Remember The Alamo (26 page)

"They don't want the truth to get out," Stark said. "If it did,
everybody would realize how our leaders, from the president
on down, were manipulated into this mess"

Bitterly, Dave said, "In other words, it's more important for
them not to look bad than it is to deal with the situation honestly and truthfully."

Mahone gave a short bark of laughter that matched Dave's
tone for bitterness. "You sound surprised," he said. "Haven't
you ever seen a liberal politician before?"

"But they're making us out to be the bad guys," Dave said.
"If the truth doesn't get out somehow, the whole country is
liable to think we caused this."

"It won't stand," Stark said. "There are too many folks out
there who know what really happened. They'll tell other
people, and the news will spread"

"I'd like to think you're right, John Howard," Mahone said,
"but I've worked in Washington. When the news media blares
something loud enough, long enough, most people believe it
even when their gut tells them it can't be true. If that wasn't
the case, most of the politicians on that side would never get
elected."

"To hell with politics," Dave said. "We're stuck in here now.
What do we do?"

"I reckon that all depends on what the folks out there do,"
Stark said.

Obrador had now heard the same story over a dozen times,
and he didn't like it any better than the first time he'd heard it.
As bad as the violence had been, Rodriguez, Cody, and their
friends had prevented it from becoming an outright slaughter, and their intervention had forced the Reconquistadores to
flee without occupying the Alamo, which had surely been their
plan all along just as Rodriguez and the others had claimed.
Every cop Obrador talked to said the same thing the men
now inside the Alamo had saved lives, not taken them.

But that hadn't stopped the chief of police from going on
TV and claiming that this had been a riot, not a terrorist attack,
and that it had been caused by the people opposed to the handover of the Alamo. Obrador had seen part of the chief's press
conference on a monitor in one of the RV-like SWAT command units that were on the scene.

Obrador was canny enough, and had been on the force long
enough, to recognize right away what was going on. The chief
was covering his own ass, and the asses of everybody else involved in this snafu, all the way up the chain of command. All
the way to the White House, maybe. Obrador had protected his
own posterior enough to recognize the tactics when he saw them. Deny everything as long as you could, then when that
wasn't possible anymore, blame somebody else, loudly and as
often as possible. If your politics were correct, the media would
even help you distort the truth.

Obrador recognized the necessity of it all-but it left a bad
taste in his mouth, anyway, even though he basically agreed
with what was going on. You couldn't have zealots going
around saying that a foreign government was corrupt and in
bed with a vicious drug cartel, even if it was true. You couldn't
point out that the president of the United States was a damned
fool who didn't care about anything except putting on a big
show to make herself look better, thereby hanging on to the
power that she craved more than anything else. You couldn't
take the law into your own hands and start shooting up Alamo
Plaza even though you were only protecting innocent people,
saving the lives of cops, and keeping a gang of animals from
overrunning one of the most sacred places in the entire state.

What did those guys expect, anyway? A damn medal?

No, before this was all over, they were going to get crushed.
They should have known that.

Obrador turned to the SWAT commander who was currently in charge of the scene. "What do we do now?"

"We have our orders, straight from the chief," the commander replied. "We keep the scene secure while he negotiates personally with those men inside the Alamo to try to get
them to surrender."

Obrador frowned. "You sure that's a good idea? The chief's
not trained in hostage negotiation, as far as I know."

"If it's what the chief wants to do, then it's a good idea. And
as far as we know, there aren't any hostages in there, just
perpetrators"

Obrador shook his head and said, "They ain't gonna surrender, I can tell you that right now. I know some of those guys. They're mixed up in a couple of cases I've been working.
Stubborn bastards"

"Crazy bastards, to think they can take on the whole San
Antonio police department. When the chief gives the word,
we'll root them out of there, you can count on that"

"You know, I'm not sure if all of our guys are going to want
to go in there shooting. They know that those men saved quite
a few cops from being gunned down earlier this afternoon"

The words came out before Obrador thought too much
about what he was saying. The commander gave him a sharp,
angry look and said, "Don't go around spouting that sort of
shit, Detective. Our men will carry out their orders, regardless.
You ought to know that"

"Yes, sir. But who's gonna be giving those orders? The
mayor's dead. Is the chief going to take the responsibility on
himself for staging a full-scale attack on the Alamo?"

"That's none of my business," the commander said with a
stubborn shake of his head. "I just do as I'm told."

Obrador felt the same way-but was there a point beyond
which blind obedience couldn't be pushed? Sooner or later,
didn't right and wrong count for something? Ultimately, didn't
the truth have to matter?

In this day and age, maybe not.

Yar Ali Al-Khan looked like he wanted to spit. His hawkish
face was drawn up in tight, angry lines as he stared at the
screen of the giant plasma TV hanging on the wall of General Salgado's den. The American president was in the Oval
Office, addressing the nation she ruled, telling them that the
violence at the Alamo was the fault of dangerously fanatical
men who were opposed to her politics.

