Purge on the Potomac

by Roberts, David Thomas;

  “So, in this case, your judgment is that you know better than your constituents?” asked the host.

  “Well, I agree that many of my fellow Texans wanted the president impeached. We successfully impeached Tibbs,” came the side-stepped response.

  “So they should be happy with that? Is that what you are saying?” pressed the host.

  “I’m saying I was privy to evidence they didn’t see. The impeachment hearings were not public, as you know,” answered the senator.

  “That’s a whole other issue in itself. Were you in agreement with the decision to hold these impeachment hearings in secrecy? Isn’t that against the accepted tenets of a constitutional republic?” queried the host who was, in essence, correcting Simpson on the actual form of government that exists in the United States.

  “I agreed with the leadership to close this to the public. First, the hearings themselves would likely have taken two to three times the length necessary due to grandstanding from both sides of the debate, just because it was on television,” reasoned Simpson.

  “But…” started the host, who was now being interrupted himself.

  “Not to mention, sir, that holding these hearings in private in the Senate chambers was in our national interest,” interrupted Simpson.

  “Is it not in the national interest for our citizens to know the possible level of malfeasance in our federal government? Doesn’t the public have a right to know?” countered the host, almost sounding like a conservative media pundit.

  “Well, sure, but the accused also has the right to a fair trial. I’m not sure if that would have happened had this whole process been public,” responded Simpson confidently.

  “I want to get back to one thing, Senator, before we stray too far. Is it your belief that you are supposed to vote the overall will of your constituents on any issue that may come before you, or…” said the host.

  “My job is not to vote a particular way just because of mob rule. They elected me to represent them by using my good judgment on the issues, even if it goes against their wishes,” said Senator Simpson to a visibly shocked host.

  Chapter 5

  “How strangely will the tools of a tyrant pervert the plain meaning of words!”

  - Samuel Adams

  (1722-1803) known as the “Father of the American Revolution”

  Zach Turner had seen enough.

  The leader of the Free Texas movement was deeply involved in the Texas Crisis from the beginning. He was a close friend of both Stan Mumford and Chuck Dixon, the two citizen-heroes of the Tea Party who were killed by federal agents. Their deaths lit the match that ultimately led to the Texas referendum vote and the impeachment trial of the U.S. president and his attorney general.

  From the standpoint of the current crisis, Zach was actually much further along in his belief that Washington, D.C. was, in fact, unfixable. Despite Mumford’s and Dixon’s pleas, they could never get Zach to become active in the Tea Party.

  It wasn’t that Zach didn’t believe in limited government and adherence to the Constitution; he just flatly refused to believe the bureaucrats in D.C. would ever return to a true constitutional form of government. He also subscribed to the theory that, throughout history, most failed democracies committed suicide as elected politicians figured out they could keep themselves in power simply by redistributing the contents of the Treasury in exchange for votes.

  For Zach, and many more like him, the only answer was a complete and total separation of Texas from the United States. He had dedicated his post-military adult life to an independent Texas.

  More hardcore than either Mumford or Dixon, Zach seemed to attract those types who were similar to him in thinking and in life experiences. At six foot two and now thirty-six years old, this Navy SEAL veteran of sixteen years looked like he could still walk right back into active duty and complete any mission he was assigned. Zach worked briefly for the CIA after his stint in the Navy, but was so disillusioned by the direction of the agency, the unlawful missions, and the meddling of the bureaucrats that he abruptly resigned and moved back to Texas from Langley.

  Back in Texas, the tall and muscular blond started his own corporate security business, which kept him involved in his former element and around similar alpha males who worked for him. Zach was the quintessential man’s man.

  Zach spent any spare time he had building the Free Texas organization and working to legitimize both the idea of an independent Texas nation and the overall credibility of his group. Opponents likened Free Texas to secessionists, often calling Zach and his group racists, which was somewhat ironic considering that Zach’s marriage to an African-American woman was seven years strong and included a son named Colt.

