Tyranny

by William W. Johnstone

  Chapter 56

  “Our top story tonight . . . Although there has been no official statement on the matter from the White House, we have learned that the United Nations, acting on a request from the President, has sent peacekeeping troops to Texas to deal with the growing unrest there as right-wing extremists attempt to block the Bureau of Land Management from taking possession of federally owned property.

  “The land in question is being squatted on by domestic terrorist G.W. Brannock, who has barricaded himself there along with a number of armed, fanatical supporters. For more on this, let’s go over to our White House correspondent, Jack Rosen . . . Jack, why do you think the President took the unusual step of calling in the UN, rather than leaving the matter to local law enforcement or even the National Guard?”

  “Thanks, Pamela. As for why the President took this action, the rumor around Washington tonight is that he wanted to demonstrate that this was not a mere criminal matter but rather a dangerous precedent in which ultra-right-wing partisans are attempting to foment open rebellion against the government. The UN agreeing to come in and quash this trouble shows that the entire world community is in agreement: Such radical behavior cannot be tolerated in a progressive society.”

  “What about those who object to foreign troops operating on American soil with the consent, even the encouragement, of the United States government?”

  “Well, I can’t speak for the President, Pamela, but I think he’s trying to show that we’re part of a community of nations now and that in times of trouble we won’t hesitate to look to those outside our own borders for assistance and advice. America is no longer too proud to ask for help with our problems.”

  “Thank you, Jack . . . Now let’s turn to our political experts, and also to our top military correspondent, retired Admiral Andrew Shelton. Admiral, we’ve heard that General Thurgood Milburn, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, has been removed from his position because he refused to commit American troops for the job of ousting G. W. Brannock from his stronghold. Do you know anything about that?”

  “Not for a fact, no, I don’t. But I do know for a fact that no American commander worth his salt is going to tell his troops to start shooting American citizens unless there’s a damned good reason—”

  “Thank you, admiral. Peter Henderson, former national security advisor, what do you think?”

  “I think the President is in a bad position and is doing the only thing he can. He can’t allow dangerous extremists to defy the law of the land. He’s trying to be sensitive to the situation, though, and that’s why he’s brought in outside assistance. There’s no more trusted body in the world than the United Nations, and if the UN agrees that something must be done about Brannock and his followers, then it stands to reason the rest of the country will see that the President is right.”

  “But is he running a political risk by doing this? Sanford Dowling, what do you think?”

  “Well, Pamela, I’m told that both houses of Congress will meet tomorrow in emergency session and take up resolutions of support for the President’s actions. After all, this is quite a dramatic thing to have happen, to have foreign troops on our soil, as you put it. But those resolutions are expected to pass in both the House and the Senate, so I think the President has the political capital to do this. And from a personal standpoint, what choice did he have? Somebody’s got to teach those Texans a lesson!”

  G.W. and Kyle stood behind G.W.’s pickup and kept an eye on the gate. The Chinese forces were still lined up on the other side of the highway, about a hundred and fifty yards away, apparently in no hurry to do anything. They had been sitting over there all day, and now it wasn’t long until dusk would settle over the West Texas landscape.

  Kyle thumped a fist against the truck’s fender and said in frustration, “Why are they doing this? What does Grayson hope to gain? They could overrun us any time they want to. Why is he waiting?”

  “Ever see a little kid torment an insect with a magnifyin’ glass?” G.W. asked. “He’s not really interested in killin’ the thing. He just wants to cause it as much pain and misery as he can and make it last as long as possible. That’s what Grayson is. He’s a mean little kid. A bully. No matter why the damn government wanted the ranch in the first place, it’s gone long past that point for him. He just wants to make us suffer, and he doesn’t want it to be over too soon.”

  Kyle grunted and said, “A man like that ought to be put down like a mad dog.”

  “You won’t get any argument from me.”

  “So what are we going to do? Just sit here and wait for them to wipe us out?”

  “Nope.” G.W. rubbed his chin, his fingertips rasping over the silvery stubble growing there. “Before mornin’, you and everybody else are gonna load up and go back yonder to the mountains. You traipsed all over those canyons when you were a kid. You know how rugged they are. Find a good place for all of you to hole up and wait it out.”

  Kyle frowned and asked, “What the hell are you gonna be doing while we’re doing that?”

  “I thought I’d take a Winchester and go out there to the gate and make those fifteen rounds count as much as I can.”

  “You’re gonna let them shoot you to pieces, in other words!” Kyle shook his head stubbornly. “Look, G.W., I can’t give you any orders—”

  “Darned right you can’t.”

  “But I can tell you, none of us are gonna let you just throw away your life like that. Either you come with us to the mountains—we’ll hide out up there and wage a guerrilla war against those bastards—or else we’re staying here and fighting them with you.”

  “A guerrilla war . . .” G.W. said slowly. “The idea’s in-triguin’, I’ll say that much. But you know, son, that’s not really my style. When trouble comes at me, I’ve always met it head-on. Reckon I’m too old to change my ways now.”

  “All right. But don’t get upset when the rest of us back your play.”

