As Terry glanced around the room, he saw heads bobbing in agreement. He sighed as Booker’s diatribe continued.
“Zach was testing what kind of response they would have to a shooter on a school campus, to see if that was a viable target. But you saw what happened. That teacher Zach injured, the one who's been writing letters and marching in protests for those illegals, they called that man a hero. Zach’s the real hero—the real patriot—and he's being called a terrorist and a traitor.”
This just keeps getting worse and worse. Terry restrained the urge to shout him down as Booker continued.
“But even then, the police and the news media saw them as isolated attacks, not as a coordinated effort to preserve the American way of life. Therefore, we changed our focus.”
“In today’s world, even the Church has sadly lost its way. It used to be a place where we knew what right was and people would stand up for the truth. Now, in the name of compassion, they fight just as hard for illegal aliens and for those who suck our welfare system dry. They don’t even protest against the government when it invades the privacy of everyday citizens like you and me. The Church has lost her way. It is time to bring her back to the right path. By force, if necessary.”
Terry listened, horrified as Booker perverted what Christianity really stood for. He was criticizing pastors and their flock for giving food to the poor and helping those in greatest need in our country. Honestly, he really was like Jim, a more of a middle-of-the-road kind of person when it came to politics. He felt he could see both sides of the issue pretty clearly. The rabid zeal underlying Booker’s rhetoric was scaring him.
When Terry refocused his thoughts, he noticed the whir of the overhead projector and a website loading onto the screen. He almost gasped in horror when he realized the intended target of Booker’s rage.
“Now I have nothing against churches in general, but I think they have become the symbol of what is wrong with how we deal with the problems of our day. We need to send a message: Stand strong in your values. Uphold the law. Defend what is right. Fight what is wrong. If these people won’t do it on their own, then we need to push them in the right direction.
Booker motioned to the screen behind him. “This is the website for the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels Catholic Church. On November 1st, All Saints’ Day, there will be a 6 a.m. mass. The church put out a press release a couple weeks ago saying the priest leading the mass was going to give a special message on how all of us are foreigners and should be given the same respect. He’s clearly praising illegal immigration, and no one seems to mind. Well, we mind! He’s standing up for everything we’re against, so we want to change the story.”
Delaney closed the website and opened a PDF of the architectural plans of the church’s contemporary design as Booker continued. “While the construction of the new building was completed just over a decade ago, and is even built to withstand an 8.0 magnitude earthquake, we have friends who know about such things who tell us there are some design flaws we can exploit. We don’t want to kill anyone, but we would like to shake things up a bit.”
A couple students chuckled, but everyone else in the small group remained silent.
“I know this is a lot to take in all at once. I know you probably never thought you would be part of something this massive, this spectacular. Don’t worry, our team will only have one small role to play—watching to make sure no one catches what the other teams are doing with the charges around the building. It sounds like a lot, but others will do most of the ‘heavy lifting’ while we all will share in the credit. But like Thomas Paine once said: ‘Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly: it is dearness only that gives everything its value.’” Booker looked at Delaney as he concluded his presentation. “You know, I bet you guys are hungry. Why don’t we get something delivered?”
This is my chance, Terry thought. “I know a pretty good pizza place.” He hoped his voice had not betrayed his nerves. “I’ll just step outside and give them a call, OK?”
“Why don’t you stay inside?” Booker’s voice made it clear his question was really more of an order. “What does everyone want on their pizza?”
“Just pepperoni.”
“How about cheese?”
Gabe’s entry into the ordering process was perfectly timed. “Canadian bacon and pineapple.”
As Terry turned away and punched in the speed dial for Giovanetti’s, he turned away as the others continued to talk. Let’s just hope this plan really works.
_____
When he turned back to the room, Terry realized the dynamics had changed. Gabe was looking much more tense as people’s eyes were bouncing back between him and Booker. “What’s going on?”
“I was explaining to the group that I looked into their backgrounds just to make sure everything checked out. For the most part, things seem on the up and up. I just have a couple of questions. Gabe, why don’t you try to explain again why it is that Mr. Delaney can’t find a work phone number for your father in the school’s attendance database.”
“Well, we just moved here a couple of months ago, and my dad works a lot in the field, which is why he gives out his cell number. It’s just easier to get a hold of him that way.” Terry was impressed at how smooth Gabe was in telling this version of the truth. Considering what his dad really does, I bet he and his father have talked through scenarios like this before.
Booker nodded. “That’s what I thought was going on at first, but Mr. Delaney here says something is ‘off’ about you tonight, and, you know what, I think he’s right.”
Uh oh. Terry inched his way toward Gabe.
The charismatic leader continued. “As a matter of fact, I had a friend of mine, who used to be a cop but got fired for using ‘excessive force,’ look into Mr. Robert Eric O'Brien, even though I was probably worried for no good reason.” Booker held up his phone. “I just got a text a minute ago from that friend. Want to guess what he discovered? Mr. O'Brien works for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. That’s right, the father of one our tribe works for the FBI. That’s a mighty big coincidence, don’t you think, Derek?”
His son nodded. “A little too big, Dad, if you ask me.”
