by Reed Hill
“She obviously wants to be on the front page of every major newspaper in the country,” Lt. Governor Cutler said coolly.
“We can’t let that happen, sir,” Lopez said, “that would be a PR disaster.”
“Elaborate,” said the Governor.
“Well, for one thing, it sets her up as the white hat bringing in the villain like in some old western. We can’t let her waltz in here like she’s going to slap the cuffs on the big outlaw,” Lopez said.
As Chase considered Lopez’s theory, Doyle saw the auburn-haired lawyer slip her boss another piece of paper. Meacham then spoke, “Depends on how you manage it, sir. If you could manage the meeting in such a way that it is at least on neutral terms, it could create an image of a meeting between two important politicians. Don’t even acknowledge the subpoena – the U.S. Attorneys or even the AG herself is free to talk about anything. We have no fear here – we’re goddamn Texas.”
“I like that better,” Chase wagged his finger at Meacham. “Make a strong opening bid and get off the defensive.”
“Lopez, do you think you can make that work? Where would you meet?” AG Cantelli said.
“Have her come to your office in the capitol, perhaps?” Lopez said.
“Tell her you’re making a speech about the insurgency to the whole state from the Alamo,” Doyle jumped in. “Invite her to be our special guest. Hell, even walk the grounds with her, right out in the open air. You’ll be making the trip in part to make a statement about the insurgents, that Texas will never put up with attacks on our soil from Mexico.”
“And it will put a fine point on the fact that she doesn’t get to say ‘I’m here to serve you a subpoena’.” Lopez said.
“I like that. It’s strong, bold and yet diplomatic.” Chase said. “Set it up. Contact her people.”
“What time should I make it for sir, it’s a quarter after six right now?” said Lopez.
“Only one time you could choose on that, of course,” said Doyle as every head in the room pivoted to look at the young Deputy Chief of Staff. “High noon.”
Chase just grinned as he stood up, “Make it happen.”
*****
Three Eagles Ranch
Austin, Texas - July 5th, 2017 – 6:35 a.m.
When Brodie had gotten back to the ranch, Sara was already up and making coffee. He laughed as she saw his club buddies coming in the door and hustled back toward the bedroom. She was wearing only her lacy pink panties and one of his old ripped up Van Halen t-shirts. She had her chestnut brown hair up in a plastic clip. She padded hurriedly down the hall pulling her t-shirt down trying to cover her gorgeous behind. He enjoyed the moment amazed as always at how great she looked despite having three kids. He wished he could say the same, but time had beaten him down.
He was more in love with her than he had been when they married fifteen years ago, back when he didn’t want to spend a day without seeing her broad, freckled smile and dimpled cheeks. He still thought about how beautiful she was on their first date, walking on the beach at Blanco Park. She hadn’t changed a bit in sixteen years. She had put up with an awful lot in those years: the deployments overseas, the sporadic hard drinking, and Brodie’s moods swings. She had even managed to get her nursing degree done so they could have decent health care benefits. She spent all her time managing the kids’ schooling now, and did all kinds of volunteer work on top of it. Brodie didn’t deserve her. Sara had been a big part of him getting out of the Army after only eight years. He had to keep trying to make her happy, but he felt like he had forgotten how to do it. I need to really try.
Brodie stopped smiling when he saw the daggers she was shooting at him as she glared over her shoulder with her hazel eyes. There were a bunch of averted glances from the guys and also a few momentary stolen looks too. He chuckled. There was a time when that would have hacked him off, but now he just took it as a compliment, because she was a total fox. Brodie tried to usher the guys into the big hearth room. “Oh hey, honey,” he said, “A few the guys are coming over.”
“Did you even think to call?” she asked from the bedroom.
“Um...yeah…before we left,” he said sheepishly. “Sorry. It’s still pretty early – wasn’t sure you would be up.” As the fellas pulled up chairs and collapsed on couches, he tried to change the subject, “Have you seen the news, Sara? All heckfire is breaking loose down at the border in McAllen.”
