He took a few more steps and whirled to confront them. “What can I do for you gentlemen?” he said as he moved toward them until he was only about a foot away. They were not expecting his response. He was four or five inches taller than either of them and outweighed them by at least fifty pounds. He thought back to his days in the Marines and figured that if he had to take both of them down, he could do it without breaking a sweat.
They looked at each other before one spoke with a foreign accent. “We don’t know what you mean, sir. We’re tourists, just out seeing the sights in New York.”
“That’s bullshit,” J.D. said as he moved to stand chest to chest with the one that spoke. “I saw you in Fort Worth less than two weeks ago. For some reason, you’re following me and my dad. You want to tell me why? Otherwise, I’m tempted to wipe the pavement with your asses. If you’ve got weapons, I’ll take those in the process. Carrying one in New York will get you to prison in a hurry. It’s not like Texas.”
“Sir, we wish you no harm. If you don’t make a scene, we’ll be on our way. You won’t see us again.”
J.D. backed up a half a step and kept his eyes on their hands, ready to take them down if they reached for a pocket. “All right. Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m reporting this to NFL security who’ll certainly involve the New York cops. I suggest that you get out of town, maybe even back to whatever country you came from.” J.D. turned and walked to the hotel where he asked for NFL security and explained what had happened. Once in his room he called his dad.
Jack sensed some concern in his son’s voice. “What’s going on? You all right?”
“Yeah, Dad, I’m fine. I just had a little incident in front of the hotel.” J.D. described what had happened.
Jack had him on the speaker so that Colby could listen. When J.D. finished, he said, “Look, Son, you’re big and strong and fast and a former Marine, only that doesn’t help much if they had a gun.”
“I know, Dad. Believe me, I had them intimidated as soon as I turned to face them. And, it’s definite that they are from somewhere in Eastern Europe, some former Soviet Union country.”
The next night Jack and Colby were glued to the television. Colby had stocked the room with enough food for a week. They drank and munched and watched as the draft unfolded. The order was determined by the place the teams finished the prior year, last team first. The Cowboys were drafting twenty-sixth. Each team was given ten minutes after the last draft choice to announce its selection. After the twenty-fifth selection, J.D. was still on the board. The commissioner moved to the podium. “Next up is Dallas. You are now on the clock.”
Other teams might have their general manager or head coach announce their choice. Not the Cowboys. Jerry Jones never saw a television camera he didn’t like. As soon as the commissioner stepped away from the podium, Jones approached with a grin. “The Cowboys don’t need ten minutes. One is more than enough. The Cowboys are delighted to select a former combat Marine, an All American from the great Texas Christian University and a future Hall of Fame tight end, Jackson Douglas “J.D.” Bryant.”
Jack and Colby were on their feet, cheering and hugging each other when J.D. stepped from off stage to shake Jerry Jones’s hand and accept a Cowboys jersey and cap. After a few words of thanks to the Cowboys, he and Jones left the stage. No one, including J.D., noticed that when his name was called, eight additional security guards in plain clothes came to attention and studied the audience. Fortunately, everything went smoothly.
J.D. met with the national media in New York on Sunday and flew back to Fort Worth on Monday. The Dallas and Fort Worth media were waiting outside of the security area. The airport police escorted him to a conference room where he fielded questions for an hour before a member of the Cowboys media department ended it, saying that J.D. had slept little in the past two days. Further questions could wait. From there he went to the TCU locker room where he visited with his old teammates and thanked Coach Patterson and his staff. The last stop before he went to his dad’s was at Tanya’s apartment. J.D. kiddingly apologized for not being drafted by the Chargers, but promised that part of his signing bonus would go toward buying a condo on the beach in San Diego. Finally, he drove to his dad’s place where he met Jack and Colby.
“Now, I can have one of those 10th Mountain bourbons you seem to like so much.”
Jack poured each of them a double and a glass of Chardonnay for Colby. “Let’s go out back. It’s a nice, spring evening. Should be a fine sunset. I’ve got steaks marinating.”
