Author: Dan Arnold
Category: Western
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“It’s OK; chances are it will come back to you. The important thing is you did great, really great. We were watching you the whole time. I never doubted you for a moment.”
“Now what happens?” Gary asked, dully.
I could see he was starting to feel the let-down after the exhilaration of the adrenaline rush.
“You go on about your business, Gary. If all goes well, at some point, they’ll contact you about the next step.” Doug replied.
“Oh, does that mean I’m done here?”
“Yes, you can head on out. We’ll finish up here.”
Gary looked around.
“What’s left to do?”
“We’ll all need to be picked up, for one thing. We don’t have any transportation here.”
“I could give y’all a ride out to the county road, if you want to pile into the back of my truck.” Gary offered.
“No, that’s fine. You go on. They may be watching for you to come out of this place.”
“Right, OK then, I’m outta here.” Gary said.
Doug shook his hand.
“Again, Gary, thanks, you did a great job. You let one of us know the moment they contact you.”
I gave Gary the thumbs up sign, as he headed for his truck.
As Gary drove away, other agents began to show themselves, slowly working out the kinks from the cramped conditions they had been in for the last few hours.
A backpack with several bottles of water in it appeared. We all sucked the water down greedily.
Doug called for the extraction team.
“OK, gentlemen; flip a coin to figure out who gets to dig up the body.” Doug instructed.
“What if they come back to see it again?” I asked.
“Well, they’ll be SOL, because by one o’clock this afternoon, that body will be on ice in the morgue in New Orleans. This guy will only have gone missing for less than eighteen hours. No one is expected to claim the remains, but if someone does; he’ll be right where he’s supposed to be.”
“Our tax dollars at work.” I observed.
“Uncle Sam is the helpful hardware man.”
“Yeah, but if the body spends much more time in this heat, he won’t be anything like hardware. I expect that fact alone will keep them from coming back to see it again. Not to mention, nobody likes digging in this heat.”
Doug wiped sweat away from under the camo boonie cap he was wearing.
“It isn’t even eight o’clock in the morning yet, and I’ll bet its well over eighty degrees. I hate Texas in the summer time.” He stated.
“Where are you from, Doug?”
“Eureka, California.”
“You ain’t seen nothing yet, amigo. Wait till August.” I said, as I watched two FBI agents digging up the body.
I imagined this was not the glamorous life they had signed on for when they decided to join the FBI.
Shortly later, three, big, black SUVs came down the logging road in a cloud of dust, I was glad I would get to ride in the command vehicle with Doug, instead of the one with the hot, black vinyl ‘bag o’ body’, in the cargo space.
We loaded up and headed for Tyler.
Doug looked over at me.
“I’ve got to tell you. I didn’t really have much faith Gary could pull it off.”
“It all came down to faith. I trust in God. So does Gary.”
“Yeah, I heard you were some kind of a religious fundamentalist. However it worked out, I’m glad it did. We’ve got great pictures of the men and the license plates. We’ll upload them with the names and have positive ID and addresses within the hour.”
“What will you do with the information?”
“I’ll advise my superiors at Quantico and they’ll send it on to the US Attorney General, requesting permission to collect evidence via wire-tap and ultimately to issue arrest warrants.”
“You’re certain the RAGs are getting ready to launch a strike that’s likely to result in a number of people being hurt or killed. Is that correct?”
Doug nodded, grimly.
“Is Gary the best source of evidence you have?”
Doug rubbed his jaw with one hand.
“Probably so, we have informants in prison, members of the Righteous Army of God who have told us there is a conspiracy and some of the possible plans, but no names and nothing we can arrest anyone for. We have another guy inside the ‘RAGs’, but he’s on the fringes with the punks. Gary has gotten inside the dangerous circle and that’s what we need.”
I thought about what might happen next. I remembered something Doug had said.
“Earlier, when you referred to me as a religious fundamentalist, did I detect some scorn in that?” I asked him.
“I’m just sick and tired of you religious people talking about your god. If there is a god, he, she, or it, is a vicious and brutal bully. I don’t like thugs of any kind, but the concept of a heavenly being, one who picks and chooses who lives and who dies, disgusts me.”
“That’s because you don’t have any idea what God is really like.”
“… Which god, the one that inflicts horrific diseases on the world, destroys whole communities with catastrophic storms and earthquakes, the one who will drop a church roof on his groveling worshipers, just for grins, or the one who sends his faithful out to murder innocent people in his name?”
“Again, you have a distorted understanding of who God is.”
“All I know is that you weirdoes, who claim to serve some god, are a dangerous bunch of mentally deficient fanatics. As far as I’m concerned, there is no difference between you, the RAGs, or the proponents of Islam. The world won’t be a better place until all you religious people are rotting in the ground.”
I hadn’t expected a vitriolic response like that.
“Why are you so bitter?”
“Why are you so delusional?”
I didn’t reply.
We rode the rest of the way in silence.
Forty-Three
That afternoon, Doug was very grim as he briefed Tony, Jack and me on the IDs of the men who had arrived on the scene at the burial site. He had already alerted his agents.
