by Reed Hill
“How many is ‘most’?” Lopez asked.
“They left one car,” Steve said. “It’s still out there, with two guys in dark suits and shades watching over the residence.”
“Okay, someone make some calls and find out what’s going on with Marv and Jenny,” the Governor said rapidly. “Don’t anyone even answer the door or go outside from now on.”
“We’ll be lucky if we survive this day…” Lopez mumbled.
*****
Biggs Airfield at Fort Bliss - El Paso Intelligence Center
El Paso, Texas – July 5th, 2017 – 11:56 am
Daníel Sifuentes leaned back in his chair and surveyed the main monitoring area of the facility; a huge room with perhaps sixty cubicles ringed by conference rooms on three sides. The fourth side was bank of screens and monitors including a twelve foot diagonal screen on each end on the wall, and a dozen more of six foot in between. A bank of twenty cubicles was recessed a couple of steps down in that area nearest the monitors and a handful of Red Viper commandos had taken up station in the cubicles, working to get some sections of the center online.
The task was proving difficult. The Red Vipers were guerreros, warriors, not fancy computer magos. Sifuentes had received word that hour that Colonel Garcia had been successful in capturing the Air Base at Del Rio. There had been many deaths, but they controlled two military bases now, one army and one air base. The voluntarios at Del Rio had proven themselves to be very brave fighters. Holy Mother of God, please receive and bless the souls of those brave men who died for the cause. Amen.
Sifuentes chugged a drink of a cold soda and took out the photo he carried in his breast pocket. It was of Helena taken when they had been newlyweds some twenty-five years ago, on the beach at Playa del Norte on Isla Mujeres. She was wearing that red and white floral print dress he loved, and she had turned to look at him with the wind in her hair. The crystal clear blue water behind her caught the gray flecks in her chestnut eyes. She was so beautiful. My lovely Helena – how I long just to hold you again.
“We haven’t been able to break through the firewall sir,” the voice from one of his Vipers behind him brought him back to the task at hand. “The system is still in complete lockdown.”
Sifuentes put the photo back I his breast pocket deliberately and spun in the desk chair to face the commando, who stiffened quick. “Tell them to keep working. We need this place up and running.”
The soldier snapped a salute and raced off. Sifuentes understood how a military command could be quite intoxicating. His teenage years spent in the jungles for the cause of Senor Ortega in Nicaragua convinced him that only under very rare circumstances can a military career lead to the kind of life he wanted. Far too many youths simply were killed because of the avarice and expediency of the ruthless men in power. There was far too little patience in those jungle countries. He was fortunate his mother’s family had room for him in Hermosillo, the town of his birth.
His wireless buzzed and he looked for the number on the face of the screen. It was the big bosses, los jefes grandes. “Sifuentes here,” he said casually.
“Daníel, it’s Don Morales,” his tone was cordial. “How are things progressing there?”
“Everything has gone according to plan thus far, Don Morales.” Sifuentes paused and considered how much information to share. “We’ve done well in El Paso – we control the downtown and are pushing out to the suburbs. More volunteers than originally thought were sympathetic to our cause. The armored vehicles you were able to…obtain, shall we say, have proven to be very helpful. The helicopters have been instrumental as well.”
“That’s good to hear, Daníel,” Don Vazquez spoke. “Very good, indeed. Tell me, have our brothers from the Mara family been helpful to you?”
“Quite, Don Vazquez. They’ve been very useful in scouting the outlying areas for possible expansion points as we begin to solidify our territory and move outward from the cities.”
“Muy bien, that’s very good. Their…assistance… is costing a considerable amount. I don’t want it wasted,” Vazquez sighed lightly.
“I must admit, based on early reports, that the country citizens have been somewhat a nuisance with the resistance they seem intent on putting up,” Sifuentes said. “It’s the subject of some annoyance to our scouts, I must admit.”
“Very well, just bear in mind, Daníel that many…important….men will be quite upset if large numbers of our Mara brothers are hurt or killed.” Morales said.
“Yes, they are very important to the overall operation in many parts as far away as Chicago, St. Louis and Detroit. We can’t have the distributors killed, Daníel.” Vazquez was firm, almost angry.
“Yes, Don Vazquez,” Sifuentes said blithely.
“Hear in this, Daníel,” Don Morales spoke slowly and firmly. “Do not fail us.”
“I won’t, jefes. I will succeed for the cause.”
“Good, Daníel,” Don Morales said. “We can suffer many things, in this, except failure.”
“Failure leads to many unpleasant things, Daníel” Vazquez said. “For all of us.”
Chapter 10
Downtown – Near Alamo Park
San Antonio, Texas –July 5th, 2017 – 11:57 am
Raúl adjusted the scope on his rifle and was trying to read the wind, when he saw the pair of large white SUVs roll to a stop. He peeled off his long-sleeved t-shirt and went down to his t-shirt, which was soaked with sweat. The doors on the Suburban swung open and Raúl could see the Governor emerge from the front SUV, surrounded by his entourage. His perch from the fourteenth floor of the bank building across from Alamo Park had a decent view of the entrance where a podium with numerous microphones had been set up. There were several windows in the south wall of what looked to be an office under construction, and he put his equipment together a few feet short of the open window and crouched with his rifle set on a sawhorse.
