by Gary Noesner
Edwin appeared to me to be a normal, hardworking guy who had made some bad decisions. Those decisions had led to circumstances that now had escalated beyond his control. He had no criminal record. He also didn’t seem like someone foolish enough to really fall for the nonsense being spouted by the Freemen, yet here he was. He voiced his frustrations with the intransigence and indecisiveness of the others, but he still wanted to be respectful of their beliefs. Edwin also wanted to be hospitable to the individuals who had sought refuge on his property.
Over the next several days Dwayne and I met with Edwin at various times inside the motor home. At each meeting it became increasingly clear that Edwin was a likeable, down-to-earth guy. As was common among men in this region, he would engage in small talk with us before moving into substantive discussions. He told us about his love for hunting and about his collection of dinosaur bones, which he’d found on his property. I liked him, and this bolstered my desire to help make sure he and his family were not hurt in this siege.
At one such meeting he told us that he wished to come out, but that he needed to speak to Leroy Schweitzer to get his advice on how to proceed. He also indicated a desire to have the help of the Cause Foundation, a right-wing equivalent of the ACLU, known for defending the legal rights of right-wing extremists in trouble with the law. Earlier, the foundation had sent a letter offering its assistance, an offer we had passed along to the Freemen.
I told Edwin that enlisting the help and involvement of the Cause Foundation was not a problem. In fact, I told him that it was wise for him and the others to get legal assistance, which we had recommended all along. I told him candidly that a visit to Leroy Schweitzer in jail in Billings was going to be more of a challenge. We would have to transport Edwin to Billings, let him meet with Schweitzer, and then allow him to return to Justus Township. I told him that nothing like that had ever been done before. We didn’t even know if Schweitzer would meet with him, or what Schweitzer would say.
I told Edwin that if I was going to support this unprecedented undertaking, I would need to know what he wanted to talk to Schweitzer about. Edwin said he wanted to get Schweitzer’s instructions on how they should preserve their common-law evidence, the various papers and documents they believed validated their common-law rights. He also wanted to tell Leroy that he planned to surrender. I asked Edwin what he would do if Schweitzer instructed him to continue the siege and not surrender. Edwin looked me in the eye and said, “If that’s what he says, then I’ll have to make my own decision about what’s the right thing to do.” I was convinced that Edwin had made up his mind to surrender; he just wanted Schweitzer’s blessing in order to feel better about it.
Based on that exchange, Dwayne and I met with the command team. As expected, there was no problem with contacting the Cause Foundation and allowing them to become involved, so we began making arrangements to bring them to Montana. Dwayne and I also strongly recommended that we fly Edwin to Billings to meet directly with Schweitzer. If Schweitzer opposed the surrender, I told the command team, then Edwin would most likely disregard those instructions and come out anyway. Edwin was clearly tired of the whole mess and wanted it over.
The on-scene commander, Tom Kubic, and CIRG leader Robin Montgomery agreed on both counts, which took a great deal of courage. Not only was this action unprecedented, but if something went wrong, the FBI would be roundly criticized.
On the seventy-ninth day of the siege, Edwin Clark left the property, secretly boarded an FBI plane, and flew to Billings, Montana, where he met in jail with Leroy Schweitzer. To our relief, Schweitzer agreed that it was time to end the siege; his only interest was that the government not be allowed to destroy the documents he believed would support their claims of sovereignty.
Three representatives of the Cause Foundation, director Kirk Lyons, Dave Holloway, and South Carolina attorney Larry Salley, soon arrived in Billings, where they, too, were allowed to meet with Schweitzer. Edwin was quietly flown back to Jordan and allowed to return to Justus Township.
With Schweitzer’s blessing and the involvement of the Cause Foundation, we worked out the specifics of a surrender process. Five key issues were agreed to:
Karl Ohs would take custody of the Freemen’s evidence.
The Freemen would maintain 51 percent control of their appointed counsel. (This was a nonissue, a concern based on their misunderstanding of the law. Suspects always retain 100 percent control over their own defense.)
The United States attorney would not oppose bail for Ralph and Emmett Clark.
The Freemen would be allowed to meet with one another in jail.
Their appointed counsel would be sworn in under common law.
The Freemen agreed to these points. We were cautiously optimistic.
On day eighty, the three Cause Foundation representatives entered Justus Township to assist the Freemen in assembling their evidence. These outsiders were extremely helpful in keeping the disorganized Freemen on task.
Later in the morning, Ashley Landers, daughter of Russ Landers, the fugitive from justice, suddenly walked out, suitcase in hand, and surrendered on her own. We had heard that she wanted to get out and away from her parents, and apparently she couldn’t wait another minute. Shortly thereafter, Karl Ohs drove a rental truck onto the property and loaded up the Freemen’s evidence to be secured for their defense in court.
On the eighty-first day of the longest siege in United States history, Dwayne and I stood on our side of the cattle guard in our short-sleeved shirts and bulletproof vests, waiting for the final word from Edwin Clark. We watched as his car approached from the horizon on their side and came toward us along the dirt road.