  Whatever “list” the administration kept on political enemies, Zach was now on it. But it was not only the administration that had him in its crosshairs. He had aroused the ire of almost every establishment politician in Texas, both Democrats and especially Old Guard Republicans.

  Most politicians run from bold ideas. Only the most ardent of believers allowed themselves to be seen with Zach before the Texas Crisis. Politicians, always looking for political cover, couldn’t afford to associate with Zach, who the left and moderates labeled a right-wing extremist. Politicians from some of the most conservative and rural districts in Texas were warming to Zach quickly. Politicians from those parts of Texas found very quickly that the image of Chuck Dixon with the 1789 Lone Star flag was emblazoned in their conscience, never to go away, and a good politician would capitalize on that fervor.

  Although Zach was affable to all, he had a very tight circle of friends and associates he trusted. He trusted very few people, and absolutely nobody in any level of government was among them, with the exception of Texas Ranger Pops Younger.

  Zach’s business was primarily geared for oil company executives who had to travel in various world hot spots such as Venezuela, Colombia, and the Middle East. Zach had developed a well-known and respected network of operatives in those regions and even in the U.S. who were as good as, and probably markedly better at, advance planning for those executive visits than the State Department or Secret Service. He was well paid and he shared most of the profits with his dedicated crew. They were extremely loyal to Zach and trusted him implicitly.

  Zach had built the offices of Turner Invincible Security on ten acres just outside Katy, Texas, about forty miles west of Houston. The small building, constructed of shipping containers that had been set in concrete, welded together and lined with concrete cinder blocks with few windows, was more like an above-ground bunker than it was an office building, therefore earning it the “Bunker” moniker from Zach, his staff and friends. Inside, the space was full of electronics, computer monitors, servers, and guns… lots of guns.

  The office was completely off the grid. It was powered by solar for electricity, supplemented by propane-powered generators. The propane tanks were buried underground in concrete boxes where they could not be seen. A well supplied water. Nothing in the Bunker was connected to any utility.

  Three of Zach’s staff were sitting at one of the small conference tables in the Bunker as he strolled in, flanked by his two best friends, who were also on the payroll and served with Zach on the same SEAL team.

  Zach removed his shoulder holster and set it on a large hook on the wall, along with dozens of other guns carefully placed on pegs on the same wall. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down with the others.

  “Sons of bitches let him off…” started one of the men at the table.

  “Did we expect anything else? But that damned Simpson… We all know what and who he is.” Zach stared off into the distance.

  “Oh, oh,” said Will, one of Zach’s two best friends, “I can see that brain is in full lock-down mode and working overtime. What happens next, Zach?”

  Zach sat quietly for a few seconds that seemed to last an eternity. “They launched a federal military strike on the governor and deployed troops to try to prevent a
non-binding referendum vote. Brahman’s next move is likely to call for a binding vote,” he said.

  “There’s no way they are going let that happen, guys,” stated Will.

  “The strategy will be the same by the feds, but the tactics might change,” replied Zach as he stood up, yawned and stretched his arms behind his head, revealing a SEAL tattoo on his substantial left bicep and the Lone Star flag on the other.

  “What is the most likely scenario the feds could muster to stop a binding vote for secession in the legislature? Are they going to launch a military strike on the Capitol building? Seems unlikely to me,” said one of the men at the table, half-jokingly.

  “I can’t see how that would play well nationally. Bartlett is going to win the election. She portrayed herself as the peacemaker during the entire crisis. I think we all need to understand they will use covert actions to prevent this,” said Zach.

  “Makes sense. Zach. If that was our operation, how would we do it? We need to put ourselves in their shoes,” replied Will, stroking his goatee.

  “You have to get to those who are voting,” Zach replied, as if he had already thought through this process.

  “The state legislators? How so?” asked another.

