The Governor's Wife (28 page)

"Cat ranchers," Bode said.

"Cat ranchers?"

"You go to their house, I guarantee you they got two dozen cats each."

"You're a cattle rancher. You got what, five thousand head?"

"Yeah, but I can eat a cow."

"Never know with those women."

The kids trickled through next. Then Ranger Hank emerged. Even a Texas Ranger could not carry weapons onto a commercial flight, so he had to empty his holster and pockets. Out from the holster came the nine-millimeter handgun and two spare ammo clips, the Taser, the Mace, the cuffs, the flashlight (actually a sledgehammer with a light on the end), and the sap (an eleven-inch leather strap with a lead weight at one end); from one cowboy boot came a .22-caliber pistol; from the other boot came a compact serrated knife with a T-type push grip; and from his pants pocket came a rolled-up sleeve of quarters, a substitute for brass knuckles, which were illegal in Texas. Hank walked over in his white socks and carrying his cowboy boots and looking as if he had just undergone a body cavity search.

"Think you got enough weapons there, Hank?" Jim Bob said.

They all gathered around and waited for Josefina and Mandy, who was sticking close to the shy girl now. The TSA screeners waved Mandy through.

But they stopped Josefina.

They pulled her out for a pat-down. Her expression showed her confusion. Mandy stepped over to the screener and said, "She doesn't speak English." A Latino screener spoke to her in Spanish, and little Josefina now understood. She screamed.

"
¡No, no, no!
"

The security line froze. Screeners and armed TSA guards swarmed the scene like a SWAT team, surrounding the little Mexican girl. Her brown eyes turned to Bode. She was crying. He groaned.

"Aw, shit."

Ranger Hank stepped forward, but Bode stopped him.

"I'll handle it, Hank."

Bode hitched up his jeans for the turf battle he knew would ensue. He had fought many such battles in his years as governor, as all governors had, over education standards, air pollution permits, water quality, prison conditions, Medicaid, and taking Mexican kids into custody on a West Texas ranch. The Feds would fight you over anything and everything just because they could. Because they had the power to make your life miserable. To withhold federal funds. The EPA was perennially the worst offender, of course, but the HHS and HUD, DOJ and DOE, ICE and FEMA and OSHA and even the USDA weren't far behind. But since its creation, the DHS—Department of Homeland Security—and its airport storm troopers—the TSA—seemed determined to take federal arrogance to levels never before seen outside the Supreme Court Building, treating airline passengers as suspects and patting down old folks, people in wheelchairs, and even young children.

"She's just a kid!"

Josefina's TSA screener was overweight and wore a United States badge, never a good combination. By the time Bode arrived and stepped between Josefina and the screener, Mandy was in her face.

"She's scared!"

"Ma'am," the screener said in the way that let you know she wasn't saying "ma'am" out of common courtesy but only because her work rules required her to, "she either gets patted down or she don't get on the plane."

"
Doesn't
," Mandy said.

Correcting a federal employee's grammar was always a mistake, in Bode's experience. The screener leaned her massive body toward Mandy as if to intimidate the oh-so-lithe Mandy, but Bode's gal held her ground. Mandy Morgan was a tough little broad. Bode figured he'd better break this up before blows were exchanged.

"She's with me," he said.

The screener's glare remained fixed on Mandy.

"Then you better get her outta my face so I can do my job."

"Not Mandy … well, she's with me, too, but I mean the girl. Josefina."

The screener now pivoted like a politician after a bad poll and faced Bode. The realization of who was standing in front of her came across her face, but not in a good way. Her expression changed from a woman itching for a cat fight to a Democrat still angry because four years ago her candidate had lost to the man standing before her.

"Governor, she can be with God Himself, but she's gonna get patted down."

Great, a federal employee with attitude. But then, he was being redundant.

"Look, the girl suffered a traumatic experience, I'm sure you saw the story on TV."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Where have you been the last three days?"

"Here. Working overtime. People got the flu."

That's the thing about disease that always frustrated Bode: those who should get it never did.

"Well, she's in a very delicate state right now, and your patting her down would not be good for her."

"Wouldn't be good for the passengers on that plane if she's carrying a bomb."

"A
bomb?
" Bode moved just enough to reveal Josefina hiding behind him. "Does she look like a terrorist?"

"We're not allowed to engage in profiling."

"Just in stupidity?"

That really didn't help matters.

"Step aside, Governor."

"No."

The armed guards stepped closer. The crowd in the security line had grown restless and vocal.

"You tell 'em, Governor!"

"They're supposed to be working for us!"

"This ain't Russia!"

"Don't worry, Governor—we got your back!"

As much as Bode enjoyed the thought of decking a federal employee, having the governor of Texas wrestled to the ground by the armed guards on national TV—cell phone cameras rose above the crowd to record the moment—might not be the best political move, so he tried to defuse the situation.

"Would you please call your supervisor?"

She gave him a "proceed straight to hell without passing GO" look then said into her shoulder-mounted microphone: "Supervisor, gate eight security. A-S-A-P."

It didn't take long for an older man to arrive in a golf cart. He stepped out with a two-way radio in his left hand and walked over with a slight limp. He assessed the situation then stuck his right hand out to Bode.

"Governor—what's the problem?"

Bode shook hands and checked the supervisor's nameplate—"Ted Jenkins"—then motioned Ted away a few steps. Josefina stuck close to him.

"Ted, you been watching the news, what happened this past weekend out in West Texas? The shooting?"

"Yes, sir. Good job."

Thank God—a Republican.

"Used to work Border Patrol," Ted said, "till some border bandits shot me in the leg. Couldn't foot chase no more, so I transferred to TSA."

