State of Rebellion

Be sure to maintain the individual cell organization structure for security.” Franklin smiled at Wolff. “And Sully, bless his heart, needs to see that his ability to ride two horses has come to an end. He knows he’ll never become director of the CIA. Perhaps we can entice him with the role he could play in a new California.”

Wolff raised his glass, rattling the ice cubes. “To Grant Sully-the new director of the new CIA-the California Intelligence Agency.”

“We’ll see about that. Assuming we can pull off the election coup, the key to this thing will be the U.S. military. How they respond will be critical. You can bet the farm Washington won’t take it lying down. The Army Reserve, National Guard, and even the California State Reserve units-those are the concerns we have. The militia. . well,” he paused, “we know where they stand, and this operation will suit them just fine. But we’ve got to force the federal military’s hand and make the retention of California a patriotic issue.”

“A little internal insurrection should help,” Wolff said.

“Exactly-and public reaction. That’s your baby. You handle it, but move slowly at first. I want the election results to convince the public that support is widespread. Then, when we unleash the militia to do their thing, Californians will see them as the New Englanders saw the militia-as Minutemen-patriots in the flesh. Then they’ll receive public support, at least verbally, in their fight against the Feds. And one other thing-concerning your ‘tech team’ and the elections issue, I want it done right this time. Be sure your team knows-no more foul-ups like we had in the Missouri elections.”

“Missouri was a fluke. A real computer glitch occurred, and by the time we found out, it was too late. Election results had already been announced.”

“Jean,” Franklin said, staring hard at the younger man, “I don’t care why! I’ve spent hundreds of millions establishing the credibility of the home telephone voting system, and four states have now adopted it. But California is still running parallel with the old system, and California’s the key to national acceptance. I just want to be sure this one is under control. We’ve got a lot at stake. You’ve got a lot at stake.”

“I’ll see to it, John Henry,” Wolff responded.

Franklin started to leave, but stopped, turning in the doorway.

“Did you catch Rigo’s comment about the Mexican borders earlier?”

“Nothing of concern. The general knows nothing about our border crossing operation, I can assure you.”

“See you keep it that way. He strikes me as one of those truly dangerous men, especially in Mexico-an honest politician.”

“He’s watched day and night. Nothing to worry about. Besides,” Wolff said calmly, “honest politicians in Mexico have a way of ending up dead.”

“He’s still quite useful to us. Without his relationship to General Valdez, we’d have no knowledge of the Federales’ intentions. Proceed cautiously.”

“Understood. I’ll take care of it.”

Chapter 7

Woodland Rotary Luncheon

Woodland, California

June, 2011

. . Of course, it wasn’t yesterday, was it?” Senator Turner continued. “In fact, we’ve accomplished quite a bit in the past eighteen months, working together for the benefit of Californians. And I intend to continue doing just that.”

During the nine months immediately following the private Sea Ranch meeting, Turner had followed John Henry Franklin’s directions, stumping throughout California, presenting the message of secession. At times eloquent in his denunciation of federal intervention, Turner had initially met with staunch opposition. But surprisingly, as Franklin had predicted, support for the notion had steadily grown, and pollsters had begun to document the changing mood of the people. And then, suddenly, it was over, and Turner was a fourth-term U.S. senator. And California was on her way toward sovereignty.

To his chagrin, with his reelection achieved and the California voters having overwhelmingly approved the secession issue, Turner found himself actually in love with Franklin’s original idea and proud of the part he had played in its creation. At service clubs throughout California, he continued to carry the message, as here today in the Woodland Rotary, to the ever-growing number of people who enjoyed the thrill of starting over-and took a certain satisfaction in standing up to Washington and its never-ending bureaucratic rat race.

For over twenty minutes, Senator Turner continued to preach the message he had honed under John Henry Franklin’s subtle tutoring, castigating the federal court system for not listening to the voice of the people, but softening his radical rhetoric with a generous application of his own brand of rural humor. With the audience in the palm of his hand, he wrapped it up by recalling one of Yolo County’s favorite sayings.

“. . and my daddy always said, ‘If it grows anywhere in the world, it can be grown in Yolo County.’”

Dan watched with some amazement as the room again erupted in applause. A large cluster of young men and several older men stood in the back of the room, clapping loudly, as Malcolm Turner remained triumphantly at the lectern. He had reached for his audience, found their pulse, and raised them to a fever pitch. Though Dan found Turner’s proposals outrageous, he was nevertheless in agreement with many of Turner’s historical landmarks. Dan’s own grandfather, Jack Rumsey, had said much the same thing while Dan was growing up, helping his grandfather move sprinkler pipes between the rows of almond trees and tending the ten acres Jack had given him to run as his “business.” The smooth-talking politician was quite right about the plight of the small farmer, but his proposed solution was too radical. Dan viewed the voter approval for secession with alarm. He had understood the political expediency of Turner’s position during the elections, especially with the competition of a younger, articulate, well- financed opponent, but it had surprised Dan as much as anyone to see Turner continue the call after securing his Senate seat. To point out federal abuses and excesses was one thing, but to propose severing ties with the United States was irresponsible, at least to Dan’s way of thinking.

City Manager Roger Dahlgren was seated several tables across from Dan with a contingent of associates, none of whom Dan recognized. They were cheering loudly and encouraging all around them to join in the fracas.

Dan leaned closer to Jim Thompson. “Who are those guys with Roger?”

“Brigade boys, most likely.”

Senator Malcolm Turner stood smiling and waving, accepting the accolades as the audience concluded their applause and again took their seats.

“Gentlemen, it would be my pleasure to entertain questions for the next few minutes. I would ask the reporters who are here to defer to the local members.” Hands shot up throughout the room, and Turner pointed to a man seated at one of the front tables. “Jake Petersen. You’ve been around here for many years, and we’ve served on several committees together. I value your opinion.” Turner smiled. “What’s on your mind?”

Petersen was over seventy and had farmed about four hundred acres northwest of Woodland for as long as anyone could remember. His three sons had opted out for other professions after seeing no profitable future in farming. After the last son went into accounting, Jake had sold his farm to a large corporation and moved into town. He stood slowly, using his cane for leverage.

“Well, Malcolm, I’ll tell ya. We don’t need none of this baloney I’ve been readin’ in the papers about giving Washington a chance. You just need to go back to the president and Congress and tell them to kiss off. We voted to get out, and we’re through with ’em. Just tell the president to get his bleedin’ heart liberal judges out of California and let us get on with our lives. Then, Malcolm,” the old man said, banging his cane on the tiled floor for emphasis,