A state of disobedience

* * *

Austin, Texas

Nagy sighed. 'My man on the ground says forty-eight hours, Governor. Then the feds go in.'

'Forty-eight hours,' Juanita echoed, faintly.

'Your brother doesn't stand too much of a chance, Governor. They have tanks, armored personnel carriers, two helicopter gunships with Army crews, and some very well-trained specialists.'

'Any artillery? Mortars?' asked Schmidt.

'My man didn't see any,' Nagy responded. 'That would kind of be 'overkill' anyway, wouldn't it?'

'So are tanks. So are gunships.'

Juanita shuddered at the image that came unbidden of an armored vehicle crushing her brother's body into the dirt.

* * *

Dei Gloria Mission, Waco, Texas

There were in fact only a brace of tanks, those having to be taken from storage where they had languished since the conversion of the Army's First Cavalry Division to a medium force suitable for deployment to and employment in any operation short of real war against a heavily armored enemy. Worse, the tanks had no ammunition suitable for breaching the walls that surrounded the mission.

They did have, however, a number of machine guns suitable for beating down fire when and if the time came for a dismounted team to carry a breaching charge forward. And the defenders had nothing that could penetrate a tank's armor. Moreover, the tanks themselves—seventy tons of moving metal—could breach most walls simply by slamming against them, though this was a tactic much frowned upon by real tankers whose job was largely keeping their tanks running.

Group Commander Sawyers, First Security Group, Presidential Guard Secret Service, patted one of the tanks affectionately.

* * *

Austin, Texas

Schmidt saw Juani's involuntary shudder, saw the beginnings of tears forming in her eyes. 'Folks. I think we ought to leave the governor alone for a bit.'

Juanita shot him a grateful glance. At her nod of agreement the others began to file out of her office. Schmidt lagged behind until all the others had left. Then he quietly closed the door behind them.

Even before they were alone, the governor had folded her arms across her desk, laid her head upon them, and begun to weep quietly.

Schmidt hurried to her side, pulling a chair with him as he went.

Seated beside her, he patted her back affectionately. 'Juani, I know how you feel right now. But we have forty- eight hours, no more than that . . . and maybe less. Have you considered calling the President to try to work something out?'

The shaking of the governor's shoulders subsided somewhat. She lifted her head up, wiped a runny nose with a hand, and sniffled, 'She won't take my calls, Jack. Her chief of staff said, 'The President is too busy with the crisis.' But that's horse manure. She wants to make an example of Jorge.'

'Doesn't she care about the kids in there?' asked an incredulous Schmidt. 'Her and all her 'it's for the children' crap?'

* * *

Dei Gloria Mission, Waco, Texas

Johnson Akers would do anything to save a kid. He just couldn't help it. He had never been able to help it. Shoot a criminal? Easy. Take a bullet? He'd done that, too. Anything.

'Look, Mister FBI man. Sir, I'm not asking you to risk one of your precious hides getting those kids out. I'll do it.'

The senior FBI man on the scene was as arrogant as any federal agent could be expected to be. From his expensively coiffed hair to his Pierre Cardin shoes to the tailored Italian suit in between, he portrayed an image of anal retentiveness difficult to equal. Even the high-fashion Gucci shoulder holster, which his suit successfully failed to hide, reeked of the proper FBI image.

What the man was not, however, was a child killer. His orders left little doubt that the priest was to die. They gave no indication that the kids must as well.

He looked over Akers—from his ten-gallon hat to his string tie to his faded denims and cowboy boots. Something about the old man must have struck a cord. Slowly the agent nodded agreement. 'Okay, Sergeant Akers. You can try. I'll pass the word.'

'Thank you, sir,' said Akers . . . and really seemed to mean the 'sir' this time.

* * *

'Padre, there's a man at the front gate. Says he's with the Texas Rangers.'

'Is he alone, Miguel?'

'Si, Padre. We used a little mirror to check over the wall and around the door. Nobody but him.'