State of Peril (State of Arizona Book 3)

by Doug Ball

  STATE

  OF

  PERIL

  #3 in the State of Arizona Series

  By

  DOUG BALL

  Other books by Doug Ball

  Stories of the old west

  Blood on the Zuni

  Vengeance

  Lone Tree

  Stories of the not so old west

  Gentle Rebellion

  4 X Armed

  Rebellion’s New Beginnings

  State of Arizona Series

  State of Defense

  State of Threat

  Audiobooks

  State of Defense

  State of Threat

  Religious Studies

  Puzzling Theology

  The Fishy Prophet

  Copyright 2015 by Douglas H. Ball

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental and has no basis in fact.

  Because it is a work of fiction, all persons, places, and things are purely the work of the author’s mind.

  This book is dedicated to my wife, of course.

  Patti, thank you for your

  love, care, concern, and support.

  And

  To the first responders of America.

  Our military, police, fire, and

  ambulance riders of all kinds.

  Long live the

  Constitution

  of our great country.

  April 4

  Outside Nueva Casas Grandes

  Mexico

  The man stood shaking, sweat dripped from his eyebrows, with his hands out, palms up, pleading, “Patrón, I have done my best and not a single mulo has made it through the guards that are now placed all along the border. Each has gone a different route. Each has gone at a different time of day. One woman I sent to go when she wanted, how she wanted, and whatever route she wanted, so there could be no leak in mi casa. She died just as sixteen of the men, less than a mile over the border. Ten men are currently awaiting trial in Arizona for attempting to bring drugs into the state. I am working on silencing them. We cannot get our product into Arizona from the south, Patrón.”

  The seated man looked at him with pity. “Four hundred miles of border and you cannot find a hole. You are less than worthless. You have cost me more than twenty millions of dollars in product. Can you repay?”

  “If you will allow me, Patrón, I will get much product in by way of California and the ships up the west coast. That route still works well, Patrón. That is how I will repay.”

  “I cannot use those routes, I need the Arizona border. They have shut down almost all of the market for our product in Arizona and that is costing me a million dollars a week just in the marijuana. In coca and speed, there is another million at least every week. I need that market. Anywhere else I go, I step into someone else’s territory. I do not wish for a war between our familia and the others, do you?”

  “No, Patrón.”

  “So what can I do with you? You are too incompetent to live.”

  The man reached in his back pocket for a handkerchief, wiped his face, and then calmly said, “If you will just give me time, I will open up the route north into Arizona. I must take serious action and it will cost you much money, Patrón.”

  “You will pay the costs for the first ten million, I know you have that much, and then I will look at what you have done. If it is good, you live. If not, . . .” He left it hanging as he lit a black Cuban cigar.

  “Thank you, Patrón. I will not fail you.” He stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket, stopped, and removed it again. The sweat on his head was growing to streams heading for his shoulders.

  “Not if you wish to live, you and your familia.”

  The man turned and left the room. Still he wiped and trembled. He did not have ten million dollars. He had three daughters, a beautiful wife, two strong sons, and sixty men. The Patrón had hundreds of millions of dollars and hundreds of trained men. “What can I do to live?” Armado Borrago asked the sky as he closed the outside door. The driver moved the armored Hummer up as soon as he was seen.

  9 April

  1 PM

  Phoenix

  Family Court

  Les Brown and his pregnant wife, Joan, sat nervously in the front row of the courtroom. Two young boys fidgeted in the seats on either side of the adults. Les had a bouncing, healthy boy of 16 months squirming on his lap. Joan was just nervous. Their big day in court had come at last.

  Les, known to his friends as Tan, let the movie of his life for the past year flow through his mind. Deputy Sheriff, Indian uprising, two suspects killed, a mama dead, a boy orphaned, war with Mexico, Special Investigator to the Governor, terrorist extortion, the fight in the hills, the death of the terrorist, and to top it all off, a share in a gold mine bringing in a few thousand a month. ‘Danged mine brings more than my paycheck,’ he thought as Robert let out a squeal, not loud, but shattering in the quiet of the courtroom.

  “That boy’s got him some devils dancin’ in those eyes, Mr. Brown,” the Bailiff said.

  “You got that right. That was a quiet chirp compared to what he is capable of. These three are the terrors of the neighborhood.”

  “Oh, Tan, they aren’t that bad. A few folks there just don’t like kids, that’s all,” Joan chimed in. “These three are quiet compared to the dog.”

  “Oh, yes, the dog, that’s another story entirely,” Tan said.

  The kids laughed.

  “Dad, why couldn’t we bring Terror with us? He’s part of the family, too.” Chip was his father’s son in every aspect of life. Tagged with Les Junior at birth, he had been called Chip since the first time he looked at his daddy’s Guadalcanal Commemorative gold engraved Model 1911 .45 in the stand on Les’ desk. He cried for it until Les let him hold it. Chip snuggled it up close and smiled just as Les had when the Grandfather presented it to him.

