Purge on the Potomac

by Roberts, David Thomas;

  “Zach, we’ve got some very restless natives,” Will said on a phone call to Zach.

  “We are all restless. The crash…”

  “Not just the crash, Zach,” interrupted Will.

  “Okay, then what?” asked Zach.

  “The IRS levy actions are having an impact. I’m hearing there are some who want immediate action, even retribution,” Will relayed.

  “How bad is it? We told them to move money immediately, didn’t we?”

  “It’s apparently pretty bad,” Will told him. “Some didn’t act right away; others had already had their accounts levied before they could do anything. It seems the IRS is going to extra steps to target our folks. They all know they’re targets due to the referendum but, Lord, Zach, once they know what we know, I’m not sure if we can contain all of them from acting on their own.”

  “You know at some point we have to tell them. If we don’t, we stand to lose trust with them all in the end for not keeping them informed,” stated Zach.

  The beauty of Turner’s organization was the breadth, scope and talent the group possessed globally. Although only three dozen security specialists were on the payroll of Zach’s security firm, the rest of the organization accepted Zach as the undisputed leader. It was an amazing collection of current and former operatives―SEALS, Green Berets, Army Rangers, mercenaries, self-proclaimed patriots, and a highly organized, tightly knit collection of regional volunteer militias.

  The national news was covering the crash nonstop. All members of the Free Texas organization could easily connect the dots of an emergency meeting. An emergency meeting called just a couple of hours after the governor’s plane crashed? That was a coincidence, and this group didn’t believe in coincidences.

  Although the meeting wasn’t scheduled to begin until 5:00, Free Texas members and Zach’s security employees began streaming into the Bunker site as early as 2:00. Zach expected his full roster of security employees, except four who were on assignment escorting corporate executives in various places around the world.

  The mood of the group that assembled at the Bunker was not festive, even though many had not seen each other since the Texas Crisis broke out. Almost immediately, they began comparing the horror stories of their IRS dealings over the last few weeks.

  For a group of high-testosterone, Type A personalities with notable black ops skills to start sharing their hatred for the IRS, coupled with the news that another Texas governor was dead―even if by accident―created a volatile environment, especially for those on the extreme anti-government side of things. Beard, who was the first of the fully knowledgeable trio to arrive at the Bunker, sent Zach an advance coded text message that he needed to be prepared to defuse the volatility of the group.

  Although Zach’s first instinct was to head straight to the Bunker, he needed to go home first and see to Kymbra and his son. The news of the governor’s death just the day after she knew her husband met with him rocked her. Zach hadn’t been home much over the last few weeks, especially after they lifted Ottosson’s files in the D.C. operation.

  “Baby, I don’t know exactly what is going on or why, but I know that you know. Are you okay? This stuff is really scaring me,” Kymbra pleaded.

  “Darlin’, I won’t lie to you. There are some seriously evil folks out there and we know for the most part who they are. But, listen to me… I’m safe. You’re safe. Our son is safe.”

  Kymbra was very skeptical, mostly because the level of Zach’s intensity and distraction over the last few weeks was like nothing she had ever seen from him. They hadn’t met yet when he was in Kosovo, so she never saw him in that frame of mind, but she did witness how intense he was during the Texas Crisis.

  “Zach, you haven’t left the country, so are you telling me the enemies are domestic?” Kymbra pressed.

  “Some, but not all,” Zach deflected.

  Kymbra could tell he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, and she didn’t force the conversation further. She moved to embrace him.

  As they sometimes did, Zach and Kymbra put their heads together and rubbed noses. That small innocent gesture quickly turned into a heated moment. Seizing the opportunity they had with their son in school and not due home for another hour, they passionately undressed each other and made love on the kitchen floor.

  For a brief while, Zach had no thoughts of Ottosson or the tragic death of Governor Brahman. It was only him and Kymbra for a brief period. Afterward, they both lay on their backs on the kitchen floor. They began to laugh at a moment that reminded them of their early years together.

  Thirty minutes later, Zach was back in his pickup truck en route to the Bunker, with a slight edge taken off his intensity. He thought to himself that this meeting might be the most important one they had ever had there, including one in which the group voted to participate in the militia action in Austin during the crisis.

  Zach arrived at the Bunker a full two hours before the special meeting. It had been a while since he had seen many of his crew, and he was surprised at how many drove in from Oklahoma, Arkansas and Louisiana. He even learned some had jumped on a plane and were scheduled to land in Houston just in time to make the meeting.

  As Zach was shaking hands and carrying on with fellow operatives, he caught a glance from Will. He saw serious concern in Will’s eyes.

  He slowly made his way over to his friend through the small crowd.

  “How concerned should I be?” he said, leaning toward Will and asking quietly.

  “I would say very concerned,” Will answered. “We have a very big decision to make.”

  He was referring to the dangerous dilemma they faced in telling the group about the Ottosson evidence, or holding some or all of it back from them. If he chose not to tell them, he risked losing their trust, which would mean the end of the Free Texas organization and could jeopardize his network of operatives. If he chose to tell them everything, he would have a very hard time containing some of the group whose choices could threaten the entire organization.

