A state of disobedience

* * *

Pendergast held one finger to his lips before bending down to remove—oh, so quietly and carefully—the rubberized runner concealing the trap door. He made a motion to the belt of his combat harness while mouthing the word, 'grenade.' The dozen men nearest him each pulled one hand grenade from his own belt and flicked away the safety clip. Following the sergeant major's lead, a baker's dozen pins were pulled.

Pendergast motioned for two more men to stand ready with their rifles. Then he reached down and pulled up the trap door.

* * *

'Get out, get out!' ordered the fireplug. 'We can't go forward, not with what we have and we need to hurry if we're not going to lose our only way out.' Hand placed firmly between a young 'agent's' shoulder blades, the fireplug gave a firm shove, and then turned around for the next. Soon, the ex-Marine turned to find no more men behind him and the sound of the Texans' advance growing closer.

There was a low moan followed by the sound of shifting bricks. The A Company commander looked to one corner and stared into the single beady eye of a 9mm pistol. His eyes followed the pistol to the wavering hand, the hand to the arm, and the arm to the bruised, bleeding man half buried by the bricks.

'What's your name?' asked James.

'Crenshaw,' answered the fireplug.

'Well, go on, Crenshaw. I never could shoot a man whose name I knew.'

Chapter Fourteen

From the transcript at trial: Commonwealth of

Virginia v. Alvin Scheer

DIRECT EXAMINATION, CONTINUED

BY MR. STENNINGS:

Q. So you did hear about the first attack on the Western Currency Facility?

A. Oh, yes, sir. And I was tickled pink, too. It was a scream, I tell you. I like to split my sides when I heard. The feds tried to take that money printin' plant at a rush and got their asses handed to 'em by my home folks.

Not that it wasn't kind of sad, too, them boys that got killed. But, I figured they took their money and they took their chances, same as anyone.

Not that the papers hereabouts took my view of it, mind you. Oh, no. I read every one I could get my hands on. That included a couple from what you might call the 'lunatic fringe.'

You know the kind I mean: Save the Whales—Abort the Babies? Marxist-Leninist Times? The Anarchist? Hey, I'm quoting here. I ain't smart enough to think up them titles.

Anyways, real far left stuff—chock full of all kinds of words I had never heard and couldn't even find in the dictionary. You know, the kind of thing that used to make a hobby of hatin' Washington and the President of the United States?

The mildest one of those, if I can recall correctly, called for turnin' Texas into a prairie.

Guess they didn't know we already mostly were a prairie.

Anyways, I didn't see—no one saw, far as I know—that incident on TV. Don't know whether that was because there weren't any news folks there or because the scene was just too damned nasty.

Besides, pretty soon there was lots of bigger news.

* * *

Washington, DC

If anyone noticed the scent of musk on the President as she entered the Oval Office followed by McCreavy, no one said anything. They were broad-minded men and women, all, and not a few of them had tastes similar to the President's.

'All right, what happened at the Western Currency Facility?' demanded Rottemeyer.

Vega gave the official story. 'Our people there called on the criminals inside to surrender. They lulled a large number of agents into the open then they opened fire. We attacked but were driven back by superior numbers and firepower.'

McCreavy rolled her eyes. Can't even make up a good lie, too damned ignorant.

'How about this, Ms. Vega? You can't take a building like that, heavily fortified and defended, with less than ten to one odds. And then you can expect to lose almost everyone you throw at it.'

'That's a military answer, Caroline,' corrected the President. 'It might even be a true one. But Jesse's answer serves our purposes better.

'There is a military answer I need, though. Are your forces ready to roll?'

'Everywhere but from New Mexico. The commander down there, a Marine,' she added with a trace of disdain, 'says he simply can't move anywhere much. No fuel beyond what his vehicles have in their tanks and a severe shortage of ammunition.'

'Those goddamned sit-down strikers on the highway?'

'Yes,' McCreavy answered. 'Per your order we were waiting for the Presidential Guard to clear out the Currency Facility, before sending them to clear the highway. Obviously, they've been delayed.'

'Do they have enough to get them to El Paso or a little beyond?'

'I asked the commander down there that question. He said he could.'

'Have him do that then. All your forces. I want them to roll tomorrow morning.'

McCreavy closed her eyes, holding in a wistful sigh. I wish it had never come to this. Eyes still closed she silently nodded her acceptance.

Rottemeyer added, 'We'll send the Surgeon General's riot control police down to New Mexico, instead of the