“You know, son, I think you’re right.” Terry saw Booker reach for a gun from a shoulder holster but knew he was too far away to do anything but raise his arms. Booker aimed the weapon straight at Gabe. “You know what? I think we have a mole. What do we do with moles, son?”
Derek smirked. “Whack them on the head with a big, puffy hammer.” Father and son enjoyed a sick laugh.
“That’s funny, son. Now, while ‘whack-a-mole’ might be a fine game to play at the county fair, in the real world we exterminate moles.” Keeping his eyes trained on Gabe, Booker asked Delaney to take the gun out of his duffel bag on the floor and aim it at Terry.
Sam’s face registered numb horror as he complied with his friend’s wishes. “What are you planning, Gregory? Are you going to kill Gabe here? He’s just a kid.”
“Shut up, Sam, before I decide you’re expendable, too!” Booker snagged the weapon and threw it to his son, who was several feet away from Gabe. Derek caught the weapon and aimed it at Gabe as well. Terry took a deep breath as he moved closer to Derek, hoping the father-son duo wouldn’t notice. I hope the “pizza guys” get here soon.
Booker shifted his focus. “Why don’t you stay where you are, Mr. Gould?”
Terry froze in place. He figured he was close enough to tackle Derek and take his gun if necessary. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.
“Sam’s right. Gabe is just a kid. There is no reason to kill him.”
Booker’s eyebrows raised. “So now you’re defending young Gabe here? It sounds to me like you’re working together.”
Terry hoped his chortle was believable. “Gregory, look at me. I’m just a school teacher. I'v
e got 10-15 extra pounds I still can’t get rid of, and the last time I played cops and robbers was well before any of these guys were born.” Terry moved almost imperceptibly closer to Derek, keeping his hands raised the whole time. “You said people didn’t need to die tonight in our little revolution. There’s no reason why we can’t take him with us and then let him go once it’s all said and done. I mean, look at him. He’s just a kid. Just like your son, Derek. There’s no reason you need to take him away from his father.”
With Booker and his son both focused on Gabe, Terry seized the opportunity and leapt at the son. He had taken a daylong training in small arms and hand-to-hand combat through the Bureau, and he was hoping and praying the training came through for him. Derek and Terry weaved back and forth as they fought for control of the gun. Booker pointed his weapon at the two but didn’t pull the trigger, probably too unsure who he would hit. The students fell to the floor, afraid they would be hit by a shot fired randomly during the struggle.
Winded, Terry emerged from the scuffle with the gun, which he noticed was a Glock.
Just like in the dream.
“Get up, Gabe! Come on!” The harsh order barked by Booker helped Terry clear his senses, which had been stunned by the momentary flashback. Keeping the Glock trained on Derek, he glanced at Booker long enough to see he had an arm around Gabe’s neck and the gun pointed at his head.
“Now this is what most people would call a Mexican standoff, but that’s actually between three people and not four,” Booker said a little too calmly.
Booker sure knew an awful lot of trivia. “Seriously Gregory, when do you have time to learn all of this stuff?”
Booker smiled. “Actually, I’ve been in sales for years. It’s why I can close the deal on just about anything. In sales, you never know what’s going to help you make a connection with another person, which is why I am always picking up tidbits here and there.” Booker paused. “I have a question for you, Terry Gould. How long do you expect to be able to keep this up? One of us is going to let our guard down, and that’s when the shots will start flying. Like you and Sam said a few minutes ago, no one wants any of these innocent kids to get hurt. I’ve been with the States’ Rights Militia for years and received quite a bit of specialized training. You might have gotten the drop on my son, but you’ll never do the same with me. You can’t win, Gould, so why don’t you give up?”
Father and son exchanged glances before Derek taunted, “Yeah, why don’t you give up, Terry Boy?”
The insult smacked him as if it were a karate chop. “What did you say?” Gould had kept his cool so far, but under the pressure of the situation the words fueled his fire. He had to maintain self-control.
A smug smile crossed Derek’s lips. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t like being called ‘Terry Boy,’ do you? My buddy Jarret told me about that one. Actually, he didn’t need to tell me, because people have been calling you that on Twitter and Snapchat at least since I was a sophomore.”
While Terry had taken a few steps away from Derek when he first grabbed the gun, he noticed the boy had moved closer to him. He began to run though his options and they all seemed bad. A shot into the ceiling would create a distraction, but it might also cause Delaney or Booker to fire. Shooting Derek in the leg or arm would have been the “Hollywood” solution, but he remembered his firearms instructor told him it’s easy to miss those shots under stressful conditions. That’s why officers were trained to aim for center mass, basically the heart. No matter what he did, Terry was convinced there was no way everyone was walking out of that classroom alive. He moved his index finger closer to the trigger, but it began to shake.