  “Everyone, and I do mean everyone, is vulnerable to something. Hell, these votes could be bought or they could be coerced. Nothing is sacred to those in D.C. You can bet this would be an operation out of Langley. If it was me, and if my ultimate mission was to defeat this vote in any way possible with no holds barred short of killing off legislators, I would start looking at who is most vulnerable and likely to cave with pressure, or those who are susceptible to the wrong kind of exposure,” Zach surmised.

  “Well, you could buy votes. That’s the simple answer. When that doesn’t work, you either find a hidden skeleton or you threaten family, or both. It would depend on how much time they have to influence things,” shot back Will.

  “Just remember, you don’t have to turn the entire legislative body,” reasoned Zach. “Just as the last presidential election turned in four swing states and was ultimately decided in six counties, you can affect the outcome by picking off just the right mix of legislators, state senators, or party leaders. Seriously, guys, this would be a chump mission compared to some of the crap we’ve been through in Afghanistan, Iraq and other parts of the world.”

  “The power of persuasion!” yelled Will, holding up his 9mm Glock to the laughter of everyone at the table.

  “We are all persuaded and motivated by something,” Zach continued, ignoring Will’s shenanigans. “Langley will figure out what buttons to push and with whom, and it won’t take them long. I bet they have dossiers on most of them anyway.”

  “So, if you had to predict…?” asked Will.

  “You’re asking me if politicians have the huevos to make the right decision, even if it’s not politically correct? Ha! Remember, just because a politician is from Texas doesn’t mean he has the interests of his fellow Texans at heart. Hell, look at Simpson. He’s a carpet-bagging, sorry waste of oxygen,” lamented Zach.

  “Give me five minutes with Simpson!” said another man at the table.

  “Five minutes? Hell, that’s overkill. Give me thirty seconds with that sorry scumbag!” answered Will.

  “You never know, fellas,” said Zach, as if he knew something they didn’t know. “You may get that chance sooner than you think.”

  The focus and demeanor suddenly changed.

  “So there IS a Plan B in that crazy mind of yours?” asked Will, relieved.

  Zach reached around to a side table, pulled out a black backpack, and unzipped it. He pulled out several documents and began to lay them on the table in front of the small group. Immediately, the group abandoned their chairs to get closer to the documents.

  Zach had an uncanny ability to define and plan missions with incredible detail, fallback options, and risk assessment while he was a SEAL. It wasn’t uncommon for those in command to define the mission and then cut Zach loose to plan it. He was an expert at detailed mission planning. He had never had a plan rejected by command and had never had a failed mission with the SEALs that he personally planned and executed.

  In a matter of weeks, the entire country would come to understand the breadth of Zach’s talent.

  No one said a word as the crew anxiously pored over Zach’s documents.

  Will laid a document back down on the table after reading it and turned to Zach. “Give me an order, sir!”

  Chapter 6

  “All we ask is to be let alone.”

  - Jefferson Davis

  President of the Confederate States of America

  Pops Younger strolled into the ornate reception area of the governor’s office. Already famous among law enforcement professionals, Pops was now a living legend among everyday Texans and the rest of the country for the scene that was broadcast live worldwide on the International Bridge in Laredo during the Texas Crisis. Pops had walked into the chaos and gunfire that erupted on the bridge to confront charging Mexican federales, calmly shooting several with the two ivory-gripped revolvers he pulled smoothly from his western-style holsters as the federales plunged more than a hundred feet to the Rio Grande below. It looked like a perfect stunt scene out of a well-orchestrated action movie, except that it was real.

  Most people in Austin had never seen Pops without his trademark Stetson hat, his cowboy-cut denim Wranglers, and alligator cowboy boots. His handlebar mustache seemed to be as old as he was, but those close to him always commented on his steel-blue eyes and homespun wisdom. Legend had it that he had brought two fugitives to justice simply by staring them down as they pointed their weapons at him. That icy stare shot fear into the criminals, enough for them both to surrender their weapons to Pops without him saying a word. Nobody really knew how old he was, but some guessed him to be as old as eighty. He was ornery as a rattlesnake, except when it came to women.

