“You seem... to consider the judges as the ultimate arbiters of all constitutional questions; a very dangerous doctrine indeed, and one which would place us under the despotism of an oligarchy. Our judges are as honest as other men, and not more so. They have, with others, the same passions for party, for power, and the privilege of their corps.... Their power [is] the more dangerous as they are in office for life, and not responsible, as the other functionaries are, to the elective control.”
The Texas Rangers based in the Dallas area arrived on the scene in Dallas within an hour after the shooting had stopped.
Pops Younger had seriously considered boarding a plane in Austin with interim-Governor Strasburg, at his invitation, to get to the fairgrounds as soon as possible. Strasburg wanted to make a statement from the scene and wanted Pops with him, as any photo op with him would do wonders for his political career in Texas.
“I’ll be damned if I’m getting on a state-owned bird right now,” Pops confided to his second-in-command Dyson.
“It would be good for you and Strasburg to mend fences,” answered Dyson. “But I understand why anyone wouldn’t want to fly right now.”
“There ain’t no mendin’ fences with a weasel,” Pops flatly replied. “Hell, though, we’re probably as safe as ever flying with that son of a bitch.”
“Sure sounds like that Free Texas crew has been getting into that noggin of yours,” snapped Dyson, “all them damned conspiracy theories and such!”
Pops knew that at some point he was going to have to trust some others with the information Zach Turner had shared and, although he trusted Dyson, he knew anyone that had the same information was likely in mortal danger. He was extremely hesitant to share anything for fear that the information would get back to someone in the Deep State.
Three SUVs containing Pops, Dyson and six other Rangers left Austin and began their caravan to Dallas north on I-35. It was a two-and-a-half-hour trip, and Pops had decided he would begin to fill Dyson in on the intelligence that Turner’s group had revealed, but he would do it in small doses. Pops asked Dyson to drive with him as passenger, and the other Rangers would ride in the other two SUVs so he could privately discuss with Dyson what he knew.
Dyson drove in silence for the first hour as Pops began to divulge the irrefutable evidence that Turner, Beard and Turnbow had presented. Eventually this led to a conversation about the governor’s plane crash and, although he still didn’t have the smoking gun he needed, it was becoming easier to connect the dots to Volkov, which directly implicated Ottosson, CIS and the Deep State in the administration. Pops’ guess was that the suicide letter by the aircraft maintenance worker was a sham, likely penned by him while Volkov held a gun to the head of his wife and children before he killed all three of them.
“You ain’t said much,” Pops said, trying to gauge Dyson’s response.
“Damn, Pops,” Dyson blurted, “in the span of the last hour and a half, you’ve laid out a conspiracy theory that the chief justice of the Supreme Court was assassinated, our governor’s aircraft was taken down, and a state senator was bribed, then killed. And, to top that off, the Russian operative behind these murders is tied to a government lobbyist for a foreign firm that controls the software of almost all the elections held in the United States! Of course, the current administration is involved knee deep in this and the president likely knows? I gotta ask you, Pops, am I understanding all of this correctly?”
“That about sums it up, Dick,” Pops said flatly.
“Geez, Pops, besides the fact ain’t nobody going to believe it, even if it were true, where the hell do we go with it?”
Dyson’s cell phone rang, interrupting their conversation as a Ranger from one of the other SUVs was calling.
“Commander, you may want to turn your radio to a news station right away,” the Ranger said urgently.
“Roger,” answered Dyson. “Williams says to turn the radio to news; something is breaking…”
Pops turned the knobs trying to find a news station, then flipped it through several AM radio stations to find what the Ranger was referring to before finding one. They listened for a few seconds, then the news anchor dropped a bomb:
“Unnamed sources within the FBI today are reporting that key evidence has been acquired that links the mass shooting in Dallas and the recent IRS bombings to an anti-government militia in Texas with ties to various Tea Party groups and the failed Texas independence movement. The sources stated that two weapons registered to members of that group have been found at the site of the worst mass shooting in history, which claimed the lives of hundreds of children at a festival in Dallas. We expect a formal statement confirming this information later today.”
“Please tell me that ain’t your boy, Pops?” asked Dyson.
“No way in hell, but he does have some gung-ho types he can’t control.” Pops fished out his cell phone and began slowly dialing out, as if it was the first time he had ever used a cell phone. He dialed a number that had been saved in his phone by someone else
“Turner here. Hello, sir, I guess you have heard the FBI leak?”
