Secession: The Storm (28 page)

Sleep, as he had anticipated, never came. What he’d completely underestimated was the impact a lack of shuteye would have on his mind and body.

Abe rubbed his eyes, the burning sensation worsening by the minute. Glancing down at his favorite coffee cup, he made for the kitchen, throwing one last glance at the security camera monitor. They would be coming again, any time now.

But he’d been saying that all night.

The hotplate caused the generator to change its tune, the engine’s baritone hum indicative of the burden the additional voltage required to heat the water. For the first time in Abe’s adult life, he wasn’t looking forward to the taste of coffee. How many cups had he consumed since this whole ordeal had started? Ten? Twelve?

A noise sounded outside, causing him to raise the ever-heavier AR15 and rush to the nearest monitor.
Nothing. Could have been a bird or a squirrel
, he realized, treading back to the coffee water.

It had been that way all night. Despite all of the automation, technology, and planning, his paranoia wouldn’t allow him to trust his preparations. Even an hour’s rest would make a difference, but every time he started to close his eyes, visions of federal officers pouring into his home denied the much-needed shuteye.

Death was no longer a concern; it really never had been. It was being taken alive that worried Abe the most.

“Are you sure?” he asked the coffee cup. “Are you still prepared to die?”

He carried the steaming mug to the front of the house, peeking through a narrow slot in the storm shutters. The Caiman was still halfway up his front steps, its partially scorched shell looming above all other features of what had been a beautiful front yard.

Kara’s beloved flower gardens were a mess, courtesy of his homemade IEDs. The paint on the front porch’s pillars had bubbled from the heat of his gas mister.

But what actually drew Abe’s eye were the dark spots of crimson stains on his lawn. Blood, human blood – from men he never met and probably would have liked, if not befriended.

An uncontrollable bout of yawning interrupted his thoughts, quickly followed by itching, irritated eyes. “I wonder how much longer I can last,” he whispered to the empty, bullet-riddled room.

The thought of suicide entered his mind again. He’d never understood why so many barricade situations were concluded by the holdout ending his own life. Studying everything from the authorities’ response to the mindset of the siege, Abe had asked himself numerous times why those inside so often elected to end their lives. It was a human riddle that he’d never resolved.

Now he knew, understood fully, why so many had chosen that way out. It was a downward spiral of fear, depression, remorse, and worst of all – exhaustion. Lack of sleep tended to amplify emotions, and when those emotions were being driven by hundreds of armed men intent on killing you, the outcome was inevitable.

But he wasn’t there yet. He was driven by a cause, better prepared and wiser than so many who had challenged their government’s authority.
Not yet
, he resolved.

He moved back upstairs, the view of his lawn depressing in so many ways. After a quick scan of the upstairs monitor, he then made another tour, checking each window for some undetected approach.
They’ll be coming soon
, he knew.
I wish they’d just finish this. I hope the pain is tolerable, and I go quickly.

Fresh from a night’s rest, shower, shave, and change of clothes, Zach was at the FBI’s command trailer just as the sun broke in the east. The place was buzzing with activity, despite the early hour.

Toting a fresh cup of coffee and accompanied by Detective Temple, he waited patiently for Agent Perkins, listening as a large gathering of men were being briefed on the bureau’s latest plan to dislodge one Mr. Abe Hendricks.

“Two Blackhawk helicopters are being flown in this morning, each equipped with FBI Hostage Rescue Teams. These birds will hover over the suspect’s home while the teams insert via fast-roping onto the roof.

Perkins then pointed to a diagram of the Hendricks home, complete with detailed outlines of the doors and windows. “After orienting post-insertion, the teams will assault three sides of the structure simultaneously. We believe Mr. Hendricks is capable of defending only one side of his property at any given time. Once inside the home, he will be quickly overwhelmed, and this episode will end. Any questions?”

Zach had a dozen questions, but it wasn’t his place. Technically, he had no business even being in the area, let alone participating in a federal operation.

The meeting adjourned a short time later, providing Zach the opportunity to speak with Agent Perkins. “What time are the choppers supposed to arrive?” the ranger inquired.

“Two hours, give or take,” Perkins replied. “This nightmare can’t end soon enough.”

“Until then, would you have any problem with my trying to talk Mr. Hendricks out?”

“Hell, yes, I have a problem with that. All I need right now is to end up with a hostage, or another dead body. Besides, what makes you think he’ll listen to you?”

Zach rubbed his chin and then responded, “Because I saved his life. I think I could win his trust, and like you said, another dead body isn’t going to do anyone any good.”

