Tyranny (20 page)

M
iranda posted that message on a dozen different Internet forums and social media platforms on Saturday night. By Sunday morning it had gone viral as those who read it shared it. By the time G.W. got home from church, a couple of dozen cars and pickups had shown up at the ranch, each of them carrying several people who had come to protest the BLM's proposed action. Some of them were from conservative groups located in Texas and promised that more of their members would be showing up before the day was over.

Still wearing his suit and tie and carrying his Bible, G.W. looked at the gathering crowd and muttered, “What the Sam Hill is goin' on here?”

From the porch where he stood with Miranda and Devlin, Kyle grinned and said, “Looks like you've got a lot of friends you didn't know about, G.W.”

“Looks like some kind o' fandango.”

The gathering did have a festive atmosphere about it. People talked and laughed, some of them reminiscing with old friends while others made new friends. Children ran around playing. Several men had brought grills that they set up by the open tailgates of their pickups, and aromatic smells of burgers, hot dogs, and barbecued ribs rose from them. Ice chests full of beer, soft drinks, and bottled water were in the backs of those pickups as well.

A couple of men approached G.W. and shook hands with him. One said, “It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Brannock. There aren't enough folks like you in this country anymore, folks who are willing to stand up for what's right and take a stand against what's wrong. My name is Dave Sparks, and this is Thad Bowman. We're from the Texas Coalition for Smaller Government.”

“I'm pleased to meet you fellas,” G. W. said. “Did you really show up out here just to help me?”

From the porch, Miranda said, “I told you we could get the word out, G.W.”

“Yes, sir,” Dave Sparks said. “We've all been aware of the troubles you've been having with the federal government, but until Ms. Stephens posted what she did last night, we didn't realize they were about to launch a sneak attack on you. As soon as some of our members saw the news, we started e-mailing and calling each other, and everybody knew we had to get out here and give you a hand.”

G.W. frowned and said, “I don't expect anybody to get in trouble on my account.”

“It's not just on your account, Mr. Brannock,” Thad Bowman said. “It's for all of us who believe in freedom. If the government can lie, cheat, and steal your land away from you, what's to stop them from coming after everything we own next?”

Dave said, “You can bet your bottom dollar they've got a list of everybody in our organization, too. They're watchin' us, and sooner or later they'll come after us. They already audit members of conservative groups at a much higher rate than they do with members of liberal and progressive groups.”

Kyle glanced over at Barton Devlin. The IRS agent—or former IRS agent, as Devlin insisted he was—had a frown on his face, as if he were hearing things he didn't want to hear—but knew to be true anyway.

“Well, I'm mighty happy to have you here,” G.W. said. “You folks make yourselves at home. Anything you need, just let me know.”

He went inside the house with Kyle, Miranda, and Devlin. As he looked at Kyle and Miranda, he said, “You young folks knew this was gonna happen, didn't you?”

“I didn't know,” Kyle said. “This was all Miranda's idea. I hoped she was right and that people would show up.”

“I hoped I was right, too,” she said. “We need a big group to block Grayson and his flunkies. We'll fill up the gate and the road, and he won't be able to get to you to serve any papers on you.”

“That won't stop him in the long run,” G.W. said with a frown.

“Probably not, but the longer we can keep him from taking over the ranch, the better. Has the government ever given back
anything
once they get their hands on it?”

“Not that I recall,” G.W. admitted. He sniffed the air. “Do I smell chili?”

“Roberto's out in the kitchen cooking up another pot of his special blend,” Kyle said with a grin. “He said he's gonna make enough he can share it with all the folks who show up to help you. And if there's any left over, we'll use it for rocket fuel.”

“There won't be any left over,” G.W. predicted.

He was right. As the afternoon went on, more supporters poured onto the ranch. The tailgaters kept their grills going all day, and Roberto passed out bowl after bowl of chili. The holiday atmosphere grew even stronger. No one knew what the next day might bring, but for today, these people were going to enjoy each other's company.

Late in the afternoon, while Kyle, Miranda, and G. W. were sitting on the front porch watching the festivities, Miranda's phone rang. She looked at it to see who was calling, then immediately sat up straighter in the rocking chair as she answered it.

“Miranda Stephens . . . Yes . . . Yes, thank you so much for returning my call, governor.”

That made Kyle and G. W. perk up, too.