However, even the best of the open windows still only allowed a partially obstructed view of the target area. There was a line of trees with overhanging branches that obscured much of the walkway, but the view to the podium was clear. Raúl had done his best to race to the second to last floor of the tall structure hauling his equipment in a large, black and yellow Dieboldt Tool box without drawing a lot of attention to himself. This building was undergoing renovation and it looked like drywall and electrical were being installed on this high floor, but no one was working, so Raúl hoped his cover as a construction worker wouldn’t raise any eyebrows. It took several tries to break the cheap padlock that held a chain around the door and the worst part was the racket it made.
He snapped up the Savage 111F .30-06 and tried to find his target behind the branches of the tall oaks at the front of the park’s entrance in the lens of the powerful variable scope. Raúl cursed as he recalled that the scope was zeroed for the long range shot at the airport – he seized the laminated cards held by a rubber band and quickly flipped through them trying to find one that could offer some guidance for this distance. A drop of sweat hit the card he was looking at. Calm down Raúl – you are El Chacal. He glanced up at the park and realized he had lost track of the target.
Raúl set his rifle down and rapidly grabbed the wireless, trying to slow his breathing. His heart was still pounding from his climb up the fourteen stories, and wiped the sweat from his face. He fumbled the wireless in his sweaty hands and nearly dropped the device to the concrete.
El Chacal: I’m in position. Not ready. Don’t like the setup. Too risky.
At that point, he noticed a small man in a navy power suit flanked by four men in dark suits and aviator sunglasses walking across the lawn as the Governor approached the podium. Peering through the scope, he noticed that one of the dark-suited men lifted his wrist to his mouth and spoke, and Raúl spotted the ear pieces. These were definitely law enforcement, probably federales, but they didn’t look like security detail from the manner in which they marched across the lawn toward the podium area. At that
moment his wireless vibrated on the tool box and he snapped it up.
Rodeo Maestro: Don’t risk it if you think it’s bad. There will be other chances.
He wiped the sweat from his brow and took another look through the scope. The Governor took center stage at the podium, speaking to the dozen news crews. The many uniformed police officers were keeping perhaps a hundred onlookers from approaching the U-shaped lawn area. He didn’t have the range precisely, the zero was way too long, and he didn’t have good info on the humidity. This shot was busted – muy malo.
It was then he noticed the man and the federal officers stopped at the top of lawn perhaps only two hundred yards away, facing the Governor as he spoke. They stood between the Governor and his Suburbans. He had made harder shots plinking old coffee cans in the desert as a boy, and many more difficult ones since. He typed out a reply:
El Chacal: New opportunity. Short range. Suspected Eagle.
He leveled his weapon and took aim through the scope – it was a more severe down angle compared to the podium area, but it was possible. An important federal official, an Eagle, could create quite a bit of mayhem, of which he was well aware from this morning. The wireless brought another message.
Rodeo Maestro: Your call.
The Governor wrapped up the short speech and proceeded back toward the waiting SUVS, and the federales moved toward him perhaps thirty yards and stood defiantly between the Governor and his cars. The Governor and his entourage of three or four civilians and six uniformed officers in cowboy hats halted about fifteen yards from the federales when the man presented a badge in one hand and a held up a piece of folded paper in the other. He had a good shot on the fed, but the Governor was quite obstructed by several tree limbs. Raúl wondered what shot to take – his main target was blocked but the new target was clear. In the tempest of chaos…
Raúl slowed his breath and trained his eye through the scope as the two exchanged heated words.
*****
Downtown – Near Alamo Park
San Antonio, Texas –July 5th, 2017 – 12:07 pm
“And so in conclusion, my fellow Texans, as I stand before you today before this great symbol of Texas independence, I want you to know that our Administration is doing everything in its power, despite the lack of cooperation and support of the federal government. The wonderful, brave men and women of your Texas Guard will defend our soil from all enemies, foreign and domestic. They are prepared to give their lives if necessary to protect our grand republic even in the face of hostilities which are far greater and far nearer than we ever would have thought possible. They have sworn oaths to defend our proud republic and its constitution, even as others in far off centers of power attack our founding principles.
“We will not gently relent to the imposing will of an increasingly overbearing establishment a thousand miles away. Our grand republic was never intended to be lorded over by an elite ruling class as it is today. Texans are far too proud, far too free to shrink and shrivel under such tyranny. We will not be bullied by a government that claims to be acting in our best interest, when any Texan can see that it is not.”
Doyle scowled when Governor Chase went off script. This is not in the script, dammit. Just stick to the damn text on your tablet. With no real audience there, it was difficult to gauge how the tenor of the speech was being received. Doyle furrowed his brow – it was playing as way too divisive to him. The camera crews filmed dispassionately, and several of the reporters grinned here and there, taking notes furiously, but Doyle couldn’t tell if they agreed or just were just reveling in the political drama, with dreams of Pulitzers. He shook his head at Lopez who appeared to be fooling around with his wireless during the speech – Doyle hoped that cameras hadn’t picked up footage of that. This speech was turning into a disaster.
