“Thank you, Chief Justice. We implore the Court, due to the fact that the upcoming elections will be held before this case is heard, to allow the restraining order to remain intact, if it please the Court. Also, to force Texas and Oklahoma to change decades of precedence on how we run our state elections without those states’ day in court is un-American.”
“What’s un-American is discriminating against your citizens to alter the outcome of certain elections. What’s un-American is encouraging citizens to participate in a treasonous and illegal vote. The Supreme Court of the United States is adjourned,” said Haverton sternly as she slammed down the gavel.
At 4:00 p.m. the next day, the Supreme Court ruled.
In a 5-4 decision, the Court overturned the temporary restraining order, allowing the executive order to stand until trial by the district court. The Court also ruled that Texas and Oklahoma must adhere to the executive order and prove to the Federal Elections Commission that the CIS balloting system was implemented.
Chapter 33
“History is the version of past events that people have decided to agree upon.”
Napoleon Bonaparte (1769-1821)
French Emperor
Pops Younger spent the entire next day with Zach, Will and Beard. They pored over the documents, files and transmissions Beard had decoded from Ottosson’s devices. Pops was deeply impressed with the professionalism and work ethic of the Free Texas trio.
The four of them were so deeply entrenched into the examination of the records and files that none of them were paying close attention to anything going on outside of Pops’ ranch. They were still wearing the same clothes they came to the ranch in the day before.
Will had stepped outside the ranch house with a cup of coffee to stretch his legs and to take a peek at a couple of Pops’ longhorn cattle that were rubbing their faces and immense horns on the split rail fencing. While checking his phone, he saw a breaking news alert come across regarding the executive order that was issued the day before.
“Holy crap…” he exclaimed, tossing the coffee from his cup and running back into the ranch house.
“Guys, check the news. Bartlett issued an executive order stating Texas has to use the CIS balloting system! A Dallas judge issued a restraining order, and the attorney general got it fast-tracked to the Supreme Court. They are in session this morning!”
“You can’t be serious,” said Beard. They all started looking at their phones, trying to digest what was happening.
Pops immediately got on the phone with the governor’s office.
Zach was initially worried that Pops would start to divulge the information they presented, but was relieved that Pops seemed to be listening and not speaking much on his call with Governor Brahman.
As soon as he ended the call, Pops picked up a new cigar, sat in his chair and lit it, drawing a deep toke on the large stogie.
“What’s the angle here, gentlemen? What is Bartlett trying to accomplish?” asked Zach.
“Well, son, you probably can already figure this out. Want to try?” asked Pops.
“Bartlett is hedging her bets. They got rid of Noyner, so now they control the Supreme Court. She can issue any executive order she wants. Congress is impotent, and she owns the Court. They want this balloting system in before the next elections, but especially before any referendum vote,” guessed Zach.
“Well, yes,” said Pops calmly before taking another toke on his cigar, then stroking his bushy mustache, “but our esteemed lady president appears to be complicit in the murder of a Supreme Court chief justice. Hell, Louis L’Amour couldn’t have written a cheap dime-store novel anyone would have taken seriously with this plot.”
“It would appear so, but I think we all know how much more serious this is. We are talking about the gutting of the Constitution, literally,” Zach shot back.
“Okay, it’s official,” announced Will as he looked up from his phone. “The Supreme Court has ruled and will not uphold the restraining order.”
“Damn,” said Zach and Beard.
Everyone’s attention now turned to Pops, who stood and walked over to one of the panoramic windows that looked out over his ranch. It was clear he was thinking. As Beard looked at Pops’ silhouette in contrast to the light shining through the window, he couldn’t help but go back to the image he remembered seeing in a textbook as a child. It was the picture of John F. Kennedy looking out a window at the Oval Office at the height of the Cuban Missile Crisis. Kennedy looked alone, like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
The silence was deafening, and it seemed to go on forever. Zach couldn’t stand it.
“This just keeps getting worse by the day,” he stated.
“Boys, we’ve got to tell the governor. He has to know what we know. Those bastards are destroying it all. They’ve got to be stopped,” said Pops firmly.
“I’d be open to that, Pops, as long as we have some assurance it’s a tightly controlled dissemination of the evidence to a very trusted circle of people,” Zach replied. “I’ve got brothers at Langley and elsewhere who this administration would love to unmask and eliminate.”
Pops turned from the window slowly, then peered at the three with those piercing eyes, “Boys, these folks are scumbags of the worst kind. They won’t think twice about putting a bullet in your eye. All three of you are in serious danger. Hell, I suppose your families are, too. You better git them to high ground.” That was Pops’ way of saying to move them to a safer place.
It wasn’t until just that moment that the enormity of what was happening actually hit Zach, Will and Beard. Zach looked at both of them. “This is what we and our teams have prepared for for years,” he said, loud enough for Pops to hear. “It ain’t what we wanted, but damned if it hasn’t come true.”
“The question is, will anyone else really care? Hell, I know people in Texas will care, and care a lot about this. But the rest of the country? Doubtful,” Will lamented.
“We will definitely be in the minority. You could show people the facts and they still will refuse to believe it,” said Beard.
