State of Defense (State of Arizona Book 1)

by Doug Ball

  “Ha.” He hung up.

  Ted Fuerte stared at his phone for a moment before setting it down. He just couldn’t imagine what this guy had. He wasn’t an Indian or Hispanic, and they were all the news right now.

  He no sooner set the phone down when it rang again. The caller ID read, ‘restricted.’

  “Fuerte here.”

  “Robert Jaegar.”

  “Hey, Mr. DPS, what’s up?”

  He listened for ten minutes. When the officer stopped, Crazy Man said, “I don’t know, but I may have more later today. This a good number.”

  The response was, “Yeah.”

  After hanging up and plugging his phone into the charger, Crazy Man Ted headed for the shower with a grin on his face.

  Phoenix

  5:00 AM

  The Arizona Republic hit the streets with two headlines above the fold, WAR WITH MEXICO and WHITE MOUNTAIN APACHE TRIBE SECEDES.

  Nobody was surprised.

  Governor’s Office

  8:30 AM

  “Josie, come here, please.”

  “Yes, Governor, on my way.”

  The phone rang.

  The Governor heard Josie’s voice, “One moment please.”

  Josie stuck her head in the office, “It’s the President.”

  “President of what?”

  “THE PRESIDENT.”

  “Oh, that one.” She grabbed the phone. “Yes, Mr. President, how’s the golfing in Hawaii?”

  “I am calling up the Guard in your state. They will assist the French in Mali.”

  “That’s a crock and you know it. You can’t have them. I have just declared a State of Emergency in Arizona concerning the invasion of our border to the south. Send my troops back from Afghanistan and please send other troops to assist.”

  “Ma’am, you don’t understand. I am the President.”

  “Yes, Sir. I do understand. I am the Governor, not ma’am, Governor. Got that? Send help or violate Article IV Section 4 of the Constitution of the United States of America, which you swore to defend against all enemies, foreign and domestic, concerning invasion of a member state of the United States. We will hold until you get here. If you ask nicely, we will supply a horse and saber so you can lead the charge against our common foreign enemy.”

  “You will get no help. You have cut yourself off from all assistance from my government. There will be no troops or supplies sent to Arizona, as per your first televised press conference. Unless you wish to recant?”

  “Your government! The government of the United States belongs to the people, not a President. It was not my sole decision. Arizona has three separate branches of government and they were all involved in the decision and still are. Your government is more of a dictatorship.

  “Therefore, I cannot unilaterally recant and I will never bow to a dictator. We have not superseded the Constitution, Mr. President, you are the one doing that.

  “You can really put a spin on a simple refusal of funds, Mr. President.

  “Have no fear, we will do what you refuse to do, Mr. President, you can take that to the bank. We will have our state of emergency and fight our own little war until the other states see how you run roughshod over everyone without benefit of law.

  “Mr. President, Arizona is in a state of defense. Stand with us.”

  “Madam, my Attorney General is drafting paperwork to bring Arizona to the Supreme Court to show cause why it has suspended itself from cooperation with the legally elected Federal Government in violation of many statutes which apply to your supposed relationship with the other 49 states and other charges he can find under current law.”

  “That will be very interesting. When you lose, that is.”

  “Good day, Madam.”

  She hung up. Looking at Josie, “That man’s got his nerve. He can keep it, I don’t want it.”

  Josie chuckled. “You called me in.”

  “That I did. Thanks for working today, it’s getting rougher by the moment. Ask the General and the DPS Director to meet with me later today in my office, please, and we have a couple of press releases to get out.”

  “Sure thing, Governor.” Josie pivoted and exited, powerwalking as only a girl can do in a swishy skirt.

  The phone rang. The Governor picked it up, “Yes.”

  “Madam Governor, hold for President Julio Ramos, por favor.”

  “You tell him to be quick. I will hold for fifteen seconds and no more.”