“No, I just got up and did a few chores that someone forgot about,” she called from the bedroom. “What’s going on?”
“We don’t really know yet. There’s riots in McAllen I guess, and it looks pretty bad.”
“Oh do you mean like all the immigration protests a few years back?” Sara asked.
“Oh no, these are full scale riots – like we had seen in Chicago and LA on TV the past few summers, but even worse. The news footage was showing armored trucks and a lot of big time gunfire. It almost looked like stock footage from Kosovo.”
The guys shuffled in and took up most of the seating in the vaulted family room, with the masonry fireplace. It was a beautiful sandstone hearth that burned both wood and natural gas pumped by a small well on the east side of the property. Brodie’s dad had always said that his great-grandfather had bought the place from an old man who had built that fireplace when he settled on the property during the land run of 1889 as a twenty year old cowboy. It was a grand piece of art that dominated the large open area. Beyond it on either side was the kitchen and a hallway that led to the private areas of the home, which included the bedrooms, a study and a game room for the kids. The entry opened up to the living room, which was decorated in an old-world Spanish motif on the left, and the dining room on the right.
Frank Martin gave a long, low whistle as he shuffled past the kitchen, “Dang, must be nice to be a rich guy.”
“He ain’t rich, dumbass,” Finnegan slugged Martin in the shoulder. “His great granddaddy got into the oil and gas business way back when and built this place.”
“Yeah,” Kirk Thompson shot Martin a cutting look. “Most of the big oil companies ran the little guys out of business a long time ago. Brodie’s dad was one of them.”
Brodie had to concede that he had lived pretty high on the hog in the past, but not so much in the past few years. The property taxes and the bills were sky high on his eight hundred acres and buildings, and the natural gas and cattle business hadn’t done much more than pay the ever increasing taxes the last four or five years. Hell, who was he kidding? Based on the last IRS statement from his quarterly taxes, he was broke, and to make matters worse he didn’t have the heart to tell Sara. He really wished his dad was still around to help him run the business – he’d probably be better off in a lot of ways. “If you think I’m rich, you can pay my property taxes for me, the next time they come due, Frank. That’s enough make just about anybody feel poor mighty quick.”
Brodie never thought about the ranch house. He had grown up there. It was a very open airy home with the front four rooms all basically a single space, except for the huge hearth and a wall between the kitchen and dining room. A door in the living room led to a short hall, which opened up to a large mudroom and laundry. The lanai and the pool area were off the mudroom room, and the bedrooms were across on the south side of the house, enclosing the pool. Sara did an amazing job with the cleaning, and there were just a few scattered toys on the travertine tile and assorted mail and magazine clutter on a few side tables.
Brodie could see how someone could mistake him for a wealthy man by looking at his property, but a close inspection would show that a lot of repairs were needed. The house and matching decorative low wall that ringed it had pieces of stucco flaking off and hadn’t been painted in fifteen years. He had put off a lot of maintenance as well when the economy went bad, and, like many, he didn’t have the cash to keep up. He didn’t want to sell part of the land, but it was just about impossible to keep it going. He had been thinking lately that he might need to take a full-time
job over in Kerrville to pay the bills.
Sara emerged from the back hall in a gray jogging suit, glowering at Brodie, “And, somebody had to feed the horses.”
“Oh yes, good thinking, honey,” Brodie gave her a peck on the forehead as she passed into the kitchen and started putting a few stray dishes into the sink. “You’re amazing.”
Sara pushed him away, and was having none of his sucking up. “Okay, what do you want?” she folded her arms in front of her chest. “I suppose I need to make breakfast for all these freeloaders?”
There was chorus of groans and a few mock sobs from the gang, and Kirk Thompson, said “Hey, I resemble that remark.” Mark Simmons whimpered, “That hurts, Sara. It really does.”
“No, not just these guys,” Brodie trotted over to the kitchen table. “There are a couple more on their way, too,” he raised his eyebrows and threw his hands palms up. She snapped a little hand towel at him as he ducked and shrank back in feigned fear, but from the look on her face, he could tell she wasn’t happy about it.
