by Reed Hill
“I assume there’s still no communication from the insurgent leadership?” Jeff asked, and glanced at Callie as he sat back noticing her intense gaze.
“That’s correct,” replied General Dinger.
“We’re still going to be ready to launch at 0600?” Governor Chase stopped at the head of the table and placed his hands down on it.
“Yes, we will be ready, Governor.”
“All right,” Chase stood up and surveyed the room. “Unless anyone here has any last questions…” Lopez and Jeff both shook their heads and looked down to the table. “Okay, thank you gentlemen. We’ll reconnect briefly again in two hours for any updates.”
“Very good, Governor.”
With that, Jeff pushed the red ‘end call’ button on the display, and glanced over to Callie giving her a slight wink that only she could see.
“Okay,” Chase set his heels back and folded his arms across his broad chest. “It looks like our Guardsmen are outnumbered about four to one.”
“Might be a little worse than that, depending on what the Big Bend State Park enemies are up to,” Jeff sat up and put his elbows on the table.
“We might need to risk one more call on this old phone.” Chase walked back toward the doorway to the kitchen grabbing his glass off the table.
“How’s that, sir?” Lopez bit on the line.
“Someone ask the owners,” Chase pointed to the green phone that still lay on the table. “See if they can call God’s direct line with that phone.”
Callie allowed a nervous laugh, even though the joke was wildly inappropriate. That didn’t stop Lopez from braying like a mule. Jeff offered a chuckle but then looked away to Callie as Governor Chase disappeared into the kitchen. He just blinked and lightly shook his head, when Lopez got up from the table with his own glass in hand. Callie felt for the necklace and sighed a bit when her fingers found the gold cross. If anyone did call, God would answer. She was living proof of that.
Would anyone at the table make that call besides her?
Would Jeff?
*****
Three Eagles Ranch
Outside of Hunt, Texas - July 5th, 2017 – 7:22 p.m.
“They will definitely have a tougher time tracing us on this,” Doyle pushed the cheap wireless to the center of the dining room table. Neither Governor Chase nor Lopez made a move toward the inexpensive handheld, regarding rather like the last banana of the bunch, blackened and alone at the bottom of the fruit bowl. In truth, it was probably not true. The National Security Administration data center in Utah probably would recognize the signal as any other, but the trace would likely just not identify the owner. It could still be triangulated like any other wireless signal, but it might pass an initial screening and buy them a little time. Depending on how old the landline underground wires were, that might still be the better choice.
“So we’re sure it’s clean?” Governor Chase scrutinized the device and glanced up at Doyle.
“I just took it out of the package and activated it myself prior to the call with the Generals.” Doyle reached out and keyed a few numbers for the Governor’s benefit. “It’s obviously not luxurious by any stretch, but it seems to work just fine.” Just like Haslett claimed, the handheld had not been activated and it was a brand new in the package with the return seals unbroken on the sides. Haslett hadn’t lied. Well, at least he hadn’t about that. About other matters Doyle was still skeptical. “I still wouldn’t stay on the line long, though. At best, the lack of an owner will buy us a little time up front. The federal government can track any wireless signal to its location, given enough time.”
Governor Chase blew out a vigorous breath, “Okay, well let’s not dilly-dally around. Let’s get on with it.”
“I’ll time it on my watch and give you guys a signal when the time starts adding up?” Doyle pushed up his sleeve and clicked his runner’s watch, making it beep in reply. “How much time before I need to signal.”
“I would say you have three minutes, maybe four,” Lopez leaned back with his arms crossed in front of him.
“Oh wow,” Doyle’s eyes widened a bit, “I was going to say ninety seconds.”
“Let’s keep it short if we can.” Chase rubbed his chin. “I don’t want to take any chances.”
“Okay, what contact info do we have for the President?” Doyle looked at Chase and then at Lopez. “We don’t want to go through the public switchboard – we’ll be dead ducks on a trace attempt that way.”
