Secession: The Storm (27 page)

“So why now, Abe? Why did you try to assassinate Heidi Clifton after all these years?”

There wasn’t an immediate answer, Mr. Hendricks seeming in deep thought. Finally, “I’m going to hold onto that little secret for a while, sir. It’s my ace in the hole.”

Ross started to ask more questions, but the storyteller stood, signaling the interview was over. Extending his hand, Abe closed, “Please keep in mind that from my perspective, I’m a revolutionary. This,” he reiterated, spreading his hands to indicate the surrounding home, “is my Alamo... a modern day Concord or Lexington. Our government has slowly morphed into a tyrannical beast, in some regards more intrusive than the British Empire was at the beginning of our Revolutionary War. I am not some deranged individual who chose these extreme measures without reason or cause. I only expect that you will be fair in your reporting of this event. It was a pleasure meeting you. I doubt our paths will cross again.”

The newsman understood the implication. “It doesn’t have to end that way, sir. With this information and your testimony, a jury might have mercy. You’ll go to prison for sure, but you still might be paroled in time to enjoy your later years.”

Abe snorted, “No need for all that drama, young man. You see, quite honestly, our government has robbed me of every reason I had to live anyway. That is why I have chosen this path. And now, in bringing this totalitarianism to light, I’ve been responsible for the deaths of a lot of cops. I know what that means; and no, thank you. I’m sure the government boys will win, but I’m not going to make it easy for them. Now you’d better get going.”

Zach was on the fringe of the gathering inside the Channel 3 van, the cramped space stuffed with federal officers and the station’s staff. They were all huddled around a series of monitors, scrutinizing Ross Garcia’s interview with the man who currently captivated the world’s attention.

After the video finished, the reporter was hustled off to the mobile command center where the feds maintained a large camper-like trailer. Zach had toured a similar unit some time back, amazed at the technology they commanded at their disposal. Given the extended perimeter Mr. Hendricks’s accuracy had necessitated, the ring of officers surrounding the area encompassed roughly 400 men and women, and that number was probably growing. Managing such a massive force required state-of-the-art communications, command, and control.

Zach and Sam lingered in the background, letting the feds do their thing. The Texas Ranger was sure the reporter was about to receive the grilling of his life, a thousand questions about every little facet of his adventure. Perkins would be looking for a weakness, any advantage he could exploit to end the standoff.

There was a deeper, more personal reason why the ranger withdrew. Waves of guilt rolled over the Texan, an undeniable crush of remorse. Zach felt a responsibility for all that had happened.

Why hadn’t he followed up? Would it have taken more than a few minutes and a computer to investigate how the final chapter of the New Orleans episode had resolved?

Yes, he’d been busy. Yes, the entire incident had been out of his jurisdiction… far away from the demands of law enforcement in West Texas. But why hadn’t he followed up?

Strolling around the law enforcement camp, the ranger’s head remained in a daze for several minutes. Anger began to replace his remorse. The entire affair was a textbook example of the triangle of despair, and the ramifications were going to affect hundreds of innocent lives. He had to do something to break the cycle.

Flashing his ID, Zach approached the producer. “Could you give me Mr. Hendricks’s cell phone number, please?”

After hesitating for a moment, the senior newsman shrugged and read the number off his phone.

“What did you do that for?” Sam asked, hurrying to catch up with him. “I’ve got a bad feeling you’re up to something, and I’m pretty sure I don’t like it.”

Zach nodded but wouldn’t confess. “I’ve got an idea rolling around in my head, but it’s not ready for public discourse.”

“I can tell you’re accustomed to working on your own, Ranger,” Sam teased. “I think it would be wise for you to trust my judgment on such complicated matters. That’s what partners are for.”

Yawning, Zach smiled back at her. “I need to catch some sleep. I’m guessing between all these cops and journalists, every hotel within a hundred miles is booked. Unless you’re going to invite me over to your place to catch some shuteye, I’m going to have to sleep in my truck.”

“No chance I’m inviting you to my place, Mr. Zachariah Bass. Forget about it.”

“You should learn to trust my judgment on such complex matters,” Zach replied with a grin. “After all, we’re partners, ya know.”

Aaron awoke to the persistent buzzing of his cell phone. Finally shaking off the cobwebs of sleep, he managed to smash the correct button and growl a nasty, “Yes?” into the device.