  “I suppose in the end, that’s the sort of thing that every man has to figure out for himself.”

  They were silent for a few minutes, and then Kyle said, “At least Dave was able to get the word out on that ham radio in his truck before they blocked his broadcast. The rest of the world knows what’s going on, anyway.”

  “The rest of the world only knows what the press tells ’em,” G.W. said skeptically. “How much truth you reckon is gonna be in that?”

  “Not much,” Kyle admitted. “But Miranda’s out there, too, thank God. I’m glad she didn’t get trapped here. I know she’ll do what she can, and so will the governor. Who knows? Maybe they proved that land grant is phony, and now the feds won’t have any choice but to back off.”

  “In a perfect world, that’s the way it’d work,” G.W. said. “Too bad it’s never been a perfect world . . . and it’s gotten a lot less so since that bunch in Washington took over.”

  Governor Delgado set up a command post in the governor’s mansion, rather than in the capitol, and Miranda was there that evening along with Delgado and Colonel Atkinson, who was monitoring the situation through law enforcement contacts in the area.

  “UN forces have placed the town of Sierra Lobo under martial law and established a strict curfew they’re enforcing with armed patrols,” Atkinson reported to Delgado and Miranda. “They’ve also established a no-fly zone from Pecos to El Paso.”

  “That’s several hundred miles!” Delgado exclaimed.

  “Yeah, but they’re enforcing that, too. They’ve shut down all the civilian airports and have troops posted on them to make sure nothing takes off. The military fields are shut down, too, per orders directly from the Pentagon.”

  Delgado snorted disgustedly and said, “From the White House, you mean.”

  Atkinson shrugged.

  “We know that and so does anybody with half a brain in their head, but that lets out most of the media and all the people who voted for the son of a bitch to start with. To a big part of the country, the whole thing is be
ing passed off as a tempest in a teacup, to use an old-fashioned expression. It doesn’t matter to them. They’re still gonna get their check next month, so what do they care what happens to some old rancher in Texas?”

  Miranda said, “They don’t care that they’ve lost all their freedom?”

  Atkinson looked squarely at her and shook his head. He said, “No. They don’t. They’d rather have the government take care of them their entire lives than be free.”

  “Slavery,” Delgado muttered. “That’s what it is, pure and simple.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Atkinson said. “You’re right about that, but to the people who go along with it willing, that doesn’t make any difference.”

  “Has there been any more word from inside the ranch?” Miranda asked.

  “I’m afraid not. They’re jamming all the radio frequencies now. Brannock and the others . . . they’re on their own.”

  “Against overwhelming odds,” Miranda whispered. Suddenly, she couldn’t stay there anymore. She grabbed her purse and headed for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Governor Delgado asked.

  “Back to my hotel,” Miranda said. She couldn’t keep the despair out of her voice as she added, “There’s nothing I can do here.”

  “If we get any news, I’ll let you know right away,” Delgado promised.

  “Thank you.”

  One of the governor’s aides showed Miranda out of the mansion. Her hotel was here in downtown Austin, only a few blocks away. It was a pleasant evening, and she could make the walk without any trouble. She hoped the exercise would clear her head a little and help her figure out what she needed to do next.

  But that was just the problem, she thought.

  There wasn’t anything she could do to help Kyle. Not a damned thing.

  She had covered about half the distance to the hotel when a figure stepped from the shadows under some live oak trees growing next to a building. He shocked Miranda by saying, “Ms. Stephens?”

  Fear shot through her as she turned her head to look at him, but she relaxed slightly as she saw a man in his thirties, wearing a rumpled but decent suit. He didn’t look the least bit threatening, but she slipped her hand into her bag anyway and closed her fingers around the stun gun she carried.

  “Yes, what is it?” she asked. He was probably a reporter looking for a quote, she told herself.

  “My name is Gardner—” he began.

  That was when a gunshot roared and a garish orange flash of muzzle flame split the darkness.

  Chapter 57

  Something must have warned the man who called himself Gardner, because he moved at the same instant the gun blasted, diving at Miranda and tackling her off her feet. She cried out in shock and pain as she fell heavily to the sidewalk.

  Gardner rolled off her and came up in a blur of motion. Another shot rang out, but this one went up at a sharp angle because Gardner kicked the wrist of the man who came out of the shadows for another try at him.

  Before the would-be killer could lower the gun and trigger it again, Gardner crowded in on him, hands flying too fast to follow even if the light had been better. The assassin made a gagging sound as Miranda sat up. Gardner must have struck him across the throat, she thought. The man sounded like his larynx was crushed.

  He fell to his knees, making it even easier for Gardner to kick him in the head and send him sprawling across the sidewalk. Then Gardner whirled and leaped to Miranda’s side. He held out a hand to her.

  “Come on. There are probably more of them close by.”

  She had no idea of what was going on here. She didn’t know if the gunman had been aiming at her or Gardner.

  But some instinct compelled her to trust him. She reached up and grasped his hand. He lifted her to her feet as if she were weightless and hustled her along the sidewalk.

  “My hotel is up there—” she gasped as he turned into a side street.