Salgado would have been amused by the woman's selfserving, grotesque distortion of the truth had he not still been annoyed by what had happened earlier in the afternoon. He
would have enjoyed watching the president's embarrassed
squirming as she attempted to control the damage.

"That woman is evil, even for an infidel," Al-Khan said.
"The Americans will come to regret the day they placed power
in her hands"

"From what I hear, many of them already regret it," Salgado
said. "Today, she does our work for us by attacking those who
would try to defend her own nation."

The Arab turned his cold, furious gaze on Salgado. "I
thought those men had been dealt with."

Salgado shrugged. "There is a limit to how many assassinations we can carry out, amigo. I was assured that their threat
had been neutralized. If they were ordinary men, it would have
been, because ordinary men would not have dared to defy their
own government like that"

"You do not know the Americans as well you think you do,
General. Some of them will do anything they believe to be
right, no matter how bizarre or dangerous it may be"

"Very well," Salgado said, allowing a crisp tone of irritation
to creep into his own voice. "The damage is done. Our men
were prevented from taking control of the Alamo. The question now is, what shall we do about it?"

"The American authorities-"

Salgado held up a hand to stop his visitor. That angered
Al-Khan even more, but Salgado didn't care. This was his
house, and he was still in command of the situation.

"Why rely on the Americans?" he said. "This lawless act,
this occupation of the Alamo, is taking place on Mexican soil,
is it not? The treaty was signed by Mayor Alvarez before he
and his cronies were killed."

Interest sparked in AI-Khan's obsidian, snakelike eyes.
"What are you saying, General?"

"I am saying that Mexico should deal with this!" Salgado raised his hand and clenched it into a fist. "We have
resources of our own. The Alamo is ours, and we should evict
the American interlopers from it, by force if necessary!"

Al-Khan's nostrils flared as he drew in a deep breath. "You
would send your army to attack the Alamo and take control
of it?"

"It is our right to do so, according to the treaty. It gives us
total sovereignty over the place."

Al-Khan was silent for a long moment as he stared at Salgado, but then the man began to smile. It was an ugly, thinlipped, spiteful expression, and his laughter was harsh and
unforgiving.

"Perfect," he said. "Nothing could embarrass the hated
Americans more. I would see them all dead someday, if Allah
wills it, but until then it would give me great pleasure to watch
them squirming with humiliation."

"That can be arranged," Salgado said. He crossed the room
to a desk and picked up a phone that was equipped with several layers of protection from eavesdropping. He dialed a
number, knowing that the phone on the other end was equally
secure. It was to be used only in an emergency, and Salgado
believed that this situation qualified.

The other phone was answered on the first ring. "Presidente,"
Salgado purred. "You are watching the American newscasts?
Then you know that our plans have not gone completely as they
were supposed to.... No, do not worry, the situation can still be
salvaged and perhaps made even better than we planned. We can
turn these developments to our advantage.... How? You need to
call a press conference and issue a statement on behalf of Mexico.
And this, Presidente, is what you will tell America and the rest of
the world... "

Dave, Stark, and Mahone were still in the office when Phil
appeared in the doorway, supported by Evelyn Harlow with an
arm around his waist. Bandages were wrapped tightly around
his chest, and since his bloodstained shirt had been cut off him,
someone had draped a denim jacket over his shoulders. His face
was haggard from pain and washed out from loss of blood, but
his features were set in determined, angry lines.

"What's this crap I hear about the government blaming us
for what happened?" he said.

Dave pulled a rolling chair from behind the desk. "Blast it,
Phil, you shouldn't be up and around. You're hurt. You lost a
lot of blood."

"I'll be fine," Phil insisted. "The doc patched me up" He
managed to grin. "And I've got Evelyn fussin' over me"

"Be careful or I'll let go and you'll fall on your face," she
told him in a tart voice.

"I guess it probably wouldn't hurt to sit down for a minute."
With a sigh, he eased himself into the chair, but didn't sit back
because of his wound. He gestured again at the TV and went
on. "What sort of garbage are they spewing now?"

"The same old same old," Dave said. "I guess you heard
people talking about it out in the chapel."

"Yeah. The rumor is that the president said we caused all the
trouble, that it was just a riot from a protest that got out of
hand, not a terrorist attack."

Mahone nodded and said, "That's a good summation, all right.
Typical Washington behavior. Blame the messengers ... or in
this case, the guardians."

I almost wish we hadn't risked our lives doing this," Phil
muttered.

"Don't say that," Stark told him. "A lot of folks are alive
right now who might not have been otherwise, and at least
those Reconquistadores aren't stomping around here inside
the Alamo."

"Yeah, there's that," Phil agreed. "I'd hate to think of those
bloodthirsty animals taking over this place."

"We all feel the same way," Dave said.

Phil took a deep breath and winced as it must have hurt him
a little. "Well, what now?"

"That seems to be the question of the day," Mahone said.
"The chief of police called a while ago and demanded that we
come out and surrender."

"You told him to go to hell, I hope"

"I declined to accept his suggestion," Mahone replied in a
dry voice. "Actually, I expected to hear from him again before
now-"