“You better turn on the news, buddy,” one of his campaign assistants said. “All hell has broken loose in Houston.”

“What time is it?”

“It’s 11 PM here. Were you asleep?”

Aaron replied with a curt, “Yes, I was,” and disconnected the call. The television in his bedroom was displaying a cable news station a few moments later.

“Ross Garcia, a local reporter for the Channel 3 Action Team News in Houston, was allowed entry into Abraham Hendricks’s fortified home this evening. He has filed this report,” stated the excited anchor.

Aaron immediately recognized Mr. Hendricks’s face, despite not having laid eyes on the man for almost 10 years. Sitting upright in his bed, he watched the 12-minute segment without comment or expression. When the local reporter had finished, the network cut back to the New York desk.

“We’ve invited a panel of political experts into the studio, despite the late hour,” the anchor announced. “Let’s start with how this is going to impact the Clifton campaign only two days before the election.”

The station’s self-appointed experts weren’t far off; Aaron hated to admit. “Mrs. Clifton made her position on gun control entirely clear on television just last night. Let’s face it; she seemed to mock those people who purchase firearms to protect themselves from government tyranny. Now, with the revelations rising out of Houston, we have an example of a citizen who suffered what can only be described as tyrannical treatment. I know this is going to sound sick, but put yourself in Mr. Hendricks’s shoes. What other recourse did he have?”

“He should have used the courts!” shouted another panel member.

“He did,” came the reply, “and was arrested on trumped up charges for the attempt.”

“Then he should have fought those charges and used the system. Taking a gun and issuing violence is never the answer.”

“Fighting city hall takes never-ending financial resources. I would imagine Mr. Hendricks was already broke, under arrest, and facing a very powerful, vindictive government machine. I ask again, what choice did he have?”

“He should have appealed the decision.”

“No, he was under a court-ordered gag and would have been arrested for contempt if he had pursued it further. I hate to keep repeating this same thing, over and over again, but the question still stands; ‘What choice did he have?’”

“He tried to go the way of democracy and work with the voting public, too. He received nothing but the heavy boot of government on his throat. Now, today, everyone knows that the IRS was being wielded as a political weapon. But when Mr. Hendricks was trying to get the press to champion his cause, such accusations were unheard of. No one believed him.”

The show’s host stopped the shouting match, introducing a spokesman for the NRA. “Oh… my… gosh,” Aaron whispered. “Now we get to see some true craziness.”

But the guy wasn’t as over-the-top as Aaron had predicted.

“The National Rifle Association was involved in no less than five legal proceedings regarding the New Orleans confiscations. Less than two weeks after the police activities were brought to our attention, we filed a motion in federal court to block this illegal seizure of private property. We were granted that motion.”

Reviewing his notes, the host prompted, “But that wasn’t the end of it. Was it, sir?”

“No. We sued and won, but the city of New Orleans wouldn’t return the confiscated weapons. We had to file another motion, this time receiving a court order. Again, the city still wouldn’t return its citizens’ property. A federal judge stepped in, issuing another court order, and still today, 11 years later, there are over 1,000 guns that have not been returned to the rightful owners.”

“So you don’t find Mr. Hendricks’s story at all hard to believe?”

“No, not at all. There have been numerous cases involving law enforcement officers during that tragic period. Just last year, an officer was finally sentenced for having burned a car containing the body of a murdered citizen. To this day, that murder goes unsolved and unpunished. But the courts have sentenced a former police officer for torching the body. It seems igniting evidence was a common disposal method at that time.” 

It was over an hour later when Aaron finally switched off the TV. Padding barefoot to the kitchen of his Chevy Chase condo, he poured himself a glass of water.

After quenching his thirst, he set the glass down and peered at his watch. “The game will get serious tomorrow. I’d better get some sleep.”

Aaron’s head had just returned to the pillow when his cell began its merciless buzzing. “What the hell?” he grunted, reaching for the annoying device.

“Her numbers are dropping like a rock,” sounded a worried voice through the tiny speaker. “I’ve never seen a reversal like this.”

Aaron listened as his polling expert described the phenomena. “Heidi is big government, less state control, and anti-gun. That guy down in Houston just rammed a major wrench into her gears. This is bad timing, sir. Really bad.”