"So you heard about the children being held captive—"

"Yes, sir."

—"and that a girl was held as a sex slave for over a year?"

"Yes, sir."

Bode leaned in and lowered his voice.

"Well, Ted, this little girl behind me—that's her."

Ted's face registered his shock. He peeked around Bode at Josefina.

"She's just a kid."

"Yes, Ted, she is just a kid. Who's terrified of being touched by anyone, especially strangers. If your screener pats her down, she's likely to have a psychotic episode, fall down to the floor screaming, probably start foaming at the mouth. Right here in your airport."

"A psychotic episode?"

"And it'll all be caught on those cell phone cameras"—Ted glanced back at the crowd aiming cell phones their way—"and shown on national TV tonight. A TSA screener touching a little girl's private parts, a little girl who was raped daily for a year by three men who worked for a Mexican drug cartel, a little girl I saved from being killed by those same men just three days ago. And this is how she's treated by the American government?"

"Shit."

"Shit is right, Ted. And you and I both know that in politics shit rolls downhill. Fast. The press will jump all over the president and that ball of shit is gonna start rolling downhill from Washington and by the time it arrives at this airport in Austin and drops on your head, it's gonna be one big pile of shit, Ted."

Ted considered the situation: he had his screener-with-attitude standing with her fists embedded in her wide hips and a scowl on her face; he had the governor of Texas offering him advice, man to man; he had little Josefina, terrified with tears running down her puffy cheeks, hiding behind the aforesaid governor; he had a crowd of angry citizens armed with cell phone cameras; and he had his government career.

He chose his career.

"Fuck it," Ted said in a barely audible voice. He turned to his screener. "LaShawna, the girl's good."

LaShawna glared at her boss a long moment then pointed a fat finger at Bode.

"Then I wanna pat him down!"

Ted sighed heavily. "Give it up, LaShawna." To Bode, in a low voice: "She washed out at the police academy, but we hired her. Go figure. Have a good trip, Governor. You got my vote if you run for president."

Ted twirled a finger above his head as if to say, Move out! The crowd cheered.

"You the man, Governor!"

Bode nudged Josefina away from the checkpoint—"Let's go, honey." When she realized she was free to go, the fear drained from her face. Her brown eyes lifted to him, and she tugged on his shirt. He leaned down to her. She tapped a finger on his chest and said through tears, "
El hombre
."

"I need a bourbon," Bode said.

They had survived security and economy-fare coach class and were now safely ensconced in full-fare first class. The flight to L.A. would take three and a half hours, with a sexy stew serving them bourbon and steak. When Bode went to the lavatory, she slipped him a card with her phone number. She was based in L.A. Mandy was back in coach.

Bode decided to check on the kids. He ventured into the crowded coach section and was again greeted like a war hero. Hands shot into the air for high-fives and autographs. Passengers stood for cell phone photos with him. The going was slow, so it was twenty minutes later before he arrived at the rear of the plane where Hank, Mandy, and the kids occupied the last three rows. Hank had crammed his six-foot-six, two-hundred-sixty pound body into the coach-class seat; he looked like an unhappy teenager in a baby stroller. The kids were digging into box lunches. They were again decked out in Gap clothes, and their newly cleaned teeth gleamed bright in the cabin light. Alejandro and Vincente wore new glasses; both boys were as blind as bats. They'd all been given clean bills of health by the pediatrician. Josefina was neither pregnant nor infected with a sexually transmitted disease. She would see a therapist when they returned to Austin.

"Those sandwiches okay?"

"Bode, these kids have been eating squirrels cooked over a campfire for the last year," Mandy said. "Ham-and-cheese sandwiches, potato chips, and oatmeal cookies, this is gourmet for them." She took a bite of her sandwich and shrugged. "Actually, it's not that bad."

Little Josefina sat in the window seat and stared out at the blue sky. She hadn't touched her lunch.

"Josefina."

Her eyes turned to him.

"You okay?
¿Bueno?
"

She gave him a shy nod.

"Hi, Governor."

The coach-class stew had arrived.

"Hi"—he checked her nameplate—"Carol. I'm Bode Bonner."

She grinned. "Like I don't know? I'm a follower! I got your tweet that you'd be on our flight. The girls haven't been this excited since David Hasselhoff flew with us." She held out a napkin. "Would you autograph this for me?"

He signed the napkin.

"All these kids, they're with me."

Her eyes got wide. "These are the kids you rescued? Oh, my God!"

"I'd appreciate it if you'd take real good care of them."

"Of course, I will—I got your back, Governor."

She held up an open hand for a high-five; he obliged.

"And this is Mandy. She's watching them."

Mandy mumbled a hello through a mouthful of ham and cheese.

"You need anything at all, you let me know," Carol said.

Emilio raised his hand.

"What do you need, Emilio?"

"
Yo soy
Ernesto."

"Oh, yeah … Ernesto. You need something?"

A blank face.

"
¿Qué necesita?
" Mandy said to him.

He made a gesture as if drinking and said, "
¿Leche de cabra?
"

"You want …
leche
… milk …
de
… of the …"

"Goat," Mandy said then shrugged. "It's like a Spanish immersion class."

"Uh, we don't have goat's milk, Governor," Carol the stew said. "But we do have cow's milk."

"That'll work. Bring thirteen."

The milk run arranged, Bode returned to first class and his steak lunch. Jim Bob wanted to spend the flight time prepping for the upcoming television appearances, but Bode got the steak and a few bourbons down him and decided to enjoy the attention from the stewardess—her name was "Su, without the e"—and the other passengers in first class asking for his autograph and photos with him. He enjoyed the moment—until a guy dressed like a CEO came up and ruined the moment.