Edwin stopped his car and turned off the ignition. As he got out and walked toward us, I could see a broad smile break out from under his bushy mustache. “Well, boys,” he said, “we had a hell of a siege, didn’t we?”
We shook hands, and I felt a tremendous sense of relief. As we had learned more of his story, both Dwayne and I had developed a bond with Edwin. I felt sorry for him, and I genuinely liked both him and his wife, Janet. I hoped that life would work out better for them in the years ahead.
The three Cause Foundation guys now came out and joined us to witness the surrender process. We all watched as the individual Freemen drove up to the cattle guard that marked the edge of the property. They got out of their vehicles, shook hands with the Cause Foundation representatives and Edwin, then crossed the cattle guard where Dwayne and I met them.
It had taken a very long time, but not a shot was fired. The Freemen’s land would be lost and their lives would be changed, but they were alive, and if they so chose, most would be able to move on. I certainly hoped that would be true for Edwin and his family.
As we were ready to leave, I observed that one of the Cause Foundation guys had a tear in his eye. He had always considered himself an enemy of the FBI, he told me, but no longer. He also said that he was proud to have been a part of such a professional and creative operation, one that ended so well.
I glanced at Dwayne and saw that his eyes were welling up also. That’s what made him such a good negotiator—the fact that he really cared.
Our success in Montana was a validation of what the FBI negotiation program stood for, what we had learned and practiced for over two decades, and what we had taught to cops around the world. The trauma of Waco and Ruby Ridge had been answered by handling this situation the way it needed to be done. As Edwin Clark said, it was indeed, in a very good way, a hell of a siege.
CHAPTER TEN
PREPARE THE MISSILES
Wise men talk because they have something to say; fools, because they have to say something.
—PLATO
Like almost every police group in the country, the Texas Rangers had never run a major siege operation. Their inclination was to take decisive action against criminals in the act of breaking the law. Even though they’d been at Waco in a support role to the FBI and had witnessed the tragic ending u
p close, they remained a decisive and action-oriented outfit. Yet they soon would confront their own major standoff and have to make the tough choice between immediate tactical action and more thoughtful negotiations.
In April 1997, almost one year after the Montana incident, I was back out west, standing beside a motor home command post overlooking the Davis Mountains of Texas, not far north of the border with Mexico. Once again I was on the scene to try and coax a bunch of right-wing separatists to come out from behind their barricade. Unlike the case with the Freemen in Montana, this time we had a clear leader to deal with. Unfortunately, he was not nearly as reasonable and likeable as Edwin Clark.
Richard McLaren, self-proclaimed chief ambassador and consul general of the Republic of Texas, the militia group in question, was a pompous, self-important man with a passionate belief in the righteousness of his cause. He and his fellow Republic of Texas members were also known to be armed, and they were responsible for a recent kidnapping. This was only one of many reasons the Texas Rangers were not going to be nearly as tolerant of delay as we had been at Justus Township.
Captain Barry Caver of the Texas Rangers was the overall tactical commander on the scene for the Republic of Texas siege, with sheriff’s deputies, municipal police, correctional authorities, Border Patrol, and FBI agents there to help.
We had a ham radio set up on a table outside the motor home, and Caver and I, plus Ranger sergeant Jess Malone, stood in the desert twilight and listened to McLaren’s irritating, high-pitched voice. The Republic of Texas leader was broadcasting yet another of his requests for fellow believers from other right-wing militias to come to his aid.
McLaren’s style on these transmissions was always overexcited, his manner of speaking rapid-fire, but this time his rhetoric grew ever more inflated with rage. I leaned in and listened more intently as he solemnly intoned, “Prepare the missiles.” This message wasn’t meant for his followers, I realized; it was meant for us. And in that instant, I knew our strategy was working.
“Prepare the missiles” meant that McLaren was desperate and scared. He and his men—our best estimate was that there were perhaps thirteen people involved—were known to have automatic weapons, but the idea that he would have missiles was preposterous. For days, via telephone, fax, and Internet, he had issued his “red alert.” He had spoken freely to media outlets and declared war on the authorities. All of his statements had seemed cocky and self-assured, as if, based on his own assessment of the fallout from Waco and our patience in Montana, he was confident that the Rangers and the other officers from the Texas Department of Public Safety would not assault his position. His appeals for assistance had attracted at least one group of militia members, driving a car with its trunk full of weapons, who were arrested trying to come to his aid. But as he broadcast his latest appeal, McLaren sounded like a cornered man at his wits’ end, no longer confident of anything. With daylight fading and darkness coming on, he seemed to be desperately posturing, trying to ward off any tactical action from the Rangers during the night.
Thirty-eight-year-old Jess Malone was the primary negotiator at the scene. In this collaboration, the FBI advisors were known as “the suits,” and the Rangers were known as “the hats.” Malone wore a white western shirt, white cowboy hat, and blue jeans with a custom leather belt and holster. From what I could tell of him, the western wear was not just a fashion statement. Muscular, tall, and tough-looking, Malone moved with all the no-nonsense authority you would expect of a Texas lawman.
Earlier, Jess had told McLaren over the telephone, “This has gone on a long time. We’re getting tired and we’re getting frustrated, and I have to tell you, the sooner you all come out, the safer it’ll be for everyone.”