And that’s when the nightmare returned full force, like a series of hurricane-induced waves. He saw flashes from the dream. The explosion of the shot and stench of cordite. A body slumping to the ground. People screaming. Blood soaking into the carpet, transforming its color from blue to purple. Again, like in the dream, he was torn by the contradictions roiling inside of him. He wasn’t killing someone out of spite or malice; he was doing it to save a life. On the other hand, he knew if he started shooting, Booker and Delaney would return fire and who knew how many people in this room would end up dead or injured. He wasn’t sure he could live with himself if his attempt to be a hero triggered a bloodbath. He mentally cried out to God for help, praying for a lifeline to save him from the wave of emotions pounding his brain.
Be still and know that I am God.
And, just like in the dream, he realized that shooting another human being just wasn’t in his nature. The police were on their way. All he had to do was wait.
A knock at the door got everyone’s attention. “Pizza Delivery!”
As Booker lowered his gun momentarily, Gabe put his combat survival training to use by punching Booker in the groin, causing him to drop his Glock. The locked door opened, and Terry sent up a silent prayer as agents flooded into the room, with Sarah Larsen in the lead and Dransfelt and Rob not far behind.
“FBI! Drop your weapons! Do it now!” Ironically, Terry thought, he and Gabe, who were on the same side as the agents, were the only ones with guns. They placed their weapons on the floor and waited for the agents to kick them away before collapsing into the nearest seats.
“Dad!”
Rob rushed to Gabe’s side and tightly embraced his son. Since there were few in the room, father and son had a chance to connect while the other agents cleared the scene. The agents used plastic ties to bind the hands of Gregory and Derek Booker before leading them away. They swept the room and removed Delaney and the remaining students, while Rob and Sarah remained with Terry and Gabe. Gould briefed the elder O'Brien on the confession regarding the Del Madre shooting, the assemblywoman's death, and the plans to bomb the cathedral in downtown L.A.
During a lull in the conversation, Terry checked his cell phone. 8:47 p.m. “Can I call my wife and let her know I’m OK?”
Rob nodded. “Just don’t give her any details over the phone.”
Terry pressed the speed dial number for his wife and was overjoyed when he heard her voice. “Hey Rach, I can’t say much, but I just wanted to tell you—”
Rachel cut in. “Terry, what’s going on? Are you OK?”
“I’m fine, sweetie. Like I said, I can’t say much, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“I was so worried about you. I have been praying for you like crazy. Are you sure you are doing fine? You don’t have any cuts or bruises or anything?” Terry heard the worry in his wife’s voice.
“Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.”
“Well, you just come home and you can crawl straight into bed. We can watch our movie some other time.”
“To be honest, I need to get my mind off what happened. Laughing about someone else’s problems seems like just the ticket. I won’t be able to talk about what happened tonight for a while anyway. Rob, Gabe's dad, said he would debrief us both next week.”
“That sounds like a plan.” Rachel paused. “You know, for just a moment tonight, I was afraid you weren’t coming home. Ever.”
Terry flashed back to the tension-riddled standoff that had ended just a few moments ago. “So was I.”
“Listen, I don’t care what else they ask you to do, your days playing federal agent are over.”
Terry chuckled. “I will be happy to hang up my badge.”
“Good, because I want my husband back.”
_____
It took Terry an hour of sitcom reruns on basic cable to unwind from the adrenaline-inducing events of the day. When he and Rachel finally went to bed, it was close to 1 a.m.
After they turned off the lights, Terry found himself staring at the ceiling. Rachel asked him what was on his mind.
“I’ve been thinking about the dream I had back in September, and how it seems to be connected to what happened tonight.”
“I had wondered the same thing,” she said. “What do you think it all means?”
“I’m n
ot sure. Maybe it was a test, like with Abraham and Isaac.”
“You think God wanted you to shoot someone?”
“Actually, I believe God told me to ‘be still’, but maybe he wanted me to be ready to do what was necessary. I’m not basing my whole theology on it or anything, but I’m pretty sure things would have turned out much worse if everyone hadn’t stayed in the room until the FBI arrived. Gabe O’Brien and I disarmed them, but they probably had more guns stashed somewhere else. If they had fled across campus at night, or heaven forbid, had taken Gabe or the others hostage in a standoff, who knows how many people would have been shot or killed?”
“Do you think it would have been that bad?”
Terry knew he wasn’t supposed to be talking about what happened, even with Rachel. But, having come that close to taking a life, and perhaps losing his own in the process, he decided life was too short to keep the truth from his wife. “You didn’t hear Gregory when he was talking. He’s a true believer, and I’m pretty sure he would have seen it as a victory if he had taken down several of them with him.”
Rachel clutched his hand in the dark and raised it to her lips. “I’m so glad nothing like that happened.”
“Me, too.”
_____
FBI Captures Suspected Holcombe Killer, Foils Terror Attack
By Tammi Cunningham
STAFF WRITER
EMERALD VALLEY — A local militia leader suspected of having planned three terror attacks, including the assassination of Assemblywoman Delores Holcombe, was arrested at Emerald Valley High School Saturday night in a joint FBI–police sting operation.
Gregory Booker, 47, was taken into custody along with a 17-year-old boy whose name is being withheld because he is a minor. Emerald Valley High School English teacher Samuel Delaney was also arrested in the operation. They all are believed to be involved with the Southern California Division of the States’ Rights Militia.
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