Once they settled into patio chairs and Killer had made the rounds to have his ears scratched, Jack raised his glass. “A toast to my son, J.D. You’ve come a long way from that time I had to convince a young assistant D.A. in Los Angeles to drop those assault charges to a misdemeanor so you could join the Marines. I couldn’t be prouder.”
J.D. acknowledged the toast. “Thanks, Dad. With the help of you, the Marines and Coach Patterson, I made it. Next is a ten year career, a couple of Super Bowl rings and, maybe, the Hall of Fame.”
“I like you setting your sights high,” Colby said.
“Since we now know more about the start of your NFL career, I did more research and talked to a friend who has been an agent for some pros. I figure that you’re looking at a three to four million dollar signing bonus with a total contract in the neighborhood of twelve to fifteen million for four years. Make it to the end of that one and then, we’ll get you some really big bucks.”
J.D. choked on his drink and launched into a coughing fit. “Dad, that is big bucks. And, I want to give ten percent of all I earn to the Wounded Warrior program. I’m lucky I’m here and not in some V.A. hospital. It’s the least I can do.”
Colby looked at her almost-stepson with admiration. “I think you should announce that.”
“I’m not looking for publicity.”
“I know you’re not, but if you get out in the front with your favorite charity, it’ll encourage others to step up.”
J.D. looked off into the setting sun. “I’ll think about it. Now, Dad, what time are we leaving tomorrow?”
“I’d like to be up and out of here at six. We’re meeting Walt at a truck stop east of Midland around two.”
“Then, I guess you better put those steaks on. I want a big one, rare. Then I’m ready to call it a night.”
49
Colby had breakfast ready at five-thirty. She put a two day supply of food and water out for Killer, then paused. “Wait a minute, Killer.” She walked back to the kitchen. “Hon, are we taking the Hummer?”
“Yeah, I’ve been in the compound. We may need four wheel drive.”
“Then, can we take Killer? Maybe another nose will help us.”
“Okay with me, assuming we can find a pet friendly motel in Pecos.”
“Well, we’ll either find one, or Killer and I will sleep in the Hummer.” Colby smiled.
Jack pitched the keys to J.D. as they walked to the garage. “Here, I want to brag that I had a millionaire chauffeur.” Jack rode in the passenger seat. Colby motioned for Killer to join her in the back. The shepherd bounded to his place in one leap and settled himself so that he could look out the window. Once seat belts were fastened, they were off to I 20 West. At stops for gas and food, J.D. spent much of his time sending and receiving texts from old friends and teammates along with new teammates. His new teammates were ecstatic to have a tight end with his skill set. They were already calling him Gronk, Jr. J.D. accepted that as a compliment since Gronkowski was the Patriots’ all pro tight end.
Between texts J.D. asked, “Dad, I understand that sometimes agents loan their clients some money until they sign. You think you can loan your new client a few bucks. I’d like to buy a new pickup and start looking for a nice condo over close to the Cowboys training facility.”
Jack looked at him. “How much are you thinking about, client?”
J.D. thought and said, “How about a hundred grand?”
“You think you
can pay that much back?”
“If my agent’s any good, I can for sure.”
“Fortunately, you’ve got one of the best. I’ll write you a check when we get back to Fort Worth.”
They turned into the truck stop in Midland at a quarter of two. Walt’s Crown Vic was parked alongside the convenience store. He was talking on his cell when they stopped beside him. He clicked off his phone. Jack saw him tip a flask to his lips. It remained on the floorboard when he climbed from his Crown Vic. Everyone made pit stops and bought sodas. Jack had already loaded a cooler in the back with bottled water that would be needed in the afternoon sun at the compound. Colby shooed Killer to the back seat which didn’t please him until he discovered he could wander from one side to the other. Walt sat beside Colby.
Back on the road Walt asked, “J.D., first, tell me again what we’re looking for.”
“There’s a small drive inside the hard drive that has the computer’s memory. Amazing how much data it can store. Can’t say exactly how big this one would be, but roughly about the size of your little finger, well, maybe Colby’s would be more accurate. It’s not very big. I could see how it might have been blown into the dirt or under a rock. Who knows? If we can find it, I just hope I can retrieve the data from it.”
