A state of disobedience (37 page)

Without a word from either of them the two pilots began manipulating the controls that would bring their Predators into optimal attack position to ensure the Global Positioning System–guided bombs hit precisely where they were intended.

Schmidt had begun turning Juanita back to the Hummer by main force when something caught his eye. Reacting entirely by instinct, once finely honed and still at least good enough, he screamed "Down!" and forced her to the asphalt, covering her body with his own.

The driver, somewhat distracted by other concerns, never saw the smashed roofing material that flew up where two two-thousand pound bombs penetrated. He didn't see the walls and windows suddenly billow out, even as the roof, or rather pieces of it, began to ascend. He felt a remarkably sudden build-up of pressure.

And then he felt a very large piece of masonry smash his torso.

"Jesus," murmured one of the two pilots, watching the mansion disintegrate in his screen. "Jesus." The other pilot merely gave off a soft whistle. Neither had ever seen such complete demolition, done so suddenly, from their aircrafts' perspective.

The mission chief gave a grunt of approval, then picked up the telephone again to make his report.

"Nooo!" shrieked Juani once Jack had gotten off of her and helped her to her feet. "Nooo! Mario!" she wept for her son. "Emilio . . ." she murmured through tears for a lost husband.

She began to try to tear herself away from Schmidt's grip.

"No," he shouted, enfolding her in a bear's embrace. "They may not be done and
you
are too valuable to lose."

Juanita fought to escape but Jack was having none of it. Transferring his hold to grasp her in one arm he reopened the Hummer door with one hand, then used two to forcefully throw her into the front seat, slamming shut the door behind her.

Juani's head struck the steering wheel hard enough to stun her into submission while Schmidt ran frantically to the driver's side. He spared one glance at the unconscious driver, even now breathing his last through bloody-frothed lungs.

"Sorry, son . . . I can't help you," Schmidt muttered.

Throwing himself into the driver's seat, Schmidt took a fierce grasp of Juani's hair and pushed her from the steering wheel, keeping the grip to avoid the risk of her escaping.

With his left hand Schmidt fumbled with the parking brake, then awkwardly put the Hummer into gear and drove off as fast as the vehicle would move.

In the distance he could hear sirens, police and emergency vehicles, converging on the flaming wreck of the mansion.

DIRECT EXAMINATION, CONTINUED

BY MR. STENNINGS:
Q. Of course the Feds, they were pretty serious too, right Alvin?
A. Oh my yes. Blow up the governor's house? Kill her husband and her kid? Kill a whole bunch of folks that just worked there? That was about as serious as you could get, wasn't it?
Q. What did you think had happened?
A. I wasn't rightly sure. The papers and TV said, at the time, that it was some locals what done it, protesting the rebellion. I remember seeing the head of the Air Force saying on the TV that there was no way any of his people or planes had bombed Austin. Seemed real serious. I kind of believed him, too.

The Corps entered the state capital without incident. Expecting a bloodbath, the commander had waited until he had enough artillery, most importantly enough weight of shell, to be certain of crushing all opposition, along with enough fuel and small arms ammunition to be certain of being able to clear the town and exploit the breakthrough.

This had not been easy in the face of demolished bridges and roads, burned stocks at every town they entered, and a populace gone generally sullen, hostile and very uncooperative.

Yet, the evening before the assault on Texan lines was to begin, the Texans abandoned those lines, retreating hastily but in fairly good order some miles south.

Standing beside one such, a well-excavated and revetted trench, the commander of 3
^rd
Corps and his sergeant major watched the stately procession of armored vehicles and accompanying infantry disappear into the suburban streets north of the town.

"Sir, I'm having a hard time believing the Texans aren't going to fight for their capital," commented the 3
^rd
Corps sergeant major to his chief.

The general removed his helmet and scratched his head, a bit worriedly. "I know, Top . . . but that's what we're hearing from all along the front. The Texas Guard and State Defense Force have pulled out to the outskirts, the southern outskirts, of the city."

"They've still got defenses dug south of town, sir."

"Yes, I know. I expect they'll be occupying them right now."

"You heard what happened to Governor Seguin's place?"

"I heard, Sergeant Major. I'm not sure I heard the truth though. Do you think she's really dead?"

"Dunno, boss. There were no survivors reported at the house. And her husband and son were killed. That time of the morning? I figure she was in there too and they just haven't found a body yet."

"Shame, isn't it? She was a great woman, in so many ways."

The sergeant major merely grunted a warning as none other than Harold Forsythe, Political Officer for the 3
^rd
Corps since losing his job as Federal Commissioner for Texas, approached on foot.

"Mr. Forsythe," noticed the general, without offering a hand.

"General," Forsythe returned, a minor note of exultation creeping into his voice. "Sergeant Major."

The sergeant major just nodded, not even offering so faint a greeting as had his boss.

"You'll be wanting to resume your duties in the capital directly," offered the general.

"Yes. How soon will the area be cleared?"

"If progress keeps up, we should be past the state house by tomorrow, about midmorning."

Forsythe smiled in anticipation of paying back some scores. The only dark spot on his future horizon was the fact that the Seguin bitch was dead. He had been looking forward to her execution with shivering anticipation.

"It's time to leave Juani. Time to leave here, to leave the state, to leave the country. We've lost."

Juanita, unanswering, just swung her head minutely from side to side. She had cried herself out hours since and seemed to have no emotion left to her, no feeling at all.

"You'll go by car. I've got an unmarked civilian sedan. There's a trunkful of money in it. It'll take you to Brownsville where one of Hanstadt's people will see you across into Matamoros. 'Patricio' told me off line that he'll arrange to give you a refuge in Panama."

Juani just continued her minuscule headshaking.

