“We cracked their data centers so now the front door is open. We’ve just got to unlock other doors as we get to them,” claimed Beard.
“Are we talking hours, days or weeks?”
“Likely days, but the team has been in high gear for several weeks. They are exhausted.”
“Keep pushing them, Beard. We are potentially entering a very perilous time. CIS is deeply entrenched into the Deep State. If we can identify any politicians that are being paid, or where political contributions were funneled to disguise foreign campaign contributions, we can make those public to re-direct some of the heat back on them.”
“Roger that, boss. I’m on it.”
In the meantime, Turner’s security firm had a messaging protocol that went out to all employees, operatives and members. It signaled the entire apparatus of Turner Invincible Security (TIS) and the Free Texas movement with immediate orders to go underground and stay that way until further notice.
Kymbra Turner had gotten the emergency text message at the same time everyone else did. Zach was still at the Bunker, having just declared Ghost. There was no need for Kymbra to talk to him; she knew exactly what to do. Everyone in TIS and the Free Texas movement had rehearsed Ghost in annual drills.
Kymbra grabbed three bug-out bags, one for her, one for Zach, and one for their six-year-old son, Colt. Less than four minutes after receiving the text, Kymbra had tossed their bags into a 1972 Torino they had stored in the garage, fired it up and backed out of the driveway, leaving her more modern SUV in the driveway. A 1972 Torino doesn’t have electronic ignition. Most serious preppers have a vehicle they can reach that can’t be affected by an electromagnetic impulse bomb that will fry almost all modern-day electronics. The Torino’s points and condensers wouldn’t be affected by an EMP.
Kymbra drove straight to her son’s school, which was only two miles from their home. Kymbra’s heart dropped when she turned the corner within one block of Oak Grove Elementary School to find dozens of police cars and numerous dark-colored and unmarked SUVs. When she pulled up to the parking lot, she was stopped by police in full military black ops-style gear, complete with helmets, bulletproof vests and automatic weapons.
“I’m here to pick up my son. What’s going on?” Kymbra asked.
Her first thought was another mass shooting incident with all of the police squad cars everywhere.
“Kymbra Turner?” asked the officer.
“Who’s asking? Is everything all right here? Is my son safe?”
“Identification, please, ma’am” said the officer.
“And who are you? Where’s the local sheriff?” she asked.
“Ma’am, are you Kymbra Turner?” he asked again.
“Yes, and who is asking? I’m here to pick up my son.”
“Your son is safe. We have him. I need you to step out of the car, ma’am. Turn your ignition off and stick your hands out of the window.”
“I’m asking YOU, again, who the hell are you?”
Now there were six other federal agents surrounding the Torino, guns drawn and pointing at her.
“I’m not going to tell you again. Shut the car off and stick your hands out the window,” shouted the officer.
Kymbra slowly reached down to the ignition and turned the key off, then stuck her hands out the window, at which time two other officers came over and placed handcuffs on her outstretched arms.
“What the hell is going on here? Where is my son?” pressed Kymbra, becoming more panicked by the moment.
“Ma’am, keep your arms out of the window. We are going to slowly open the door and remove you from the vehicle.”
“Remove me? The hell you are. I’ll get out myself.”
“Ma’am, sit still and follow our directions explicitly!” warned another officer.
The officers slowly opened the driver’s door and removed her handcuffed arms slowly as the door swung open. They then unlocked the handcuffs and roughly removed one handcuff from her right wrist and then jerked her arms behind her and re-handcuffed her with her arms behind her back. Another officer came up from behind her and attached ankle cuffs and a chain to both feet.
“What the hell is going on here?” she demanded. “Where is my son?”
“Ma’am, we are placing you under arrest,” answered a man in a gray suit and blue tie who had just walked up to the car.
“Arrest for what? What about my son?” she screamed.