“Boys, this country has been gone for a while. Texas was and is the last hope. But I gotta tell y’all, I thought I would be out there six foot under that giant pecan tree you see over there full of worms before this would have ever gotten this bad. America is a rotting corpse and it’s beginning to stink to high heaven.”
“Well, it’s now infected Texas. The question is, can this disease be reversed or should we amputate ourselves from the rotting corpse?” asked Zach.
“Damned if I know how to answer that, son,” said a distressed Pops, “but I do know that, just like an ol’ sawbones on the battlefield, there comes a time when there ain’t no more pussyfootin’ around. Ya gotta take that leg or arm, or the soldier dies.”
Chapter 34
“Purveyors of political correctness will, in the final analysis, not even allow others their judgments... They celebrate “difference,” but they will not allow people truly to be different―to think differently, and to say what they think.”
- Mark Berley
Author
Pops Younger and Zach Turner waited in Governor Brahman’s office for fifteen minutes. Pops never sat down in one of the big burnt-orange, oversized leather stuffed chairs or couch. Pops stood in front of the framed 1789 flag, contemplating it, almost paying homage to the events it represented.
“It’s my first time to see it,” said Zach as he walked over to stand next to Pops. “Amanda Flores was a hero. So was Chuck Dixon. I’m just in awe to be standing near it.”
“Damn near brings me to tears every time I’m in here to see the gov. I’m going to tell him this needs to be displayed where more Texans can see it.”
“It’s probably all the dried-up blood on the flag that keeps it from being displayed publicly. We’ll have to ask the governor,” said Zach.
“Damned folks oughta see it takes blood to maintain liberty,” shot back Pops. “Those folk
s gave their lives for a non-binding referendum.”
“I wonder what they would do today if they knew what we know?” Zach thought out loud.
“Same thing; just wouldn’t be a non-binding vote. Wouldn’t be a damn thing symbolic about it. It would be the real deal,” said Pops.
“Do you think that’s where this is headed?” asked Zach.
Before Pops could answer, Governor Brahman, Lieutenant Governor Tommy Wilson, and Texas Attorney General Bradley Drummond came through the door. They all walked over to the large conference table on the other side of the office and took seats.
“Dang it, Pops. I’m so sorry we kept you waiting,” apologized the governor, who knew Pops would never keep him waiting if the roles were reversed. “This damned IRS thing is outta control. I understand they went after you, too.” The governor peered at Pops quizzically.
“Damned straight. I got suits all over the damned place trying to clean this mess up. They’re after all of us, it seems,” answered Pops.
“Let’s get settled in here, gentlemen. I’m almost hesitant to ask about the details of your request to meet, Pops. I can only remember one other time you said something was urgent, and it wasn’t good news.”
“No, Smitty, it wasn’t,” Pops responded.
“Pops called me the night the governor and his wife were killed. Dark days, very dark days.” The governor loosened his tie.
“Sir, I think you know Zach Turner.” Pops motioned to Zach.
“Yes, we’ve met on a few occasions. Nice to see you again, Zach. Let me introduce Lieutenant Governor Tommy Wilson and Attorney General Bradley Drummond.
After the introductions, Governor Brahman turned to Pops. “Okay, Pops, let me have it. What news do you have?”
“Sir, Zach here brought me a bunch of evidence that him and his boys have been gathering…”
“His boys?” asked Drummond. “Excuse me, everyone, but maybe I’m not up to speed on Mr. Turner and his organization. Can you enlighten me, Mr. Turner, so that I can put whatever you tell us about into some kind of context?”
“Sure. First, I’m former Special Forces, Navy Seal to be exact. After thirteen years, I was recruited by the CIA and went to work for them as an operative. About five years ago, I left the agency due to what I would describe as irreconcilable philosophical differences. I came back to my hometown in Katy, Texas and founded a corporate security firm.” Zach took a look around at the other men, then continued, “I also started an organization called Free Texas, which focuses on issues concerning Texas’ sovereignty and adherence to the Constitution.”
“So, you’re a militia?” asked Drummond.
“That’s a fairly broad term,” Zach stated. “Let’s just say we have a network of like-minded individuals who maintain preparedness for any kind of disaster, natural or political.”
“How many in your group are ex-CIA?” asked Drummond.
“I’m not at liberty to say, sir,” replied Zach, making sure he didn’t tell them he had his own people still embedded at the CIA.
“If Pops vouches for this man, he’s my friend, too,” Brahman said flatly. “Can you describe this evidence Pops was referring to when he called me?” He looked over at Zach.
“With all due respect, sir, this information is highly sensitive and, if it gets in the wrong hands, could have dire consequences. It would be my preference, sir, with no disrespect to either the lieutenant governor or the attorney general, if you, Pops, and I discussed the nature of the data I have before we decide to share it with others.”
“I understand, but I do want you to know I trust these two gentlemen as well.”
“I’m sure you do, sir,” smiled Zach. “And I mean no disrespect at all, but can we present it to you before we decide who else needs to know?” asked Zach.
The body language of the other two officials changed noticeably. Who in the heck was this guy, telling the governor who the information could or could not be shared with?
