Remember The Alamo (20 page)

"My name is Walter Ferguson. I teach economics at UTSA.
But I was G-2 in Korea and saw some action. I like to think
I've stayed in pretty good shape"

"You can't tell it by this dome of mine, but it used to be covered with red hair. That's why they call me Red. Red Farris. I
was in the South Pacific in W-W Two. Then they called me back
for that little dustup in Korea a few years later. I've been shot
at plenty of times, and I haven't forgotten what it sounds like."

"Now, don't laugh, but my name's Davy Jones. Yeah, just
like the Monkee. I took some real shit about that in 'Nam,
man. If I had to have the same name as one of them, I wish it
had been the guy with the little hat. He was cool. Yeah, I can
still fight. Ask the cops up in Boerne. I cleaned out a bar up
there just last weekend"

"My name is Michael Higgins. I was a software engineer
for twenty-five years until I retired. Now I'm a substitute
teacher, so I guess you could say I've had some combat experience since serving in Vietnam."

"Hey, Dave. You know me already, Ben Porter. Long time
since we saw beautiful downtown Kuwait City, eh? I don't
know for sure what you guys are up to, but count me in."

"I'm Travis Connelly. I flew a dozen bombing missions
over Baghdad during Desert Storm. The Iraqi Air Force didn't
amount to much. I fly over here in the Confederate Air Force,
and I'm not sure but what we would have had air superiority
over the Iraqis."

"My name is Augustin Salazar, sir. I served in Afghanistan.
Yes, sir, I'm in college now, but I would like to serve my country again, and make no mistake about it. The United States is my
country, none other. My parents worked hard to come here and
become citizens, and I was born here"

"Billy Romo, dude. Call me Billy. Two years ago I was in
Baghdad, and now I'm, like, here. Don't let the tats fool you, man.
I scored twenty-three-fifty on my SAT. My old man's after me to
go to, like, MIT or something, but I'm, like, I'll get there, I'll get
there. But I wanted to do something for my country first, and
that's why I joined the army. They got some freakin' awesome
electronics, man"

"Is that kid gonna be one of us? My God, he's got a ring in
his nose. Hey, kid! Back in my day, only cows had rings in
their noses"

"Aw, leave him alone, Bert. I was talkin' to him a while
ago, and he seems like a pretty good kid. Just a little different, that's all."

"Hey, Gramps, we're cool. Gonna be chillin' in the Alamo,
you, me, and that bald guy and of Salazar over there and that
big John Wayne-like dude"

"God help us!"

On and on it went until Dave, Belko, and Stark had settled
on forty-eight men who were in reasonably good shape, experienced in one way or another, and willing to take a chance on
anything from public ridicule and humiliation to fighting for
their lives against a desperate enemy. Most of them were from
the Vietnam, Desert Storm, and Iraq/Afghanistan eras, although more than a few had served in World War II, Korea, or
both. With the five core members of the group added to their
number, that made fifty-three men.

Fifty-three men to hold and protect the Alamo, if it came
to that.

The Texicans hadn't managed to do so with more than three times that many defenders, but then again, these current-day
defenders wouldn't be facing five thousand Mexican troops.
Dave figured all they would have to do was keep the Reconquistadores out of the old mission for a while; then the federal
government would have no choice but to move in and put a
stop to the terrorists' plans.

The ceremony in Alamo Plaza was set for Friday, during the
first day of the Pasco de Marzo celebration. The treaty ceding the
Alamo to Mexico would take effect then, when Mayor Alvarez
signed it, and would run until midnight Sunday, when control
of the Alamo would revert to the Daughters of the Republic of
Texas. That is, if everything went as it was supposed to.

During the time leading up to the handover, the story got
a tremendous amount of play in the news media, and the consensus among the network and cable news pundits was that this was
a very good thing, a show of solidarity and friendship between the
United States and Mexico, and a symbol of America's dedication
to diversity, multilateralism, and global cooperation. After the
country had been despised around the world for several years
because of its so-called lone-cowboy tendencies, the current president was working hard to rebuild bridges and once more make the
United States a willing participant in the international community, and the media and liberal, elitist intelligentsia loved her for it.

All it had taken was surrendering and allowing the Middle
East to fall into a state of chaos that still threatened to explode
into a conflagration that might eventually engulf the entire world.
That was the price-along with numerous attacks on American
embassies and business interests around the world by emboldened savages-and the American people appeared to be willing
to pay it as long as the violence didn't come too close to home.

But, hey, at least the French and the Germans liked us
again. Priceless.

Dave tried not to let himself dwell on things like that as he
and the others prepared for the fateful day awaiting them. They had plenty to do. One of the men owned property in the hill
country, up toward Bandera, and they spent a lot of time out
there familiarizing themselves with the weapons that Phil provided and practicing to get their shooting eyes back. The men
were broken down into squads, and plans were drawn up by
Walter Ferguson, Billy Romo, and others of the group who
had specialized in intelligence, tactics, and operations. Everyone went over the plans again and again, training, practicing,
memorizing the positions they were supposed to be in when
the time came for action-if indeed it did come. Dave made
sure everyone understood that they might be wrong about
what the Mexicans intended to do. All of this planning and
preparation might come to nothing.

But if the terrorists did strike, as Dave was still convinced
they would, then the things he and the others were doing now
would help to keep them alive once the bullets started flying.

