Allegiance: A Jackson Quick Adventure (6 page)

“
TEXASECESSION
dot
com
is
Ripley’s
online
contribution
to
a
growing
underground
movement
that
challenges
the
constitutionality
of
certain
federal
laws
as
they
relate
to
state’s
rights
.”

“
If
I
didn’t
have
a
website
,” Ripley says as the video returns to a close-up of his face, “
they’d
never
have
known
about
me
.
I
wouldn’t
be
here
.”

The reporter’s voice continues underneath more pictures from Ripley’s website and file video from the shooting scene. “
4
News
has
learned
that
Roswell
Ripley
is
a
U
.
S
.
Army
veteran
.
He
served
in
the
first
Gulf
War
and
he
was
a
sniper
.”

On the screen now is what looks like a police report. “
We
have
also
learned
forensic
testing
of
the
weapon
believed
to
have
been
used
in
the
shooting
revealed
fingerprints
belonging
to
Ripley
.
The
weapon
,
a
Knights
SR
-
XM110
Rifle
,
was
registered
to
Ripley
five
years
ago
.
Ripley
contends
it
was
stolen
a
week
before
the
shooting
,
but
he
admits
he
did
not
file
a
police
report
.”

“
That
rifle
cost
me
$
20
,
000
,” Ripley says in the video, leaning forward at the desk, snarling at the reporter. “
If
I
go
tell
the
cops
I’m
missing
a
weapon
that
costs
half
as
much
as
they
make
in
a
year
,
they’re
gonna
ask
me
a
ton
of
questions
and
they
ain’t
gonna
help
me
find
it
.
It
wouldn’t
be
worth
reporting
.”

The video ends with the reporter standing live outside the jail, figuratively patting himself on the back for his
exclusive
, and mentioning Ripley’s next court appearance. The video ends and the 4 News Houston website offers me a chance to share the report on Facebook and Twitter.

I move the cursor to the search bar on the top left of the screen and type TEXASECESSION. A list of options descends on the screen. I click on the first option which takes me to the homepage for Ripley’s site.

There’s a flash animation featuring a waving Texas flag with accompanying audio of a fife and drum composition. Ripley’s face slowly replaces the flag. He has a solemn look on his face.

“
Honor
the
Texas
flag
,” he says. He’s staring directly into the camera and it’s a little uncomfortable to watch. “
I
pledge
allegiance
to
thee
,
Texas
,
one
state
under
God
,
one
and
indivisible
.” It’s the Texas pledge. Children in Texas public schools always recite it right after saying the pledge of allegiance to the U.S. flag.

Ripley disappears and gives way to the white background of the homepage, with a photograph of the San Jacinto monument, which commemorates Texas’ victory over Mexico in its battle for independence. It lists a series of options along the top of the screen:

HOME FAQ FACTS HOW TO HELP STORE

I choose FACTS and the screen changes. At the top of the screen the site gives credit to “Brother Secessionist Site TexasSecede.com” and lists a series of “facts” about the secessionist movement in Texas.

The first explains, contrary to popular myth, Texas does not reserve the right to secede in its constitution. It does state, however, "
Texas
is
a
free
and
independent
State
,
subject
only
to
the
Constitution
of
the
United
States
..." (note it does
not
state "...
subject
to
the
President
of
the
United
States
..." or "...
subject
to
the
Congress
of
the
United
States
..." or "...
subject
to
the
collective
will
of
one
or
more
of
the
other
States
...").

It’s interesting but not earth shattering. I scroll through the arguments for secession until I near the bottom of the list. There’s a question that asks how Texas would benefit from secession.

The website answers it by contending, “In many ways. Over the past century-and-a-half the United States government has awarded itself ever more power to meddle with the lives, liberty, and property of the People of Texas. Sapping Texans' wealth into a myriad of bureaucratic, socialist schemes both in the U.S. and abroad, the bipartisan despots in Washington persist in expanding the federal debt and budget deficits every year. Texans would indeed gain much by reclaiming control of their State, their property, their liberty, and their very lives, by refusing to participate further in the fraud perpetrated by the Washington politicians and bureaucrats. By restoring Texas to an independent republic, Texans would truly reclaim a treasure for themselves and their progeny.”

Wow. Is that what this is about? Do the iPods have something to do with preparing Texas for a secession attempt?

Am
I
helping
arrange
the
downfall
of
my
country
?

The Governor has half-jokingly hinted at secession, as former Governor Rick Perry did in 2009. That can’t be what he’s really planning. I always assumed it to be rhetoric on both sides. It’s distraction politics to talk about secession.

Isn’t
it
?

I click the back button a couple of times and go to News 4 Houston’s news team link, locate reporter George Townsend’s picture and click again. In the midst of his self-aggrandizing biography I find his email address and his direct phone line. I type them into my cell phone, save them, and drop my small laptop back into my bag.

There’s more to this. It can’t be this simple. Since Townsend is the only one who’s talked to Ripley, he may be the only one who can help me put the pieces together.

***

“Is this George Townsend?” I ask. I’m leaning against a parking meter on the corner of MLK and San Antonio and the traffic is noisy. I should have stayed inside the McDonalds.

