Part 6 (2/2)

Juanita turned her attention to the chief of her Department of Public Safety and his close cohort, Jeffrey Nagy, the Senior Captain of the Texas Rangers, a bejowled and utterly humorless looking man.

”We're following it, Governor. Company F”-the Waco-based Ranger company-”has Sergeants Akers and Guttierez on site twenty-four hours a day.”

”Is that Johnson Akers? The The Johnson Akers?” asked Schmidt. Johnson Akers?” asked Schmidt.

Surprisingly, Nagy smiled, his previously humorless face brightening as the sun brightened the lonesome Texas prairie; his smile a match for Schmidt's own. ”Yeah...him.”

”What am I not getting?” Juanita enquired.

PGSS Headquarters, Dei Gloria Mission, Waco, Texas

The tall, thin to the point of emaciated, civilian-dressed man drew no interest from anyone present. His white ten-gallon hat perched back on his head shouted ”Yokel!” to everyone present. That he had as open, kind and friendly a face as one might ever hope to see only confirmed the impression.

And indeed, Sergeant Johnson Akers, Texas Rangers, was was every bit as open and friendly and kind as his face portrayed. every bit as open and friendly and kind as his face portrayed.

He was also a stone-cold killer; nerveless, unstoppable, impossible-to-intimidate. In all the history of the Texas Rangers and their higher headquarter, the Texas Department of Public Safety, only one man had ever won the Medal of Valor twice.

That man, with his open, gentle, kindly, grandfather's face, sat quietly under his ten-gallon hat, keeping careful track of every federal law enforcement agent, detachment and observer on site...and reporting the same to his chief.

What few knew, outside of the Rangers, was that Sergeant Akers had won both medals in the course of saving children.

Sister Sofia sat on a rocking chair surrounded by the twenty-six children of the mission aged twelve and under. (The older ones were either guarding the mission's thick adobe walls, doing necessary work to keep the operation running, or being trained by Father-as best he could under the circ.u.mstances-on the dozen rifles and two night vision scopes sent by Schmidt.) The delivery of two and a half tons of canned and dried food had, to a degree, alleviated Sofia's concerns in the commissary department-though re-hydrating Army ”B”-rations had proven problematic to people who had never seen them. Nonetheless, food was food, even if it sometimes crunched when you bit it.

Still, the possibility-she could not not bring herself to think ”probability” let alone ”certainty”-of a federal a.s.sault on the mission set her stomach to churning and brought tears to her eyes. Her innocent little ones under fire? No. Never. It was unthinkable. bring herself to think ”probability” let alone ”certainty”-of a federal a.s.sault on the mission set her stomach to churning and brought tears to her eyes. Her innocent little ones under fire? No. Never. It was unthinkable.

So she led the children in songs, mostly but not entirely of a religious nature, while the elders, in many cases the teenaged parents, stood to and prepared for the worst.

”Now if worst comes to worst and they get over the wall we fall back to the main chapel,” Montoya instructed his boys. Miguel looked to the chapel behind him and nodded understanding. He thought, Father's plan is a good one. From behind the wall only those exposing themselves can shoot at us. And unless they come over in a huge group we will outnumber them. From underneath the central water tank, Julio-who is a better shot than I will ever be-can take care of any tower they might put up to snipe at us. If they use tanks there are the ”special” bottles Father's plan is a good one. From behind the wall only those exposing themselves can shoot at us. And unless they come over in a huge group we will outnumber them. From underneath the central water tank, Julio-who is a better shot than I will ever be-can take care of any tower they might put up to snipe at us. If they use tanks there are the ”special” bottles.

Miguel referred not to flammable Molotov c.o.c.ktails but to bottles of household ammonia, good for taking out any tank in the world. This was not only true if the tank had an air filtration system, but especially if it had an air filtration system. Ammonia molecules were smaller than oxygen molecules. They would pa.s.s through any filter that would pa.s.s oxygen through. The bottles were positioned around the mission's adobe wall.

Miguel spared a surrept.i.tious glance at hidden position and emplacements. The police have no clue about the weapons; all we are letting them see are the old ones we had. We have a chance.

”Gas!” Montoya announced, half unexpectedly. The boys immediately started fumbling with their c.u.mbersome, clumsy face masks as the priest counted off, ”One thousand, two thousand...”

Sergeant Akers walked off alone and made a cell phone call directly to the Chief. ”Captain Nagy? Boss, there's nearly a thousand feds here. Twelve from the FBI's Hostage Rescue Team. Thirty-seven from BATF. About nineteen from the Department of Justice. A hundred man maintenance and support team for the armored vehicles Fort Hood loaned them. They have about thirty-five cooks with them. Four 'observers' from...well, I think think they're from Delta. You know, the Special Forces types? Act that way, anyway. Arrogant folks, you know? Then there's two full companies from the Secret Service. Over four hundred in that crew. Plus there are two more companies of riot control troops from the Office of the Surgeon General. Oh... they're from Delta. You know, the Special Forces types? Act that way, anyway. Arrogant folks, you know? Then there's two full companies from the Secret Service. Over four hundred in that crew. Plus there are two more companies of riot control troops from the Office of the Surgeon General. Oh...and something like twenty-one folks toting guns from the Environmental Protection Agency. No, sir. No, I haven't a clue what EPA thinks they're doing here.” something like twenty-one folks toting guns from the Environmental Protection Agency. No, sir. No, I haven't a clue what EPA thinks they're doing here.”

”Yessir. Tell the governor. Forty-eight hours. No more. In forty-eight hours the feds will a.s.sault.”

Grimly, Akers shut off his own phone, closed the cover, and contemplated a dilemma he had never thought to confront.

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 guns.h.i.+ps 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 guns.h.i.+ps.”

Juanita shuddered at the image that came unbidden of an armored vehicle crus.h.i.+ng 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.

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