Special Agent

by Dan Arnold

  Watkins could neither stand nor walk, so I grabbed him by the waist band and belt, and half-dragged/half-carried him to the passenger side of my truck. He was in horrible pain.

  I dropped him, and left him there on the ground while I secured my things in the bed of the truck. It took some effort to get him into the truck on the passenger side, but I did it and fastened the seat belt around his waist. With his hands bound behind him, Watkins was forced to lean forward. He couldn’t stand the weight of his body pressing back against his crippled elbow.

  As I loaded my gear and my passenger into the truck, I’d been watching for the FBI helicopter. From the sound, I figured the big Sikorsky had landed in the hay field over by the burning farmhouse. I’d expected it to suddenly come flying over the forest to this clearing and hit us with the spotlight, but I thanked God it hadn’t happened.

  I was confident with the chopper on the ground and all the activity around the burning farmhouse, the sound of my diesel engine would not be heard or particularly noticed, as I drove out of the clearing. Diesel trucks are ubiquitous in farm and ranch country. Because the FBI vehicles were parked around a curve and more than a half mile down the hill from where I came out onto the county road, I would not be observed driving away. I kept my headlights turned off anyway. Better safe than sorry.

  I knew I was headed toward a roadblock. Doug’s roadblocks were the provision he had put in place to prevent anyone from leaving the scene of the raid.

  I drove north about three quarters of a mile before I came to the roadblock in this direction. There were four or five vehicles behind a barricade, with their blue and red lights flashing. I flashed my headlights as I approached, reducing my speed. I slowed to a stop, with spotlights and headlights blinding me. I could see indistinct shapes approaching my truck from all sides. I knew there were probably several rifles and shotguns trained on me by half a dozen Texas Rangers. I sat very still, with my hands clearly visible on top of my steering wheel. Watkins was looking around, trying to see past the blinding lights. He looked emaciated in the glaring illumination.

  Both the passenger side door and the door on my side were pulled open at the same time.

  “Hello John, Fancy meeting you here,” a familiar voice said.

  I turned my head and looked into the face of Texas Ranger Captain, Luke O’Brian.

  “Hey, Luke, you’re a sight for sore eyes. This guy is Kevin Watkins. A few months ago, he murdered a Mexican national named Eduardo Ruiz. He has the murder weapon in his right front pants pocket. If you talk to Lieutenant Tony Escalante of the Tyler, PD, he’ll fill you in on all the details. After what’s happened tonight, I believe Watkins may also be the only living member of the Righteous Patriot’s Brigade. He’s all yours.”

  I got out of the truck and stretched. A couple of Rangers were taking Watson out of my truck. He was groaning with the effort.

  “What the hell happened down there, John? We saw a streak from something, then a huge explosion. Did those RAGs blow the place up?” Captain O’Brian asked me.

  “Luke, tell me about the streak you mentioned. Tell me exactly what you saw from here.”

  He nodded and thought for a moment.

  “We’re probably a mile and a half from the farmhouse. We can’t see it from here because of the woods and hills between here and there, and it’s dark. We were keeping a sharp eye out for any approaching vehicles. We saw something. A flash or streak of light, then BOOM! It was like a rocket hit something. What was it?”

  “I’ll tell you in a minute. Could you see the helicopter from here?”

  “Yeah, well no, not really. We saw it in daylight, and then later, we saw the spotlight sweeping the ground, you know, like they do. We figured it was the same chopper, lighting up the scene. There weren’t any running lights though. All we could see was the spotlight.”

  “That helicopter was lighting the scene so the FBI agents would have an easier time killing the survivors of the explosion.”

  “What did you just say?”

  “I saw it, Luke. The FBI tactical strike team came in and systematically shot everyone who survived the explosion, including my friend Gary.”

  “No, I don’t believe that.”

  “I have it all recorded. You should look this over very carefully.” I handed him a thumb drive. “Keep it hidden and be very careful who you show it to.”

  “What about the explosion. What was it, John? What caused that explosion?”

  “I think it was a hellfire missile.” I said.

  Luke grabbed my arm. “Do you know what you’re saying?” He asked me, intently.

  I nodded and said, “Yes, Luke. Think about what you saw. I believe the FBI used a drone to attack the RAGs meeting. I got a good look at it and there isn’t any kind of rocket launcher on that helo. If I’m right…”

  “… The FBI, using a drone to kill American citizens on American soil? I can’t believe it.” Luke shook his head.

  “We’ll see. It’s all there on that thumb drive. It all needs to be analyzed by someone who knows what to look for, but I’m pretty sure they hit that meeting with a hellfire missile. Listen, Luke, I need to get out of here. I don’t want the FBI to know I was ever here. You need to keep Watkins under wraps for a few days, too. He’s the only other person who knows what happened down there, and the only person who can tell us what happened in that meeting. He’s going to need some medical attention. Keep him hidden.”

  “Yeah, I’ll do that. How did you get a recording of what happened down there?” Luke asked.

  “Providence.” I answered, pointing to the sky.

  Luke studied me for a moment, and then he arrived at a decision.