“Yes,” he says. “Who is this?”

“I need to talk to you about the interview you did with Roswell Ripley.”

“What about it?” he asks. It sounds like he is typing on a keyboard.

“Is there a way I can see the whole interview, you know, the parts you didn’t air?”

“Probably not,” he says, sounding a little irritated. “Are you an attorney?”

“No.”

“Well, we don’t keep unused portions of interviews and we certainly don’t send them out to viewers.”

“I understand, but I am gonna guess you wouldn’t get rid of that interview. You probably have an unedited copy on your desk alongside other big interviews you don’t want to erase.”

“Fair enough,” he says. The typing has stopped. “Who did you say you are?”

“What?” A truck passes by me and I can’t hear.

“Who are you?”

“I can’t tell you that yet.”

“Look, I don’t have time to play games with you. If you have information you think might help me on this story, maybe I can help you. This mysterious stranger act is overdone.”

“Okay,” I relent, sensing he’s about to hang up on me. “I’m a former TV reporter. I now work in state government, and I may have some information for you. I need to know if Ripley said anything of interest you cut from the story.”

Silence. Another truck passes me and turns onto MLK. The puff of exhaust from its tailpipe is suffocating. I cough.

“I can’t let you see the unaired portion,” he says finally. “I could get in trouble for that. I can tell you he rambled on about his son being the key to everything.”

“His son?”

“Yes,” he says. He’s typing again. “His son. He kept telling me his son was the real reason behind the shooting. He said his secession website was a convenient cover for the government. It made him an easy scapegoat. His son was the real story and if I could find his son, I could find the real shooter.”

“Have you talked to his son?” I walk back towards the McDonalds, noticing the large bronze longhorn that sits in front of the façade. I’m not sure how I missed it before. It’s an enormous homage to the UT mascot Bevo.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because the guy is crazy,” Townsend answers. “He’s a conspiracy theorist and fringe thinker. All the evidence points to him. He’s a loon who’s grasping at straws. I don’t know if he even has a son.”

“You need to find out,” I tell him. “When you do, you can call me back.”

“Wait!” he almost shouts at me. “I thought you had information for me. This is a quid-pro-quo thing, right?”

“Find the son, and I’ll help you.” I stop at the door to the McDonalds, my hand on the handle. “You have my cell from caller ID right?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it.”

He hangs up and I find the end of the line at the counter. I need more coffee.

***

Caracas Maiquetía International Airport is about 15 miles north of the city on the edge of the Caribbean Sea. It was my second trip for the Governor and I’d hoped to get into the city, but my instructions were to meet my contact at the airport and catch the next flight back to Miami and Texas.

Still groggy from my nap on the flight, I passed by rows of blue cushioned seats at the departure gates lining the international terminal. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass panels that framed the long hallway, I could see the sloping green foothills which separated the coast from the steep Cerro El Avila Mountains.

I rolled my carry-on past a Duty Free Shop and noticed its shelves were empty. The shop was open, there was an attendant at the cash register, but he had nothing to sell.

Embargo
?

I kept moving toward customs.

After checking through immigration and withdrawing a few thousand Bolivar from an ATM, I found a small Venezuelan Café and sat at an empty table. I watched the people passing by, rolling their luggage along the reflective white floor tile. The large metal lettering on the wall read “Simon Bolivar”, the airport’s official namesake. Bolivar was the George Washington of South America. He’d freed six countries from Spanish rule. His nickname was El Liberator.

He
was
a
secessionist
.

I’d burned my tongue on a small cup of dark coffee when I felt his tap on my shoulder.

“
Hola
mi
amigo
,” he said as I turned to face him. “Hello my friend. My name is Juan Garcia.” My contact was short and overweight, his black hair combed back and gelled. His skin was bronze; tanned but not excessively so, and he was clean shaven. His eyes were bright and his smile was nicely framed by his full cheeks.

Juan was wearing brown leather sandals, tan linen pants, and a loose fitting sky blue T-shirt. On his wrist was what looked like an expensive stainless steel watch. He had large gold rings on his middle and index fingers. I could feel their weight as I shook his hand. “
Mucho
gusto
,” I told him I was pleased to meet him and offered him the empty chair at the table. “
Me
llamo
Jackson.”

“
Yo
se
,” he knew. “
Habla
Espanol
?”

“Only enough to get me into trouble,” I admitted. I ran the tip of my tongue against the back of my teeth and felt the tiny blisters that had already formed.

“
Esta
bien
. I speak English well enough.”

“Your English
esta
muy
bueno
, Senor Garcia.”

“You are drinking our fine café?” he asked and turned to get the attention of the waitress. He ordered two more drinks and turned back around.

“You know, Jackson, that café used to be our biggest product here.” He leaned on the table with both elbows. He was still smiling. “But as we became more of a place for petróleo, our café became less important. Still, we have outstanding café, especially from our border with Colombia.”

The waitress arrived with two small cups, steam rising from the bone china.

“I order for you the best of Venezuela. This is Tachira.
Esta
muy
fuerte
. It is very strong and rich. It’s hard to find in your country. There are many things your country does not get,” he said, leaning back in his seat.