Malone waited a beat, then added calmly, “We don’t want to see anyone get hurt.” His tone was nonthreatening, but of course his words held the unavoidable implication that failure to cooperate could lead to some very unpleasant consequences. Most important, he never provided McLaren the reassurance he sought that the Rangers would not attack. Operations might very well take place during the night. The authorities were determined to maintain measured control, but their patience was not endless.
My involvement with the Republic of Texas had begun two months earlier, in February 1997, when Davis County sheriff Steve Bailey asked the local FBI office to send experts to advise him on how to deal with McLaren and his followers. FBI profiler Al Brantley and I flew to Texas to size up the situation and offer whatever assistance we could.
Sheriff Bailey’s team was understaffed and isolated, and confronted by a man who seemed to be just about as grandiose as David Koresh. The sheriff wanted to keep things in Davis County from coming to a head and slipping out of control. He wanted no part of anything resembling the debacle at Ranch Apocalypse.
Holed up in a house trailer that he referred to as “the embassy,” McLaren had been making quite a nuisance of himself and, like the Freemen in Montana, spewing out hundreds of bogus liens against anyone who criticized him. He had even demanded that then governor George W. Bush and other officials vacate their offices. Members of the Republic of Texas (ROT)—tax protesters, political extremists, and con artists—believed, like the Freeman, that they were not subject to any state or federal laws.
The ROT’s principal claim was that Texas had been illegally annexed by the United States in 1845. Accordingly, the state was actually an independent, sovereign nation, and the federal government had no jurisdiction. Nor did the state government have any jurisdiction over the ROT because the politicians in Austin had subordinated themselves to Washington, rendering themselves impotent.
But McLaren’s views were so radical that he’d actually been impeached from the ROT mainstream, after which he had retreated to his property not only to avoid being arrested on charges related to the bogus liens but also to rally support and gain sympathy by taking a stand. Day after day, McLaren railed over the Internet against all forms of authority, saying that any attack against him would set off the liberation of America from the “new world order.” Like the Texas patriots at the Alamo, he vowed to never surrender.
With a little digging, what Al Brantley and I learned was that Richard Lance McLaren was a forty-three-year-old married Ohio native who had come to Texas from Missouri eighteen years earlier. The man who proclaimed himself chief ambassador and consul general of the ROT had not even been born in the Lone Star State.
Although McLaren and several of his fellow ROT members were under investigation for mail and bank fraud as well as conspiracy, there were no substantial federal charges against them, which meant there were legal limitations on the amount and type of assistance the FBI could provide. It was our shared view that any overt federal involvement would only make the situation worse by appearing to confirm McLaren’s charges that the federal government was heavy-handed and oppressive.
Al’s judgment was that McLaren was a man who mostly enjoyed being the center of attention, and I saw no reason to disagree. McLaren’s inability to get along with others meant that he could only preside over a small group of weak individuals who passively allowed him to speak on their behalf. With his Koresh-like verbal ability, he frequently engaged in rambling lectures to show others how smart he was. Much of his current anger stemmed from being ostracized by the ROT mainstream. He had no history of violence up to this time, and when arrested previously he had not resisted. Bottom line, Al and I felt that McLaren was mostly bluster.
But if the authorities moved against him, McLaren and his followers would most likely defend themselves. To ensure against anything resembling the siege at Waco, the better idea would be to lure McLaren away from the property and away from his bodyguards—the leadership decapitation we had carried out in Montana. But Sheriff Bailey had only one full-time and two part-time deputies, so this was not going to be an easy strategy to carry out. Accordingly, the sheriff decided to watch and wait and hope for the best.
Having done the best we could under our limit
ed mandate, Al and I headed back to Washington and the FBI academy.
On April 27, 1997, in the community of Davis Mountain Resort, Joe Rowe and his wife, Margaret Ann, were just about to eat a quiet Sunday lunch when three men and a woman, armed and dressed in military fatigues, burst in on them. The Rowes’ property stood adjacent to land owned by McLaren’s Republic of Texas, and the Rowes and the ROT had been engaged in an ongoing land dispute. For months members of the group had been patrolling the area and openly brandishing weapons, sometimes walking onto the Rowes’ property. That morning, Joe Rowe called the sheriff to complain about an armed trespasser. Responding to the scene, Sheriff Bailey arrested a forty-three-year-old man named Robert Jonathan Scheidt. “Captain of the embassy guard” for the ROT, Scheidt was carrying two assault rifles.
The ROT’s plan was to hold the Rowes hostage in exchange for Scheidt’s release from the county jail. The ROT also demanded the release of Jo Ann Turner, an ROT member arrested in Austin the previous week in connection with the group’s filing of bogus liens to obtain fraudulent loans.
It appeared that the sheriff’s watch-and-wait tolerance had given McLaren the impression that he could get away with anything. Now the authorities had no choice but to act. State troopers barricaded the road leading in and out of Davis Mountain Resort and asked the more than eighty nearby residents to stay inside their homes. Those who chose to leave were allowed out, but not back in.