“Yes, I'm here with Mr. Brannock now,” Miranda went on. “Of course.” She took the phone away from her ear and told Kyle and G.W., “She wants me to put her on speaker.” She touched the screen to do that and said, “Go ahead, governor.”

“Mr. Brannock? This is Maria Delgado.”

G.W. leaned toward the phone and said, “Hello, ma'am. It's an honor to be talkin' to you.”

“And I'm glad to be speaking with you,” the governor of Texas said. “I hear you've been having some problems there.”

“Yes, ma'am. Not with the state of Texas, though, I'm glad to say.”

“I've had my own skirmishes with the federal government, as you may know. I wish there was something I could do to help you, but as far as I can tell, my hands are tied on this matter. You have all the moral support I can give you, though. I think you're completely in the right. I plan to issue a statement to the press saying that very thing.”

“Well, I appreciate that, governor. Looks like we've got some help from the common folks today. Quite a few of 'em have shown up to let those fellas from Washington know they're not welcome here.”

Governor Delgado laughed and said, “I've heard something about that. If it's all right with you, I'd like to send someone there to keep an eye on the situation for me. That way if things change, I'll know about it right away.”

“Sure,” G.W. said without hesitation. “Send as many as you want. We've got plenty of food and drink.”

“Sounds like a party,” the governor said.

“Right now it is,” G.W. agreed. “But I reckon the feds are liable to put a damper on things when they show up.”

M
iranda was disappointed when Governor Delgado said she couldn't do anything to help, but Kyle told her not to worry about that.

“We didn't really expect much, if anything, from the state,” he pointed out. “This is between G.W. and the feds, and the state government doesn't have any jurisdiction in the matter.”

“I suppose. At least she's supporting us publicly. That can't hurt.”

“Can't hurt us,” Kyle said with a smile. “It'll make that fella in the White House hate her even more than he already does, if that's possible.”

A short time later, the media began to show up. Kyle was surprised that it had taken them this long to get out here. Usually they were all over anything they could twist and distort to make conservatives look bad.

Some of the people who had gathered came to G.W. and suggested throwing the news crews off the ranch and barricading the gate against them.

“You can't trust these people,” Dave Sparks warned. “They'll make up outright lies to discredit anybody who doesn't agree with their radical leftist agenda.”

“Shoot, I know that,” G.W. said. “But I'm not in the habit of bein' inhospitable, even to folks who don't like me. Besides, no matter what sort of garbage they spew, people who can think for themselves will just consider the source and move on.”

“I hope you're right,” Dave said as he shook his head. “They'll do their best to turn public opinion against you, though.”

“The only ones who believe the mainstream media are the ones who would never support our cause anyway,” Kyle said. “They've been brainwashed by decades of public education and government assistance.”

“Suckin' off the government tit, you mean,” G.W. said, after glancing around to make sure Miranda wasn't within range of his voice. Kyle noticed that and chuckled. Some things would never change.

Several of the TV reporters approached the porch wanting to ask G.W. questions. Kyle shook his head and said, “My grandfather doesn't have any comment at this time.”

“But aren't you afraid that he's inciting a riot with his behavior?” asked a well-groomed female reporter who didn't appear to care for the haze of dust that hung in the air from so many people and vehicles moving around. She waved some of it away from her face.

“What behavior?” Kyle shot back. “He's sitting in a rocking chair and drinking iced tea. How can anybody get inciting a riot out of that?”

The reporter waved an expensively manicured hand and said, “But all these people—”

“Are about as well-behaved a group this size that you'll ever see. They're having a good time and cleaning up after themselves. Compare that to any leftist protest you can find and see which bunch knows how to act like civilized human beings.”

The woman glared at him, but didn't press her argument. As she stalked off, Kyle fully expected that she would report what he'd said in some slanted, biased way that would make him look like a lunatic. As long as the media was in the hip pocket of the Democrats, lying was all they had. They couldn't afford to tell the truth.

By the time the sun went down, at least three hundred people had shown up at the ranch. Kyle stopped trying to count them. There were people everywhere he looked, though, and he could tell that G.W. was touched by the outpouring of support.

Dave Sparks and Thad Bowman, who were loosely in charge of the group, came to the house as night was falling and told Kyle, G.W., and Miranda that they had posted guards at the gate to make sure no one from the federal government tried to sneak onto the ranch.