“Know this, my fellow Texans,” Governor Chase emphasized with a pointed finger, “our future is at stake. We’ve been attacked by an enemy force, and fellow citizens have been killed. Several of our cities are burning, and our federal friends choose to offer us advice and wisdom. Texas is strong and we will resist and respond. Remember my plea: stay indoors and try to protect yourselves in ways you deem necessary in the face of marauders intent on doing harm to you and your property. Your Texas government is organizing a response you can be proud of and one that will protect and defend our sovereign borders. Stay safe and keep your loved ones close.
God bless us in the time of crisis.
God bless the grand republic of Texas.”
Governor Chase looked into the camera for one last moment and strode confidently away from the podium, starting toward the Suburbans as planned. Doyle hustled over and took the tablet off the podium, as a barrage of questions came at the Governor from the vulture-like media, which was already descending on Chase like a fresh carcass in the desert.
Lopez stiffed-armed through the reporters and cameras making a way for the Governor as they headed to the SUVs for the trip back. Doyle bit his lip as the Rangers kept the media at bay while they made the hundred-yard walk across the lawn. That last improvised bit was too strong, far more strident than what they had agreed on in the car. The camera crews fell away as they approached the street, and that’s when Doyle saw the group of men in cheap dark suits. A small man in an expensive navy suit was flanked by four large officers in gray suits and dark aviator sunglasses, who had clear bulges at the sides indicating shoulder harnesses with sidearms.
“Governor Chase,” the small Hispanic man held up a black wallet in one hand and a folded document in the other, “I’m Eduardo Padilla, the U.S. Attorney for the Western District of Texas. I have a subpoena here for the Governor that I need to execute.”
“What do you want with him?” Lopez stood erect with his chin sticking out.
“We’ll get to you in due time, Mr. Lopez,” Padilla hissed. Doyle was a bit unnerved when the goons with Padilla unbuttoned their suit jackets. “Right now, we need Governor Chase to come with us to Austin. We have a number of questions that are in dire need of answers.”
“The state of Texas has very pressing concerns and is under assault,” the Governor stood tall, placing his hand on his hips. “I’m sure you could see fit for us to make arrangements to do this later. I’m a little busy trying to defend Texas from an invasion at the moment.”
*****
Raúl fixed the crosshairs over the base of small man’s back – he guessed that the difference from his zero was perhaps sixteen inches high for this distance – and pulled the trigger between breaths as he was taught in sniper school. He felt the recoil and heard the fleeting, suppressed report from the muzzle with the long silencer attached. He knew it was a center mass shot from the way the man stumbled forward awkwardly and fell to the manicured green grass of the lawn.
He hastily broke down the weapon, gathered his t-shirt and threw it back on before heading to the main doors. Several gunshots from nearby rang in the air and Raúl looked around as he slammed the tool box shut and headed out. Before he exited through the door, he slammed out a text and tried to settle his breathing as his body surged with tension.
El Chacal: Eagle has been grounded.
*****
Just as the U.S. Attorney began to make a sneering reply, his chest exploded and he stumbled forward falling face down on the grass where a good deal of his insides already. Doyle felt a wave of heat hit him. The goon squad drew their weapons and started firing, and Doyle’s vision started to close down, as he dived for the turf. He saw the Rangers hip-draw on the federals and a maelstrom of gunfire broke out. When he hit the ground, he saw one of the Rangers tackle the Governor as the others fired their sidearms. He put his arms over his head and heard the loud cracking of shots fired and a handful of screams nearby. As he tasted a harsh bitterness in his mouth and quivered from a heave at his sternum, he felt someone grab him by the shoulders and pull him to his feet.
While he stumbled on rubbery legs, he could see all four federal goons laying in the grass, two
were completely motionless and the other two were writhing, scrambling around on the turf with blood all over them.
“Let’s go. We need to get out of here!” Doyle’s head swam.
One of the Texas Rangers was next to him, helping him keep his feet. He saw two of them flanking the Governor as they ran the short distance to the Suburban and piled in. He saw another pair of Rangers, one helping another who was hopping on one leg, keeping his weight off one that was coated with blood from hip to ankle. A different Ranger was holding his side as he stumbled across the lawn and fell, dropping his big revolver. Doyle could see his side was covered in crimson.
“I’m fine,” Doyle motioned to the fallen Ranger, and suppressed the urge to vomit. “Go help him.”
*****
Raúl pushed his way through the door and the broken padlock fell with a clatter to the concrete floor. As he started down the stairs, he heard the echoes of footsteps from below and he quickened his pace. Raúl risked a peek over the side of the handrail and noticed four or five floors below, there was the flash of a navy blue figure with a cap: policía.
He had only made it down two flights, but took a chance and broke through the level 12 doorway, finding himself in a small area of cubicles adjacent to a larger room which was full of more cubicle offices. A woman with the phone to her ear rose up out of her chair when she saw him, and jumped a bit as he took a few steps her direction. “I’m here to work on the plumbing for the eleventh floor bathroom. Is this is the eleventh floor?” He really played up a heavy Mexican accent, making himself sound like a recent fence-jumper.