  “Howdy, Margaret, how was your weekend, darlin’? Damned cold this morning, ain’t it?” Pops greeted Margaret, the governor’s executive secretary.

  “Sure is, Mr. Younger, but it may be colder in that office than it is outside!” she quipped back.

  Pops never was much for ceremony, even in its simplest forms, and he detested most politicians. Margaret knew not to ask him to wait in the reception area while she notified the governor he had arrived. Pops was a Texas icon, surviving the administrations of six different governors, both Democrat and Republican. The one commonality between them all was that every one of them grew to love and respect Pops despite any differences they might have had with his old-school conservatism. Women especially were not put off by his chauvinistic nature and, oddly enough, most of them considered it chivalrous.

  He also didn’t need an invitation. Pops rarely elicited small talk, and about the only time you could get him to opine on current and political affairs was around a campfire at deer camp. Pops was Texas’ version of Yogi Berra in cowboy boots, full of a unique, special wisdom and simply genius anecdotes. Pops had no tolerance for politics or politicians and, if he was coming to the capital, even without an appointment, then by God the governor was going to see him.

  As the large oak doors swung open, Governor Brahman had just finished lighting a cigar. He didn’t say a word as Pops strolled to his desk and sat down in the large leather chair, made from Axis deer and longhorn steer hides, opposite the desk. Governor Brahman took a long draw on his giant box-pressed Cuban stogie, leaned back in his hide-covered chair, and let the smoke billow out slowly. The governor’s office always smelled like fine cigars and leather with a hint of the finest Kentucky bourbon.

  “Good morning, Pops,” said Brahman.

  “What’s good about it, Smitty?” asked Pops, who never called anyone by his official title.

  “Well, damn, Pops, I guess you know where we stand this morning. I should’ve figured you’d be the first one in my office.”

  “I know this,” said Pops, who was visibly agitat
ed, “we’ve got a bunch of spineless weasels in the Congress and one especially from Texas.”

  “I know. I’ve never been more disappointed in my life with a Texas’ senator. I thought Yankee liberals from the Northeast would be difficult to top!” lamented Brahman. “But you gotta be impressed with the PR campaign the media waged for Johnson.”

  “Hell, the impeachment hearings for Johnson were a joke and we didn’t even see them! A certain senator should be tarred and feathered, then hung on the lawn of the Capitol. Somebody in D.C. must have some damned goat pictures on a few of these scoundrels.” Pops stood to gaze out the window.

  Brahman took another deep draw on his cigar. The former Texas Speaker of the House had ascended to the governorship immediately following the deaths of former Governor Brent Cooper and his wife, who were killed during the ill-conceived and failed federal arrest raid ordered by the administration that ignited the Texas Crisis.

  Brahman had become a very popular figure among Texans as he stood up to President Johnson and Washington, D.C., just as his predecessor Cooper did. Not nearly as good-looking as Cooper, who strikingly resembled the original Marlboro Man, he became just as popular quickly during the Crisis as he promoted a non-binding referendum on Texas independence to voters despite the administration’s heavy-handed unconstitutional tactics to stop it.

  “Give some credit to that old warhorse Annabelle Bartlett, Pops. She managed to be the voice of reason, complaining how the impeachment hearings were tearing the country apart,” said Brahman.

  “Hell, it’ll probably get her elected,” quipped Pops.

  “Pops, you know good and well she’s going to get elected, no matter what. That’s already been decided,” answered Brahman.

  Pops walked over to the coffee bar and grabbed a coffee mug emblazoned with the state seal to use as a spit cup for the pinch of Copenhagen between his bottom lip and gums. The governor knew he was about to get some of Pops’ unique wisdom and insight. At that point, it was best to just shut up and let Pops talk, and Brahman knew it. This was about to be one of those rare moments with Pops that endeared him so much to those who knew him.