“That's fine,” G.W. told them, “but I don't want any shootin' out there.”

“We're not planning on any,” Dave said, “but a lot of our people are armed and we're going to defend ourselves if we're attacked.”

Kyle could tell that Miranda was worried about that very thing. A shoot-out would give the feds the excuse they might be looking for, a reason to come down on the ranch with all their armed might.

“Tell you what,” he said, “I'll go out there and stand guard, too. We'll keep the lid on things, G.W.”

“I'm coming, too,” Miranda said. “It won't hurt to have legal representation on hand.”

G.W. looked like he was going to argue, but then he shrugged and said, “Reckon I trust the two of you young folks as much as I trust anybody in the world. Just be careful, all right?”

“We will be,” Kyle promised.

“Take the pickup,” G.W. said as he tossed the keys to Kyle, who plucked them deftly from the air.

The pickup had a lever-action Winchester on the rack behind the seat in the back window. Miranda gave it a wary look as Kyle held the passenger door open for her and she climbed into the vehicle.

“I assume that's loaded?” she said.

“G. W. always says that an unloaded gun isn't good for anything but a club. It's liable to take more than a club to stop Grayson.”

“That's why we have a crowd of witnesses on hand.”

“And we hope that'll be enough. I'll do my best to make sure that's the way it works out.”

Miranda still looked worried in the light from the dashboard, Kyle thought as he drove toward the distant gate. He didn't blame her.

By now, with the news coverage the informal protest was getting, Slade Grayson had to know what was going on out here. Would that cause the government man to move up his timetable?

Kyle didn't know, but he wasn't going to bet against it.

 

 

“Yes, sir,” Grayson said into his phone. “I understand. Don't worry about a thing, sir. I have it all under control.”

As Grayson broke the connection, Todd said, “Was that . . . you know?”

“Yes, that was him,” Grayson confirmed. “He's been watching the news coverage of what's going on at Brannock's ranch.”

Finley said, “This is turning into a complete disaster.”

Grayson made a scoffing sound and said, “What the hell makes you think that? Haven't you been paying attention, Finley?”

He picked up the remote control and turned on the motel room TV, which was already tuned to one of the cable news networks known to be sympathetic to whatever the administration wanted to do.

An attractive female reporter whose hair looked a little the worse for wear because of dust and wind was looking into the camera in footage obviously shot earlier because the sun was still up.

“In a situation that seems rife with the potential for domestic terrorism, a group of dangerous right-wing extremists have gathered here in Texas in support of rancher G.W. Brannock's lawless defiance of the federal government. These heavily armed radicals have sworn to prevent agents of the Bureau of Land Management from entering property that Brannock has claimed as his own, despite the fact that it has always belonged to the federal government. For more than a century, Brannock's ancestors have been illegally squatting on this land.”

Finley said, “But no one even knew that until recently. There's never been any question until now about who owns that land.”

Grayson laughed and said, “You think the people watching this know any of that, or would care if they did? For some of them, the government can do no wrong if it's in the hands of the Democrats, and the only thing the rest give a damn about is getting their check every month. They'll believe whatever they're told.” His voice hardened. “And they're right to do so, aren't they? I mean, our elected leaders wouldn't
lie
to us, would they?”

“Of course not,” Finley said, his voice betraying the nervousness he felt. “I didn't mean that, Mr. Grayson. You know I didn't.”

Grayson shrugged. Keeping the others toeing the party line didn't really mean anything to him except that it made them more useful that way. A scared bureaucrat was an obedient bureaucrat.

“What did
he
want?” Finley went on.

“He was asking if I thought we should go ahead and make our move tonight,” Grayson explained.

“But you think that would be a mistake.”

“Of course, I do. Let those right-wing crazies sit out there and stew in their own juices overnight. We'll go in tomorrow morning, just like we planned, in broad daylight so the whole world can see what happens.”

Todd said, “It looked on TV like there are hundreds of them. What if they won't let us in?”

“They will if they know what's good for them,” Grayson snapped.

But some of that was bravado, and he knew it. But the thing was, it didn't really matter. When the time came, Brannock and his friends would back down, or they wouldn't.

Either way, in the long run Grayson and the people he worked for would win.

It was just that one way, a lot more people probably would die.

And that didn't matter, either. . . .