A Time for Patriots

Patrick could easily sense what was going to happen next: Andorsen whirled, his hands knotted into fists, and he hit the deputy on the side of his head. The deputy must have sensed it also, because he almost managed to dodge away from the swing and received a glancing blow only.

“I told you, boy, I can’t hold my arms up like that!” Andorsen shouted.

The deputy’s SIG Sauer P226 semiautomatic sidearm was in his hands in the blink of an eye. “Don’t move!” he shouted, the gun leveled at Andorsen’s chest. “Turn and get down on the ground!”

“I told you, son, I can’t get down like that — it hurts too much,” Andorsen said, holding his hands out in plain sight but not raising them. “My name is Judah Andorsen. Get on your damned radio and tell your boss that—”

The deputy grabbed Andorsen by the front of his jacket and tugged backward, and as soon as Andorsen resisted by pulling away, the deputy put one leg between Andorsen’s legs, shoved forward, and placed a toe behind Andorsen’s heel, tripping him. As the deputy fell on top of Andorsen, he made sure one knee was in Andorsen’s groin when they hit the ground. With Andorsen doubled up in pain and clutching his groin, it was easy for the deputy to holster his sidearm, grab a wrist, spin the man over on his stomach, wrestle the other wrist around, and snap handcuffs in place.

“Dispatch, Unit Five,” he radioed using his portable radio, breathing heavily, but more from excitement and adrenaline rush than exertion, “three in custody, Valmy Airport, notify FBI—”

And at that moment a black six-pack dually pickup truck raced up the dirt road toward the deputy, tires kicking up dirt and stones. It was followed by a Cadillac sedan. The dually screeched to a halt in a cloud of dust beside the police cruiser, the doors flew open, and six men jumped out and ran toward the deputy.

“Freeze!” the deputy shouted. He knelt next to Andorsen and again put a hand on his sidearm. “Humboldt County Sheriff’s Department making an arrest! All you men, get back in your truck, now !”

The six men stopped but did not retreat. “We’re right here, Mr. Andorsen,” one of the men said. “What do you want us to do?”

“Tell these men to raise their hands and back away,” the deputy ordered.

“Back on up, Teddy,” Andorsen said into the dust. The six men immediately stepped backward to their pickup, their eyes on the sheriff’s deputy and their boss the whole time.

“Dispatch, Unit Five, requesting backup, Valmy Airport,” the deputy radioed.

“Damn it, what do those guys think they’re doing?” Leo asked from the backseat of the deputy’s cruiser. “Were they trying to—”

“Holy shit!” Patrick said between clenched teeth. He looked over to the pickup… and noticed AR-15 assault rifles with sniperscopes being passed out from within the pickup, shielded from view. “Those guys have guns !”

“This is not good,” Leo whispered.

Patrick thought for a second, then shouted, “Judah, this is General Patrick McLanahan. Tell your men to put down their rifles.”

The sheriff’s deputy leaped to his feet, dashed around the nose of the helicopter, drew his sidearm, pointed it toward the six men, and shouted, “Show me your hands! Now!”

In a flash, the six men spread out about six yards apart from one another and dropped to the ground. Patrick counted four AR-15 rifles pointed at the deputy. These guys looked professional all the way, he thought. “I think it’s your turn to drop your weapon and show us your hands, Deputy,” the man named Teddy shouted.

Three

If you will just start with the idea that this is a hard world, it will all be much simpler.

— Louis D. Brandeis, U.S. Supreme Court justice

Valmy, Nevada

“Are they crazy ?” Leo said. “They’re drawing down on a sheriff’s deputy!”

During this time, the Cadillac had pulled up to the scene, and a lone, short, balding man in a gray business suit got out and walked toward the helicopter, unbuttoning and then removing his jacket. “Freeze!” the deputy shouted.

The newcomer dropped his jacket to the ground and raised his hands. “I’m not armed, Deputy,” he said in a remarkably calm voice. “My name is Harold Cunningham, and I am Mr. Andorsen’s attorney and counsel.” He looked up into his right hand, in which he was holding a cell phone. “I’m expecting a call from Sheriff Martinez, District Attorney Cauldwell, and County Commissioner Blane any minute now, Deputy, and you’ll be receiving a call from the sheriff explaining what this is all about.”

“You just stay where you are and keep your hands where I can see them!” the deputy shouted back.

“Unit Five,” came the message from the deputy’s portable radio.

The deputy keyed the mike button on his left shoulder: “Dispatch, Unit Five, three in custody, holding seven at gunpoint, repeat, seven, multiple weapons visible, request immediate backup, covers Code Three.” His voice was clearly fearful.

“Five, this is Sheriff Martinez,” came a different voice on the channel. “Mark, relax. This is all a big fat mix-up by the feds. That’s Judah Andorsen you got there.”

“Sir, I’ve got four guys with rifles and two with handguns aimed at me,” the deputy radioed back to the obviously known person on the radio.

“They’re Mr. Andorsen’s security guys,” Martinez replied. “The feds have got everybody believing we’ve got terrorists running amok in Humboldt County. Just relax.”

“I’ll relax as soon as these motherfuckers lower their guns, sir,” the deputy named Mark radioed.

“I’m on my way out there now, son,” Martinez radioed. “Just don’t do anything until I get there.”

In the next ninety minutes, as the day grew hotter and hotter and thunderstorms began to build around them like sand monsters rising from the high desert, more and more cars arrived. After each new vehicle arrived, the man named Cunningham dialed another number, and more cars arrived. Before long, two FBI special agents showed up and took charge of the scene. By then, Andorsen’s men had gotten back to their feet and had joined their boss around the helicopter, with their weapons in holsters or slung on their shoulders. The FBI agents stood by their car with sidearms leveled. “This is the FBI,” one of the agents shouted. “All of you men, drop your weapons and raise your hands.”

“I’m sorry, Special Agent Chastain,” the man named Cunningham said, “but I’m expecting a call from the deputy attorney general and the U.S. attorney in Reno. He’ll straighten all this out for you.”

“How did Cunningham know his name?” Patrick asked in a low voice. He and Leo were still handcuffed in the back of the now-sweltering-hot sheriff’s cruiser. “Neither FBI agent identified himself yet, right?”

“This is bizarro,” Leo said. “They’ve got everybody except the governor of Nevada and vice president of the United States out here.”

“I said, drop your weapons and raise your hands!” the special agent repeated. It was a surreal scene to Patrick: the Humboldt County sheriff and several deputies, the district attorney, a county commissioner, a high- ranking official from the Nevada Highway Patrol, and someone from the state of Nevada Attorney General’s office, along with Andorsen’s armed employees, were all standing around Andorsen’s helicopter, being confronted by two FBI agents! The officials with Andorsen, Patrick noted with shock, were not only not arresting anyone, but were openly protecting and shielding him from federal law enforcement officers!

“You should be getting a call from Washington or the Nevada U.S. District Court any minute now, Special Agent Chastain,” Cunningham called out. “It should straighten this whole ugly incident out right away.”

“I’m warning all of you, drop your weapons and raise your hands!” the agent named Chastain repeated. But it was obvious that he was distracted by something.

“Boys, go ahead and put your guns down so Agent Chastain there can answer his phone,” Andorsen said with