  This quandary was not lost on Beard, either. He noticed the two talking in the corner of the building and came over to them.

  “Zach, if you want my opinion on what you are about to do, I don’t see a good outcome either way. I’ve prepared as if you are going to spill it all, but you know I can hold back any or all of it. I’ll respect whatever decision you make,” Beard whispered.

  With less than an hour before the meeting started, Zach still hadn’t made up his mind. His mind drifted to Pops. He needed to know what Pops knew about the crash and to get his advice. He took his cell out of his pocket and called the number he had for Pops.

  Pops had just left the crash scene. Federal investigators from the National Transportation Safety Board had arrived. He made sure his crew had seen the site and evidence and left six Texas Rangers to assist, but also to watch the federal investigators for any investigative irregularities they might witness.

  “Dick Dyson,” came the voice on the cell phone number Zach dialed.

  “This is Zach Turner. Can I speak to Pops?”

  “This is who?” questioned Dyson, even though he knew exactly who Turner was.

  “This is Zach Turner. I’m sure you remember me. I just spent the evening with Pops a few days ago,” replied Zach in an irritable tone.

  “Son, Pops is in the middle of this crash investigation. I don’t think he can be bothered.”

  “I’m sure if you tell him it’s urgent, he will want to speak to me.”

  A few seconds of uncomfortable silence followed.

  “Hello? Hello? You there?” Zach asked.

  “Yeah, yeah, hang tight. Let me see if I can run him down. You may have to wait a bit,” Dyson replied.

  Zach paced back and forth for what seemed like an eternity. He knew Pops didn’t like to carry a cell phone and, when he did carry one, he only used it for outbound calls he wanted to make.

  “Younger here,” finally came the voice over the phone.


  “Pops, I’m sorry to bother you during this bad time. I really need to know whether you think the crash was an accident,” Zach said.

  “Well, we ain’t got all the evidence in yet. It’s way too early to be calling the game,” returned Pops.

  “Pops, this is me you’re talking to. I’ve kept government secrets that will go to my grave with me. I’ve got some decisions to make with my people and it would help if you told me what you think,” Zach pleaded.

  “I guess it depends on what you would do with that kinda info. It could be the kind of information that’ll get people killed, and it ain’t nothin’ that can be spread all over,” Pops answered.

  “It’s nothing I’m going to share, but it will help me make a decision I have to make,” Zach replied.

  “Son, I’m assuming you ain’t going to go off half-cocked? You’re too damned smart for that,” Pops pressed.

  “Thank you for saying so, Pops. I’m actually trying to straddle the fence between what I share with my people. I’ve got some folks that could cook off in a hurry, but I stand to lose a lot of trust and relationships I’ve built over the years by withholding too much.”

  “Damn, son, that’s a helluva predicament. I’ll tell you this and you can do with it what you think is right, but it ain’t a lot at this point. You simply cannot jeopardize my investigation.”

  “Okay, Pops, I’ll take whatever you can give me.”

  “First, there ain’t no evidence this was anything but an accident. I’ve listened to the tower communications and they were having a devil of a time with their right engine. Their fuel indicators were also acting up. What? Hold on a minute,” Pops yelled to someone else away from the phone. “Son, I’ll be right back. You hang on here,” he said. Zach heard some commotion around Pops.

  “Yes, sir,” Zach replied.

  Dyson was trying to get Pops’ attention.

  “Damn, I’m on the phone, boys. What the hell has lit fire to your tails?”

  “Austin police are reporting a double murder-suicide in south Austin at an apartment complex. Looks like a guy shot his wife and son, then shot himself. His name is Endio Hernandez,” Dyson told him.

  “Well? Then get some of the team out there!” Pops shot back, looking visibly annoyed.

  “Pops, he worked as an aircraft maintenance contractor for the Aviation Department in the hangar. He touches that King Air almost every day. There’s a suicide note,” Dyson reported to Pops.

  “Son of a bitch. They got a time of death?” asked Pops. “How was it reported?”

  “A relative found them in the apartment about thirty minutes ago.”

  “Nobody called in shots fired at the complex?” Pops asked.

  “Not that we are aware of,” Dyson answered.

  “How could it be nobody hears three shots in an apartment building? Also, I need to know time of death right away!” demanded Pops.

  He motioned for them to stop talking to him as he picked up his cell phone and took a few steps away from Dyson. He dialed Zach.

  “Son, we’ve got some new developments here. I’ve got no proof of anything yet, but what I will tell you is that I’m not treating this as an accident until someone proves to me it ain’t one. There’s just too damned much going on for us to accept that conclusion. Hell, I owe it to Smitty. That’s about all I can tell you for now.”

  “Thank you, sir, thank you very much. I will tell you I stopped believing in coincidences with anything involving our government many years ago. Again, thank you, sir.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be talkin’ soon ’nuf,” Pops said, ending the call.

  Just then, Will walked out of the Bunker and approached Zach.

  “Did you reach him?”

  “I did. Apparently, some kind of development in the crash investigation happened while I was talking to him. He couldn’t say anything officially, but he’s not convinced that plane went down by some mechanical failure or pilot error.”