“The name Gary couldn’t remember is, Scott Hollister,” he said.
“… The same Scott Hollister who ran for the state Senate?” Tony asked.
Doug nodded.
“He has millions. He inherited a fortune from his father’s frozen foods business, and then he made another fortune in investment banking. He has that new industrial development right by the interstate in Longview. Everything he touches turns to gold.”
“He owns a huge mansion right off highway 80, just east of Longview. His face is on billboards, but I didn’t recognize him this morning.” I said.
Doug shrugged, and added, “Tommy Turner is a ranking officer in the Smith County Sheriff’s office.”
“What? I know him.” Tony said, clearly stunned.
“The other guy, Brown, owns a trucking company in Rusk County. He’s the only one with a criminal record. Two DWIs and one assault charge.” Doug added.
We all considered the new information.
“You’re telling us, all three of those guys are members of the radical wing of the RAGs? They have nothing in common.” Tony said.
“Don’t forget to add Watkins to the mix.” I said.
Doug nodded.
“Racism and Christianity is what they have in common, and maybe they enjoyed punk rock when they were younger.” Doug replied.
“Sin is what they have in common. They’re expressing hate and rage, directing it against the government and people of color, but their problem is more… essential. The sin of hatred has nothing to do with Christianity. It stems from some personal hurt, or inability to recognize their individual fears, limitations and failures. They form a bond of racism. A psychologist might say racism was a form of projection” I said.
“Whatever! You say potatoes…” Doug started.
“No, John is right. Racial ha
tred is just an expression of a deeper more personal issue. Maybe even ignorance. It doesn’t really matter though. The point is we have to stop them.” Jack spoke up.
We all nodded in agreement.
“We have enough evidence against Watkins to arrest him on the murder charge, right now.” Tony pointed out.
“I think we need to wait on that.” I said.
“I thought you were the guy who wanted to see justice done for the dead Mexican.”
Doug said, clearly showing irritation.
“Justice, yes I do. I don’t want to see Gary implicated in the arrest of Watkins though. Watkins is just one spoke in a bigger wheel.”
Doug frowned.
“When I sweat Watkins, I can leave out any reference to information we got from Gary.”
“I’m not sure you can, or that he won’t figure it out. Besides, there are other people taking a pretty close look at Gary.”
“That’s a chance we’ll just have to take. We need to flip Watkins right now.” Doug said.
“We didn’t know a ranking officer in the Sheriff’s Department was a part of this. What happens when we arrest Watkins? We can’t put him in the Smith County jail.” Tony was thinking out loud.
“We arrest him, bring him here to the federal building, and put the screws to him. Once I flip him, he won’t be going to jail.” Doug stated.
I looked at Jack. He nodded back, imperceptibly.
“I think we’d better hold off on arresting him. You have Gary inside the same group Watkins is in. Gary doesn’t need to be flipped. If you snatch up Watkins, it will send up all kinds of red flags, which might jeopardize Gary’s position. We need Gary on the inside. He’s more valuable to us. Later, we can arrest Watkins, anytime we want to.” Jack suggested.
“My orders are to arrest Watkins and flip him. End of story.” Doug said.
“Those were your orders before Gary passed his initiation this morning.” I observed.
“I would remind you, as you are so fond of pointing out, you’re a civilian. I’m in charge of this investigation. So shut up.” Doug snapped.
I saw both Jack and Tony stiffen at that last part
Jack cleared his throat.
“John, would you mind stepping out. Those of us who have official capacities in this investigation need to have a few words in private” He met my eyes.
“Sure, I apologize if I’ve over stepped my…”
“Thanks, we’ll keep you in the loop.” Jack interrupted. He pointed toward the door.
I nodded, got up from my seat and left the three of them in the Federal building.
Tony called on my cell phone as I was driving to my office.
“The feds aren’t going to arrest Watkins right now.” He said.
“That’s a relief.”
“Yes, it is. Let me tell you what happened. After you left, Doug relaxed quite a bit and started talking about planning the arrest. Jack stopped him and asked him to call the Director of the FBI. The Director, John! It really confused Doug. Jack asked Doug if he would make the call, or would he prefer that Jack did it. Doug asked him why he should call the Director of the FBI. Jack just held up his cell phone and hit a speed dial button. He put the phone on speaker mode and set it on Doug’s desk. When the ringing stopped, Director Driscoll answered!”
“Oh my…”
“I know, right? Anyway, Director Driscoll said, “Is that you, Jack?” to which Jack replied it was and he was sitting in Special Agent Doug Booker’s office here in Tyler, Texas, with me in attendance. “How do you do, Lieutenant Escalante,” the Director said…”
“I don’t need to hear all that, Tony.”
“Oh, right. The upshot of it was, Director Driscoll told Doug he should follow the advice of Agent McCarthy, whom he held in high esteem! I thought Doug was going to puke.”
“Yeah, Jack has always had a certain flare for the dramatic.”
