Tyranny (25 page)

T
he troop transports weren't the only UN vehicles on their way to the ranch. Over the next hour, armored assault vehicles arrived and moved into position across the highway. G. W. watched in astonishment and asked, “What the hell's next? Tanks?”

“I wouldn't be surprised,” Kyle said.

No tanks showed up, though. Kyle supposed they should be thankful for small favors. He estimated that at least two hundred Chinese troops in United Nations uniforms were on hand. A number of them armed with automatic weapons formed a picket line along the front of the UN position and stood there staring impassively across the highway at the defenders.

“Hold your fire,” G.W. told the men with him. “Whatever those varmints are plannin' to do, we don't want to jump-start it. Let's see how the hand plays out.”

Once all the Chinese troops were in position, a tense, expectant silence settled over the landscape. Kyle figured something else was bound to happen, and a short time later, it did.

A black SUV appeared on the highway, coming toward the ranch. Kyle said, “They're bound to have the road closed off in both directions to move that many troops around, not to mention they wouldn't want any witnesses to this. So whoever that is, the UN forces let them through.”

“You know who it is,” G.W. said. “Only one son of a bitch it could be.”

Kyle nodded.

No one along the fence was the least bit surprised when the SUV came to a stop in front of the gate and Slade Grayson stepped out of it.

Grayson was back in his sunglasses and expensive suit. As he sauntered toward the fence with his usual arrogance, Kyle thought that what he could see of the man's face looked a little puffy, no doubt from all the cactus needles that had been stuck in it a few days earlier.

If the wounds still bothered Grayson, though, he didn't show any signs of it as he stopped a few feet on the other side of the gate and rocked back and forth a little on his toes, obviously quite pleased with himself.

“I told you I'd be back, Brannock,” he said.

“I never doubted it for a second,” G.W. told him.

“As you can see, I've brought some men with me this time who won't hesitate to open fire on you if you keep defying the government.” Grayson gestured toward the Chinese troops, then turned his head and called, “Colonel Ling!”

One of the blue-helmeted soldiers approached. His spine appeared to be as stiff as a steel rod, and his face was set in hard, flat lines, like stone.

“Colonel, please explain your mission to Mr. Brannock and his friends,” Grayson said.

“Certainly,” Ling replied in unaccented tones. “The president of your country has requested assistance from the United Nations in quelling domestic terrorism. This peacekeeping force is here to assure that international law is followed and that dangerous, terroristic activities will be put to an end in this region.”

“You see us engagin' in any terroristic activities, old son?” G.W. drawled. “We're just standin' here . . . on my private property, I might add.”

“By defying a lawful order of your government, you are in violation of international law,” Ling said. “I call upon you to cease this illegal behavior and surrender to Mr. Grayson.”

G.W. shook his head and said, “That's not gonna happen.”

As if Ling hadn't even heard what G.W. said, the colonel went on. “You will be given a grace period in which to comply with this order. If you fail to do so, all appropriate action will be taken to ensure that you do.”

Grinning, Grayson said, “What the colonel means, Brannock, is that you've got until tomorrow morning to get the hell off this ranch . . . and if you don't, we'll blast you and all your friends right off the face of the earth.”

 

 

Miranda was impressed when she was ushered into the office of Governor Maria Delgado. Not with the office itself, which was furnished rather functionally, but with the grace and strength of the woman who occupied it. The governor shook hands warmly with Miranda and waved her into a comfortable brown leather chair in front of some bookshelves.

A stocky, middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair sat in another chair like the one where Miranda took a seat, and Governor Delgado settled down in a third one. She smiled and said, “Ms. Stephens, this is Dr. Anthony Zara. He's been heading up the team that examined the land grant at the heart of the federal government's attempt to seize Mr. Brannock's ranch.”

“Hello,” Miranda said to Dr. Zara. “I'm familiar with your work, doctor. I would have approached you to enlist your expertise, if Governor Delgado hadn't beaten me to it.”

Zara nodded. He seemed a little stuffy, thought Miranda, but that was to be expected in a university professor with a worldwide reputation as a historian and archeologist.