  Three seconds later, “Madam Governor, you have violated the treaties between my country and yours. You have killed my people. You have fired upon the army of the sovereign nation of Mexico. This must stop. What will you do next?”

  “Your people crossed the line after tearing down our fence. We have defended our border as we said we would. Never did we fire on your poofie army until they invaded my state with arms which they fired well before we did. Let’s get real and maybe we can come to an agreement.” The Governor fell into her chair and whispered prayers as she waited for the sputtering to stop and the conversation to begin.

  “You fired two rounds from your tanks and killed my men coming to arrest the retreating invaders. I tried to stop the invasion as you so politely asked, but my men arrived too late. As they were arresting the criminals who invaded your country, they were fired upon.”

  “War is hell, Julio. My men saw no army, saw no flags, saw no one coming up the valley from the south. My men had radios and were watching for non-combatants during the entire invasion and retreat. My General was on the scene directing the action. But, here’s what I will do. I will apologize for shooting at your quote army unquote if you will immediately start patrolling your side of the border and stopping anyone crossing from the south except through the authorized manned border stations. Deal?”

  “That is an interesting proposal, but I have not the men to do that with the fighting in the south and the budget restraints I must live with.”

  “Well, then El Presidente’, let me put it another way. If there is a repeat of today’s actions it will be Arizona playing the No Quarter on the bugle and that’s a promise. Patrol your border or we will and we will do it our way.”

  “But, Madam Governor, I . . .”

  “You will not call me Madam again.” She hung up.

  “I am getting real good at hanging up on folks lately,” Josie heard her say when she returned to the office notepad in hand.

  “DPS Director and the General have been contacted. The General says it will take two hours for him to get here. He is still supervising the cleanup down south. He sends his apologies and begs for forgiveness, and I’m quoting. I informed the DPS Director of the new time.”

  “Thank you. Now would be a great time to powder our noses and get a bite to eat, it’s going to get busy around here again right quick.”

  “Sounds like a plan, Governor.” She turned and quickly left the room.

  13

  I-10 West of Exit 69

  9:20 AM

  The Crazy Man, Ted Fuerte, cruised west bound with his cell phone on the dash of the borrowed jeep Cherokee doing ten miles over the speed limit just to keep up with the rest of the traffic. The AC spit out so little cold air that the 105 degree heat was just barely touched, ‘But, it’s a dry heat,’ he reminded himself. As the sweat dripped off his nose and trickled down his spine into the seat covers, he grumbled again about not having his own car. “Hope they get that crate of mine running right soon,” he shouted at the heat.

  The phone rang.

  “Yeah, this is Ted.”

  “Take exit 53 South down Hovatter Road to Coyote Peak. I’ll give you more directions when you get close.”

  “Exit 53 South to Coyote Peak. Got it.” The phone went dead just as Ted was going to start asking questions. Milepost 60 went flying past on the right at 75 miles per hour.

  At exit 53 he slowed and took the exit, turned left at the stop sign, and proceeded south. He was quickly off the pavement and traveled across a sandy, creos
ote growing, flat countryside that seemed to stretch for a hundred miles to a row of mountains so far away they were not purple, they were a dull gray/brown. A rooster tail of dust behind him told the world a vehicle was traversing this plain. He looked at the speedometer, fifty five, on a dirt road. Ted didn’t want to be late to wherever he was going.

  Within a mile, the phone rang again.

  “It’s still me.”

  “That you on the dirt?”

  “Yeah, where are you?”

  “Just keep coming, you’ll see me when I want you to know where I am.”

  Just then a helicopter went over Ted’s position heading east.

  “If that’s the cops, you’re dead, Fuerte.”

  “Not friends of mine. Looks like an ambulance run.”

  “It better be. If it turns my way at any time, I’m gone and I won’t be back.”

  “What way?”

  The phone went dead again. The chopper kept going east toward Phoenix.

