Tyranny (23 page)

G
rayson let out a startled curse, then yelled, “It's

Brannock! Shoot him! Shoot the fool!”

The other men hesitated, though, instead of blindly following Grayson's order, and that gave Brannock time to warn again, “If anybody opens fire, I'm gonna blow your head off, mister.”

Grayson must have heard the sincere threat in Brannock's voice, because he said hastily, “Hold on, hold on.”

One of the other men said, “There's no need for anybody to start shooting. Mr. Brannock, you've been legally served with the paperwork giving possession of this ranch to the Bureau of Land Management. I'm asking you to comply with this order and vacate the property peacefully.”

“This is my land,” Brannock said, “and the state of Texas is workin' on provin' that.”

“We're federal agents,” the man said. He carried a rifle and wore body armor and a helmet, as did the other men. “We're not required to follow the laws of the individual states.”

“Yeah, well, that's one of the things that's wrong with this country today,” snapped Brannock. “Used to be the states had some rights, and that meant somethin'. You fellas have stolen that away. And I do mean stolen—just like Grayson here is tryin' to steal my land for some reason.”

“We're wasting time here,” Grayson said. “Put down the gun, old man, or people are going to die.”

From behind Brannock, Thad Bowman said, “You're sure right about that, you son of a bitch.”

The confrontation at the fence must have awakened the other defenders, thought Brannock as Bowman and the other men stepped up on either side of them, rifles and shotguns at the ready.

“None of our phones work,” Bowman said, confirming Brannock's suspicions of a few minutes earlier, “but I told one of the guys to get back to the ranch as quick as he can and let the others know what's happening.”

As if to punctuate Bowman's words, a pickup engine roared to life, and the vehicle took off with a spurt of dirt and gravel from the tires as the driver floored the gas.

“We need to get in there
now!”
Grayson told the man who seemed to be in command of the other agents. “Come on, Lassiter! Do something!”

The agent called Lassiter said, “Mr. Brannock, you know we're coming in there one way or the other, so you might as well stand down and let us do this peacefully. There's no need for anyone's blood to be spilled.”

The eastern sky was turning gray with the approach of dawn. There was already enough light for Brannock to make out the figures on both sides of the fence. The defenders were outnumbered, but their guns were up.

So were the rifles of the federal agents. All it would take was a single shot to set off a storm of gunfire that would probably leave everyone on this side of the fence dead. But some of the government men would die, too.

More men would arrive from the ranch headquarters in a matter of minutes, Brannock knew. That would tip the odds in their favor, although there was no telling what sort of armament those federal agents might have in those armored vehicles. They might cut loose with machine guns that would mow down Brannock and all his allies.

The idea that popped into Brannock's head just then would accomplish two things, he realized: It would allow him to stall for time, and there was just the faintest chance that it would bring this confrontation to an end without dozens of people dying.

“All right,” Brannock said. “Grayson can come in.”

“What!” Thad Bowman cried. “No, G.W.! Don't give in to them!”

“Grayson can come in,” Brannock repeated, “but
only
Grayson.”

The government man gave a little jerk of surprise. He said, “What the hell are you talking about, Brannock?”

“The fence is electrified, but the gate's not. There's nothin' stoppin' you from climbin' over, Grayson. We'll back off and let you do it.”

“This is some kind of trick,” Grayson snapped. “You'll let me climb over, and then you'll shoot me and claim self-defense.”

“Nope,” Brannock said. He lowered the shotgun he held. “Nobody'll lift a hand against you . . . except me.”

Grayson frowned at him and asked, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“We're gonna settle this,” Brannock said. “You and me. Man-to-man.”

Grayson stared at him for a couple of heartbeats, then let out a bark of laughter.

“You're offering to
fight
me?” he asked in disbelief. “Some sort of trial by combat thing? You're crazier than I thought you were, old man! I've got thirty years on you, and I've trained for years. You won't stand a chance.”

“Then you don't have any reason to be afraid of me, do you?”

Brannock knew that veiled taunt would strike home. Sure enough, Grayson stiffened. After a moment, he reached up and unsnapped the helmet he wore.

Lassiter said, “Grayson, what are you doing?”

“Giving this old fool what he wants.” Grayson tossed the helmet aside and started removing his body armor. “He thinks he's making some sort of grandiose statement, but all he's really going to get is a beat-down.”

“He's an old man,” Lassiter said tightly, disapproval obvious in his voice.

“He called the tune.”