As they drove into Pecos, Colby pointed at a motel and said, “I booked us two rooms in that La Quinta with my iPhone. Killer is welcome.”
They turned north on Highway 285. After thirty minutes Jack pointed to 302 and directed J.D. to take a right. They crossed the Pecos and turned onto the compound road. The gate had been restored and locked by the DPS, but now it was lying to one side, under a sign that said “No Trespassing, Texas Department of Public Safety.” The sign served only to highlight the location of the Alamo Defenders. The road to the back was littered with beer and soda cans. The trailers were gone. Only the town hall remained. Windows were smashed. The door hung from broken hinges. They parked in front of it. Previously, campers and others had taken up residence in it for a day or a week or more. Now it was deserted. When they opened the door, the smell of sweat, urine and feces was overwhelming.
“Let’s leave it open. Maybe some of that odor will dissipate,” Jack said. “I doubt if we’ll find anything. The DPS damn sure would have searched it from floor to ceiling. I’ll venture inside later when the smell may not be quite as bad.”
“How do you want to do this?” Walt asked.
Jack pointed to where the two trailers that were blown up had been. “Right about there, wouldn’t you say, Walt?”
Walt nodded.
“J.D., it’s been a while since Walt and I have been pitching grenades. Assuming one is under a trailer, what’s the diameter of the debris field?”
J.D. walked over to study scorched sand where the doublewide had once been. “Little hard to say. Fifty to a hundred yards is my best guess.”
Jack looked at his watch. “We’ve got about three hours of daylight. Let’s walk a grid, say five feet apart. Everyone get your hats and a bottle of water from the back. The DPS has walked this repeatedly and, no doubt, a bunch of sightseers have been looking for souvenirs. Maybe we’ll get lucky. We’ll start with the area around the old man’s trailer and then try to get Miriam’s area done before dark. If not, we’ll come back early in the morning. And everyone watch out for rattlesnakes. They’re starting to wake up from their hibernation. With a nice, sunshiny day like this one, they may be out getting a suntan. Colby, don’t let Killer stray too far.”
They all wore hiking boots. Jack carried his cane. They kept their eyes down and methodically kicked at any rock or limb that was in their path. Killer picked up on what they were doing and followed along until he flushed a desert rat. He was a hundred yards away before he responded to Colby’s calls and turned to trot back to the group. After two hours, they finished what they considered to be the maximum blast area around the doublewide. It overlapped some into the area of Miriam’s trailer.
It was long past time for a break. They chose the scrub oak that had been close to Miriam’s trailer. It provided a little shade and maybe cut the temperature by five degrees. Colby carefully checked around a rock about a foot tall and satisfied herself that there were no snakes or spiders in residence and took a seat. She took a long drink of water that emptied her bottle. Jack and Walt leaned against the tree trunk.
Walt poured water on a handkerchief and wiped his face. “This PTSD is strange. I was thinking back to when we were here before. I never had a problem. Even when I had to help Sal get back to the RV, it never hit me that is what I was doing at the barracks.”
“Yeah,” Jack said. “I’ve read up on the syndrome. No one can predict what will trigger the symptoms and when.”
J.D. walked to the house and took a brief walk through it. He returned with four bottles of cold water from the Hummer and reported, “Nothing inside. I can’t imagine anyone spending the night in that place.”
Again, around Miriam’s trailer, they were meticulous in their work, missing not a single inch. They stopped when they got to the river bank.
Jack looked at J.D. “You figure there could be something down there?”
J.D. looked back at where Miriam’s trailer had been. “Not likely. Way out of the blast area.”
Jack shook his head in disappointment and looked at the sun as it was fading into the west. “Let’s call it a day. For good measure we’ll come back here in the morning for a couple more hours.”
They were walking back to the car, getting close to the scrub oak when Colby exclaimed with excitement, “I think we may have been looking the wrong way all this time. What’s that reflecting the setting sun up in the tree?”
They looked to where Colby was pointing. Something metallic was caught in a branch and could probably only be noticed just before sunset.