After ending the call, Aaron paced the apartment. “Gawd, how I hate Texas,” he spat. “Everything about that fucking state seems to want to screw me. Heidi’s plane, this asshole gun-nut from my past, the media… and…” he didn’t want to go there. Couldn’t force his mind to list what he hated most about the Lone Star state – wouldn’t say it aloud, despite being alone.

But he had to address it. There was no choice but to push aside his prejudices and control the anger.

Digging in a drawer, he again pulled out the no-contract cell phone and stared blankly at the device.

“This is twice in one week,” he mumbled, feeling like the world was closing in all around him.

He didn’t need to dial the number, the phone’s memory containing the digits from the previous call. He pushed the send button, wincing when the same gruff voice answered.

“I thought you might be calling again,” came the response. “It seems this man is the gift that just keeps on giving.”

“I am running out of options on this end,” Aaron said calmly. “You know I wouldn’t ask if so much wasn’t riding on…”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” came the gentle interruption. “I’m already on it. I’ll take care of it once and for all.”

Arriving at the Clifton campaign headquarters the following morning, Aaron wasn’t surprised by the throng of reporters awaiting his arrival. A hundred voices erupted with questions as he made for the front door, all of the journalists seeking his attention at the same time.

Aaron ignored their desperate shouts and pleas until he was about to enter the office. Pivoting abruptly, he raised both of his arms to quiet the gathering. “I will take a few questions now. Please be polite.”

Pointing to a nearby woman who he knew worked for a network friendly to his campaign, Aaron smiled and said, “Go ahead, please.”

“Do Mr. Hendricks’s revelations change your candidate’s position on gun control?”

“No. Mrs. Clifton has been clear on her position since she was in the Senate. The fact that one individual has wrought all of this pain and suffering does nothing but reinforce her beliefs… and those of the majority of Americans.”

Another reporter jumped in, firing off his own inquiry, “Early polling indicates a growing sympathy for Hendricks. Does the campaign have any comment on that?”

Aaron nodded, “We hope that Mr. Hendricks will surrender peacefully, without additional bloodshed. He has the right to face a jury of his peers. If his story is true, it is only human nature to feel remorse at his losses, but two wrongs don’t make a right. The death of my coworkers, as well as the demise of all of those law enforcement officers in Houston, can’t justify more killing and mayhem. Our society doesn’t practice the Old Testament’s ‘an eye for an eye,’ any longer.”

“You worked in the Louisiana State Attorney’s office post-Katrina, Aaron,” yelled another man from the back of the crowd, “were you involved in Mr. Hendricks’s case in any way?”

There it was. The question Aaron had been dreading – his worst fears come to realization. With every ounce of control he could muster, Aaron fought to keep his face neutral. It all was riding on his verbal response, as well as how well the press could read his body language. “I don’t recall being involved in Mr. Hendricks’s issue. What I do remember is the absolute bedlam we were all suffering at the time. Computer systems were down, communications practically non-existent. Mr. Hendricks may think there was some huge conspiracy… some authoritarian cover-up, but I doubt it. Most likely he misinterpreted an overwhelmed, local government that had been reduced to paper files, handwritten correspondence, and from a productivity perspective, had been transported back in time 100 years.”

“Has the FBI contacted you or the campaign about the incident?”

“No.”

He pointed to another reporter, shouting “Last question,” above the din.

“Does Mrs. Clifton really want to modify the Second Amendment?”

Inside, Aaron smiled at the opening created by that last question. “I wouldn’t use the word ‘modify.’ She feels it needs to be clarified. Despite what our opponents might say, she is a human being after all, and she is a product of her experiences. Mrs. Clifton is like most other Americans, wondering when the slaughter is going to end. When are we going to come to our senses? When will an unfounded fear of tyranny stop overriding the safety of our sons and daughters? Mr. Hendricks is a prime example of the downward spiral driven by the current interpretation of this amendment. His brother, by his own accord a conservative individual, apparently challenged police officers who were executing a lawful order. Based on some unfounded fear that they were trying to violate his liberty, he attempted to end their lives rather than conform. That horribly warped logic has now led to additional loss of life in Houston. Mr. Hendricks has admitted that the death of his family members has motivated him to kill over a dozen men – public servants whose only crime was to serve and protect other Americans. We must end this useless cycle of violence, and a vote for Heidi Clifton is a step toward that goal.”

Aaron pivoted, entering the sanctuary of the office building without another word.