  “If you say so,” He turned to the men at the barricade.

  “Boys, get the barricade out of the way. This gentleman needs to be on his way and, LISTEN UP, he was never here. Now, to be clear, THAT’S AN ORDER. Get the lead out!”

  Fifty-Eight

  I had barely left the roadblock behind me when the call came in. I checked the caller ID before I pushed the button to answer the call.

  “Hey, Jack, what’s up?” I asked wearily, by way of greeting.

  “What the hell are you playing at?” said Jack.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Don’t act stupid with me. I know you’ve spent the whole day in the vicinity of that farmhouse. You’re not supposed to be interfering in an FBI operation.”

  “You really are keeping tabs on me aren’t you? Let me guess. You’re tracking me using the GPS in my truck. Is that about right?”

  “How I do my job, doesn’t matter. Why were you there, and what did you see?”

  “Do you really want to talk about this on an open phone line?”

  He was silent for a second.

  “I nearly had you picked up. I probably should have sent someone to get you. Hell, I should have come after you myself.”

  “How do you want to handle this?”

  “Meet me in the usual place, as soon as you get back to Tyler. It should take about fifty minutes from your present location.”

  “Sure, Jack. I’ll meet you there.”

  So that was it. Jack knew exactly where I had been, but not specifically what I had been doing. I wondered if Jack had told Doug I was in the area. Considering what I had seen and recorded, I doubted it. If Doug had known I was there, he would have done something about it. This was a mess of historic proportions. The FBI could not have gotten a drone attack authorized without the DHS and someone in the DOD knowing about it. The Attorney General of the United States would have had to sign off on it. Jack’s friendship with me would only protect me so far.

  What were they thinking? Did they really think they could kill American citizens without even giving them a trial? Clearly, they did think so. Was this the due process of the future? Welcome to the bold new America, where no warrants, arrests, or trials were needed, An America where a man could risk his life in service to his fellow citizens and be murdered for hi
s trouble.

  Not on my watch.

  I was late to my meeting with Jack. I had to unload some equipment, copy some files and send some e-mails before I met him on the top level of the parking structure.

  “What have you done?” Were the first words out of his mouth.

  “… My patriotic duty.” I replied, wearily.

  “I thought you were above all that. I thought all you cared about was what you believe God wants you to do. Now, all of a sudden you go back to being a, a… I don’t know what you are.”

  “Did you know what was going to happen out there tonight?” I asked him.

  “What did happen out there? What did you see?”

  “Oh come on, Jack. You seem to know everything about everything. Are you telling me you didn’t know what was going to happen?”

  “Are you asking me if I knew a group of anti-American domestic terrorists, who had attacked and killed a public servant and was conspiring to kill other government personnel, was going to be the subject of a police action? Did I know the FBI was going to take them down? I knew the leadership of the Righteous Patriots Brigade was not going to get the chance to do any recruiting in prison. I knew they wouldn’t get the chance to spew anymore of their hate speech. And, I knew those animals were not going to get the chance to kill anyone else. We saved the American people, all of the American people, untold misery, terror and expense in bypassing the judicial process. I don’t approve of the method, but I approve of the action. It was in the best interests of national security.”

  “Really, you approve of the cold blooded murder of men who were never even accused of a crime? You approve of the murder of my friend, Gary?”

  “What? No. What are you talking about? What happened to Gary?”

  “I saw an FBI agent shoot him in the head, while Gary was lying on the ground, just exactly as he had been instructed to do.”

  “My God, there must have been some mistake!”

  “… Mistake, Jack? The Attorney General of the United States authorized a drone strike on American soil, specifically to kill American citizens, and you think there must have been some mistake!”

  “Now see here, John. You don’t want to go around making statements like that without any proof.”

  For a moment, I stared out at the lights of the city, twinkling through the trees. I took a deep breath and scrubbed my face with my hands.

  “No, Jack, you’re right. Without any proof, I would be wasting my breath. Nothing good could come from me running my mouth about something I can’t prove.”

  “That’s right! Now, you let me handle this. I’ll look into what happened to Gary.

  I nodded dully, in response.

  “John, you’re upset. That’s perfectly understandable. I can’t imagine how horrible it must have been for you. Try to put all this behind you. You have another mission don’t you? Concentrate on the next thing you need to do. Can you do that?”

  I looked Jack in the eye. “I’m all about my mission.” I replied.

  “Good man. I knew I could count on you.”

  I had learned a couple of useful things from Jack. He hadn’t denied that a drone had been used. He and I both knew a Hellfire missile could not have been fired from the FBI helicopter. The other thing was that Jack did have prior knowledge of what was going to happen. It meant there was more than one federal agency involved.

  I thought about all those things for a moment. Then I made the phone call.

  “Hello, John, I was just about to call you.” Special Agent in Charge, Doug Booker said.

  “Hey, Doug. Yeah, I thought I should call. I knew I wouldn’t hear anything from Gary. He told me you were going to take down the meeting tonight. I know you put him straight into protective custody, so he can’t contact anyone. I just wanted to know how the raid went.”

