“The men!” he whispered.
Sean looked at him with some confusion. “The men?” he shrugged.
Luis leant forward conspiratorially. “They are my uncle’s men,” he said, smiling and pushing the Desert Eagle towards him.
Sean suddenly realized what Luis was asking of him. “Shit, I can’t just walk in and kill them!”
“You already killed two of my men!”
“Your uncle’s men,” corrected Sean “And they were trying to kill me! I don’t do cold blooded murder!”
Luis smiled. “It won’t be cold blooded!”
Sean grabbed the gun and ran.
“Shoot her!” shouted Luis.
Chapter 27
The odds of the incumbent Texan Governor winning the upcoming Presidential election were already stacked in his favor. Just under half of the previous sixty years had been served by a Texan resident at The White House. With the country struggling out of recession, a budget deficit in the stratosphere and the incumbent president with a spending plan in disarray, it was a foregone conclusion that Texas Governor Rick Brown, the republican poster boy, would be the nation’s next president.
That of course was before El Jefe had decided to launch an all out war on his doorstep in Nuevo Laredo. With just over eighteen months to run until the election, the party hierarchy had made it clear — don’t cause a fuss and for God sake, keep your pecker in your trousers or your wife. Having an ex-Miss Texas as a wife, one of the requests was hardly an issue. Having two warring drug cartels on your border meant the other was slightly less within his control. It was with that in mind that the Governor took to the platform and spoke to his fellow Texans.
To date, the only negatives that any of his contenders could throw at him were his age and lack of military experience. As of the date of the next inauguration, Rick Brown would be 42 years and 217 days old. Meaning if and when elected, he would beat the youngest president in modern history, JFK, by over a year and the youngest president in the history of the United States ever, Theodore Roosevelt, by just over 100 days. His age was of course outside of his control, unlike his military experience. But that in itself was a story.
Rick Brown had been destined to be president from the day his father turned his back on big business and entered politics. John Brown had turned his back on big business for the good of his State and country. Fed up with imbeciles running the country into the ground, he decided to put his money where his mouth was and 'stop bitchin and start doin’. His campaign took off like wildfire and the self made billionaire swept into congress, taking the 23rd Congressional district away from the Democrats for the first time in the history of the seat.
With seemingly the senate and presidency for the taking, John Brown was the most talked about congressman for the first two years of his candidacy. His speeches lit up the house and had the old guard running for cover as he single handedly vowed to clean up politics. With billions in the bank, he was beholden to nobody and the public loved him — right up until the accident that ended any chance of his presidency.
Whether the modern American public would have elected a wheelchair bound president may have been a question but a wheelchair bound president with a facial disfigurement wasn’t even up for debate. His political career was over; it just seemed nobody had told the constituents of 23rd congressional district. Despite not having run for a second term, more than half of the districts voters added his name to the ballot and with the acceptance of the other candidates, John Brown regained the seat he hadn’t fought for. The following election resulted in a near 100 % vote and ensured as long as John Brown stood in the 23rd district, he would stand unopposed.
Rick Brown was a miracle or at least so his mother had told him almost every birthday that he celebrated. Conceived after his father’s accident, Rick Brown was only alive thanks to the wonders of modern science and the brilliance of the doctors based at what was then the leading fertility clinic in the country. Ultra exclusive, it was only after winning his first term as Congressman that John Brown was even made aware of its existence. The Clinic catered only to the Washington elite. Money, as John Brown had discovered, made little difference. It was the only bright spot after the accident. Two months after John’s crash and his ability to father a child gone forever that the miracle happened. Esther Brown became pregnant. It wasn’t to be an easy pregnancy and in fact resulted in her spending the last three months of the pregnancy in the Washington clinic, finally giving birth to Rick by caesarean section.
Esther and John both knew that Rick’s birth had to be as a result of some type of test tube program but it was almost ten years later, in 1978, that the first test tube baby was revealed to the world. Of course only Esther and John were aware of the accident’s effects in the bedroom and therefore to the outside world, the news was met with joy rather than wonder. It seemed with exclusivity came privacy which, as far as they were concerned, was no bad thing. They had, after all, the only thing they cared about, their own child.
The depression that had hit John after his accident immediately lifted. Rick became his purpose in life and through Rick, he would have the chance to make the difference that the accident prevented him from making. By the age of ten, Rick’s life was planned intricately. The course for him to become president was already setting sail. An Ivy League law degree would be followed with a stint in the Navy. The white uniform always looked best in the photo shoots. He would then take over John’s own seat as he retired. At age 35, Rick Brown would spend one term as Congressman before two terms as Governor, the perfect position, according to John, from which to become President.
Unfortunately, a fatal heart attack ended John’s plans and had Rick Brown being sworn in as one of the youngest congressman in US history at the age of 25, his law degree being completed while in office but the much necessary, according to John, military service, never transpired. Although ten years early into congress, Rick Brown wasted no time in following in his father’s footsteps and before long, people were talking of a potential president just as they had his father and just as his father had planned.
Governor Rick Brown tapped the mike and caught the press’ attention. The pressroom at the Governor’s Mansion was overflowing. Although hotly tipped as the next president, he had still to announce his intention to run. Calling a press conference at 12.30am was, to say the least, unorthodox and was for exactly that reason that the pressroom was packed and not just with locals. Network stations were breaking into their normal programming to bring the breaking news from Texas.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Rick addressed the cameras somberly.
“It is never an easy decision to call our young soldiers to action but as Governor and Commander in Chief of Our National Guard, I’m afraid it is my duty to do just that. Our great State is in danger and I will not stand idly by and allow the lawless few to threaten even one of my fellow Texans!”
It was a forceful display of the Governor showing the leadership that was expected from a military chief. Not one of the journalists in the room saw the maneuver as anything more than a pre-cursor to his announcement to run for president.
It was a barnstorming speech. The lectern was banged on several occasions as the Governor made it clear that the cartels would not be threatening even one Texan. If the Mexicans couldn’t control the cartels, he sure as hell would. He stopped short of announcing an invasion into neighboring Nuevo Laredo but it wasn’t far short. Governor Rick Brown was filling in the blank for military service currently lacking in his resume.
As El Jefe neared the border crossing, he smiled. The Southbound road was empty, while the Northbound road was at a standstill. But it wasn’t just the fact that the border was closed that made El Jefe happy. It was the vehicles that had closed it.
The sight of the Texan National Guard’s armored personnel carriers lining the bridge that separated the two countries was a major bonus. The Americans had obviously taken the small war he had waged over the last few hours very seriously. The five Lexuses that formed his advance party had wreaked havoc in the Gulf cartels strongholds. Hitting hard and fast, they had left a trail of casualties in their wake. Indiscriminately shooting throughout the streets had added to the casualties and confusion that had hit Nuevo Laredo and its impotent authorities.
El Jefe loaded his 4th 100 round drum onto his FN minimi and handed it to one of his men in the rear and received a sniper rifle, as requested, in return.