“I'm glad I was consulted,” he said. “This has been a fascinating experience. I knew as soon as I examined the document that we were dealing either with a previously unknown land grant—or an absolutely top-notch forgery. The challenge lay in determining which it was.”

“And what did you find out?” Miranda asked. She was anxious to hear the verdict.

Zara wasn't going to be rushed, however. He said, “We couldn't examine the paper on which the actual document is written. Determining the age of it would not have been too difficult. But the federal government refused to turn over even a small sample to us.”

“Well, that's pretty suspicious.”

“Indeed. Nor would they share a sample of the ink with us. All we had to go by was a digital reproduction of the document. So we began by concentrating on the language itself, to see if there were any anachronistic words or terms included in it. That would have been a determining factor in and of itself.” Zara shook his head. “But the language was authentic. It read just as an eighteenth-century Spanish land grant should read.”

Miranda felt her heart begin to sink a little. She said, “So if you couldn't prove the paper or the ink weren't old enough, or that the language was wrong, what was left?”

“A question we asked ourselves at great length, I assure you,” Zara said. “The answer came from a member of our team I didn't really expect to contribute much, to be honest. A young man who's a computer expert. He was able to blow up sections of the document in fine detail and extremely high resolution. He's the one who came upon the key to the whole thing.”

“Go ahead, doctor,” Governor Delgado urged. From the look on her face, she already knew what was coming and didn't want Miranda tortured by waiting any longer.

“A document such as this one purported to be, in order to have been produced in the eighteenth century, would have been written with a quill pen,” Zara said. “The tip of every quill, as you might expect, is different and produces tiny irregularities in the edges of the letters that are unique to that pen. These irregularities are invisible to the naked eye, but if the image is enlarged enough, you can see them.”

Now Miranda's heart beat faster instead of sinking. She said, “The lettering on the land grant didn't have those irregularities, did it?”

Zara shook his head and said, “No. The edges of the letters are smooth. That document was made to look as much like an authentic Spanish land grant as it could, and whoever did that has a fine hand . . . but he used a modern writing instrument. There's no doubt of that.” Zara sat back in his chair and looked satisfied. “The document is fake. Conclusively. And that will stand up as evidence in any court of law in the land, I assure you.”

Miranda's pulse pounded. She said, “Then it's over. The government doesn't have any right to take G. W.'s land. No right at all.”

“Yes,” Delgado said, nodding solemnly. “But the question still remains . . . will they back off once we make this public? Or will they stonewall, deny that Dr. Zara's team is correct, and continue with what they've been doing?”

“But how can they do that?” Miranda asked.

“They're the federal government—and they're Democrats. They've come to believe that with ninety-five percent of the media and more than half the country on their side, they can do whatever they want. They don't think the rule of law applies to them anymore. And for all practical purposes they're right.” The older woman smiled. “But we've got more ammunition now. We can keep fighting. I don't intend to give up, Ms. Stephens. Do you?”

“No, ma'am,” Miranda said without hesitation. “And I know G.W. and Kyle won't give up, either.”

Before any of them could say anything else, one of the governor's aides came into the office. He went over to Delgado and said something quietly into her ear. She frowned and told the man, “Send him in.”

A moment later, Colonel Thomas Atkinson came into the office. He wore a suit today instead of fatigues, but Miranda recognized him instantly. The grim look on the retired soldier's face made fear spring up inside her.

“Something's happened, hasn't it?” she burst out before the governor could say anything.

Atkinson looked at Delgado and said, “Your call, Maria.”

“I don't think we need to worry about sharing information with Ms. Stephens, Thomas,” she said. “What is it?”

“Somebody at Brannock's ranch got a message out via ham radio a little while ago. Evidently, the feds have shut down cell phone communication again, but they didn't think to block the ham frequencies. If what we've been told is true . . . Chinese troops wearing the uniform of the United Nations have moved in, closed off all access to the ranch, and laid siege to those defending the place.”

“O
ur top story tonight . . . Although there has been no official statement on the matter from the White House, we have learned that the United Nations, acting on a request from the President, has sent peacekeeping troops to Texas to deal with the growing unrest there as right-wing extremists attempt to block the Bureau of Land Management from taking possession of federally owned property.