  “They probably know where you’re staying,” he said with a quiet intensity. “Chances are they’ve been following you ever since you left the ranch. They don’t want you to find out anything about what’s really going on.”

  “Were they after you or me?” she asked.

  A grim chuckle came from him, then he said, “I don’t think they’d mind seeing both of us dead. But I’ve been dodging hit men ever since I got back in the country, so I’m probably their primary target. I’ve got the proof they don’t want to get out.”

  “The proof of what?” Miranda asked. She had a wild thought that she might already know the answer.

  “Of why the government wants G.W. Brannock’s ranch so badly,” he said as he steered her into a dimly lit beer joint. The place was noisy inside, filled with students from the university that wasn’t too far away.

  Gardner sat her down in a booth, told her to stay put, and went to the bar for a pitcher of beer and a couple of mugs. Miranda didn’t have the least bit of interest in sitting here and getting drunk, but she figured Gardner was doing that for appearance’s sake. As long as they were in this crowd and looked like they belonged, they were probably safe.

  But they would have to leave sooner or later, she thought. And then what?

  He came back, set the pitcher on the table, and slid into the booth across from her. As he poured beer in the mugs, he said, “You’re probably completely confused by now.”

  The place was noisy enough that if they kept their voices low, no one could eavesdrop on them. Miranda leaned forward and said, “I’m confused, and I’m scared, and I’m angry.”

  “I’d say you have every reason to be.”

  “Mr. Gardner, if that’s really your name, I think you’d better tell me what’s going on here. Otherwise, I’m going to have to call the police.”

  He nodded and said, “You might be all right if you called the cops. Most of them are honest, I’d say. But how would you ever know if there was one who wasn’t? One who’s working for the people who want to see me dead?”

  “And who are those people?”

  “The President of the United States, for one,” Gardner said. “Senator Charles Rutland, for another.”

  Miranda felt her eyes widening. She couldn’t help it. For all the distrust of the federal government she felt, to hear it stated so baldly that the President and the Senate majority leader would sanction attempted murder . . . it was almost more than she could grasp.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked. “Senator Rutland—”

  “Is going to get the Democratic nomination and be the next president, I know,” Gardner said. “Drink some of that beer, why don’t you? Let’s try to look like we’re having a pleasant conversation.”

  Miranda forced herself to pick up the mug and sip the beer. It was good, and under other circumstances she would have enjoyed it. Right now, though, her mind was whirling too much.

  Gardner swallowed some of his beer, leaned back, and looked like a young businessman relaxing after a hard day’s work. He smiled faintly and said, “I work for the CIA—”

  “Oh, come on!” Miranda exclaimed, unable to suppress the impulse.

  “No, it’s true, I swear. Although, maybe I should say I worked for the CIA. The administration may well have convinced my bosses by now that I’ve gone rogue. I’m sure they’ve been trying to discredit me in advance, ever since I got my hands on the intel they don’t want to get out.”

  “What . . . intel?”

  “There’s a USB drive in my pocket,” Gardner said. “On it are all the details of a deal between an American company and the Chinese government. The American company is owned by a man named Stuart McCauley. He’s Charles Rutland’s brother-in-law. His company has contracted with the Chinese to dispose of nuclear waste from their reactors. They’re going to put the stuff in that valley where Brannock’s ranch is, once the US government has taken it over and then sold it to McCauley in a sweetheart deal.”

  As Gardner fell silent, Miranda stared across the table at him for a long moment. Final
ly, she said, “That’s it? That’s why they want to steal G.W.’s ranch? This whole thing has been over graft and corruption and a shady land deal?”

  “A shady land deal worth billions of dollars to McCauley. Senator Rutland and the President are in line for a share of that payoff, too.” Gardner drank some more beer. “But that’s not quite all of it. That Chinese nuclear waste . . . it’s incredibly toxic, more so than any we’ve ever seen before. I got that info straight from a scientist who worked in the Chinese nuclear energy program. He was just one of many involved in the program who were dying of cancer. That’s what’s going to happen here, too. The stuff will contaminate the environment and in the long run will kill thousands of people. Maybe hundreds of thousands, or even more. Any sort of accident at the containment facility McCauley plans to build on Brannock’s land would eventually render the western half of Texas unlivable.”

  “That’s insane,” Miranda said. “The government would never risk . . . I mean . . . all those people . . .”

  “People in Texas,” Gardner reminded her. “The place that the administration in Washington hates for standing up to them over and over. Anyway, when there’s this much money involved . . .”

  His voice trailed off as his shoulders rose and fell in an eloquent shrug.

  Miranda thought about it some more, then said, “You got this information from a Chinese scientist?”

  “A terminally ill one who had no reason to lie about it.”

  “What happened to him? Could he testify—”

  “The cancer didn’t have a chance to kill him,” Gardner said. “A rocket from a Chinese drone got him first, right after he’d passed the USB drive to me. They’d been trying to track him down ever since he slipped out of China, and they caught up to him in Manila. The explosion nearly killed me, as well. But I got out and made it back here. There have been half a dozen attempts on my life since then. You saw the latest one a little while ago. They know who I am, they know what I’ve got.”