“J.W., who is he exactly, that he has the Director of the FBI on speed dial?”
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
Tony chuckled.
“Then I don’t really want to know. I guess he’s some kind of high level spook.”
“He’s very high level, Tony.”
“I get the impression life as we’ve known it, is never going to be the same.”
“No, I’m afraid it won’t be the same, and it won’t be better, either. I suspect we are going to see changes that will cause great sorrow.”
“Well then, ‘the just shall live by faith’, right?”
“Till He returns or calls us home.”
Forty-Four
The next day, I was watching one of the morning network news channels. I like to channel surf for stories that don’t include Hollywood scandals, weight loss or foolish political behavior. I was drawn to an announcement that the Vatican and Pope Gregory III were calling for the re-building of the temple in Jerusalem. The United Nations and Secretary General, Hosan Mushareff, were in complete support. They were all in agreement the temple could be re-built without encroaching on the sacred Al-Aqsa mosque commonly known as the Dome of the Rock.
“If the Holy of Holies is built to the same proportions as the Tabernacle in the wilderness, there will be plenty of room for the building and the inner court yard. The outer courtyard would be the entire world.” The Pope was saying.
I was startled to learn how much of the Arab world seemed to be open to the idea.
My phone rang and caller ID indicated it was Gary.
“Hey Gary, what’s up?”
“Morning, John. I just wanted to touch base.”
“How’s it going? Have you learned anything useful?”
“No nothing new, so far, John. I’m going to be overseeing a small building demolition job down in Bullard, starting today. I won’t see Watkins at all. He’s overseeing a bigger project outside of Chandler. They’re building some apartments and he’ll be tied up with that for the rest of the month. You might want to pass that along.”
“OK. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“No. I just wanted to check in.”
I could tell he was feeling isolated.
“It sounds like you’ll be getting a break from some of the drama for at least a little while.” I observed.
“Yeah, I suppose so.”
“Don’t feel like you’re out there all alone. You can call me any time, day or night. If you just want to talk about football, we can do that.”
“Since you mentioned it, did you see the game Monday night?”
I chuckled.
“Yeah, I did. Do you remember when it was unusual for a game to have a combined score of more than forty points?”
“I know, right? Now it’s common to see sixty or seventy combined points in a game…”
We talked about football for a few minutes and ended the call.
The next morning, a little before ten o’clock, I was sitting at my desk when my cell phone rang.
“John, this is Doug Booker. Can you come down here to my office?”
“Sure Doug, when do you want me there?”
“Come now, John. There’s been an incident.”
“Is Gary alright?”
“We don’t know. Please come down here right now.”
I couldn’t get to the Federal building. There were police barricades for two square blocks around both that building and the courthouse, on the square. I had to park about a quarter of a mile away and walk back to a barricade. I introduced myself to a uniformed officer and told him that I had been summoned by the SAIC of the FBI office. The officer got on his radio and a supervisor showed up. I explained the situation to the supervisor, who got on his radio. He examined my ID. Eventually the supervisor got permission to let me through. He had been instructed to escort me.
“What’s going on?” I asked him, as we walked toward the Federal building.
“I’m not at liberty to say much. I can tell you what’s already being reported on the news though.
Both the Sheriff and the DA of Gregg County have been shot, outside the courthouse, in Longview. The DA is dead. The Sheriff is in critical condition at Good Shepherd.”
As we approached the Federal building, the heat was stifling. I figured that the mercury was probably somewhere north of a hundred degrees. I had already sweated through my shirt. I also knew that, a cold front was forecast to blow in and drop the thermometer by thirty or forty degrees in a matter of hours. I could see storm clouds building to the northwest, a “blue norther” on the horizon.
I could also see police snipers on the surrounding rooftops.
At the entrance, we were met by an FBI agent wearing a black jacket with the gold letters F, B, I, emblazoned on it. He had a matching black ball cap with the same markings.
The police supervisor introduced me to the agent, who I now recognized from a previous meeting. On that occasion, he had been wearing cammo tactical gear, and carrying an assault rifle.
We left the supervisor on the stairs and went up into the building.
Ordinarily, you can’t get into the Federal building without passing through the metal detectors, and being greeted by uniformed officers. That was not the case today. There were heavily armed officers everywhere, but because members of the general public were not being permitted anywhere near the building, the metal detector was not in use.
The situation in the workroom outside Doug’s office was organized chaos. There were FBI agents and others, shouting into telephones and radios. Some were focused on their computer monitors, and people were milling about engaged in who knows what. The agent escorting me knocked on Doug’s door and pushed it open.
“Come in John,” Doug said.
He was sitting on the edge of his desk facing Jack, who was standing.
Jack McCarthy was clearly there in his capacity as a ranking officer in the Department of Homeland Security. He nodded his greeting.
“What all has happened?” I asked, as I closed the door.
“It’s a serious ‘Charlie Foxtrot’, John. We have a dead DA, in Longview. The Gregg County Sheriff was shot as well, and several pipe bombs were found at the courthouse in Longview.” Doug said.