On Thursday night, Dave was in the kitchen at the VFW post,
pouring himself a cup of coffee as his jaw cracked in a prodigious yawn. He hadn't slept very well since he and his friends
had reached a decision on what they were going to do. He hadn't
even spent the last few nights at home because Constance knew
he was up to something, and she didn't like it. Dave planned to
go by his house the next morning, before the men started to
gather at Alamo Plaza around midday, so that he could see her
again and tell her what was going on. She would be upset, but he
couldn't help that. By this time tomorrow night, he thought, he
might not be alive anymore-and he wasn't going to die without
saying good-bye to his wife.

He sipped the coffee and carried the cup into the darkened
hall. Earlier in the evening, he and Phil and Stark had gotten a
final report from Evelyn Harlow. Members of the Daughters of
the Republic of Texas who were sympathetic to their cause had
smuggled weapons and supplies into the Alamo over the past few
days, successfully concealing them in various places. The men in the plaza would all be armed with handguns, but inside were
waiting rifles, shotguns, and even a few automatic weapons.
Evelyn and her friends had done a good job.

Dave sat down at a table without turning any lights on in the
hall. The light from the kitchen spilled out through the open door
and dimly illuminated the hall with its American, Texas, and post
flags hung on the walls, along with photographs of men from this
area who had fallen in battle or otherwise died in the line of duty.
In its own way, this was sort of a hallowed spot itself.

Phil was interested in Evelyn Harlow, Dave mused. He could
tell. He hoped that when all this was over, the two of them would
have a chance to get to know each other better. Phil was a good
guy, but he had more than his share of personal demons, Dave
sensed. He deserved a shot at some happiness.

But then, that was true of just about all of them, Dave supposed. They were about as common a bunch of common men
as you could find, a broad mixture of ages, races, lines of
work, and interests. Fifty-three men of the same sorts that you
could find walking down the streets of any American city, men
who worked and laughed and loved their families and their
country. Little guys, in the big scheme of things.

But little guys who might have a chance to make a big difference.

That thought was in his head when the main door of the hall
opened. Dave looked up, realizing he had forgotten to lock it.
With the light the way it was, he couldn't get a good look at
the man who stood there. All he could do was make out a tall,
broad-shouldered silhouette.

But he recognized the deep, powerful voice right away.

"Good evening, Dave," said former Director of the FBI
Edward Mahone. "I thought I might find you here"

Taking his time about it, Dave rose to his feet as Mahone
walked into the VFW hall. He looked past the broadshouldered Fed, expecting to see a group of heavily armed agents,
but Mahone was the only one who entered the building.

"Is this a raid?" Dave asked. "They sent you in first?"

"As the sacrificial lamb?" Mahone laughed. "They've already done that. I've already fallen on my sword, if you don't
mind me mixing a couple of metaphors. No, I'm by myself,
Dave. I just came to talk to you, that's all."

Dave wasn't sure whether to believe him, but he supposed
that for the time being, he had to give Mahone the benefit of
the doubt.

"I think there's still a little coffee left in the pot, if you'd like
some"

"That sounds good. Thanks"

Dave went into the kitchen to rustle up another cup, still not
convinced that he wouldn't be under arrest when he came
back. "Damn it," he muttered to himself. "Stop feeling guilty.
You're only doing what you have to do"

Mahone was still alone when Dave returned with the cup of
coffee. He handed it to the big Fed, who took a sip and then
sighed. "It's not good, but it's warm, anyway."

"No offense, but you didn't come here to talk about coffee"

Mahone shook his head. "No, I didn't. I came to talk about
armed revolt. Insurrection. Treason. Call it what you will."

The hair on the back of Dave's neck bristled with anger as
he said, "If you want to talk about treason, start with the
people in the White House and the Capitol. They're the ones
who have given aid and comfort to this country's enemies over
and over again."

Mahone took another sip. "I won't argue that point with
you. For the most part, I happen to agree. The president didn't
know that about me, or she never would have appointed me. I
hoped that by taking the job, I'd be in a position to bring about
some positive change" He shook his head. "I'm sorry to say
it hasn't worked out that way."

"You got your marching orders. You were told to shut down
any investigation into what the Reconquistadores are planning, just so some Mexican politicians won't get their little
feelings hurt"

"Pretty much," Mahone admitted.

Dave studied the man's face in the light that came from the
kitchen. "You must have refused to carry out those orders.
Otherwise, Louise Hamilton wouldn't be the director of the
FBI now."

"She's an old friend of the president," Mahone said. "She'll
do as she's told. In this administration, that's all that matters"

"So you quit."

"I had no choice."

"Are you still working for the FBI?" Dave asked.

Mahone shook his head. "I could have been reassigned, but
I would have wound up Special Agent in Charge of the Anchorage office, or something like that. Not an appropriate job
for someone who's been the director of the entire Bureau. Besides, I couldn't do any good there"

"What good can you do when you're completely out?"

"I'm out of the Bureau," Mahone said. "I'm not out of
the loop"

Dave thought about that for a moment, then said, "You're
telling me you still have contacts who will talk to you?"

"Not on the record, of course ... but yes, I can still find out
some things. And I still have friends who owe me some favors.
As long as I don't ask them to risk their own careers-too
much-they'll give me a hand"

"Talk plain," Dave said. "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying I did some investigating of my own "" Mahone
chuckled. "I started out as a beat cop and worked my way up to
detective. I still remember how to ask questions and do legwork."

"And what did you find out?" Dave asked in a voice tight
with strain.

"I found out that you and your friends are planning to shoot
up that ceremony at Alamo Plaza tomorrow."

Dave gave a vehement shake of his head. "That's not true.
Not at all. The only way there'll be any violence is if the Reconquistadores start it. We'll be armed... ." He smiled. "But
in this state, it's legal to carry a concealed weapon if you have
a permit. All of us do"