Secession: The Storm Read online

  But he’d been saying that all night.

  The hotplate caused the generator to change its tune, the engine’s baritone hum indicative of the burden the additional voltage required to heat the water. For the first time in Abe’s adult life, he wasn’t looking forward to the taste of coffee. How many cups had he consumed since this whole ordeal had started? Ten? Twelve?

  A noise sounded outside, causing him to raise the ever-heavier AR15 and rush to the nearest monitor. Nothing. Could have been a bird or a squirrel, he realized, treading back to the coffee water.

  It had been that way all night. Despite all of the automation, technology, and planning, his paranoia wouldn’t allow him to trust his preparations. Even an hour’s rest would make a difference, but every time he started to close his eyes, visions of federal officers pouring into his home denied the much-needed shuteye.

  Death was no longer a concern; it really never had been. It was being taken alive that worried Abe the most.

  “Are you sure?” he asked the coffee cup. “Are you still prepared to die?”

  He carried the steaming mug to the front of the house, peeking through a narrow slot in the storm shutters. The Caiman was still halfway up his front steps, its partially scorched shell looming above all other features of what had been a beautiful front yard.

  Kara’s beloved flower gardens were a mess, courtesy of his homemade IEDs. The paint on the front porch’s pillars had bubbled from the heat of his gas mister.

  But what actually drew Abe’s eye were the dark spots of crimson stains on his lawn. Blood, human blood – from men he never met and probably would have liked, if not befriended.

  An uncontrollable bout of yawning interrupted his thoughts, quickly followed by itching, irritated eyes. “I wonder how much longer I can last,” he whispered to the empty, bullet-riddled room.

  The thought of suicide entered his mind again. He’d never understood why so many barricade situations were concluded by the holdout ending his own life. Studying everything from the authorities’ response to the mindset of the siege, Abe had asked himself numerous times why those inside so often elected to end their lives. It was a human riddle that he’d never resolved.

  Now he knew, understood fully, why so many had chosen that way out. It was a downward spiral of fear, depression, remorse, and worst of all – exhaustion. Lack of sleep tended to amplify emotions, and when those emotions were being driven by hundreds of armed men intent on killing you, the outcome was inevitable.

  But he wasn’t there yet. He was driven by a cause, better prepared and wiser than so many who had challenged their government’s authority. Not yet, he resolved.

  He moved back upstairs, the view of his lawn depressing in so many ways. After a quick scan of the upstairs monitor, he then made another tour, checking each window for some undetected approach. They’ll be coming soon, he knew. I wish they’d just finish this. I hope the pain is tolerable, and I go quickly.

  Fresh from a night’s rest, shower, shave, and change of clothes, Zach was at the FBI’s command trailer just as the sun broke in the east. The place was buzzing with activity, despite the early hour.

  Toting a fresh cup of coffee and accompanied by Detective Temple, he waited patiently for Agent Perkins, listening as a large gathering of men were being briefed on the bureau’s latest plan to dislodge one Mr. Abe Hendricks.

  “Two Blackhawk helicopters are being flown in this morning, each equipped with FBI Hostage Rescue Teams. These birds will hover over the suspect’s home while the teams insert via fast-roping onto the roof.

  Perkins then pointed to a diagram of the Hendricks home, complete with detailed outlines of the doors and windows. “After orienting post-insertion, the teams will assault three sides of the structure simultaneously. We believe Mr. Hendricks is capable of defending only one side of his property at any given time. Once inside the home, he will be quickly overwhelmed, and this episode will end. Any questions?”

  Zach had a dozen questions, but it wasn’t his place. Technically, he had no business even being in the area, let alone participating in a federal operation.

  The meeting adjourned a short time later, providing Zach the opportunity to speak with Agent Perkins. “What time are the choppers supposed to arrive?” the ranger inquired.

  “Two hours, give or take,” Perkins replied. “This nightmare can’t end soon enough.”

  “Until then, would you have any problem with my trying to talk Mr. Hendricks out?”

  “Hell, yes, I have a problem with that. All I need right now is to end up with a hostage, or another dead body. Besides, what makes you think he’ll listen to you?”

  Zach rubbed his chin and then responded, “Because I saved his life. I think I could win his trust, and like you said, another dead body isn’t going to do anyone any good.”

  Perkins clearly didn’t like it, but something in Zach’s manner led him to reconsider. “I suppose it would quiet down a few of the conspiracy nuts if we took him alive. Sure, Ranger Bass – be my guest.”

  Zach dialed Abe’s cell phone, surprised when the holdout answered. “Who’s this?”

  “This is Ranger Bass,” Zach replied. “The guy who saved your bacon in New Orleans. I want history to repeat… I want to save your ass again, Abe.”

  A deep chuckle sounded over the phone’s tiny speaker, the belly-deep laughing followed by silence. “It’s a little too late for that, isn’t it? I don’t think you can salvage my life now, Ranger. Things are a little different this time.”