Lopez’s face fell, “I have a couple of numbers, but I think they’re back at the war room in the residence.”
“Are you thinking about your folio? The big black one?” Doyle asked the Chief of Staff.
“Yes, I’m pretty sure it’s back at the mansion.”
Callie rolled her eyes a little at the lame excuse, and she crossed her legs under the table shifting on the seat. Doyle found it interesting to see her reacting in his defense. He liked it.
“In that case, we’re in luck,” Doyle brightened up. “I loaded all your contacts into your tablet last month. Don’t you remember asking me to do that?” Doyle looked at Lopez with narrowed eyes. Why the hell is he pretending he doesn’t know this? What game was he playing?
“Oh right, of course!” Lopez sat up higher and patted the red oak table top. “That’s excellent. Now where is my briefcase?” Lopez glanced around with a bit of a frown, “I don’t use that tablet as much as Jeff does, but it’s good for the schedule and a few key things.”
Jeff scanned the room and saw the black leather case in the corner, next to his own. “It’s there behind you in the corner, Joe,” Doyle pointed toward it. “It’s next to mine there.”
As Lopez got up to fetch his briefcase, his wireless fell from his lap, landing by Doyle’s foot. Instinctively, Jeff grabbed it nearly before it stopped moving. It sprang from its black ‘sleep’ mode at the jarring fall and as Doyle brought it up to his lap he glanced down and noticed recent activity in the text messaging screen. Were those texts from this afternoon? Lopez knows were on communication lock down.
As Lopez fumbled through his briefcase, Jeff felt his pulse quicken as he scanned the messages.
Rodeo Maestro.
El Chacal.
Papa Bear.
Bear hunt?
What the hell was Lopez up to?
Doyle quickly replaced the device on Lopez’s seat when his boss stood up waving the tablet.
“Here we go. I’ve got it now.” Lopez wandered back to his seat and snapped up the wireless before sitting down. He glanced at the handheld glaring at Doyle, as he put the device in his pocket and set the tablet before him on the table. He started pushing buttons and wiping the screen, looking for numbers in the address book. “Let’s see if Jeff got the important numbers in here.”
He noticed Callie scowl a little out of the corner of his eyes, and her heard retort with a sigh that a carried a bit of a scold. Doyle was expecting the punishment since the ‘firing’ and his rebellion in the car on the way to Alamo Park. My God, that seems almost like a lifetime ago.
It took a minute, but Lopez eventually found what he was looking for with a dramatic wave of his hand as if her were some magician, “And there it is.” His demeanor became serious once more, “The note says ‘Private Office’ and ‘Oval Office’ with a separate number for each.” His face was puzzled rather than triumphant suddenly, and then he relaxed and settled back in his seat. “So, we’ve got two numbers.”
“We got both numbers from the President when she spoke at the Governors’ Conference in March. The private office is in the West Wing separate from the Oval Office.” Doyle looked up at the Governor. “Her Chief of Staff knew we wanted to talk immigration, and they were fresh in the glow of their victory and almost seemed eager to give them.”
“Bet they regret that now,” Lopez muttered, which drew a hot look from Governor Chase.
“What’s our best bet? Private Office or Oval Office?” Chase wandered about the head o
f the table.
“I’d say use the Oval Office line. We’re on official business, so let’s act like it,” Lopez patted the table a little too forcefully.
“True, but…” Doyle rubbed his chin between his thumb and forefinger, “I would tend to go the other way. The Private Office may be less likely to be traced and would give us more time, I think.” Of course, Lopez reacted with overblown rolling of his eyes.
“Private Office would be lower risk, I would think,” Callie offered with a quick glance to Doyle.
“Let’s use the Private Office. I want low risk of discovery.” Chase had that resolute look, so Jeff craned his neck over and started dialing. Lopez didn’t bother arguing, rather he just pursed his lips and sat back with one hand on the table.
Doyle saw Callie give him a funny look, and he made a mental note to get her opinion. He wondered if that was a good idea.
