rise, one by one, leaving tips on the table and thanking the waitresses that hustled back and forth.

  One, two, and then finally the fifth and sixth, whom he’d never met. They drifted past on their path to the parking lot, never making eye contact of any sort. The Mexican, as expected, was last.

  Ghost’s coffee and paper bag of food then arrived, and after paying the tab with real money, he headed for the parking lot.

  Something was different on the return journey to the SUV, his ears detecting the sound of several idling car engines. A few moments later, he pulled out and began a slow acceleration toward the farmhouse. A string of headlines soon appeared behind him, but this time they were expected and welcome.

  School was about to begin.

  Constantly re-evaluating, Ghost mentally reviewed the scheme during the drive back, milling it over and over again. The radio news indicated their timing had been nothing less than perfect.

  Like the oilfield equipment, they were receiving more benefit from the dump of counterfeit bills than expected. Lead by the United States, the world’s reaction had been harsh and excessive, at times even melodramatic. Texas’s currency had nosedived on the international exchanges, central banks in Europe and Asia leading the charge.

  Stock futures of Texas-based corporations had felt the international wrath as well, plummeting to record lows in a matter of hours.

  Ghost and his team were receiving help from some unexpected quarters as well.

  Several prominent U.S. politicians were jumping on the bandwagon of negativity being directed at the new Republic. One had gone so far as to speculate that Texas itself was printing the near-perfect forgeries, a minor league effort to reinforce her deteriorating economy.

  The White House, already at odds with its counterparts in Austin, wasted no time in hopping aboard what the press had dubbed, the “Let’s Trash Texas Express.”

  “What we are seeing is a series of inept decisions, rushed implementations, and a general lack of competence in governing,” the press secretary had stated. “Even if the equipment shipments to Syria and this latest episode of forgery were unintended, it just goes to show that Texas isn’t ready to join the world community. Potential trading partners, investors, and those considering making the Republic their home should seriously consider the disconcerting nature of these recent events.”

  It was the house majority leader that really cut to Lone Star bone. “For years conservatives preached and harped about big government. Washington’s too powerful, they complained. The federal machine is out of control, they told the American people. Well guess what? Sometimes it takes an effective, well-funded bureaucracy to serve the people’s needs. There are times when you need organizations like The Federal Reserve, the Secret Service, and other agencies to make governing go smoothly. The counterfeit money being loosed on our citizens is just another example of how conservative principles and a tiny government footprint isn’t always the best way to run a country.”

  On and on the media droned, rehashing every minor sin committed by Texas or Texans being brought to the forefront of the public’s attention.

  Ghost couldn’t have imagined a better outcome.

  And now it was time for the encore, the grand finale, the frosting on the cake, as his American friends would say.

  Zach inhaled sharply when the string of headlights appeared. He’d been expecting the suspect to return, but not with an entire parade of cars behind him.

  Rattling Ranger Temple from her sleep, he directed the groggy woman’s attention to the line of vehicles now pulling into the farmhouse’s driveway.

  “Holy shit, are they throwing a party?”

  “Maybe they’re moving in? Maybe it’s a beer bash? I dunno, but my gut tells me it’s something a little more tr
oubling than inebriated co-eds polishing off a keg and conducting a limbo contest on the front lawn.”

  “How long before Ranger Hinton arrives?”

  Zach glanced at the digital clock on the dash. “At least five hours. He’s got a long drive.”

  “Should we call for more backup?”

  It was the same dilemma he’d faced at Bubba’s cabin and a hundred other times during his law enforcement career. If Zach cried wolf and the entire affair ended up being innocent, egg was all over his face. If he managed to get himself and Ranger Temple on a slab in the morgue, that outcome had its issues as well.

  “Let’s wait and see what Hinton thinks. I want to know what they’re up to.”

  “No,” she said firmly, pulling her sidearm and checking the chamber. “It’s my turn for a hike.”

  Zach shook his head, “That’s not a good idea, Sam. If we were in a city where you had a lot more experience, then I’d be all for it. But this is the rural back woods, my stomping grounds.”

  The debate didn’t last long, Sam finally having to admit that her partner was right. For the second time that night, she watched as Zach faded into the blackness.

  Zach chose the same route as before, avoiding the thick underbrush by stalking along a fence line and then cutting off toward the barn.

  Before he even got close, it was obvious that things had changed.

  Most of the new arrivals had parked behind the dilapidated, timeworn outbuilding, a fact that gave Ranger Bass some reassurance that he wasn’t the victim of an overactive imagination. From his perspective, it looked like they didn’t want the small armada of vehicles visible from the road.

  That assessment was further solidified by the bustle of activity in progress.

  Men were carrying boxes, chairs, and other heavy objects into the house. Zach counted five, then seven, then eight unique outlines, judging each man by respective height and width in the low light.