  Two miles later, a motorcycle moved into the road ahead of him. The rider raised his visor and waved Ted down. He stopped twenty feet from the dirt bike, opened the door, grabbed his luke warm water bottle, and left the jeep. The red record light was strong on the small video camera lying flat on the dash.

  “Turn around and face the jeep, Fuertes.”

  He did as he was told, standing the water bottle on the hood.

  “Feet back and spread’em.”

  He did. “You must have done this before, or had it done to you.”

  “Shut up.” Hands expertly covered his body even to the point of patting down his privates. “Kick off your sneakers.” Picking up each one, he quickly checked them and threw them back on the ground. “You need new sneakers. Those are plumb wore out, Fuertes. Leave your shoes where they are and turn around.”

  Ted turned to a man with a scruffy growth of beard, five nine or thereabouts, skinny, brown eyes, brown hair, and holding a large caliber Glock in his right hand, with all the confidence of a man in control of the situation. “What can I do for you, Mr. Johnston?”

  “Randall Johnston. Two ells. You ain’t gonna believe what I got to tell you, but it’s the truth and I need the money.”

  “So what’s the big story that requires all this secrecy?”

  Johnston looked around, but the gun never budged. He seemed to gather himself before he responded. “Elements from most of the Native American tribes of Arizona are going to stage an uprising.”

  “Hell, I already knew that. They’ve attacked a DPS officer already and maybe they blew up his house with him in it.”

  “That’s personal with one tribe. This is almost all the tribes and the numbers are large enough to be dangerous.”

  “Eighty-five percent of this state’s homes have at least one firearm and at least one person that knows how it works. Hell, thirty percent of the civilians in Arizona are packin’ iron all the time. They won’t get far.”

  “Yes, they will. How many homes can stand against a unit of over one hundred men, armed with semi-auto weapons and surprise? One thirty ought six or twelve gauge ain’t gonna do much stopping. Most folks keep their guns unloaded and locked up. In the five minutes it takes them to find all the pieces and load up, it’ll be over. It will be a slaughter.”

  “How many Indians and when? Who is leading them? Who is financing them?”

  “You get me fifty thousand dollars and I’ll answer those questions. I need the money by noon Monday, or no info. One piece for free. There is a man funding it all and he is not a very friendly guy.”

  “The Republic doesn’t have that kind of money anymore. I don’t have it. What now?”

  “Slaughter. I’ll call you Monday, tomorrow, at ten. If you got money we meet. If not, I’ll walk out of Arizona if I have to. It will not be a safe place for non-Indians, not even well armed groups of whites and Hispanics. Most of the Indians I have talked with hate the Mexicans worse than the whites. I’ll call.” Randall Johnston ignored all of Ted’s frantic questions as he walked back to the bike, put on his helmet, fired it up, and rode off across the creosote patch, a rooster tail of dust marking his route.

  Fuentes walked back to the Jeep carrying his sneakers, shut off the camera, and grabbed his cell phone.

  “Whiting here.”

  “Boss, you ain’t gonna believe this . . .

  Camp Verde exit I-17

  10:00 AM

  The two men eased the seat belts that held them in the seats of the old pickup truck. Both men were sworn law officers and were now working on a case that was more dangerous than any either had worked before. People were already dead. Promises have been made concerning more death to come. As far as each man knew, they were the only ones working on this case, or even knew about it enough to believe it was true.

  Tan looked over to Robert as he drove down the off ramp and turned toward the fast food joints. Both men were in civvies and packing all the heat they could find. An old fashioned gun rack in the rear window held a .308 Remington with a scope and a 12 gauge pump shotgun. The truck had the look of just another cowboy wannabe truck with patches of gray primer marring the green of the original paint job. It got interesting when they pulled into the fast food parking lot and idled through the lot looking for a parking spot. The engine had a dull rumble and a loping vibration usually associated with high performance vehicles.

  “What have you done to this sleeper, Tan?”

