“You think that’s who they worked for?”
Parker nodded. “I’d bet on it. In fact, I’d bet the whole thing is nothing but a cover for a black ops shop.”
“Is there anybody left in the government you can trust?”
As they came up to the SUV, Ford said, “That, my little friend, is the jackpot question.”
But before they could attempt to answer it, a man stepped out from behind the black vehicle, pointed a rifle at them, and said, “Y’all just hold it right there where you are, fellas, or by God, I’ll have to shoot you.”
CHAPTER 31
Ford knew instantly that the man wasn’t one of the government assassins who’d been sent after Earl Trussell and the two rogue CIA agents traveling with him. This man wore boots, jeans, a faded work shirt, and a cowboy hat with a tightly curled brim. His hawklike face was permanently tanned by long exposure to the sun until his skin looked like old saddle leather.
Even though the man looked like something from the Nineteenth Century, the rifle he pointed at them certainly didn’t. It was modern and high-powered, and he handled the weapon like he knew how to use it.
“Well,” he said after a tense minute, “y’all don’t look like a bunch o’ damn drug smugglers. You’re sure loaded down with guns, though, like they usually are.”
“You’ve had trouble with smugglers before?” Ford asked.
“Everybody in this part of the country has. They fly that poison over the border, then pick it up in trucks and spread it out all over the place. Shootin’s too good for scum like that.”
“I agree with you,” Parker said. “And we’re definitely not drug smugglers.”
“We’re not even Mexicans,” Earl said.
The leathery stranger snorted. “Hell, there’s some anglos work for them cartels. I saw the smoke and heard a bunch o’ shooting, so I figured a couple of rival gangs were tryin’ to kill each other. Then I come out here and find a couple o’ fellas who look like cops and a pasty-faced little gent who looks about as dangerous as a twelve-year-old girl.”
“Hey!” Earl protested.
“Shut up,” Ford told him. “We are cops, sort of. We work for the government.”
Or at least we used to, he added to himself.
“Border Patrol?” the man asked, squinting suspiciously at them over the barrel of the rifle, which he still hadn’t lowered. “DEA?”
“Not exactly,” Parker said. “We work for a, uh, government agency, though.”
“Got I.D.?”
Ford smiled humorlessly. “They don’t issue it to guys like us.”
“Oh. You’re spooks, are you?”
“Something like that.”
The man snorted. “Yeah, and I’m John Wayne come back to life.”
“Actually, you look more like Lee Van Cleef.”
“You know who Lee Van Cleef was?”
“Doesn’t everybody?”
Earl said, “Look, they work for the CIA, all right? They’ve been trying to protect me because some other guys from the government want to kill me, because I know about this new nerve gas that’s being developed at a place called Casa del Diablo and it looks like the President might try to use it against American citizens who disagree with what he’s doing, and I decided to blow the whistle on the whole thing and somebody sent that new Federal Protective Service after me and they tried to kill me and frame these guys for it and—”
“Damn it, boy, take a breath!” the stranger exclaimed. “You expect me to follow that crazy line o’bull?”
“It only sounds crazy,” Ford said. “I’m afraid there’s a lot of truth to it. Now, we don’t want to hurt you, mister—”
“Hurt me? I’m the one who’s got the gun pointin’ at you, remember?”
“Yeah, but by the time you shoot one of us, the other one will kill you,” Ford said calmly, “and there’s no need for that. Just let us get in this SUV and drive away, and you can forget you ever saw us. “ “What about that blowed-up pickup? I’d be willin’ to bet that there’s some bodies around here somewhere, too.”
“Wait a couple of hours and then call the sheriff’s office like you just discovered that something happened,” Parker suggested. “By then we’ll be long gone, and there won’t be any need to mention that we were here.”
“I got a better idea. “ The man finally lowered the rifle. “Come on back to my ranch house with me, and y’all can clean up, get somethin’ to eat, and try to spin some yarn that actually makes sense.”
“So you’ve decided to trust us?” Ford asked.
The man shrugged. “Hell, if you’re so all-fired deadly as you claim to be, you could’ a killed me already if you really wanted to. Right?”
“Well … yeah,” Ford admitted.
“And as pale as that little fella is, if he don’t get out of the sun pretty soon, he’s gonna be blistered.” The man turned away. “I left my horse back yonder a ways. Shoot me or come on, whatever.”
The rancher’s name was Rye Callahan. Ryan, actually, but as he explained to Ford, Parker, and Earl, he wasn’t that fond of the name, and since he was fond of rye whiskey, it seemed like a good idea to shorten it. Since he was an old bachelor, he was in the habit of doing what he wanted.
Rye whiskey was the drink he poured for them as they sat in the comfortably furnished living room of the large, sprawling ranch house where several generations of his family had lived. Callahan tossed back the fiery liquor, licked his lips appreciately, and then said, “All right, start at the beginnin’ and tell me this story again.”
Earl opened his mouth to talk, but Ford stopped him with an upraised hand. “I’ll tell Mr. Callahan what’s been going on, and then he can decide what to do about it.”
“What do you mean, decide?” Earl asked. “Since when is the decision up to him?”