  “Just a chip off the old block,” Joan had said.

  ‘Chip’ stuck.

  The Bailiff slammed his gavel down and said, “All rise. Family Court in and for the County of Maricopa, State of Arizona, is now is session. The Honorable Judge Maxine Dunstill presiding.”

  The Judge charged into the room as if she were on a crusade. Robes bloomed out behind her like Superman’s cape only to settle around her before she sat behind the bench. “Be seated,” she said. “The first case is the adoption of a young male child by the Brown family. State’s Attorney, what have we got here?”

  The Attorney blathered on for ten minutes with the Judge looking more harried as time grew long. “Wrap it up, please.”

  “Yes, Your Honor. The State recommends that Les and Joan Brown be granted full parental custody of the child, Rupert Downing, under the proposed name of Robert Jaegar Brown.”

  “In other words, you want me to let them adopt this chubby little bundle of activity that has been trying his best to be good while you prattled on?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” He smiled and sat down.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Brown, are you both in agreement with this. You will be this boy’s parents. No backing out. Thick or thin. You don’t know and we don’t know all there is to know about this young man. He could have all kinds of problems based on what this report says about his mother. We don’t even know who the father is. You really want to go through with this?”

  Together as if they had practiced, “Yes, your Honor.”

  The two older boys said, “Me, too.”

  The Judge smiled and leaned forward, “It is so ordered that Mr. and Mrs. Brown are now the parents of Rupert Downing, to be known as Robert Jaegar Brown from this moment forth.” She thumped her gavel.

  Tan
stood up, “Your Honor, may I introduce you to my family?”

  “Certainly, Mr. Brown.”

  15 April

  Sky Harbor International Airport

  Phoenix, AZ

  The huge C-5 USAF cargo aircraft entered into the flight pattern and requested a civilian gate. The controller asked, “Military C-5, what is your reason for a civilian gate?”

  “Civilian passengers to offload under Presidential Order 14-2071.”

  “Wait, C-5.”

  The huge aircraft rolled out flaps and dropped the wheels as the centerline of the runway became bright and clear dead off the nose. The crew and passengers were all strapped in tight awaiting the end of the six hour flight from Texas, by way of Chicago.

  “Air Force C-5 return to 10,000 feet and hold course until further notice.”

  “Coming in, Tower. Low fuel alarm.”

  “All flights hold altitude and heading. This better be good C-5.”

  “You betcha, Tower.”

  “C-5, Sky Harbor Tower. Are these civilians?”

  “Affirmative, Tower.”

  The air controller watched the big bird make a perfect landing and even in the confines of the tower, he could hear the power of the jet engines as they were shifted to braking and reved to full power. “C-5 turn right at first available taxiway. Follow blue arrows.”

  “Negative, Tower. We must have a civilian gate.”

  “C-5, hold on runway. I don’t care if we have to tow you in because you’re outta gas. Be assured that your Commanding Officer will hear of this, as will the FAA.”

  “This is the Commanding Officer and the FAA has their orders on Presidential Order 14-2071.”

  “Wait.”

  #

  TSA employees watched as over three hundred 12 to 15 year old boys exited the gate 23 ramp from the C-5. Each of them carried nothing. Many sported tattoos indicating one gang, mob organization, or another. They all looked defiant, and many had more than a hint of fear in their demeanor. To put it mildly, they all had an attitude.

  An airport official pulled out her cell phone and called the Office of the Governor.

  #

  Within minutes Phoenix and Department of Public Safety officers began cordoning off gate 23 over the protest of the TSA security boss.

  “What are you doing? We can’t keep these kids here?” asked the TSA boss.

  “We are not keeping them here. We will refuel the C-5 and send them elsewhere,” came the response from the DPS Sergeant.

  The Air Force Colonel walked out of the exit and straight up to the Sergeant, “What’s going on here. Let these children through. Buses are waiting to take them to the Federal Building for processing.”

  “Please get back on your aircraft, Colonel, you will be taking these children elsewhere.”

  “My flight hours are spent for the day.”

  “I’ll have another crew here by the time your aircraft is fueled.”

  “That craft is unsafe to fly.”

  “Your craft is grounded?”

  “Yes.” The Colonel stood like a rock leaning forward in the face of the Sergeant.

  The Sergeant turned and walked back to the increasing number of DPS, Department of Public Safety, officers, Maricopa Sheriff’s deputies, and Phoenix Police. After a few moments of low talk, three or four officers were dispersed to cover every door. The Sergeant walked back to the Colonel.

  “Your plane is grounded and will remain where it is until the FAA has done a thorough inspection and declared it safe to fly. You and your crew are under arrest for endangering 18 aircraft and their passengers.” He motioned to two men behind him, “These two men will escort you to the bus waiting for you in front of the airport after you pass through customs. We will care for these children from this point on.”

  The Colonel started to bluster and push his weight around, “You have no jurisdiction over military aircraft and personnel. I will take my aircraft and crew back where it belongs.”