“Kymbra Turner, you are hereby placed under arrest for conspiracy against the United States, for placing bombs at federal facilities and for eight hundred sixty-four counts of murder,” said the man in the suit.
“Y’all are out of your mind. Where is my son?” she yelled back at him.
“Ma’am, your son has been picked up by Child Protective Services.”
“What? What the hell is wrong with you people?”
“Child Protective Services will determine if it is safe to leave a six-year-old boy with a family that bombs federal facilities and murders hundreds of children,” said the man in the suit sarcastically.
Kymbra glared at the man.
“I’d wipe that look off your face, ma’am. You’re in some deep shit, ma’am. Your husband would be well served to turn himself in.”
“You took our son. You will be lucky if my husband doesn’t kill you before you put your head on your pillow tonight.”
“Ma’am, you can add charges of threatening a federal agent to your list of crimes. If you want to talk, you can tell us where to find your husband and maybe you’ll get to see your son again before you go to prison for a very, very long time, or worse.”
“Look what we have here sir,” mentioned another federal agent who was searching the Torino. “Looks to me like bug-out bags.”
“Where were you headed, Ms. Turner?” asked the man in the suit.
“I want an attorney, right now. I demand to know where my son is being held!” she yelled.
“I already told you, CPS has your son. He is safe.”
“I want an attorney.”
“Finish searching the vehicle and impound it. Take Ms. Turner and put her in the van.”
Kymbra looked around her, intently looking for sheriff’s deputies who were friends of Zach’s, but there were no local law enforcement vehicles on the school property. It was evident they hadn’t been alerted. A small contingent of teachers and school staff were standing underneath the American and Texas flags on a concrete circle, watching her arrest.
“You think Zach is going to make a mistake just because you are harassing me? You are sadly mistaken. Zach didn’t have a damn thing to do with either the IRS bombings or Dallas. Are you people insane? You think you can get to him by arresting me and kidnapping our son? All this is going to get you is DEAD!”
“Ma’am, dead is exactly how your husband is likely to end up, if it were up to me. In fact, we’re counting on it!” said the man in the gray suit.
“What are there, fifty federal agents out there to arrest one woman?” asked the school principal. “Was that really necessary?”
“It must be serious,” added another teacher.
“Don’t know much about them. They really kept to themselves. I think her husband owns some kind of security company,” replied one teacher.
“The word is he was heavily involved in the Texas Crisis,” added another.
Kymbra Turner was marched in shackles to the black unmarked van and loaded into the back. Four agents got in the back with her. The van quickly drove out of the parking lot with four other unmarked SUVs.
Several agents remained. They continued to search the Torino and had a wrecker on stand-by come and put a tow hook on it. Within minutes, the highly-organized plan to snatch Kymbra Turner was over.
At the same time, a caravan of federal agents arrived at the Turner home, while a full contingent of FBI, Homeland Security and ATF agents were descending on the Bunker from three different directions.
Chapter 54
“The dut
y of a patriot is to protect his country from its government.”
- Edward Abbey (1927-1989)
Author
When the federal agents arrived at Turner Invincible Security headquarters, commonly known as the Bunker, it was deserted.
“They knew we were coming,” said an FBI agent.
“These guys are black ops we’re dealing with here. These aren’t your normal criminals. Turner and his followers are highly trained, thanks to our government,” noted a Homeland Security commander.
“Sir, we can’t find a way into this facility,” noted an ATF agent.
“Blow the door,” said the commander.
A few minutes later, the door exploded and teams of FBI and ATF in full gear entered the building. Once they got inside, they found nothing but tables, chairs and a few other pieces of furniture. No files, no paper of any kind, and definitely no computers. Even big screen TVs were taken down off the walls.
“Look at this. It appears they have fast take-down capabilities. These fasteners allow a quick release once you unplug cables. I bet they cleaned this place out in less than thirty minutes,” said another FBI agent as he indicated points in the concrete walls where it was apparent a widescreen monitor had hung minutes before.