“He’s opened up the hospitality of his home to us,” Parker said. “We owe him some consideration.”
“And he’s a fellow American,” Ford added. “We don’t shoot our fellow Americans.”
“What about those guys from the FPS?”
“We don’t shoot our fellow Americans unless they’re trying to shoot us,” Parker said.
“And unless they’re probably conspiring to murder a bunch of other Americans because of some power-hungry politician,” Ford said.
Callahan pointed out, “That ain’t startin’ from the beginning.”
Ford lifted his glass of whiskey and nodded to the rancher. “You’re right, sir. As far as we’ve been able to put the story together, it’s like this….”
Callahan listened without interrupting as Ford explained what had been going on during the past week. Parker and Earl spoke up a time or two to clarify a point.
As Ford wrapped up the summary, he said, “I understand if you think we’re lunatics. But I swear, that’s the way it all happened, and as far as we’ve been able to figure out, there’s only one man who could be responsible for it, as hard as it may be for you to believe that.”
Callahan let out a dismissive snort. “You really think that because a bunch of damn fools were crazy enough to vote the man into office, I wouldn’t believe he’s capable of doin’ what you say?” The rancher shook his head. “I’ve heard the man talk on TV. He thinks he’s smarter’n everybody else and that him and his buddies ought to be in charge of everything ‘cause they’re smarter’n us. The people who work and pay the taxes and keep the whole damn country going! Hell, is there anybody in that whole damn crowd who’s ever held down a real job? They’re all professional politicians.”
“So you do believe us?” Parker asked.
“You sound surprised, boy.”
“Well… most people wouldn’t.”
“You mean most people who let Hollywood and New York and Washington tell ’em how to think wouldn’t believe you. With all the things that’ve been goin’ on in Texas lately, I wouldn’t put anything past that skunk in the White House.”
Ford asked, “What do you
mean, the things that have been going on in Texas?”
Callahan leaned forward in his overstuffed armchair and frowned. “You haven’t heard about Home?”
“Home?” Ford repeated. “Whose home?”
Callahan shook his head. “That’s the name of a town. It’s a ways north and west of here. Hell, it’s been all over the news the past few days.”
“We’ve been a little busy,” Ford said. “Trying to stay alive and all, you know.”
Callahan snorted again. He picked up a remote control from a table beside his chair, pointed it at a wall full of bookshelves, and pushed a button. Two sections of the shelves slid back to reveal a giant-screen TV. Ford, Parker, and Earl stared at the rancher.
“What?” Callahan said. “I reckon you didn’t see the satellite dish out back. Remind me to show you my computer system later.”
Another push of a button turned the TV on.
It was tuned to one of the cable news networks. “Only one of the bunch I can stand to watch,” Callahan said, “and even they’ve gotten a mite too cushy there in Washington and New York. They’ve started pullin’ their punches lately. I reckon they’re runnin’ scared like ever’body else who don’t say and think exactly what that bunch wants ’em to.”
The anchor was talking about a bill making its way through Congress that would expand the federal government’s control over education nationwide. When that story was finished, he said, “Now, in other news … Tensions continue to run high in the small Texas town of Home today after the President issued an executive order yesterday placing the community and the surrounding area under the control of the Federal Protective Service. After several so-called anti-immigrant riots in Home in recent days, the President declared martial law and sent in the FPS to disarm the citizens.”
“He’s trying to take away a whole town’s guns?” Ford asked in disbelief.
Callahan motioned for quiet. “Just listen.”
“Yesterday when the FPS arrived in Home to set up a command post, one of the citizens went on a shooting spree, the second such incident in less than twenty-four hours. He was taken into custody without any casualties, but there have been other incidents of defiance directed at the officers of the Federal Protective Service.”
Parker shook his head. “They’re operating openly now. Amazing.”
The newsman continued, “Last night, a number of people gathered with their guns in the First Baptist Church of Home and refused to come out and surrender the weapons.”
Nighttime footage of a church appeared on the screen. The building was surrounded by armored cars and black SUVs, behind which black-uniformed men crouched and pointed assault rifles at the church.
“This potentially disastrous situation was defused by the actions of local chief of police, Alexandra Bonner, who managed to talk the insurgents out of the sanctuary.”
“Insurgents?” Ford repeated angrily. “They’re calling Americans insurgents?”
“And this is the unbiased channel,” Callahan said with a dry, humorless chuckle.
Chief Bonner appeared on screen, a harried-looking but attractive woman who appeared to be in her thirties. “Kinda hot for a police chief,” Ford commented.
“None of this would have happened if the federal government hadn’t bulldozed in here where they’re not needed or wanted,” Chief Bonner told the microphones extended toward her. “The city leaders and I firmly believe that the actions being taken by the Federal Protective Service are unconstitutional.”
“Ooh, there’s gonna be red flags all over her tax return next year,” Earl said.
“We believe that the courts will eventually side with us on this issue,” Bonner went on, “but in the meantime, because the people of Home are all good, law-abiding American citizens, we’re going to cooperate with the FPS in hopes that this will soon be settled.”
“If they give up their guns, they’ll never see ’em again,” Ford said. “Surely they know that.”