  “When I bought it at age seventeen, it had already had the biggest engine that would fit without major mods. That engine was somewhat tricked out, but still had a single four barreled carb and the stock cam. With the stroke and bore job, new cam, fuel injection, heavy duty clutch and a five speed manual trans pushing a hot rear end gear set, I can now drag it or cruise. I change the tires for the drags. Haven’t gone to the drags since I was 22, but I cruise a lot. My wife was wooed in this truck. She likes nothing better than to take it shopping. The only thing I haven’t done is get it a new paint job. At eight grand, that’s gonna wait a while.”

  “Nice sleeper.”

  “That’s the name we picked, Rip Van Winkle.”

  “So, what’s the stop for?”

  “A bite and a pee, gas and go.”

  “Okay. We need to be on time meeting Orlando in Prescott. If we aren’t in place, he’ll clam up.”

  “No problem. Think he can really tell us anything?”

  “He’s the one told me about the Ghost Shirt medicine pouches. If he can’t tell us anything, I don’t have a clue where else to go.”

  Arizona/Mexico border

  10 miles ESE of Sasabe

  10:30 AM

  Four men with heavy packs worked their way north through the fence and the San Luis Mountains headed for the abandoned ranch they would use for a drop point before returning to Mexico empty handed. Each of the men was armed with a semi-automatic rifle with a thirty round magazine. Four spare magazines were in the pockets on their vests.

  Without warning, shots rang out from the rocks ahead. Two of the men went down in the first volley. Another was wounded through his left bicep, his arm dangling at an impossible angle. The fourth hit the dirt and scrambled out of his pack which he pushed forward between himself and the shooters. There was a half million dollars’ worth of dope in the pack buried under the two remaining MRE’s. The fourth man searched the rocks for a target. No target was available.

  The Mexican with the wounded arm screamed in pain as the shock wore off. He rolled to the fourth man and begged him for a tourniquet. The fourth man turned, drew his .45 and ended the agony. Shots blasted from the rocks again. The fourth man rolled over into a small wash and moved south. Within minutes a deep voice behind him said, “You move again and you are dead.” He froze.

  “Drop the weapon as far in front of you as you can reach. Use the stick next to you to push it further. That’s good. Now, both hands behind your back.”

  He complied.

  The dead weight of a 220 pound man’s kne
e landed in the middle of his back causing him to expel all the air in his lungs.

  “That’s being a nice boy, mano.” The ties bit into his wrists as they were cinched up with no mercy.

  “Stand.”

  It was a struggle.

  “Turn around and look this way.”

  He turned, fully expecting a shot in the head. Instead, he was confronted by a semicircle of six men in camo, four carrying high powered sniper rifles and two with automatic weapons.

  “You have violated the border of the State of Arizona. Do you know what the penalty is for that? Do you know what the penalty is for importing illegal drugs into the State of Arizona? Do you have the smallest hint as to how much trouble you are in?”

  “Si, I know.”

  “The official language of the State of Arizona is English. For all official actions English is the legal language. Understand?”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  A man stepped up to him and pressed his fingers to a portable fingerprint machine the size of a small old fashioned cigar box. When he was done, he cut the restraints and pointed. “Your country is that way. Do not ever return.”

  He stumbled to the south grateful to be alive.

  Behind him the men smiled and then laughed. “That’s a few traffickers we won’t have to deal with. We have enough here to keep us in our old age. Gather the packs and let’s get out of here.”

  As five of the men turned to go the sixth lifted his rifle, zeroed in on the spot just between and slightly below the stumbling man’s shoulder blades. He slowly increased pressure on the trigger until the gun went off. The stumbling man dropped with a sound like a watermelon tossed from a three story building.

  The shooter laughed. The others turned and looked to see what was so funny. Seven new guns went off as one. The six men went down, taken out by better shots than they.

  Seven Mexican men walked up to the six dead ambushers, took the packs, waved at the dead, and headed north. They were the ones now laughing

  Within moments the scene was empty except for the bodies left as they fell.