Gordon Ryan - State of Rebellion

“You would recognize him-?”

“We’ve covered that, Pug,” Granata said, dropping the photograph taken at the California Interstate 5 rest stop on the table. “One and the same,” he said, as Pug picked up the picture. The photo was similar, although obviously taken at a different time of day, to the one Pug had seen of Jackson Shaw and Grant Sully.

“General, in what capacity did you meet this man? What was his function at Franklin’s?”

“That was not explained. He was there along with several other guests, including Senator Turner.”

“Our lead secessionist.” Pug exhaled, looking toward Judge Granata.

Just over an hour later, Pug thanked General Cordoba as the Mexican federal policeman prepared to leave the director’s office to return to Mexico.

“ Senor , our countries have not always agreed on immigration policy, and other matters as well, but this trail of death carries many fingerprints. It is my fervent hope that we can work together to stop the needless dying, but also that we can come to some accord on access to employment within your country for migrant labor. I know that is not your responsibility, but if this information has helped in any way, perhaps you would be so kind as to remember it in the right quarters within your government.”

“I understand, General,” Pug said, shaking Cordoba’s hand. “Please be assured, I am in your debt. I would appreciate it if you could give us a few weeks before you take any of this public.”

“You have my word, Colonel. I have much to accomplish before I proceed.”

“Thank you. And a good day to you, sir.”

“George,” Pug said, after Cordoba left, “this is the break we need.”

“There’s a wrinkle.”

Pug’s eyes widened. “There always is.”

“Cordoba contacted the resident FBI agent in Mexico to establish contact with me, which was requested several days ago. The agent called him back two days ago to inform him of the meeting. The resident CIA officer was in our Mexico City field office. He heard my agent confirm Cordoba’s meeting with me.”

Pug picked up immediately. “And it would only be prudent of him to advise up the line to Grant Sully that a senior Mexican police official wanted to speak with the director of the FBI.”

“Exactly.”

“Did you warn Cordoba?”

“Of what? That one of the top CIA officials in the United States is also in on the secession movement and might do him harm?”

“I see your point,” Pug said. “He’s an open target, George.”

“Maybe not. They didn’t try before he got here, and his call was nearly a week ago.”

“No, but the info channels aren’t that efficient all the time. If the report was sent as a routine matter, maybe Sully doesn’t yet know or hasn’t decided how to handle it.”

“We’ll keep an eye on Cordoba, but there’s not much we can do to protect him.” Granata turned to his desk. “I think you should read this,” he said, handing Pug a manila folder. “It seems that Franklin is the brains and financial backing behind the home telephone voting systems in four states, with contracts pending in six others.”

“Dabbling in elections as well?”

“I’ve run some background, but thought I’d leave the California issues to you and your team.”

“Thanks, George. And to think that when you called last night, I thought you wanted to play golf.” He laughed.

“I do. But we better tend shop first.” He stood and pressed the intercom on his desk. “Marilyn, is the car available for Colonel Connor yet?”

“Standing by, Mr. Director.”

“Good. Thank you,” he answered, punching the button. “Pug, your appointment with Prescott is in twenty minutes. Good luck.” He smiled, clapping Pug on the shoulder and leading him to the door.

“Does she know?”

“No. I left that one to you as task force leader. I just told her that you would need to see her immediately after we met.”

“George, you were ill-used on the judicial bench. This is where you belong,” Pug said. “Thanks again. It’s good working with you.”

“And you. Give my regards to Agent Bentley. A copy of this file has been couriered to her as of this morning.”

“Thanks, Mr. Director. I’ll be in touch.”

Events moved rapidly for Dan Rawlings as he began drafting the new California constitution. His overnight popularity amazed him, until Nicole reminded him of the fleeting nature of such fame-not that he had been fooled by the false front most legislators and special interest group lobbyists presented. But still, coming from an appointed position as a local government administrator, it was a new sensation to have everyone seeking his approval and his opinion.

Literally dozens of special interest groups had called, but the call from John Henry Franklin’s chief legal counsel had piqued Dan’s interest and was of significant concern to Nicole and, ultimately, to Pug Connor. Franklin’s interest was “the health of the new nation’s economy,” as the lawyer had put it, and had to do with proposed immigration laws and the draft document he wished to provide for the committee’s consideration. Anything the law firm could do to assist was available, he had said, and all Rawlings had to do was ask. Offers to be of assistance were plentiful, but this firm, one of the largest in California, had placed all of its resources and several of its finest constitutional lawyers at his disposal. When Dan called to discuss Franklin’s offer with Professor Julius, his former constitutional law instructor at Stanford, the crusty old teacher had just laughed.

“Bring ’em aboard, Dan. Better to have the wolf in sight than lurking around the corner,” the professor had advised.

And so Dan had accepted the offer of Franklin’s law firm to help draft narrative on immigration issues, which, Dan began to realize, not only provided him with an insight into Franklin’s desires, but provided the task force some clue as to the financier’s intentions.

Connor had also been right about the militia. Within several days, a Mr. Shaw, whom Nicole had identified as commander of the Shasta Brigade, had called for an appointment. When Dan had told Nicole about Shaw’s appointment, he thought she’d respond differently.

“But you could just arrest him,” Dan had said.

“For what?”

“For what ? For murder , that’s what.”

“Proof, Assemblyman Rawlings, or have you forgotten Evidence 601? Look, Colonel Connor and I have discussed it. These murderers are hiding behind the facade of the patriot movement. Individually, we can’t prove a thing. But they are doing exactly what Vice President Prescott told Colonel Connor they would. They’re coming to us-including Franklin’s law firm. We can learn a lot from that, if we’re patient.”

Dan’s preparation for the meeting with Shaw had been limited to studying the Second Amendment to the U.S. Constitution and several court decisions on the right to bear arms. Dan had decided to have his legislative assistant sit in on the meeting, taking notes as a witness to the proceedings. Shaw’s arrival brought one surprise. He was accompanied by Roger Dahlgren, still serving as Woodland’s City Manager and now an even more outspoken supporter of secession, as were all his city council members. Dan stepped out to greet them and offered coffee as they took seats.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Shaw. If you don’t mind, gentlemen, I’ve asked my assistant, Ted, to sit in and keep a brief record of our meeting. If you will give him an address, he’ll provide you a copy of the minutes. We’ve taken to doing this so everyone knows their interests are being considered and so we can send you copies of the developing legislation. So, Roger, how’s it going? Still fighting the Woodland City budget battles?”