Jeff dialed the number and put it on speaker phone. As the line connected and began to ring, Chase grabbed a chair near the phone and waited. Doyle scrutinized Lopez. He seemed relaxed. His narrowed as he realized Doyle was inspecting him, and then his eyes darted to the phone as it rang a third time and was picked up. What are you up to Lopez?
“President Denton’s office, may I help you?” It was a female voice that sounded quite young.
“This is Frank Chase, the Governor of Texas. I need to speak with the President right away.” Chase was authoritative and nodded as he saw Jeff start the timer on his runner’s watch.
“She’s in the other office. One moment while I connect you.”
There were a couple of clicks in quick succession, and a pause after which the President picked up, “Governor Chase, I wondered if I would actually hear from you.”
“I have had the same thought Madam President, although I’m quite sure it’s for different reasons.” Chase leaned into the phone with his wide clutching the edges of the table.
“I have to say Mr. Chase that you have exhausted the forbearance of the U.S. Government, and have evaded federal officers on multiple occasions. Good people have died trying to get you to cooperate – you need to turn yourself in.”
“It’s truly a tragedy that those people had to die in so futile, so tyrannical an effort. I’m calling as a courtesy to inform you that we will be dealing with our problem on the border on our own. We expect you not to interfere. We know this is difficult, but all we ask is that you do no harm.”
“What’s tragic is what you and your staff have done to our sacred Union, Mr. Chase. Your independence and desire to go it alone have brought us to this point. You have conspired to commit treasonous acts and have provoked insurrection against your government with this unlawful Subdivision stunt. Its name is quite apt in that its divisive nature is an imminent menace to the country. Such an unlawful, unconstitutional act cannot be allowed to stand, and neither can a Governor who has assented to it.”
“Understand that I, and most Texans view it in diametric opposition – we feel it is the U.S. Government that has violated the blessed compact, and your stance is evidence of that fact. We, in Texas, have done nothing other than exercise our right under a lawfully executed resolution between the Republic of Texas and the United States and signed by President Polk. We are simply following our vision for what we believe will make for a more perfect union.”
“I have the documents from your Secretary of State. You’re setting yourself up as the President of a new Republic of Texas. Your actions are unconstitutional are contemptuous to the spirit of the Founders, Mr. Chase.”
“Madam, from our point of view it is the U.S. Government that has constantly abridged and assailed the Constitution, particularly the 1st, 2nd, 4th and 10th Amendments as written and intended by the Founding Fathers. Any other view is simply progressive fantasy. Anyone can see we’re less free than ever before. Policies, programs and regulations coming out of Washington seek to control every aspect of our lives with no room for deviation. Federalism has been sacrificed for the alleged greater good of the people – we now have a national government, where the states no longer matter. Texas has been forced to go it alone, because the federal government not only doesn’t help, but puts shackles on us and says ‘run’. The Bill of Rights have been shredded and the people of Texas will stand for it no longer.”
“Understand this sir,” there was a pause and some shuffling on the other end. Doyle glanced at his watch and started to signal vigorously for Chase to end the call. “The U.S. Government holds that Texas is in a state of insurrection and it requires your immediate compliance with lawful federal subpoenas. Continue down this path at your own peril. Your decisions have created an inertia that propels us toward a military response. Comply or you will be met with the full weight of the government’s anger.”
“Do what you must, Madam President. That is what we intend to do.”
*****
Outside of Hunt, Texas - July 5th, 2017 – 7:55 p.m.
Raúl looked over the gang and wished that Hector had been able to get more men. There were about twenty-five of them in five 4x4 trucks, and Raúl grimaced. Some of them were real cabrónes, but he thought that was inevitable given that they were Mara. Apparently, it was too much to ask for the Mohawked bastardo, Hector, to make sure that he brought men who weren’t hung over, because several of them looked in pretty rough shape. A couple swayed around enough that Raúl suspected they were drunk or high. A few military men would have been preferable, but this was the crew that Hector had been able to round up.