Sara wandered over to the big stainless steel fridge and scanned it, “Okay, what does the brute squad want? I have eggs and bacon, a little sausage. Mex hashbrowns, and I could make pancakes.”
Mostly the response was just a barrage of “yes” to each thing named by two or more of the guys, so she just started handing the items to Brodie. He came behind her, and put his hand in the small of her back and lightly kissed the top of her head.
“You owe me, mister,” she whispered handing him the milk and pushing past him to get the biscuit mix from the cabinet. “We need to talk later – I mean really talk. That one hospice group said they’d consider me doing something part-time.”
“You know my feelings on that, baby,” he gave her a little squeeze as she scooted past. “The boys are just a little bit too young yet, plus how would we handle their school?” He nuzzled into her, “I know I’ve been a little out of it the past few months, but I think things are turning around.” A little out of it was a lie. He had been slacking on the ranch and at work with the business being so bad the last couple of years. Some days he barely got himself out of bed. In truth, he probably deserved what dad would’ve called the dirty rug treatment – taken outside and beat. Sara was patient, though, more so than any man rightly deserved.
Sara shot him a look of disbelief, and Brodie rubbed his whiskers and turned to look out the window at Molly chasing something, perhaps a bird, “I’ll help get the bacon going. We can talk about it more later.”
“No, no,” she protested with an upraised spatula she snatched from a drawer, “you go hang with your buddies. Lauren will be up in a little bit and she can help me. I asked her feed the horses, but she went back to bed I think.” There was laughter and carrying on from the gang as they talked and debated, “All this commotion with these yokels is going wake all them pretty soon anyway.”
“Thanks, honey. We’ll talk later – I promise.” He kissed her on the nose and shuffled off to the hearth room. I’m going to pay for this. Things hadn’t been good lately between them, and stunts like this didn’t help. He had just been in a fog, thinking about how he was going to scratch together the tax bill. My head hurts – I could really use a drink. He grimaced at the thought. He had promised everyone in this room that he had finally given up the booze for good; it was the fourth or fifth time he’d promised it. He only drank on weekends and holidays, pretty much. I’m not hurting anyone and can quit anytime I want. The kids and Sara have no clue.
The guys flipped on the big TV in the corner armoire and got CNN news going, and the tone quickly shifted. Brodie sat down on the hearth. “Change it to Action-5. We may get quicker updates with a local station.”
“Yeah, CNN is just going lie to you any and give you some dumbed-down whitewash spin anyhow,” Charlie Duggan shook his head.
The news held everyone’s focus for quite a while, but there wasn’t a lot of new information since they left the clubhouse. McAllen was in trouble, and police had not been able to contain it. They kept showing the Fuchs APC firing on the Police HQ. Some reports from El Paso showed video footage of the City Hall in flames surrounded by more APCs and Humvees. There were a lot of cops down in the footage, and Brodie was glad the boys weren’t up yet to see that. The serious nature stifled the rambunctious gang.
“Oh my Lord,” the spatula was shaking in Sara’s hand, as she looked at the images. She ran back to check on the bacon, and swatted Lauren on the rear with her spatula as she stumbled into the kitchen in her black leggings, long t-shirt and bunny slippers. Lauren had turned fourteen this past January, but her height and long, ash blonde locks made her appear older, particularly since she’d had her braces taken off a few months ago. Sara had reported the other day that Lauren was quite the object of intense attention this year from the boys at the Thursday home school group meetings. Lauren grumbled and rolled her eyes as Sara asked her to keep an eye on the pancakes.
“Morning sugarplum,” Brodie got up from the hearth and walked back to the edge of the kitchen, “Did you sleep okay?”
Lauren let out a groan and rubbed her eyes, “Mom got me up when it was almost still dark. It wasn’t my day to do the horses, Dad.”
“I know, honey. I’m sorry, but there is some real trouble going on, and me and my friends are trying to figure out what’s happening and what we might need to do about it.”