Perkins clearly didn’t like it, but something in Zach’s manner led him to reconsider. “I suppose it would quiet down a few of the conspiracy nuts if we took him alive. Sure, Ranger Bass – be my guest.”

Zach dialed Abe’s cell phone, surprised when the holdout answered. “Who’s this?”

“This is Ranger Bass,” Zach replied. “The guy who saved your bacon in New Orleans. I want history to repeat… I want to save your ass again, Abe.”

A deep chuckle sounded over the phone’s tiny speaker, the belly-deep laughing followed by silence. “It’s a little too late for that, isn’t it? I don’t think you can salvage my life now, Ranger. Things are a little different this time.”

Sighing, Zach shook his head. “Let’s be honest. Becoming a martyr this morning will not further your cause. I’m not going to lie to you – you’re going to spend the rest of your life in a cell. But aren’t you at all curious to see if your sacrifice makes a difference? They have televisions and newspapers in prison, Mr. Hendricks.”

“I’ll concede that point to you, sir. It would be interesting to see how this all plays out, but I would prefer to be dead than lose my freedom.”

It was Zach’s turn to laugh, “That sounds noble and brave, but from my way of thinking, it’s a cop out. If you really believe in this movement… a cause you’ve deemed worthy of human life… then you should want to stick around and help it along. After all, you don’t want your sacrifice just to be a flash in the pan, do you? You can write letters in jail, author books, and conduct interviews. If your objective is to initiate government change, then why not stay alive and keep up the fight?”

Zach knew his reasoning was working from the extended gap of silence that followed. The ranger’s face broke out in a smile when Abe finally came back and asked, “And would you guarantee I would make it to jail, Ranger? I’ve hurt a lot of those lawmen… made them look bad. I’m pretty sure most of them would prefer to shoot me on sight.”

Looking at a surprised Agent Perkins, Zach responded, “I’ll come in by myself and bring you out, Abe. I’ll be right there beside you the entire time. I don’t know if you remember or not, but I’m a big son of a bitch and mean as hell. I don’t think any of these federal boys will pick a fight with me.”

There was laughter from the other end, quickly followed by the biggest surprise of Agent Perkins’ extensive career. “Okay, Ranger Bass. Come on in and get me. I’ll surrender to you… and you alone.”

“See you in a few minutes, Abe.”

Temple and Perkins were speechless, neither of them ready to believe it had been that easy. Sam finally spoke first, “Are you sure it’s not a setup?”

“Could be,” replied Zach. “But isn’t it worth a try? How many more brave men might die in that airborne assault? For sure, Mr. Hendricks would perish, but I doubt your teams will get inside unharmed. I think we have to try reasoning with him.”

A short time later, Zach was driving through the police barricade and on the road to Abe’s stronghold.

Stopping in the street, the ranger left his truck running and preceded to stroll across the yard toward the house. He was almost to the porch when the front door opened, a tired, bleary-eyed Hendricks stepping outside. Zach couldn’t see a weapon.

“You’re making the right decision,” Zach reassured the clearly nervous man.

“I suppose you’re going to search me and then handcuff my hands behind my back.”

Zach shook his head, “I need to see if you’re hiding a weapon, but no, I didn’t even bring any cuffs with me. Now once I turn you over to the feds, they will definitely want you restrained. I’ll make sure they’re professional about it.”

“Thanks for that,” Abe replied. “It will be nice to leave the old neighborhood for the last time with a little dignity.”

Zach approached Mr. Hendricks and quickly patted him down. “Ready?” the ranger asked as soon as he was certain the man was unarmed.

“Now is as good a time as any,” Abe responded and began strolling toward the idling pickup, Zach walking alongside.

A hissing noise split the early morning air, followed instantly by a loud thump. Abe’s body jerked from the impact of a sniper’s bullet, a small red circle in the center of his chest. Mr. Hendricks was dead before he hit the ground.

A swarming convoy of lights rushed towards Abe’s house, law enforcement vehicles of every make, model, and description racing to the scene.

Agent Perkins was first, opening the passenger door of his government sedan before the driver had come to a complete stop.

The special agent, hustling toward Zach, found the ranger on one knee staring down at Abe’s body lying in the grass. Hell’s fury filled the Texan’s eyes as he peered up at the approaching federal officer.

“What the hell happened here?” Perkins inquired. Before he could finish his interrogation, Zach’s tall frame uncoiled, a snake-strike fist slamming into the FBI man’s face.