“The land in question is being squatted on by domestic terrorist G.W. Brannock, who has barricaded himself there along with a number of armed, fanatical supporters. For more on this, let's go over to our White House correspondent, Jack Rosen . . . Jack, why do you think the President took the unusual step of calling in the UN, rather than leaving the matter to local law enforcement or even the National Guard?”

“Thanks, Pamela. As for why the President took this action, the rumor around Washington tonight is that he wanted to demonstrate that this was not a mere criminal matter but rather a dangerous precedent in which ultra-right-wing partisans are attempting to foment open rebellion against the government. The UN agreeing to come in and quash this trouble shows that the entire world community is in agreement: Such radical behavior cannot be tolerated in a progressive society.”

“What about those who object to foreign troops operating on American soil with the consent, even the encouragement, of the United States government?”

“Well, I can't speak for the President, Pamela, but I think he's trying to show that we're part of a community of nations now and that in times of trouble we won't hesitate to look to those outside our own borders for assistance and advice. America is no longer too proud to ask for help with our problems.”

“Thank you, Jack . . . Now let's turn to our political experts, and also to our top military correspondent, retired Admiral Andrew Shelton. Admiral, we've heard that General Thurgood Milburn, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, has been removed from his position because he refused to commit American troops for the job of ousting G. W. Brannock from his stronghold. Do you know anything about that?”

“Not for a fact, no, I don't. But I do know for a fact that no American commander worth his salt is going to tell his troops to start shooting American citizens unless there's a damned good reason—”

“Thank you, admiral. Peter Henderson, former national security advisor, what do you think?”

“I think the President is in a bad position and is doing the only thing he can. He can't allow dangerous extremists to defy the law of the land. He's trying to be sensitive to the situation, though, and that's why he's brought in outside assistance. There's no more trusted body in the world than the United Nations, and if the UN agrees that something must be done about Brannock and his followers, then it stands to reason the rest of the country will see that the President is right.”

“But is he running a political risk by doing this? Sanford Dowling, what do you think?”

“Well, Pamela, I'm told that both houses of Congress will meet tomorrow in emergency session and take up resolutions of support for the President's actions. After all, this is quite a dramatic thing to have happen, to have foreign troops on our soil, as you put it. But those resolutions are expected to pass in both the House and the Senate, so I think the President has the political capital to do this. And from a personal standpoint, what choice did he have? Somebody's got to teach those Texans a lesson!”

 

 

G.W. and Kyle stood behind G.W.'s pickup and kept an eye on the gate. The Chinese forces were still lined up on the other side of the highway, about a hundred and fifty yards away, apparently in no hurry to do anything. They had been sitting over there all day, and now it wasn't long until dusk would settle over the West Texas landscape.

Kyle thumped a fist against the truck's fender and said in frustration, “Why are they doing this? What does Grayson hope to gain? They could overrun us any time they want to. Why is he waiting?”

“Ever see a little kid torment an insect with a magnifyin' glass?” G.W. asked. “He's not really interested in killin' the thing. He just wants to cause it as much pain and misery as he can and make it last as long as possible. That's what Grayson is. He's a mean little kid. A bully. No matter why the damn government wanted the ranch in the first place, it's gone long past that point for him. He just wants to make us suffer, and he doesn't want it to be over too soon.”

Kyle grunted and said, “A man like that ought to be put down like a mad dog.”

“You won't get any argument from me.”

“So what are we going to do? Just sit here and wait for them to wipe us out?”

“Nope.” G.W. rubbed his chin, his fingertips rasping over the silvery stubble growing there. “Before mornin', you and everybody else are gonna load up and go back yonder to the mountains. You traipsed all over those canyons when you were a kid. You know how rugged they are. Find a good place for all of you to hole up and wait it out.”

Kyle frowned and asked, “What the hell are you gonna be doing while we're doing that?”

“I thought I'd take a Winchester and go out there to the gate and make those fifteen rounds count as much as I can.”

“You're gonna let them shoot you to pieces, in other words!” Kyle shook his head stubbornly. “Look, G.W., I can't give you any orders—”

“Darned right you can't.”