  “So do you have what you need?” asked Will carefully.

  Zach stared out across the Katy prairie and began stretching and adjusting his neck and shoulders. Will had seen that routine a hundred times when a mission became clear to his friend, and he needed to get his mind right.

  “So we’re good to go?” asked Will.

  “Start the meeting. I’ll be right in.”

  Chapter 38

  “A freedom fighter learns the hard way that it is the oppressor who defines the nature of the struggle, and the oppressed is often left no recourse but to use methods that mirror those of the oppressor. At a point, one can only fight fire with fire.”

  - Nelson Mandela (1918-2013)

  South African anti-apartheid revolutionary,

  imprisoned for 27 years

  Zach walked into the meeting room. Despite the short notice, the room was packed. All who entered the room deposited their cell phones in a cardboard box sitting on a table next to the door. No recording devices of any kind were allowed, and the staff of Turner Invincible Security made sure of it.

  Nobody, however, was ever asked to check his or her weapons at the door. Zach didn’t believe in making anyone disarm.

  The collection of members of Free Texas, Zach’s security staff, and black ops in the room was an interesting mix. It consisted of Free Texas members who had never been in any Special Forces to highly trained and highly motivated black ops professionals. Rarely was this collection of Zach’s members and acquaintances ever in one place, and it was on purpose.

  “Good afternoon, everyone. Thanks for coming on short notice,” Zach opened the meeting. “It’s great to see so many of you I haven’t seen in months. Since it’s rare we get to meet like this, let’s open this up in style.” Zach turned toward a Texas flag hanging on the wall.

  Everyone stood, took off any hats, and placed their right hands over their hearts as they said the pledge to the Texas flag:

  “Honor the Texas flag; I pledge allegiance to thee, Texas, one state under God, one and indivisible.”

  A short invocation was led by one of the group, and most sat down. There weren’t enough chairs to go around, but people found places on the floor, or on tables or desks.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” started Zach, “I know we need to address the crash that killed our governor. I promise we will get to that. But first, I know many of you are going through some extreme hardships over this IRS crap. We need to address anyone who’s having severe issues so that your brothers can assist in any way. I know most of you have had some type of levy on funds in your accounts. I need to know if any of you have had property, other than your bank accounts, frozen or levied and have no access to cash with which to operate.”

  About a dozen hands went up. Zach was surprised at the number.

  “What happened? Don’t you have money put away?” Zach asked those in the group that raised their hands.

  “Zach, I was in the Far East when this went down, “ said one operative. “I couldn’t get to my accounts fast enough and my cash reserves were too low. It’s my own damned fault. I know we preach this, but the timing was just bad as I was about to replenish those cash reserves from the job I’m doing for Langley in Singapore.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, let me reiterate that your bug-out bags must include cash and that you must be able to access six months of emergency cash somewhere offsite within easy reach. What you’re seeing today could be just the beginning of a scenario that worsens in a hurry.”

  That got everyone’s attention. Then it began.

  “These sons of bitches keep messing with us. I, for one, am damned tired of it. We’ve got guys here that can’t feed their families. We’ve obviously been targeted―again! It’s way past time for these lowlife bloodsuckers to get theirs!” shouted Henry “Hank” Lofton, to the echoes of many who agreed.

  Lofton was a career SEAL, retiring after twenty-two years. He was then recruited by the CIA. Lofton detested the CIA, claiming several of his buddies over the years were killed in
operations where the CIA’s intelligence was bad or the CIA failed to provide support. Although a well-respected SEAL commander, his outspoken and politically incorrect verbal tirades at various congressmen, congresswomen, and bureaucrats forced him to retire. Lofton was a huge guy who still lifted weights several hours daily and, despite being in his forties, looked every bit a black ops guy, with short-cropped hair, closely trimmed beard and bulging veins in his temples that got more pronounced when he was angry.

  Zach had been on many missions with Lofton and respected him immensely, but Lofton always saw himself as Zach’s equal.

  “Hank, you’re damned right. But I’m going to ask you and everyone else here to hold onto your thoughts as we lay out some other facts we’ve uncovered. I’ll tell you it won’t make you feel any better and you’ll likely be angrier than you are right now. But we could potentially be at that crossroads event we’ve always talked about,” Zach told them.

  The entire group knew what he meant by the term “crossroads.” In every revolutionary or independence movement in history, there comes a crossroads event where people have to choose sides. That choice, if it’s the wrong choice, could literally put the chooser’s life, liberty, family, business, and fortune at ultimate risk.

  “All right, Zach, I’ll listen, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to put up with this anymore. I’m about ready to put a bullet in the eye of the IRS.”

  Many clapped and cheered. It took a few minutes for the group to settle back down.

  “First, let’s start with the governor’s plane crash. I just got off the phone with Pops Younger about an hour ago. So far, no evidence this was anything but an accident,” Zach began as the group jeered and hissed.

  “Okay, okay. Now listen up, Pops is very suspicious. I’m very suspicious. Many of you… hell, most of you know our government is totally capable of something like this. That goes without saying.”