  “John, I’m afraid I have bad news. Gary was killed tonight. At the present time, it appears he was shot by someone in the Righteous Patriot’s Brigade. Apparently they saw or heard us coming. They shot Gary and engaged our agents with gunfire. About that time someone inside the building touched off the explosives and… You can imagine. We have a big job on our hands sorting through the rubble and identifying the remains. I’m sorry to have to tell you about Gary. I know you were close.”

  I waited a moment and considered my response.

  “Are you sure? Maybe he got away…”

  “John, I’m so sorry. Gary’s body was found just outside the farmhouse. We’ve made a positive ID. Again, I’m sorry.”

  “I can’t believe it…”

  “I know. It’s a shock. We didn’t anticipate they would choose to fight and die rather than be captured.”

  “Did you get all of them?”

  “Yes, John, we did.”

  “How many did you arrest?”

  “John, they were all killed, most of them in the explosion.”

  “There were no survivors, Doug?”

  “No, John, I’m sorry. I have to go. I’m still on the scene, and, as I said, there’s a lot of work to do.”

  “Ok. I still can’t believe it.”

  “I understand how you feel. Good bye, John.”

  I had learned three things from our conversation.

  Doug Booker had taken part in the massacre, he had no idea that Kevin Watkins was in the custody of the Texas Rangers, and he had no idea I’d ever been in the area.

  Fifty-Nine

  The next morning, Christine, Tony, and I were sitting in the reception area of my office, watching the story of the FBI raid now being broadcast on every television news channel in the country.

  Christine was crying, holding a ball of tissue clutched in her hand, so tightly her knuckles were white. Tony sat beside her with his arms around her.

  “John, do you think there’s any chance the FBI made up the story about Gary being killed, to make keeping him safe, easier? Maybe they have him in protective custody somewhere and he will be starting a new life…” She suggested, plaintively.

  “No, Christine. Gary is gone. He has started a new life, but not here in this world.”

  She sobbed at that, and Tony wrapped her more tightly in his arms.

  We sat and watched the story unfold.

  The FBI had provided footage of what we were told was the inside of the farm house, supposedly taken by an undercover agent, just hours before the explosion. The unidentified undercover agent would have had to be Gary. How he was supposed to have done the photography and provided the video footage wasn’t mentioned.

  The video showed rooms filled with automatic weapons, ammunition, RPGs, various types of military equipment and an assortment of explosives. I could tell the video had not been shot in that farmhouse, but how could the ordinary viewer know it was a ruse?

  The scene cut to a live shot of the reporter standing a few dozen yards from the smoldering ruins of the farmhouse, wisps of smoke drifting in the light breeze.

  “I’m here with the FBI’s, Special Agent in Charge, Douglas Booker. Agent Booker, I understand you led the raid on the terrorist compound last night. Is that correct?”

  Doug was dressed in black combat fatigues.

  “Yes, Tawny, I was in command of the FBI’s special tactical unit which raided this property at zero nineteen hundred and forty five minutes, last night. As you have reported, we had positively identified the persons on the property as being members of the domestic Christian terrorist group known as the Righteous Patriots Brigade, which is a splinter group of the Righteous Army of God. These were the same people responsible for the attack which caused the death of the Federal Prosecutor and the wounding of the Gregg County Sheriff, at the courthouse in Longview, just days ago.”

  “When you say “domestic”, Agent Booker, are you indicating that this Christian terrorist group was made up of American citizens?”

  “That is correct, Tawny. We are seeing a rise in religious extremism in this country. These people are irrational and dangerous. They believe in some unseen
presence they call ‘god’, that directs them to do these horrible things. These religious hate groups are anti-government and they are becoming an ever increasing threat to national security and the safety of the American people.”

  “After the shooting in Longview, where they killed the prosecutor, how did you know where to find them?”

  “The FBI immediately employed every tool at our disposal, to identify and locate the perpetrators. We had an informant within the terrorist sect. He was instrumental in locating the meeting place and in providing valuable information about the plans and preparations the group was making.”

  “My understanding is your informant was killed by the terrorists. Is that correct?”

  “Our informant was killed just before we arrived on the scene.”

  “Can you tell us who the perpetrators were?

  “I am not at liberty to comment on that, Tawny. This is an on-going Federal investigation.”

  “So there you have it folks…” The network anchor cut in. “At seven forty five, Central time, last night, the FBI raided a domestic terrorist compound in East Texas. A gun battle ensued and the terrorists detonated explosives, leveling the building where they were holed up. We have heard possibly as many as fifteen terrorists may have died in the raid; most of them were killed by the explosion itself. None of the dead have been identified at this… Correction; I’ve just been informed the man who was working as an informant for the FBI, the man killed on the scene by the terrorists, was named Gary Babcock. Mr. Babcock was a resident of Tyler, Texas, a town about forty miles from the scene of the horror visited on the region last night. Mr. Babcock was a retired firefighter for the city of Tyler…”

  A picture of Gary in his Tyler Fire Department dress uniform was shown on the screen.

  Christine began sobbing in earnest, her body wracked and her breathing ragged.

  My phone rang and the caller ID prompted me to take the call.