“Yeah, but how can a bunch of regular folks from a small town argue with the sort of firepower the FPS has?” Parker asked. “They can’t, not without getting slaughtered. They have to cooperate.”
Callahan pointed the remote at the screen and muted the sound. “You know what started this whole business?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he went on, “A few months ago, a couple of low-level thugs who work for one o’ them Mexican drug cartels came across the border and broke into the house of an old couple in Home. The fella who lived there had quite a few guns, and I reckon the thugs were after them. But the old-timer surprised ’em and fought back. He killed one of the varmints and wounded the other, but his wife was killed in the shooting.”
“That’s terrible,” Ford muttered. “How does a tragedy like that lead to this?”
“Because the thug who survived turned around and sued the old fella, along with the city and every-body else he could think of to sue, includin’ the federal government. And he won.”
The other three men stared at him. “That’s crazier than the story we just told you,” Parker said.
“Yep, but it’s true, too. The Feds settled with him, and as part of the agreement, they said they’d disarm the whole town. And now they’re doin’ it. Sooner or later, they’re gonna get all the guns, and then folks won’t have anyway to defend themselves anymore.”
“Except to rely on the government,” Parker said.
Callahan shook his head. “They won’t have any way to defend themselves against the government. You boys probably aren’t old enough to really remember what it was like back in the old Soviet Union, but I do, and I’m here to tell you that’s just what we’re headed for here.” A sigh came from the rancher as he looked at the TV and shook his head. “We’re not that far from this country bein’ turned into a dictatorship, fellas, and what’s goin’ on in Home right now … that’s just the first step down that road.”
CHAPTER 32
Alex couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept. It had been forty-eight hours, at least. The longest two days of her life. She had been kept busy the whole time by continuing confrontations between the citizens of Home and the Federal Protective Service.
Wendell Post barricading himself inside his store had been just the beginning. Other people had forted up in their businesses and homes, culminating in the standoff at the Baptist Church. That had held the potential to be the worst of all, since there were quite a few armed people inside the sanctuary. If the citizens had put up a fight, the FPS would have won in the end, no doubt about that, but people would have been hurt and probably killed on both sides. That might have set off an outright war in Home, and that would have wound up being a bloodbath.
Luckily, in each case the civilians had looked at the odds and the firepower facing them and done the sensible thing. They were ordinary people, not misguided, suicidal zealots like that bunch in Waco a couple of decades earlier. In the end, they had come out and surrendered their guns, and Colonel Grady had surprised Alex by not arresting them.
Maybe he just didn’t have the facilities available to arrest an entire town.
But even though killing had been avoided so far, Alex had had to be on hand every time something happened, had to be there to talk sense to the citizens who wanted to defy the government. In truth, she wanted to be just as defiant as they were and tell Colonel Grady, the FPS, and the President to go climb a stick because what they were doing was illegal, and she said as much to the steadily circling buzzards of the news media.
She was sworn to protect the people who lived here, though, and right now, keeping them alive meant getting them to swallow the bitter pill of government oppression.
She had been either at the police station or out on call ever since the FPS had rolled into town, except for a few brief moments when she had stretched out on the cot in the station’s back room. She hadn’t slept, though. Things hadn’t stayed quiet enough, long enough, for that.
That meant she hadn’t seen Jack for fort
y-eight hours, either, and the thought that she was a terrible mother gnawed insistently at the back of her brain. She knew that wasn’t true—he was a senior in high school, after all, a smart, responsible kid despite the occasional lapse in judgment or outbreak of rebelliousness—and she trusted him to take care of himself. But that didn’t stop her from wanting to be there for him.
As she drove around the streets now, she saw the black SUVs of the Federal Protective Service everywhere. Heavily armed men and women in black uniforms moved along the sidewalks. The citizens who encountered them looked the other way and tried to stay out of their path, at least for the most part. A few bolder ones gave the troopers hostile stares.
Home looked like an occupied town in a defeated enemy country, Alex thought.
And that was pretty much what it amounted to. The ruling elite in Washington regarded everyone outside the Beltway as an enemy, except for a few privileged enclaves of sycophants here and there, in New York, Boston, Hollywood…. For years they had been waging a not-so-secret war against the beliefs and values of average, everyday Americans, and now it appeared they had won.
Static crackled from the radio. Jimmy said, “Chief, you there?”
Alex picked up the mike. “I’m here.”
“Report of shots fired at … Pearson’s Feed Store.”
Oh, no, Alex thought. She had been waiting for this to happen, even though she hoped it wouldn’t.
“I’m on my way,” she told Jimmy. She hung up the mike, hit the lights and siren, and tromped down on the gas.
As fast as she got to the feed store, the FPS was faster. Alex saw a couple of the sinister-looking SUVs careen around a corner ahead of her. She knew they were on their way to the feed store, which was on a side street not far from the high school.
Black smoke suddenly plumed into the sky. Even though she hadn’t heard an explosion over the howling siren and the roar of the car’s engine, she knew that was what had just taken place. Something had blown up, and she was afraid it was the feed store.
She hoped there hadn’t been any civilians inside it.
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