Grayson stood there wearing boots and tight-fitting black trousers and shirt now. He didn't appear to be armed.

“I can't order you not to do this—” Lassiter began as Grayson started toward the gate.

“Then don't try to,” Grayson interrupted. He grabbed the iron pipe at the top of the gate, put a foot on the bottom rail, and started climbing.

“G.W., are you sure about this?” Bowman asked as they all moved back to give Grayson some room to jump down inside the fence. “Kyle and the others will be here soon.”

“I'm sure,” Brannock said. “This showdown has been a long time comin'.”

“I hate to say it, but . . . this isn't the Old West. And you're not John Wayne or Randolph Scott.”

Brannock grinned and said, “Actually, I've always thought I look a mite like Ben Johnson when he was older.”

Grayson threw a leg over the top of the fence, climbed on over, and then dropped lithely the rest of the way to the ground. He stood there in a slight crouch, waiting.

Brannock handed the shotgun to Bowman, then turned to face the government man.

“Just so everybody's got the terms of this deal straight here, Grayson,” he said, “if I whip you, you and your friends pack up and go away and forget about stealin' my ranch from me.”

“Sure,” Grayson said.

His scornful tone of voice made it clear he didn't expect any such thing to happen, and even if it did, Brannock knew good and well the man would renege on any deal they made. He didn't trust Grayson's word for a second.

But he pressed on anyway, saying, “And if you win, we'll all step aside so you can come in and do whatever you want.”

Bowman said, “I don't know if we can go along with that.”

“I'm askin' you to, Thad,” Brannock said solemnly.

Bowman grimaced, but then he jerked his head in a nod and said, “If that's what you want, G.W.”

Grayson said, “What I want is to get this farce over with.”

Brannock took off his hat, handed it to Bowman as well, and said, “Hold this for me, will you?”

Then he turned toward Grayson, and as he did, the government man suddenly lunged at him, striking before Brannock could set himself.

K
yle was asleep in one of the rocking chairs on the front porch with a Winchester across his lap. Miranda was using the bed in his room tonight, and as much as he would have liked to join her there, he knew they weren't at that point in their relationship yet and would have been a gentleman about it even if there hadn't been so many other people around.

As he had dozed off out here on the porch, he had thought wryly that a month earlier, nobody in the world would have considered him a gentleman, least of all himself.

Life had a way of changing in a hurry, usually for the worse, in Kyle's experience. But sometimes good things happened, too, and at least partially balanced out the bad.

Because of that, his dreams were of kissing Miranda instead of battling against a brutal, oppressive federal government. It was a peaceful respite....

So of course, it was doomed not to last long.

The roar of an engine jolted Kyle out of sleep. He snatched up the rifle and leaped to his feet. As he glanced around, he could tell that dawn wasn't far off. He was able to see the pickup that came skidding up to the house with its headlights off.

The driver didn't turn off the engine. He shouted through the open window, “Grayson and a bunch of government men with guns are out at the gate trying to get in!”

Kyle didn't hesitate. He turned and pounded on the door with the flat of his hand, making quite a racket as he shouted, “Everybody up! Get to the gate! Get to the gate!”

Then he stepped up onto the porch railing and made a flying leap from there to the bed of the pickup.

“Head back out there now!” he called to the man who had brought the warning.

The guy spun the wheel and gunned it. Kyle hung on to the Winchester with one hand while he used the other to grab the top of the cab and brace himself. He stood there peering over the cab roof toward the distant gate as the pickup rocketed away from the ranch house. The chilly early morning air ruffled Kyle's fair hair and made him narrow his eyes.

He wondered where G.W. was, but then instinct made something inside him tighten.

He would have bet money that his grandfather was already out there, confronting the men who wanted to steal his land.

 

 

The impact of Grayson's sneaky tackle drove Brannock backwards, but he managed to stay on his feet. Grayson's arms locked around Brannock's waist, and he butted his head against the older man's sternum.

Brannock clubbed his hands together and brought them down with smashing force on Grayson's back. That made Grayson's grip loosen slightly, and the punch that Brannock slammed to the side of the man's head knocked him to the side. Brannock backpedaled quickly to put a little distance between them.

Not enough, because Grayson instantly launched into a spinning kick that sent his boot at Brannock's head. Brannock knew if the kick connected, the fight was over.

He twisted away and raised his shoulder. Grayson's boot thudded into it, staggering Brannock, who had to drop to one knee to keep from falling down completely.