  Sighing, Zach shook his head. “Let’s be honest. Becoming a martyr this morning will not further your cause. I’m not going to lie to you – you’re going to spend the rest of your life in a cell. But aren’t you at all curious to see if your sacrifice makes a difference? They have televisions and newspapers in prison, Mr. Hendricks.”

  “I’ll concede that point to you, sir. It would be interesting to see how this all plays out, but I would prefer to be dead than lose my freedom.”

  It was Zach’s turn to laugh, “That sounds noble and brave, but from my way of thinking, it’s a cop out. If you really believe in this movement… a cause you’ve deemed worthy of human life… then you should want to stick around and help it along. After all, you don’t want your sacrifice just to be a flash in the pan, do you? You can write letters in jail, author books, and conduct interviews. If your objective is to initiate government change, then why not stay alive and keep up the fight?”

  Zach knew his reasoning was working from the extended gap of silence that followed. The ranger’s face broke out in a smile when Abe finally came back and asked, “And would you guarantee I would make it to jail, Ranger? I’ve hurt a lot of those lawmen… made them look bad. I’m pretty sure most of them would prefer to shoot me on sight.”

  Looking at a surprised Agent Perkins, Zach responded, “I’ll come in by myself and bring you out, Abe. I’ll be right there beside you the entire time. I don’t know if you remember or not, but I’m a big son of a bitch and mean as hell. I don’t think any of these federal boys will pick a fight with me.”

  There was laughter from the other end, quickly followed by the biggest surprise of Agent Perkins’ extensive career. “Okay, Ranger Bass. Come on in and get me. I’ll surrender to you… and you alone.”

  “See you in a few minutes, Abe.”

  Temple and Perkins were speechless, neither of them ready to believe it had been that easy. Sam finally spoke first, “Are you sure it’s not a setup?”

  “Could be,” replied Zach. “But isn’t it worth a try? How many more brave men might die in that airborne assault? For sure, Mr. Hendricks would perish, but I doubt your teams will get inside unharmed. I think we have to try reasoning with him.”

  A short time later, Zach was driving through the police barricade and on the road to Abe’s stronghold.

  Stopping in the street, the ranger left his truck running and preceded to stroll across the yard toward the house. He was almost to the porch when the
front door opened, a tired, bleary-eyed Hendricks stepping outside. Zach couldn’t see a weapon.

  “You’re making the right decision,” Zach reassured the clearly nervous man.

  “I suppose you’re going to search me and then handcuff my hands behind my back.”

  Zach shook his head, “I need to see if you’re hiding a weapon, but no, I didn’t even bring any cuffs with me. Now once I turn you over to the feds, they will definitely want you restrained. I’ll make sure they’re professional about it.”

  “Thanks for that,” Abe replied. “It will be nice to leave the old neighborhood for the last time with a little dignity.”

  Zach approached Mr. Hendricks and quickly patted him down. “Ready?” the ranger asked as soon as he was certain the man was unarmed.

  “Now is as good a time as any,” Abe responded and began strolling toward the idling pickup, Zach walking alongside.

  A hissing noise split the early morning air, followed instantly by a loud thump. Abe’s body jerked from the impact of a sniper’s bullet, a small red circle in the center of his chest. Mr. Hendricks was dead before he hit the ground.

  A swarming convoy of lights rushed towards Abe’s house, law enforcement vehicles of every make, model, and description racing to the scene.

  Agent Perkins was first, opening the passenger door of his government sedan before the driver had come to a complete stop.

  The special agent, hustling toward Zach, found the ranger on one knee staring down at Abe’s body lying in the grass. Hell’s fury filled the Texan’s eyes as he peered up at the approaching federal officer.

  “What the hell happened here?” Perkins inquired. Before he could finish his interrogation, Zach’s tall frame uncoiled, a snake-strike fist slamming into the FBI man’s face.

  “You lying son of a bitch!” Zach screamed, raining blow after blow onto the hapless agent’s head. “I gave my word - you fucking piece of shit!”

  It took three burly officers to pull the ranger off, the outcome of that encounter in question for a few moments. Zach’s rage flourished, his desire to pummel Perkins so intense that the men pinning his arms were straining to maintain control. It was Sam who finally managed to settle the Texan down, stepping between the men and screaming, “Enough, or I’ll shoot both of your stupid asses!”

  Throwing off his own restrainers, a bleeding, bruised Perkins pointed a finger at Zach. “What the fuck is your problem, Ranger?” he yelled.

  Again, the Texan tried to shake off the men restraining him, his face flush with the heat of anger and exertion, veins protruding on his temples and forehead. “You had that man killed, you piece of shit! I gave my word… the word of a Texas peace officer… and you murdered him while he was in my custody!”

  “Bullshit!” Perkins screamed back, his own rage overcoming the shock. “Arrest that man for assaulting a federal officer!” he ordered, looking around at the rapidly growing throng of law enforcement personnel gathering on the front yard.

  Two FBI agents moved toward Zach, one of them producing a pair of handcuffs. They were a few steps away when another voice sounded out, “Belay that order! You have no authority to arrest a Texas Ranger.”

