'He would have if he could. He would have stood in front of her, taken the bullet himself. Your father is a lot of things, Becca, but he's no coward.'
'I'm scared.'
'You don't have to be, not with your father here. He'll protect you.'
'I wish we were back on the ranch.'
'I wish we had never left the ranch.'
'Mom… are you guys getting a divorce?'
' A divorce? No… I don't think so… I don't know.'
'Do you have someone else?'
'No.'
Jesse didn't count as someone else, did he?
'Does Dad?'
Yes.
'No.'
She couldn't do that to her daughter.
'Then why are you living down on the border?'
'To do something good with my life.'
'He's going to be president.'
'That's his life, not mine.'
'You won't be able to work on the border, when he's president. You won't be able to hide your face anywhere in the world then.'
For the first time in five years, Jesse Rincon contemplated leaving the colonias. His time with the governor's wife opened up all the possibilities of life for him. Perhaps the time had come for him to live beyond the wall. Perhaps the time had come for him to make a different choice in life. The thought of being alone the rest of his life now seemed unbearable. He wanted a woman in his life. He wanted the governor's wife in his life. But it was not to be.
'She is gone, Mother.'
Jesse brushed dirt from the small flat stone that marked his mother's grave in the colonia cemetery. GRACIANA RINCON… 1952–1973.
'But it is for the best. This border is no place for such a woman. Dirt and death, that is all the borderlands have to offer. A woman such as her, she belongs in Austin, or perhaps Washington. Yes, she will make a fine first lady.'
'When Governor Bode Bonner shot and killed three Mexican cartel soldados in West Texas and rescued thirteen Mexican children from a marijuana farm, he became an American hero. But when he grabbed his dead Texas Ranger bodyguard's gun and shot and killed three Mexican hit men- sicarios, they are called-saving his daughter's life and the lives of dozens of diners in this restaurant in the middle of Austin, Texas, he became an American legend. A living legend. The only question is, with a Mexican drug lord gunning for him, how long will he remain living? Reporting from Austin, Texas.'
Jim Bob switched channels from network to network to network to catch the evening news reports. One reporter stood in the middle of Guadalupe Street just outside Kerbey's restaurant; another stood just across the street on the UT campus; and a third stood in the parking lot. All were reporting live from Austin, Texas, as they had for the last three days. The national media had descended on the capital of Texas.
'How did the hit men smuggle the weapons into the U.S.?' the reporter asked DEA Agent Rey Gonzales.
'They didn't. The gun laws in Mexico are very strict. So they crossed into the U.S. at Laredo, drove up I-35 to San Antonio, and bought the guns and ammo at a gun show last weekend. The cartels buy all their guns in Texas.'
'Fully automatic AK-47s with thirty-round magazines?'
'You can buy a bazooka at a gun show.'
'Without a criminal background check?'
The agent nodded. 'The 'gun show loophole.' Big enough to drive a semi through. The bad guys buy their guns at gun shows and missiles on the black market.'
'Missiles?'
'El Diablo, he bought a Russian-made missile and shot down our Predator drone.'
'A drug lord shot down our drone? I can't believe that.'
'You'd better believe it.'
'Agent Gonzales, do you think the governor's life is still in danger?'
Another nod. 'The governor killed El Diablo's son. He won't quit.'
'How can you ensure the governor's safety?'
'We can't.'
Jim Bob muted the news and turned to Bode with a big grin.
'Do you know how lucky you are?'
'Not getting killed?'
'Getting this kind of press coverage? Favorable pieces on the networks for a Republican?'
The Professor opened his black notebook.
'This poll was conducted after the assassination attempt. The more Mexicans you kill, the higher your poll numbers go. Seventy-six percent total favorable… unbelievable. White males, ninety-one percent. White females, eighty-four. African-Americans, forty-three percent. Hispanics… get this… thirty-nine percent.'
'In Texas?'
'In the U.S. This is a national poll. I've never seen anything like it. You're blowing everyone else away across the entire socioeconomic spectrum. The other Republicans are road kill in your rearview. And you're up on Obama by a million Twitter followers and twelve points in the polls. We're talking Reagan-over-Carter landslide.'
'Jesus, Jim Bob, they tried to kill my daughter.'
'No. They tried to kill you. She was just there.'
'Still.'
'Are you a 'glass-half-full' kind of guy or a 'glass-half-empty' kind of guy?'
'What the hell does that mean?'
'It means, you and Becca survived an assassination attempt. You can sit back and pout about it, or you can move forward and make the best of it.'
'Darcy and Hank are dead.'
'You didn't kill them. The Mexicans did.'
Jim Bob's phone rang. He answered.
'John Ed… yeah, he's right here. Hold on, I'll put you on the speaker.'
Jim Bob activated the speakerphone.
'You're on with Bode.'
'Governor,' John Ed Johnson's voice boomed from the speakerphone, 'glad you ain't dead.'
''Well, thanks, John Ed. I appreciate your-'
' 'Cause I need your help on my bill.'
— 'concern.'
'So where do things stand? You got the votes lined up?'
'Goddamnit, John Ed, I've been a little fucking busy lately, shooting Mexican assassins, burying my daughter's roommate and my Ranger bodyguard. I told you I'd work your bill, and I will.'
'No reason to get testy.'
Bode exhaled. 'Sorry, John Ed, it's been a little stressful around here.'
'Yeah, okay. You boys have a good day.'
The line went dead. Jim Bob chuckled.
'John Ed ain't exactly the touchy-feely type.'
'He ain't exactly the human being type.'
The Professor leaned back in his chair and smiled.