“Did we jump the gun with his wife?” asked the lead ATF agent.
“No, that operation was simultaneous. We just got the message she is in cuffs and in their custody. There’s no way she tipped him off.”
“Then he knew we were coming for him anyway,” the FBI agent noted.
“He definitely knew. Now we’ve grabbed his wife and kid. He’s going to look at that as a kidnapping. Don’t be surprised if this escalates,” lamented the commander.
Zach and Kymbra Turner had always had an action plan if Ghost was implemented, the same as all of Turner’s operatives. They were to meet at a pre-determined location and no communication was supposed to take place. They had practiced this scenario at least a half-dozen times in the past when Zach had sent her the code via text that indicated the emergency.
A little over an hour after Zach had abandoned the Bunker, he turned onto a dusty county road on the Texas coastal plains about fifteen miles from Shiner, Texas. He drove three miles before turning into a non-descript farm entrance with a locked gate. He got out, unlocked the gate, and pulled through, then re-locked it again. He drove another half-mile up the farmhouse road and, as the farmhouse and barn came into view, he was a little concerned Kymbra hadn’t beaten him there. The code was sent to her before they started packing up the Bunker. He reasoned to himself that she must have been a little delayed picking up Colt from school, and he fought the urge to try to contact her on her secure phone.
He opened the door to the barn and pulled his Jeep into a horse stall. He then used a rake and cleared some hay off the floor of another stall, revealing a door that opened up to an underground safe room. He went to the back of his Jeep and unloaded some supplies he had managed to get from the Bunker and took them down the steps to the safe room.
The safe room was actually two rooms and was outfitted with high-tech electrical gear, computers, about thirty guns of all calibers, plenty of ammo and emergency food supplies. Zach had disguised a satellite dish in the roof beams so that he could get satellite reception. He had a full generator placed underground, with buried propane tanks about twenty-five yards away. The exhaust from the generator was hidden in a stand of small trees, with a very high-tech look-a-like four-inch tree trunk that filtered exhaust, muffled the sound, and made it nearly undetectable.
Turner had purchased the eighty-acre farm five years prior under a fictitious name and identity. To the neighbors, the family that owned this farm was the Kingsburys from Galveston. A neighboring ranch hand took care of the twenty-two cattle, chickens and various other farm animals the Turners kept on the ranch. He also tended to the five acres that were planted with various crops and herbs. Turner paid him modestly, but the ranch hand got free eggs and any crops from the small garden that Kymbra didn’t can. He had no idea about the safe room or exactly what Turner did or who he was.
After keeping himself busy for about two hours, Turner started to get nervous that Kymbra hadn’t shown up. He couldn’t wait any longer. He got on his satellite phone and dialed the number to Kymbra’s sat phone that was stashed in the bug-out bag.
Two rings later, a man answered.
“Kymbra Turner’s phone,” came the man’s voice.
“Who the hell is this?” demanded Zach.
“This is FBI agent Milson. I assume this is Zach Turner?”
“Where the hell is my wife? Put her on the phone NOW!”
“She’s been taken into custody,” the agent answered.
“She was picking up my son from school…”
“Yes, he’s fine. We have him, too.”
“What the hell do you mean you have him, too?”
“Child Protective Services has him and he is fine.”
“You sons of bitches. My wife and son have nothing to do with anything. What the hell is wrong with you people?”
“I’ve been informed that if you turn yourself in to authorities, we will let Kymbra out on bail. But this offer is only extended for twenty-four hours.”
“You’ve kidnapped my wife and son!”
“She’s being held on conspiracy charges,” Milson said flatly.
“You’re full of crap! And my son?” screamed Zach into the phone.
“CPS has the authority on that one, Turner. I don’t think they are apt to put a child back into a home where the parents are involved in bombing government buildings,” snickered agent Milson.
“You’re a dead man, Milson.”