“Oh, okay,” Lauren yawned as she picked at the bacon with a pair of stainless steel tongs. “You need to pay me back for that.”
His family debts were piling up, “Yeah, I’ll go for a ride with you later. Just you and me. No boys.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Lauren sighed and flicked a blackened bit of bacon off the griddle, “that’s what you always say.”
“Hey Brodie,” Kirk Thompson’s voice called him back to the hearth room, “Come check this out.”
Simmons turned up the sound as news reporter began to broadcast, “Action-5 News has now been informed that National Guard troops are being organized in response to the rioting and violence. The source and cause of the riots are still unclear, but state and local law enforcement appear to be losing control of the two largest border cities in Texas.
Action-5 news also has an exclusive story from Del Rio affiliate KDRM-11 news, Justina Rivera joins us live from the outskirts of Del Rio.”
The attractive young Hispanic reporter took the intro and ran with it, “Here in Del Rio and in Val Verde county, citizens are in fear for their lives as marauders and violent border jumpers are wreaking havoc on the city and sending local law enforcement searching for answers. Just a few moments ago we spoke with Val Verde County Sheriff Jose Castillo about the problems.” They cut to a head and shoulders shot of an older Hispanic man in a wide brimmed drill sergeant’s hat near a number of sheriff cruisers outside. From off camera the reporter asked, “Sheriff, what can you tell us about what happening here?” There were pops like firecrackers from somewhere behind the Sheriff, and he glanced momentarily over his shoulder and then replied to the camera, “We’ve had a serious border breach here in Val Verde county by land and by sea on the Amistad Reservoir.”
The young reporter asked quickly, “How has the border been breached? By whom, sir? How many?”
“We don’t know how many, ma’am at this time, but it doesn’t look like typical border jumping activity.”
“How so, Sheriff? What do you mean?”
“I can’t comment with specifics other than to say…the areas around downtown and extending to the north are…unstable, and we would request that residents simply stay in their homes and lock their doors.” The Sheriff turned away hurriedly, “I’ve got to go now, I’m sorry.”
The young reporter re-appeared, adjusted her earpiece and hastily put her arm down, “Those shots were taken from the Highway 277 bridge at Amistad Reservoir just fifteen minutes ago, and we’ve since been asked to move this location about five miles east for our own safety. You could hear the crack of gunfire repea
tedly where we interviewed Sheriff Castillo, so it’s clear to this reporter that Del Rio is experiencing some major violence. A Sheriff’s Department spokesperson asked us to please urge residents of Val Verde County to remain indoors and to contact the Sheriff’s office or Del Rio Police should they experience anything unusual in their homes or neighborhoods. Del Rio in chaos this morning. This is Justina Rivera, KDRM News 11.”
“Oh my Lord in heaven…” Sara’s voice broke the silence as she went back to the stove where the pancakes were burning on the big griddle. “Dangit, I’m gonna have to start these flapjacks over.”
No one was particularly worried about breakfast after that report. “Damn, man, “ John Finnegan swiveled in his chair and rubbed his hands on his jeans, “That’s less than three hours from here and probably an hour and half to my parents’ place in Rocksprings.“
“My mom lives in Uvalde – that’s only an hour from Del Rio on Highway 90,” Joe Calderon said quietly.
It was like a wake in Brodie’s house. No one said anything more for what seemed like fifteen minutes. He didn’t think anyone really knew what to say. The clinks and clanks of Sara and Lauren working on breakfast just hung in the air.
“Let’s get to eating as soon as we can,” Brodie said standing stood up. “We’ve got things to do.”
*****
Federal Bureau of Investigation – Strategic Information and Operations Center
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, D.C. – July 5th, 2017 – 7:04 am
“Thanks everyone for taking time out of your schedules to make this happen so early in the morning,” Margolis said speaking into the conference line phone that looked like a funny large star-fish, his only company in the large conference room. “Before we begin, can we do a quick roll call, just to establish who is on the line and what areas we’re representing?”