  “Colonel, you chose to land here against the orders from the tower. That is a federal violation. You brought your illegal cargo onto Arizona soil which is in violation of the laws of this state and the United States of America.” He paused as one of the Sheriff’s Deputies came out of the exit ramp door and gave him a thumbs-up. “You also declared an emergency when there was no emergency. My man indicates you have enough fuel on board to go a long way. That, too, is a Federal offense and against the laws of the State of Arizona. You and your crew are under arrest.”

  The Colonel started to move around the Sergeant. “Up against the wall, feet back, and spread them, Colonel.” The Sergeant was very calm.

  The Colonel kept walking.

  The Sergeant put him on the floor and cuffed him. “Help the Colonel up and take him to the bus.”

  The rest of the crew went voluntarily, most of them smiling and a couple of them holding back laughter with their hands.

  The Sergeant turned to the young illegals and said in rapid fire Spanish, “Pull up a chair. You are all under arrest and will be deported as soon as possible. In the meantime, this is a good place to live. If you need the bathroom,” he pointed, “it is there. Food will be served in one hour and you will love the food from our county jail kitchen.”

  A few tried to break and run, but the officers were prepared. Heavy wire ties were used when a few of them put up a fight. One was a bit more determined than the others and received a serious dose of Pepper Spray for his troubles. His suffering received no sympathy.

  Two hours later

  “Governor, the President is on the phone.”

  “I got it, Josie.”

  The Governor picked up the phone, “Good morning, Mr. President. To what do I owe the pleasure of a call from you?”

  “You are holding one of my Air Force’s aircraft and detaining 326 children that need processing into our great nation. I also understand you have arrested the crew of that aircraft.”

  “All that is true, Mr. President. How’s your golf game?”

  “My golf game is not the issue here. Your actions are against the policy of this administration.”

  “But, they are not illegal according to the laws of the United States of America, of which, Arizona is one of the states united with the other 49, except, of course, the ones that kiss your feet, or is it ‘once kissed your feet?’ I hear you are not very popular this election cycle. Polls in Arizona show you have a 20% satisfaction rating here. Wanna hear what my rating is?”

  “Madam,”

  The Governor hung up. “That man will not call me Madam and have any responses from me that will make him happy.”

  The phone in the outer office rang again.

  “I’ve got it, Josie.”

  “Yes, Mr. President?”

  “Do not hang up on me again.”

  “Do not call me Madam again.”

  “I want that plane released, the crew released, and those kids released to the Federal Court within the hour.”

  The Governor smiled, “The plane will be released when the FAA declares it safe to fly. The crew is being processed and will be released on their own without bail. The children are being loaded on three planes as we speak. They will be returned to their country of origin before the day is done. I will send you the bill.”

  “You what?” the President spit and sputtered. “I will have you arrested for violating my order 14-2071.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. President, our state Supreme Court has ruled your order 14-2071 unconstitutional and is therefore not valid or in effect in this state. Is there anything else you wish to discuss before you play your next hole, Mr. President?”

  “I would like to discuss your actions in court in detail, Governor.”

  “That might be interesting, Mr. President. Particularly in light of the other states that are taking many of the same actions Arizona has. These states will, therefore, refuse any of your illegal aliens of any age. Have you heard, Texas has closed their borders also, just as we have?
Your mass produced Green Cards are no longer valid in Arizona or Texas. Rumor has it that ten other states will follow our lead shortly.

  She continued, “I am busy today, Mr. President, we have a memorial to the victims of the War for Arizona that is being dedicated today and I really must go. That will be around 3 PM if you have time between golf games to attend, you would be welcome. I will not let you speak. Few here want to hear you.”

  Again the sputtering and then dead air, the President had hung up.

  The next day

  The two women packed their Jeep Commander with all the gear they thought they would need for the 30 day stay at the site. Both were excited, their supervisor at the University had given them a dig without supervision for the first time and they had no intention of making a mess of it. Two boxes half full of books that even mention the pre-Hohokam Indians were loaded near the back under the tent, cots , and sleeping bags.

  “Well, Betts, do you have lots of sunscreen?” asked Lana, the elder of the two.

  “Hey, I might be younger than you, but I am not stupid. I have three big bottles of SPF 50 waterproof sun screen to go along with all the sun screening long sleeve shirts and pants, along with a super wide brim hat that is really the fashion statement of it all. Did you bring the camera gear and lots of SD cards?”

  “Like I would forget anything. Let’s roll.” Lana slid into the driver’s seat, fumbled in her fanny pack, and got out, walking back toward the house they shared.

  “What’s the problem? You forget to go potty or something?”

  “No. I forgot the car keys.”

  They both laughed.

  Three and a half hours later they arrived at the Buenos Aires National Wildlife Refuge and the end of the pavement. Carefully watching the odometer and following directions written down for them by the boss, they slowly made their way to the site of the dig, an almost obscure ruin that a professor had found on his vacation and suspected it was a part of the pre-Anasazi culture. They were hoping it was.