Grayson landed agilely and came at Brannock with a flurry of martial arts blows too swift for the eye to follow, especially in the dim light. Brannock surged to his feet as he tried to block the punches, but most of them got through and thudded against his head and chest. He had to give ground again.

Grayson came after him, grinning, and now the government man's overconfidence backfired against him. He was concentrating on his attack so much that he forgot to defend himself. Brannock took an unexpected step forward and shot out a straight right that landed squarely on Grayson's nose.

Decades of hard physical work had given Brannock plenty of strength. Cartilage crunched and blood spurted under his knobby fist. Grayson's head rocked back as he let out a grunt of pain. He was so startled that he didn't even try to block the punch as Brannock hooked a left to his belly.

The biggest advantage Grayson's relative youth gave him was stamina, Brannock knew. Already, the old rancher's heart was pounding and his breath was coming shorter and faster. He couldn't keep this up for long.

So he seized the momentary advantage he had and threw another punch, this one a looping right that found Grayson's jaw. Grayson staggered to the side, and for a second Brannock thought he was going to go down.

But then the government man caught himself and leaped in the air for another kick. Brannock couldn't get out of the way of this one, either, although he tried. It caught him on the left hip and spun him halfway around.

Grayson chopped a blow against his right shoulder where the arm met it, and that side of Brannock's body went numb. He felt himself on the verge of collapse, so he tried to use that to his advantage.

As Grayson crowded in on him, he grabbed the front of the man's shirt with his left hand and threw himself over backwards, heaving as hard as he could and using Grayson's own momentum against him.

Grayson hit the ground hard and rolled over, and a scream suddenly ripped out from him. Brannock didn't know what had happened. Maybe Grayson had landed wrong and broken something.

Brannock's right arm hung limply at his side, but he got his left hand underneath him and levered himself upright. He called on his reserves of strength and staggered to his feet.

Grayson got up, too, clawing at his face and continuing to howl in pain. Brannock saw what had happened. Grayson had rolled right into a bed of cactus, and dozens of needles were embedded in the left side of his face and neck. Some of them were probably sticking through his shirt into his shoulder, too.

While Grayson was distracted by that, Brannock hauled in a deep breath, stepped forward, and swung his left fist, putting every bit of strength he had into the blow.

The punch exploded against Grayson's jaw and lifted the man off his feet. He slammed down on the ground, luckily for him not on cactus this time. With a groan, he tried to get up, then slumped back, apparently only half-conscious, if that much.

With his pulse pounding in his head like a wild summer thunderstorm, Brannock turned toward the gate and the armed federal agents on the other side of it. He glanced to his right and saw that Kyle had arrived and was standing in the back of a pickup, leveling a Winchester over the cab. More vehicles were racing up and spilling armed defenders from them.

Brannock took a few unsteady steps toward the gate and looked over it at the grim face of the agent called Lassiter, who stood there unmoving.

“Looks like . . . I won,” he panted. “You and your boys . . . can clear out . . . mister.”

“You may outnumber us now, Mr. Brannock,” Lassiter said, “but I assure you, you're still outgunned.”

Behind Brannock, Grayson regained enough of his senses to push himself up on an elbow.

“Shoot him!” Grayson screamed. “Shoot the old bastard! Shoot all of them!”

“What's it gonna be?” Brannock asked Lassiter. “You gonna do what he says and murder American citizens . . . or you gonna honor the deal that was made?”

“I don't give a damn about any deal,” Lassiter snapped. “Grayson's the one who agreed to that, not me.”

“Then go ahead and shoot,” Brannock told him. “And you can start with me.”

For a couple of long, tense seconds, everyone stood there frozen. Then Lassiter said, “I didn't come out here to spill American blood.” He turned his head and called to the men with him, “Stand down!”

Grayson climbed to his feet. He was shaky and stumbled as he came toward them, but he managed to remain upright as he screeched, “What are you doing? I ordered you to shoot these traitors! Kill them! Kill them all!”

“Mr. Grayson, you need medical attention,” Lassiter said. “Let's go.”

“No! No, damn it! They're defying the government! You have to shoot them!”

Lassiter asked Brannock, “Can I come in and get him?”

“Sure,” Brannock said. “We'll even open the gate for that.”

He nodded to his allies. One of the men, with obvious reluctance, went to the gate and unlocked the padlock on the chain holding it closed.

“Leave that rifle on the other side,” Brannock told Lassiter.