“Pops, you’ve seen this information. Your call,” deferred the governor.
“When you see this, Smitty, you will likely want these folks involved sooner than later but, since this young man and his team risked their butts to get this info, I say we respect his wishes,” advised Pops.
“Gentlemen,” the governor said, looking at Wilson and Drummond as they began to get up. “We will get back to you soon. Thank you for coming in.”
Wilson and Drummond excused themselves and left the room, displeasure and disapproval following in their wake. They were not happy.
Once they settled back at the table, Zach asked if it was okay if he brought Beard and Will into the meeting. The governor, at first hesitant after dismissing his top two state officials, agreed to bring Zach’s colleagues in to present the information.
For the next two hours, the trio from Free Texas led the governor through the same evidence presented to Pops. For the most part, Pops didn’t add anything to the conversation unless asked. The governor lit a cigar, but was so engrossed in the information that he never smoked it, and it went out on its own sitting in the large ashtray.
“My God, I knew we had some serious problems in the federal government, but this is beyond the pale. What we could be seeing here is our Republic in its final death throes. What in the hell do we do with this?” asked the governor.
“It should be as clear as the Guadalupe River what the hell these IRS dipshits are up to,” said Pops.
“Crystal,” replied Zach. “It’s their stock in trade. It’s called intimidation, and they are doing it to those who voted for the referendum.”
“Chief Justice Noyner and that poor State Senator Milsap and his family. Damn.”
“Smitty, this reference to Madison really has the hairs up on my neck. Hard to imagine they are cookin’ up somethin’ worse, but these damned folk are downright evil. My gut tells me it has something to do with your called session.”
Beard had been sitting silently listening to Pops, the governor and Zach, only answering questions as they came up.
“Madison. Of course…” said Beard thoughtfully.
Everyone stopped talking and focused on Beard.
“What? You figured out their next operation?” asked Zach.
“Not exactly, but I have a hunch,” explained Beard.
“What do you have?” asked Will, now curious himself.
“Yes, do tell. Even a hunch at this point is more than anything else we have,” said the governor.
“James Madison,” replied Beard.
“The Founder?” asked the governor. “Okay, what could it mean?”
“It’s only a hunch,” Beard reiterated.
Everyone just sat looking at Beard for a few seconds, trying to connect the dots.
“Oh, my God. Of course!” exclaimed Will.
“Damn it!” cursed Zach.
“What? What does it mean?” pressed Governor Brahman.
“James Madison is the author of the 2nd Amendment,” stated Beard.
Chapter 35
“The liberties of our country, the freedom of our civil Constitution, are worth defending at all hazards; and it is our duty to defend them against all attacks.”
- Samuel Adams (1722-1803)
Founding Father, Organizer of the Boston Tea Party
The next morning, Governor Brahman walked into his regular staff meeting with a sense of purpose. He scheduled this one an hour earlier than usual, starting at 7:00 a.m.
The governor’s schedule for the day was packed. After the thirty-minute meeting, he was to go straight to the airport for a short flight to San Antonio to speak to a GOP women’s conference, then turn right back around and fly back to Austin to meet with Pops Younger, Tommy Wilson, and Bradley Drummond to reveal some of the information passed on by the Free Texas trio.
As the governor’s vehicle pulled up to the Texas Department of Public Safety Aviation terminal at the Austin airport, the King Air 400 twin turboprop was already running its propellers and
poised to roll down the tarmac when the governor’s entourage boarded. Traveling with the governor was Lieutenant Governor Wilson. The flight to San Antonio was a short one, only twenty minutes or less from take-off to touch down.
Wilson had sensed something ominous in the meeting with Pops that Wilson was asked to leave. He called the governor the night before Brahman’s San Antonio trip and asked to join him so he could get some one-on-one time with the governor to discuss what he learned in his meeting.
The gleaming King Air, adorned with the State Seal of Texas on the tail, rocketed down the runway and caught air quickly, climbing rapidly.
As it flew over the road at the end of the south runway, the flight attendant looked down to see the cars parked at a small parking lot made for aviation enthusiasts.
Six cars were parked watching planes taking off, including a plain white panel van. The two occupants sitting in the front seat looked up.
“Bye, bye governor,” said Vasily Volkov to his comrade as he put the van in drive and slowly left the parking lot.
Fourteen minutes into the flight, at an altitude of eighty-eight hundred feet, a red warning light began flashing in the cockpit.
“Low on fuel? Hmmm… Got to be a malfunction. We are full of fuel,” said the co-pilot.
“Reset the indicator,” instructed the pilot.
“It won’t reset. I watched them load the fuel. It’s got to be an indicator malfunction,” said the co-pilot, confident no real issue existed.
Suddenly, an engine warning light came on for the starboard engine.
“Starboard engine not getting fuel. I don’t like this; should we put her down?” asked the co-pilot, now with some fear creeping into his voice.
“RPM is not dropping; makes me think it’s the electronics,” shot back the pilot.
The passengers had no clue this type of activity was going on in the cockpit. The governor and lieutenant governor were deep into their conversation, and the flight attendant had just freshened their coffees.
Purge on the Potomac Page 18