“Dad, I’m going to drive the Hummer down here. If I climb on top, I think I can reach it.”
“Move it, Son. We’re about out of daylight.”
J.D. returned with the Hummer and followed Jack’s directions to position it under the tree. He climbed to the roof and extended himself. His outstretched hand was two feet from the object. “No problem,” he said. ‘My vertical leap in the combine was thirty-three inches.”
“No,” Jack said. “Take my cane. That ought to work and we won’t have to worry about you falling off the damn Hummer and ruining a promising NFL career.”
He handed the cane to his son who pushed it to the metal object. On the third try, it dislodged and fell to the top of the truck. “I’ll be damned,” J.D. said. “It’s what we were looking for. It’s banged up and burned some, but maybe I can salvage the memory.”
Jack laughed. “Everyone who searched this place before was looking down just like we were. Sometimes when you want manna from heaven, it pays to look up. Let’s check into that motel and order pizza. I want to get an early start in the morning.” He pointed to J.D. “The magician here needs to get started with his magic. The sooner the better.”
50
The day after they returned from West Texas, Jack got the bad news. The Court of Appeals had reversed Judge Jamison, saying the IRS had accepted its 501(c)(4) status, and he had failed to prove that SOS was not a social welfare organization. The Court of Appeals would not permit him to have the list of donors. Jack knew that he could appeal to the Texas Supreme Court, but also knew that was a waste of time since it was a court of nine justices, all Republican. Further, deep down he knew that the court was right. He had not really proven anything about SOS or where it spent its money. He only hoped that he had not tarnished his reputation with Judge Jamison. He had convinced her to rule his way and now she had been slapped down by the court of appeals, something no trial judge wanted to happen.
Jack had been staring at the computer for at least an hour, trying to figure out his next move when the door opened and Hartley entered the RV. “Hey, Hartley, grab a cup of coffee and come on back.”
Hartley did as he was dire
cted and settled into a chair across the desk from Jack.
“You had anyone threatening you or following you?” Jack asked.
“Not lately.” He smiled and reached under his coat to put a Sig Sauer next to his cup of coffee on Jack’s desk. “I saw what the court of appeals did to you. Dammit, I was hoping that we could pull back that curtain that’s hiding the dark money donors. Looks like we’ll have to go in a different direction. You have any ideas?”
Jack shook his head. “I’ve been staring at the wall for an hour. I haven’t come up with a brilliant strategy.”
“Hell, why don’t you just depose O’Connell. No telling what he might say. I hear he has a temper. Maybe you can get under his skin.”
Jack gazed at the computer screen and looked back at Hartley. “Might as well. I was waiting on those donor names. In hindsight, that was a foolish wish on my part. No use waiting any longer.”
“I’ll run an article in the paper tomorrow about what the court of appeals did. My sense is that most people don’t like political contributions hidden from the public. I’ll also revisit what the Supremes did in Citizens United. I just can’t believe that our country is going to be run by the fat cats and a few rich labor unions. I’ll get out of your hair. Let me know if you turn up something interesting.”
Jack chose to take a different approach. If he couldn’t get the donors, he would get every bit of data from O’Connell about how he spent the money. That had to be made known even by the welfare organizations. The problem often was that they could dodge having to produce even that information until after the election was over. He didn’t have to wait for their filing. He could subpoena the records and try to prove that SOS was not even close to a social welfare committee. He served a notice of O’Connell’s deposition for Christiansen’s office in Dallas and attached a subpoena, requiring him to produce copies of every video, audio and scrap of paper having to do with his political campaigns and social welfare campaigns for the past three years. He also demanded any emails generated by or received in his office about them along with documents establishing the money spent on any such campaign. Once he received the information, he would have someone analyze every penny spent to evaluate whether SOS was primarily a social welfare outfit or not. It was a long shot, but, as far as he knew, no modern court had ever defined social welfare as it related to political spending. He was willing to take a shot at it and maybe take a new issue back to Judge Jamison. He knew he would either have a roomful of documents or several CDs, crammed full of materials. He also expected another call from Christiansen.
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