The agent nodded and handed the weapon to one of his companions. Several of them looked like they thought Lassiter was making a mistake, but he was in charge and they weren't going to go against his orders.

“Stop it! Get away from me!” Grayson cried as Lassiter approached him. “I'm in charge here! I told you to shoot those bastards!”

“You need to get those cactus needles removed as soon as you can, Grayson,” Lassiter said. “Otherwise, your face is liable to swell up like a basketball.” His tone hardened slightly. “And we're in joint command of this mission, remember?”

“I'll get you for this,” Grayson threatened. “I'll get all of you! You'll be sorry!”

Brannock drawled, “Sounds to me like he's gettin' a mite delirious from the pain.”

Lassiter took hold of Grayson's arm and steered him toward the gate. Grayson resisted, but he wasn't in good enough shape at the moment to stop Lassiter from leading him off the ranch. As soon as they were on the other side, the gate was closed and locked again.

Lassiter turned Grayson over to a couple of his men and told them, “Put him in one of the vehicles. Then the rest of you load up. We're withdrawing.” He turned to the gate and said through it, “Don't think you've gotten away with anything, Brannock. Just because I'm not willing to massacre American citizens doesn't mean the next man to come out here won't do it. You'd be smart to go along with what the government wants.”

“I don't reckon I can do that,” Brannock said. “Not when what they want is to steal my ranch.”

Lassiter just pursed his lips for a second, and then he got in the lead vehicle. A moment later, it pulled away, turning wide across the highway to start back toward Sierra Lobo. One by one, the other armored vehicles followed.

Cheers went up from the defenders inside the fence. Men whooped and pumped their rifles and shotguns above their heads in sheer exuberance. Thad Bowman said, “We won, G. W.! You won!”

Brannock looked over at Kyle, saw the grim cast to his grandson's features, and knew that Kyle understood the same thing he did.

As much as they might wish it was, this trouble was probably far from over.

 

 

The man seated behind the desk in the Oval Office hung up the phone and sat back in the comfortable swivel chair. If anyone else had been in the room, they wouldn't have been able to tell anything from the unreadable expression on his face.

Slowly, though, his features began to darken as his anger grew and more blood flowed into his face. His jaw clenched, and his breath hissed between his teeth. The hands resting on the desk in front of him closed into fists and began to tremble.

Suddenly, without warning, his left arm shot out and swept the desk clean. Everything that was on it crashed to the floor as the man bolted to his feet and let out a strident, incoherent shout.

Less than a heartbeat later, several Secret Service agents were in the room, guns drawn, ready to defend their charge against any danger.

Clearly, though, the President was alone and unharmed, other than the now bright red face that indicated he might be about to have a stroke from sheer rage.

“Get out!” he screamed at the Secret Service agents. “Get out! Find Jessup!”

By the time White House Chief of Staff Angela Jessup entered the Oval Office three minutes later, the President was sitting down again, and although he was still breathing hard, he seemed to have his emotions under control again.

Jessup, as attractive and sleekly groomed as always, showed no sign that the hour was as early as it really was.

“I suppose you've heard from Grayson, sir,” she said in a voice honed by years of lecturing at one of the most prestigious East Coast universities. She had doctorates in gender studies, racial studies, economics, and public policy. She was married to one of the lead anchors at a major cable news network. She also had the ear of the President and was accused by many of being the puppet-master who pulled his strings.

In reality, that wasn't true. He was radical enough in his beliefs without any urging from her. The fact that he was a raging narcissist and megalomaniac didn't hurt anything.

“He failed,” the President said. “Grayson failed. I thought he was ruthless enough to take care of anything. But that old man is still on his ranch, defying the will of the American people.”

What he meant by that was G.W. Brannock was defying the federal government in general and the executive branch in particular, but to the President it was all one and the same.

“I saw a little about it on the news,” Jessup said. “Evidently, the cameramen were asleep on the job. They didn't get any footage of the fight between Brannock and Grayson.” She shook her head slightly. “It's amazing an old man like that was able to beat Grayson. That seems to be what happened, though.”

“Brannock was lucky,” snapped the President. “And Lassiter refused to open fire on those traitors. Well, he's through at the BLM. He's through, period. In fact, I want him behind bars for the rest of his life.”

“I'm not sure if that's possible, sir—”

“Of course, it's possible! It's what I want, isn't it?”

“I'll see what I can do,” Jessup promised.

The President snorted and said, “See to it. And I want to see Milburn right away.”