“But I can tell you, none of us are gonna let you just throw away your life like that. Either you come with us to the mountains—we'll hide out up there and wage a guerrilla war against those bastards—or else we're staying here and fighting them with you.”

“A guerrilla war . . .” G.W. said slowly. “The idea's in-triguin', I'll say that much. But you know, son, that's not really my style. When trouble comes at me, I've always met it head-on. Reckon I'm too old to change my ways now.”

“All right. But don't get upset when the rest of us back your play.”

“I suppose in the end, that's the sort of thing that every man has to figure out for himself.”

They were silent for a few minutes, and then Kyle said, “At least Dave was able to get the word out on that ham radio in his truck before they blocked his broadcast. The rest of the world knows what's going on, anyway.”

“The rest of the world only knows what the press tells 'em,” G.W. said skeptically. “How much truth you reckon is gonna be in that?”

“Not much,” Kyle admitted. “But Miranda's out there, too, thank God. I'm glad she didn't get trapped here. I know she'll do what she can, and so will the governor. Who knows? Maybe they proved that land grant is phony, and now the feds won't have any choice but to back off.”

“In a perfect world, that's the way it'd work,” G.W. said. “Too bad it's never been a perfect world . . . and it's gotten a lot less so since that bunch in Washington took over.”

 

 

Governor Delgado set up a command post in the governor's mansion, rather than in the capitol, and Miranda was there that evening along with Delgado and Colonel Atkinson, who was monitoring the situation through law enforcement contacts in the area.

“UN forces have placed the town of Sierra Lobo under martial law and established a strict curfew they're enforcing with armed patrols,” Atkinson reported to Delgado and Miranda. “They've also established a no-fly zone from Pecos to El Paso.”

“That's several hundred miles!” Delgado exclaimed.

“Yeah, but they're enforcing that, too. They've shut down all the civilian airports and have troops posted on them to make sure nothing takes off. The military fields are shut down, too, per orders directly from the Pentagon.”

Delgado snorted disgustedly and said, “From the White House, you mean.”

Atkinson shrugged.

“We know that and so does anybody with half a brain in their head, but that lets out most of the media and all the people who voted for the son of a bitch to start with. To a big part of the country, the whole thing is being passed off as a tempest in a teacup, to use an old-fashioned expression. It doesn't matter to them. They're still gonna get their check next month, so what do they care what happens to some old rancher in Texas?”

Miranda said, “They don't care that they've lost all their freedom?”

Atkinson looked squarely at her and shook his head. He said, “No. They don't. They'd rather have the government take care of them their entire lives than be free.”

“Slavery,” Delgado muttered. “That's what it is, pure and simple.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Atkinson said. “You're right about that, but to the people who go along with it willing, that doesn't make any difference.”

“Has there been any more word from inside the ranch?” Miranda asked.

“I'm afraid not. They're jamming all the radio frequencies now. Brannock and the others . . . they're on their own.”

“Against overwhelming odds,” Miranda whispered. Suddenly, she couldn't stay there anymore. She grabbed her purse and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Governor Delgado asked.

“Back to my hotel,” Miranda said. She couldn't keep the despair out of her voice as she added, “There's nothing I can do here.”

“If we get any news, I'll let you know right away,” Delgado promised.

“Thank you.”

One of the governor's aides showed Miranda out of the mansion. Her hotel was here in downtown Austin, only a few blocks away. It was a pleasant evening, and she could make the walk without any trouble. She hoped the exercise would clear her head a little and help her figure out what she needed to do next.

But that was just the problem, she thought.

There wasn't anything she could do to help Kyle. Not a damned thing.

She had covered about half the distance to the hotel when a figure stepped from the shadows under some live oak trees growing next to a building. He shocked Miranda by saying, “Ms. Stephens?”

Fear shot through her as she turned her head to look at him, but she relaxed slightly as she saw a man in his thirties, wearing a rumpled but decent suit. He didn't look the least bit threatening, but she slipped her hand into her bag anyway and closed her fingers around the stun gun she carried.

“Yes, what is it?” she asked. He was probably a reporter looking for a quote, she told herself.

“My name is Gardner—” he began.

That was when a gunshot roared and a garish orange flash of muzzle flame split the darkness.