“Threatening a federal agent? Just add that to the list of charges. But, hell, compared to treason, what difference does it make? You’ve got twenty-four hours, Turner. Turn yourself in to any law enforcement authority, wherever you are, and have them contact me once you’ve done it.”
“What assurances do I have that Kymbra will be released? The deal has to be that she is released and re-united with my son, or nothing.”
“You’re not really in a good bargaining position, Mr. Turner. The clock starts as soon as we hang up. This is a one-time offer. If you don’t take us up on it, there will be no deals later. Understood?”
Zach wanted to say something but bit his tongue as his mind raced for a few seconds.
“I need to speak to her right now; do you hear me?”
“Mr. Turner, she isn’t with me. She is in a jail cell. You’re not really in a bargaining position to start making those kinds of demands.”
A few seconds of silence ensued.
“Mr. Turner, are you there?”
“You’ll be hearing back from me. Keep this line open, you son of a bitch,” Zach said in a very firm and determined manner.
Turner walked into the shade of the barn and began pacing. He then walked back out and starting dialing a familiar number.
“Pops’ Younger’s phone,” Dyson answered unceremoniously.
“Dyson, this is Zach Turner. I need to speak to Pops. It’s an emergency,” Zach pleaded.
“Hang tight. We are still up here at this circus in Dallas. I’ll go see if he will take your call.”
“Tell him to hurry, please.”
Dyson walked into the police tent on the fairgrounds and walked up to Pops, “I’ve got Zach Turner on your phone. Says it’s an emergency. He sounds a little flustered.”
Pops took the phone and walked out of the tent, away from anyone that could listen in. Dyson followed him for a few steps but kept his distance.
“Younger here.”
“Pops, sorry to bother you. The feds have picked up my wife Kymbra and they even grabbed my son out of school. They are demanding I turn myself in for the IRS bombings or they say they are going to press conspiracy charges on her. Hell, they gave my son to Child Protective Services!”
“How did they reach you?
Where are you at?” asked Pops.
“I’m about two-and-a-half hours from Houston. I called Kymbra and they picked it up. She was leaving Houston with my son, and I assume they took him out of school before she could get him. I want to kill the sons of bitches, Pops. What should I do?”
Pops took his time before answering. “Son, I know you had nothing to do with those bombings. They’ve got you by the short-hairs. Why don’t I come down to Houston and negotiate the release of your wife and son, or exchange, whatever the hell they’re gonna call it. Do you have an attorney?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll call him next.”
“One piece of advice I’d give to both you and your attorney is that turning yourself in also includes an agreement not to remove you from Texas and that all hearings be conducted here.”
“I’m sure he will want to talk to you, Pops. I sincerely appreciate your help.”
“We can’t trust those scalawags, son. I’ll see you in Houston in a few hours.”
After Zach got off the phone with Pops and his attorney, he sent coded messages to his team worldwide, letting them know the feds had picked up his family and he was going to turn himself in. All the operatives knew the leadership of the group in Turner’s absence fell to Will.
At 6:00 p.m. that evening, with everything pre-arranged between the feds, Texas Rangers and Zach’s attorney, two SUVs pulled up to the Mickey Leland Federal Building to a throng of news cameras. The feds had leaked to the media that the IRS bomber was turning himself in.
“Apparently, the Texas Rangers have brokered this surrender by the nationalist and white supremacist Zach Turner. There you see the legendary Texas Ranger Pops Younger exiting the vehicle, followed by bombing suspect Turner. Awaiting them at the door of the federal building is a throng of federal agents,” announced the CNN analyst on the live broadcast.
FBI agent Milson approached Pops and Turner, ordering Turner to turn around so he could handcuff him right on the sidewalk.
“Son, I told you boys he is surrendering. You can put the cuffs on him in the building but not out here in the street. We ain’t putting on no damn show for the cameras,” said Pops sternly to the agent.
Purge on the Potomac Page 32