  All heads turned to see Major Alcorn walking onto the grass, five large men in western hats, all carrying M4 rifles, accompanying the new arrival.

  “Bullshit!” repeated Perkins, obviously losing control of his temper. “I’m a federal officer, and I have plenty of authority. Arrest these men as well,” he shouted, pointing at the group of rangers.

  “I wouldn’t try that, son,” Alcorn responded softly, his eyes boring into Perkins with an icy stare.

  Sensing a confrontation, the surrounding group of cops, deputies, ATF, FBI, and visiting lawmen began to separate, some moving to stand with Perkins, others siding with Alcorn. A cloud of tension filled the air.

  “Stop this!” Sam’s voice cut through the air. “Have you all gone insane?”

  Perkins blinked. Shaking his head in disgust, he looked over the crowd and said, “Forget about our hotheaded ranger, we’ve got a crime scene to process. I want the bomb squad to clear that residence, the forensic teams to cover every inch of this property after they’re done.”

  Everyone exhaled, relieved that the unprecedented standoff hadn’t escalated. Perkins, throwing one last harsh look in Zach’s direction, pivoted and stormed off, a red handkerchief mopping the blood from his nose and lip.

  No one noticed Ross Garcia, or his tiny digital camera. No one paid any attention as the sly reporter pocketed his recording device and slinked off, whispering about having hit the lottery two days in a row.

  By Aaron’s way of thinking, news of Abe Hendricks’s death meant little as far as the campaign was concerned. He was wrong.

  The public’s reaction surprised Heidi’s chief of staff, as well as practically everyone else on the national stage. Cries of conspiracy rang through the air, quickly followed by accusations of “Big government! Loss of Liberty!” and even a few radical elements claiming, “Abe Hendricks was justified!”

  Those on the left rallied to the Clifton campaign’s cause, shouting, “We need tighter gun control! Stop the killing! When is enough… enough?”

  What shocked Aaron the most was the middle. The independent voters’ reaction wasn’t aligning with his candidate’s position. The airwaves were packed with video of the confrontation over the dead man’s body, courtesy of Ross Garcia. Bloggers lit up the information superhighway with boldly worded pieces, while several newspapers ran special additions.

  The tide of public opinion begun to turn, quickly snowballing against Heidi Clifton.

  The Clifton for President campaign possessed an unprecedented sophistication with regard to processing poll numbers and the public’s overall mindset. Thousands of volunteers, researchers, contracted think tanks, and political experts monitored events in real time, utilizing state-of-the-art computer systems and heuristic software.

  As the sun moved east to west across the land, Aaron sat and watched Heidi lose ground as more and more Americans became aware of the morning’s events in Houston.

  In the campaign’s headquarters, the staff could see the transition as well, faces that had been sure of victory just a few hours ago, now beginning to wrinkle with worry.

  But Aaron seemed to be taking it all in stride. Some of his direct reports wrote it off to his positive management style; others thought their boss was sticking his head in the sand, ignoring the tsunami that was preparing to hit their beloved Heidi.

  By lunch on the east coast, Florida was in danger of turning into a red state. By early afternoon, two more battleground states were in the Republican column.

  Right-wing talk radio hosts, Fox News, and conservative bloggers were having a field day at the political left’s expense. “Wake up, America! Abe Hendricks was justified!” they shouted to anyone who would listen. “It was Heidi Clifton and her gang of liberal, gun-grabbing, constitution-busting, ideologues that caused the entire mess. What true patriot would have acted differently?”

  Even the dead law enforcement officers in Houston became pawns in the political mudslinging dominating the electorate’s attention. Both sides blamed the other for the carnage and loss of life, the two parties producing talking points to support their cause.

  By mid-afternoon, several other “victims” of the New Orleans gun grab were coming forward, spouting their exaggerated tales of “government thugs,” using excess force while confiscating their firearms… at least that’s how it appeared to the folks on the left.

  The eastern corridor between Washington and Boston rallied to the federal cause, the vast majority of the public calling for the Lone Star State to disband its “uppity” Texas Rangers.

  There was an outcry from the geographical center of the country as well, many politically weighty voices calling for the rangers to be rewarded for their actions. California, four hours behind in the news cycle, sided with the opposite coast.

  So passion
ate was the public’s reaction, small skirmishes between the two opposing sides began to occur. A pro-gun rally in Kansas City turned into a riot when the attendees were confronted by marchers demanding universal background checks.

  More and more reports flooded newsrooms across the country, Americans turning on each other over the issue, sometimes violently.

  Senators and congressmen from both sides joined the fray, many issuing a thinly veiled lambasting of the opposition while pretending to plead for calm.

  Atlanta experienced extreme violence, as did Austin, Texas - massive demonstrations turning into full-blown anarchy, complete with looting, burning and pillaging.

  Aaron’s cell phone rang, a quick glance indicating that Heidi had placed the call. Wondering what had taken her so long, he listened to her concerned voice. “You better get over here… right away,” she said. “My husband is about to have a coronary, and I think we need to have a quick skull session.”