Hector held himself up leaning by against the truck, and Raúl thought he might have been falling asleep behind his wraparound black sunglasses. He was a cokehead which made him more volatile than a wounded bull at bull fight, and at times like this, Raúl hated dealing with the guy. But he had orders.
“Okay, guys tonight we go after the big prize. We have several VIPs in the government of Texas at a compound about five miles from here. If we take them out, it will mean big rewards for all of us from the bosses. More importantly, it will be a huge blow to the morale of the U.S. government. It is very important to our cause. Taking them alive would be ultimate slap in the face.”
“I don’t care as much about the cause, as I do making sure I get paid,” Hector snarled, pivoted his head on his shoulders. “That and getting me some fine perras to keep me company at night.” He smiled and high-fived the thug next to him and mimed the female form and slicking back his Mohawk, drawing hoots and jeers from the gang.
Raúl slid the backpack off his shoulder and threw it at Hector’s feet, “Here’s half the money now. You get the other half when it’s all over and we have the VIPs with us, dead or alive.”
“There may be women up there also, but they’re not part of the government, so do what you will with them.” This drew more whistles and jeers from the outlaws and Raúl just waited until they settled down. “I’m told you’ve done an excellent job, and lost very few friends to the Anglos. The big bosses are very pleased, and would offer a big bonus to us if we could take the top one, el Gobernador, alive.”
Quite a bit of chatter and jeering broke out when Raúl uttered the title of the man that so many of them had come to despise. To the vast majority of them, he was Anglo leader who was threatening to deport all of them, no matter what his overseers in the nation’s capital said he had to do. Raúl and all of the Mara were familiar with these kinds of petty authoritarians. The Central and South Americans were more than intimate with the dealings of those drunk on power from El Salvador and Guatemala to Venezuela and Chilé. It might be difficult to talk them into allowing him to live at any price.
“Now, regardless of your feelings, it’s in our best interest to take him alive. There’s also Mexican brother inside helping us, so leave him alive as well. He is a short man in his mid-fifties with a peasant, half-mestizo appearance and probably the only one of us there among the Anglos. Sort of a round-face like me. He’s a politico like el Gobernador, so don’t shoot any round Mexicans you see wea
ring expensive clothes!” This, of course, drew a chorus of laughter and jeering.
“If he’s a político, he deserves to die,” Hector sneered.
“I agree,” Raúl laughed, “but we’ll make more money if he’s left alive.” After more mocking from the crowd, Raúl continued, “We’ve gone over the plan already, so just be ready to go in a little while. Hector will drop me at the designated spot with Diaz, Vargas and Apestosito, and he will take the rest of you around to the northwest, making the main strike from the there. Just like we talked about. The four of us,” Raúl pointed to the three in front, “we will come on foot through the stand of fruit trees from the southwest, leaving our truck behind.”
“No one kills any women unless I say,” Hector barked scowling at the crew. “If you do, you’ll answer to me.”
Raúl shuddered thinking about what el Mohawk might do to any women there. Better just to shoot them. Hector was certainly terrible, but from the teardrop tattoo at his eye, Raúl knew that he was one of the protegidos, the protected, and couldn’t be touched. He had backers in high places and amigos in the worst of the low ones. Go after him, and you wouldn’t be safe anywhere, even in solitary in a U.S. prison, Raúl thought.
Pretty soon this would be all over and Hector would be someone else’s problem. His mind wandered to Josefina and Julio. When he was done here, they would have enough money for the rest of their lives, and Raúl supposed that fact made it worth the risk. They deserved the land back from the infidels, but he still wanted to watch Julio grow up. He wanted to be an old papito walking hand in hand with Josefina in the market, picking fruit and complaining about the heat. It will all be over soon.
“Okay, we leave in ten minutes, so get ready.”
*****
Doyle caught Callie by the arm and spun her towards him. “Hey, you look a little different than the last time I saw you.”