Liberty's Last Stand (9 page)

“And they aren't doing anything about this riot. Go get the bastard. Disarm and arrest anybody that gives you trouble. That office is in Texas, and in Texas we run the show.
Texas is ours
.”

“You're goddamn right it is, Governor.”

“Then get ready to go into that riot zone and arrest those thugs when I give the order. Get the Houston police to help. Call me when you are ready to do it. Got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

When Colonel Tenney left his office, Hays sensed he had crossed the line. He asked the Texas Ranger outside the door to come in and explained the situation. “I need your boss as soon as he can get here. We are coming to a crisis.”

“Yes, sir.” The ranger was on his cell phone as he walked from the room. Primarily criminal investigators, the Texas Rangers—there were only about 140 of them—were a division of the TxDPS.

The Constitution of the State of Texas required the governor to maintain public order and enforce the laws—and Jack Hays meant to do that. Under state law, he could assume command of the TxDPS during a public disaster, riot, or insurrection, “or to perform his constitutional duty to
enforce the law.” As Jack Hays saw it, Barry Soetoro could not relieve him of this responsibility or void the statutes or Constitution of the State of Texas for any reason whatsoever. Jack Hays had sworn to uphold the law and, by God, he was going to do it or die trying.

His decision made, he called in the leaders of the legislature to brief them.

It was three o'clock that Friday afternoon when Jake Grafton was led into an office in the admin building of Camp Dawson. He wasn't wearing handcuffs. The room looked like what it used to be, a crowded office for low-level bureaucrats and staff officers of the West Virginia National Guard. Now it appeared to be full of FBI agents.

“We want to ask you some questions,” the man behind the desk said. He was a White House aide, maybe in Soetoro's inner circle, or only one level away. His name was Harlan Sweatt, known to the world as Sluggo. He was balding, with a double chin and a serious spare tire that was hidden behind the desk. Jake recognized him, although the two had never met.

Grafton dropped into the chair across from Sweatt. Scanned the other agents in the room, four men and one woman. All looked as if they hadn't had much sleep, and no wonder, busy as they must have been rousing citizens from offices, golf clubs, bars and beds, and transporting them here to this mountain concentration camp.

“Ask away,” Grafton said.

“I am not going to read you your rights,” Sluggo said, “because your rights have been suspended by the declaration of martial law.”

“I didn't know that the president had the power to suspend the rules of criminal procedure or the presumption of innocence or the right to be represented by counsel.”

“Are you a lawyer?”

“No.”

“He has been advised by good lawyers, including the attorney general. He is fulfilling his constitutional duty to protect the nation.”

“If you say so.”

“We want to ask you about your role in the conspiracy to remove the president from office.”

Jake sat silently, watching the man drone on. He had suspected this might be coming since Callie told him of the FBI's announcement to the press.

When Sluggo Sweatt paused for air, Grafton said, “I deny any involvement whatsoever.”

“Four people have confessed, so far. They swear you knew about the planning for a coup d'état.”

“Who?”

He named names. Two names Jake thought he recognized from the CIA, low-level staffers. The other two he didn't.

“I don't care what they signed. I deny any involvement whatsoever, nor did I know of any plot.”

“You had better rethink that, Admiral. You have a daughter, a sonin-law, and a grandson. Your wife lives on your pension. You have money in the bank and property. With a stroke of a pen, all that can be taken away from you.”

Grafton said nothing.

“I don't think you realize how serious the crime is that you are accused of,” Sweatt explained, as if Grafton had a 75 IQ and his wife had to help him put on his pants in the morning. “The penalties are catastrophic, for you and your family. We have drafted a confession for your signature.” He opened a drawer and removed the confession, tossed it on the desk. “As you will see, you are charged with nothing but failing to report treasonous activity. There is no suggestion that you committed any overt act. I suggest you read it, please.”

Grafton didn't even pick it up. “Sluggo, I am not going to put my fingerprints on that. I have no doubt you can forge my signature, if you want it, and no doubt whatsoever that you have sold your soul to the devil. Currently there is nothing I can do about this situation, or you, but I'll remember you. Not fondly.”

“I won't try to persuade you,” Sluggo Sweatt said coolly. “But I want you to consider the fact that the world has turned, and you are in serious
danger of being roadkill. There won't be another day in your life when you can do anything about it, about me, or about your situation. Not a day, not an hour, not a minute. You can only save yourself and your loved ones a great deal of grief by signing that document.”

“Is that why you sold out? Saving yourself grief?” Grafton replied.

The man shrugged. “Unlike you, I have some common sense,” he said, and gestured to the agents against the wall.

“I am delighted to hear that, Sweatt,” Grafton shot back. “Common sense is almost as rare as hen's teeth, and equally hard to find.”

The agents led Grafton back to the compound.

The members of the Texas legislature that packed into the governor's office were a mixed lot. Some were demanding that the legislature pass a declaration of independence and declare Texas a free republic. Others looked damned worried.