"Come on." Schmidt reached for the woman's arm.

"No!" she shouted fiercely, pulling her arm away from Schmidt's grasp. "No," she repeated, more calmly.

"Stop being silly, Governor. It's time to go . . . and past time."

"I'm not being silly," Juani retorted. "But I am not leaving until I have tried every last thing."

"We have," commented Jack. "Nothing worked in the long run. Now we have to fight. That's all that's left. I intend to do it. And you are going, first to San Antonio and then to someplace safe."

Schmidt might never have admitted it, even to himself, but the thought of his best friend's sister, who was also his governor, and even also the woman who might have, in a different and better world, become his wife, being hurt or killed had in part unhinged him.

"No . . . there's one more thing we can do."

"What?"

"Can you still get me on television, one last time?"

"Why? What good would it do?"

"I want to talk to our people."

"You want to go into the breach one more time?" asked Schmidt, somewhat incredulously.

"Jack, I have to. You say we've lost. I tell you I haven't even
begun
to fight."

"Do you suppose the bitch is really dead, Caroline? God I hope so."

The general felt a small quiver of disgust, not an emotion she had ever before associated with Wilhelmina Rottemeyer. She answered, coldly, "I don't know. No one knows."

Willi looked at her number one military advisor suspiciously. "What's your problem?"

"I can't go on with this, Madame President," McCreavy said with reluctance.

"With what?" demanded Rottemeyer. "It's almost over. A few more days, a week at most, and all of Texas will be back under control. Another few days and New Mexico will be broken, too."

"You don't understand, do you?"

"Understand what? I understand that they've abandoned their capital, that their troops are pulling back. That Houston is being brought back under control."

McCreavy sighed. "Nothing is under control. The hostages you made of the Marines' families? I just found out this morning. They've been freed. Apparently the Marines who took the base back kept up appearances for a bit while they worked out some details. Now you can expect the Marines there by El Paso to join the Texans. And word has gotten out. The Second Marine Division has sent emissaries to the Texan forces facing them and declared a truce. Those two Marine brigades at sea in the Gulf of Mexico? Same deal. And the 18
^th
Airborne Corps has said to hell with you too."

"I'll have them all shot!"

Again, McCreavy sighed. "Then you'll have to give the orders yourself, Willi. I'm through." With that McCreavy reached into a jacket pocket and removed a letter which she presented to Rottemeyer. "That's my resignation."

Before going on, McCreavy forced away the beginnings of a sob. When she continued, it was to say, "And I'll be moving out today, Willi. All my things will be gone by this afternoon."

Rottemeyer's eyes opened wide in shock and horror. "Caroline, you
can't
be serious. You
can't
leave me."

Tenderly, for she still felt some tenderness toward her President and now former lover, McCreavy reached out a hand to stroke a face. "I must, Willi."

Juanita sat patiently while the studio makeup man applied a few finishing touches. Holding very still, she attempted to make some order out of the chaos of jumbled thoughts and psychic agonies running through her mind.

The word had gone out over the airwaves, via telephone, and on the Internet, that there would be a major address by the governor. Of course, that word had gone out before her house was bombed and before she was listed as missing and presumed dead.

I'll just have to hope for the best
, she thought as the makeup man stepped back, inspected, and turned and departed.

In moments, the studio chief began a verbal countdown, ending with, "You're live, Governor."

Across Austin, across Texas, and even across the world, people watched their screens and monitors as the olive skinned-woman lifted her face to the camera.

"Rumors of my death," she began, wearing a somewhat strained and forced smile, "have been greatly exaggerated."

"The bitch is still alive," fumed Carroll, using a remote control to turn on the television in Willi's office and bring up the right channel.

"That's not
possible.
You assured me she was dead."

"Yeah, well," drawled Carroll, "I was misinformed."

All present turned their eyes to the television screen where Juanita Seguin was just finishing up her speech.

"She's assembling a mass of people to march against 3
^rd
Corps," announced Carroll for those present who had missed that part. "And we don't have any law enforcement people right with that Corps."

"None?" asked Rottemeyer.

"None. The force we would have had there, the Presidential Guard, is scattered to the winds. One group, the one we sent to Camp Pendleton in California is effectively destroyed. The others are in bad shape after taking back the currency facility. Most of the rest are tied down policing the supply routes and controlling the major cities. The Environmental Protection Police are knee-deep in alligators in Houston. The SGRPC are for the most part incarcerated and awaiting trial in New Mexico. The FBI was stretched just to provide a force for Dallas.

"Third Corps is on its own. And, given events, I don't know if you can trust them."

Rottemeyer pushed a button on her desk intercom. "I need to speak with Harold Forsythe."

"The President for you, sir," announced a flunky.

Forsythe took the cell phone, answering happily, "Forsythe here, Madam President . . . ah, yes, we've heard rumors to that effect . . . no, Willi, I haven't seen a television lately . . . Yes, yes . . . I'll certainly talk to the military commander here, Madam President. . . ."

Handing the cell phone back to his flunky, Forsythe pondered the information he had just received from Rottemeyer.
A mass march? Here? Against the Army's guns? What could they hope to prove by it?
 

The Texas Rangers had been the first to arrive at the rally point, an intersection of First Street, SW, and Oltorf. They first cleared the immediate neighboring buildings and then radioed for the Public Address people to bring in the microphones and loudspeakers. Juanita and Jack showed up just as the last connection was being made between microphone, amplifiers, and speakers.

The people began to assemble to hear the governor moments later. Businesses had closed in anticipation of the coming occupation. There were many people available, from all stations and walks of life. Of those available, many came. They came from poor barrios where spoken English was a rarity. They came from upper-crust mansions along the river. They came from everywhere in between as well.