“Son, you are about to have a ten-ton shit basket land on your head. Now, I know you ain’t got a damn thing to do with this, but I also know you gotta tightly screwed Rambo-type that’s off your reservation. Is he capable of this festival mess?” asked Pops.
“Ain’t no way in hell, sir,” Zach told him. “Yes, he’s capable of planning and executing any type of operation that’s put in front of him, but I will tell you he is a true patriot through and through. We haven’t always agreed on methods, but I’d stake my life on the fact that he didn’t go to Dallas and start shooting up those kids. No way. Didn’t happen, sir. I’ve not been in contact with him since the bombings, sir, honest to God.”
“Is he capable of the bombings?” Pops asked directly.
“Capable? Yes, hell, we are all capable,” answered Zach, referring to many in his Free Texas group, “but I have no knowledge of an advance plan of any kind for those bombings.”
“Are you sayin’ he ain’t tied to the bombings whatsoever?” said Pops.
“I’m saying I don’t have any direct knowledge, sir. Was he angry at the IRS for disrupting his life and those of some close to him? Absolutely. Is he capable of planning a series of bombs that would instill fear into the IRS employees to even show up for work? Hell, yes! He’s also capable of planting those bombs in a manner so nobody got hurt or killed.”
“We all hate those SOBs, son, but that ain’t the way to approach it. Hell, they are attackin’ all of us. Anyone associated with Governor Cooper, from the very start of the independence push,” Pops reasoned. “I guess it comes with the territory and folks underestimated how pissed off the rest of the country would be if we took our marbles and went home without them.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Now, with this new news coming to light, I need to be as straight with you as a Comanche arrow, son. If you are tied to any of this, the evidence you brought me is as good as a dog turd in the sun. Ain’t nobody going to see anything but those bombings and those dead kids,” pressured Pops.
“As God is my witness, sir, we did not have a thing to do with either event. I can’t vouch for Hank Lofton in regard to the IRS bombings. The last time we were together, he was very angry. He and several of his closest buddies have, for all intents and purposes, left our group. But do I think he would shoot innocent civilians like what happened in Dallas, including children? Hell, no. He has children of his own. I don’t buy it for one second, sir.”
“Okay, son, I believe you. That don’t mean they will,” Pops said, referring to the feds.
“None of my people were even at the festival, sir. I guess they might come question us. Wouldn’t be the first time. Even if they arrest us, they got nothing.”
Dyson was shaking his head, listening to the conversation and, knowing Pops for almost thirty-five years, knew what he was about to say next.
“That ain’t what they are going to do, son. Damn, you should know this more than anyone. Right now, those boys in D.C. want some skins on the wall for that turkey shoot. They ain’t going to ask questions. They are going to come to get you and your buddies. And, if you resist, they kill you all, then they have their suspects,” said Pops plainly. “Haven’t we learned this over the last two years?”
Zach’s mind was racing. He knew Pops was right, but every now and then he caught himself thinking life could be normal and he wouldn’t be worried about how his political beliefs and push for Texas independence could have warped into the dilemma he now faced.
“If we hunker down and hide, then we look guilty. Do you believe they have any real evidence, sir?”
“They don’t need it,” Pops said seriously. “They need scapegoats.”
“You know they will manufacture evidence, Pops. Whatever they produce that may look like it ties to us on the surface, please do not believe it,” begged Zach.
“If you’d told me that ten or fifteen years ago, I would have dismissed it as hogwash. Damned if I know how our government got this screwed up, but I’ll tell you what.” Pops looked directly at Dyson, who was listening intently. “All these pieces link together―Chief Justice Noyner, the plane crash, and Milsap. God help us all if the government, by God, was involved in this mass shooting.”
“No way. I think they are capable of many things, but killing kids for political ideology, no way,” muttered Dyson under his breath so only Pops could hear him.
“Sir, the things I have seen while I was in the CIA that our country would do in the name of patriotism or some sort of perverted American interest, would make your heart hurt.” His response indicated Zach had heard Dyson’s comment. “It’s why I got out. The Constitution means nothing to the Deep State.”
“I’m not sure what to tell you to do at this fork in the road, son. I’ll go on up to Dallas and see what we’re dealing with. In the meantime, distance yourself from your Rambo dude.”
“Already have, sir, already have.”