“Are you people out of your minds?” It was Smokey Bryan from Hall County. “I fought for the United States in the army. I am a citizen of the United States. My family have all been American citizens, and my great-great-grandparents who came to Texas when it was Comanche country and got scalped—they were Americans. I'll be goddamned if I am gonna commit treason and try to take Texas out of the Union. Again. The last time we tried that they shot a lot of Texans but didn't hang anybody. This time they might. Barry Soetoro is, no question, a would-be tin-pot dictator, but he
is
the president of the United States. And let's call a spade a spade—no pun intended—he's black. Most black people will stick to him even if he declares he is the risen Christ.”

Luwanda Harris, a black woman representing a district in Houston, said, “Gangs of terrorists are running around killing people. People are plotting a coup. I don't know who, but it's probably Republicans. They hate him. You are damn fools to sit here discussing treason when the FBI hasn't finished its investigation.”

Someone shouted from the back. “You don't seem very worried about your constituents who are caught in the middle of a riot.”

“Fuck you,” she shot over her shoulder. She was looking straight at Bryan when she said, “And you too, Smokey, you Nazi bigot. Black people have been shit on for centuries, ever since they were dragged to Texas as slaves. You people have segregated them, won't educate them, won't give them a leg up. You won't even increase the minimum wage. Let the niggers rot. That's—”

“You racist bitch!” Senator Bryan roared. “I have had—”

“Quiet,” the governor shouted. “If you people are going to cuss at each other, go outside on the lawn to do it. You can use your fists, shout, pull hair, act like children, get your names and photos in the papers. Go on. Get the hell outta my office.” Silence descended.

Jack Hays lowered his voice. “Ms. Harris, Mr. Bryan, you two seem to have lost sight of the fact you are on the same side. You are both against Texas independence. Yet we all share a common concern, I hope. We all care deeply about the people of Texas, all of them, and what is best for them.”

“I'm concerned about what is best for
black
Americans,” Ms. Harris shot back. “All you white people can worry about your own damned selves. We black people are going to stick together.”

“You speak for yourself, woman,” interjected Charlie Swim. “You don't represent me, and when the fires finally go out, don't come begging the legislature for money to rebuild the projects. You won't get it. You helped them burn.”

That caused another frenzy of shouting.

“Shut up,” Jack Hays roared. “The question is, How are we going to stop the riot? If the feds interfere, what are we going to do?”

“You're goin' to Houston and shoot a bunch of black people,” Luwanda Harris said. “I know it, they know it, and the White House knows it.”

“We're going to arrest rioters and hold them responsible for their crimes,” the governor said in a normal voice. “Murder, rape, looting—nobody gets a free pass. Nobody. I have sworn to uphold the law and I will, whether you are white, black, brown, yellow, or green. If you want to do your community a service, Ms. Harris, you will get yourself to Houston and help stop the riot.”

“Who do you think I am?” Luwanda Harris demanded. “You think I own them?”

“Anybody else?” the governor said.

A delegate from the Dallas suburbs wanted to discuss threats. Her name was Melissa McKinley. She didn't know whether Soetoro was right about a right-wing conspiracy, but her constituents were worried about security. Terrorist threats, insane people, drug violence, the list went on. “My constituents want to be free from fear, free to raise their children in a safe environment. Guns scare them, enraged homicidal maniacs that shoot kids in schools and theaters scare them, terrorists and assassins scare them. The specter of a civil war would horrify them. They don't want to live in Baghdad or Beirut or Syria. They want their children to have a chance to reach adulthood free from fear.”

“How much freedom are they willing to trade for their security?” Ben Steiner asked.

“They don't want to bury their kids, Ben.”

“So they would be happy in Hitler's Germany or Stalin's Russia in a comfortable little cell, just as long as their blood didn't flow?”

“I doubt it, but freedom doesn't do you a lot of good if you're dead.”

“Amen to that,” several of the legislators muttered.

They wanted to mention the grievances of their constituents, introduce them into the discussion, things such as EPA regulations designed to save the climate at the expense of the working men and women of Texas, even though there was no scientific evidence that the changes demanded would have any impact on the problem as defined by the EPA. And the EPA's demands to shut down coal-fired power plants, which would raise electric bills dramatically. Several wanted to talk about the financial and social burden of illegal aliens on the school districts and the education of American children, whose parents were paying the taxes to fund the schools. Others wanted to talk about federally mandated school curriculums and school lunches. Many were sick and tired of being dictated to by Washington bureaucrats who thought they knew more than the people ruled by their edicts.

Another just wanted to talk about a federal government many of her constituents perceived as an out-of-control, fire-belching, meat-eating
monster that could not be tamed, controlled, or killed, a monster that increasingly stuck its nose into every facet of American life and propagandized their children every minute of the school day. A minister denounced a government that he believed was not just neutral on religion, but actively antireligious.

Charlie Swim broke in. “The bottom line is we need to stop these riots. You want to help black people?” He scowled at Luwanda Harris. “The people getting crippled and maimed and killed are black. The people doing it are black. A lot of the businessmen getting looted and burned out are black. If the federal government won't stop it, the state government must: it's that simple. A government that fails to protect its citizens from violence has forfeited its claim to legitimacy. And if bucking Soetoro and the feds leads to a confrontation, it's time for Texas to face the issue head-on and declare its independence.”