True Allegiance

A head. The head, more specifically, of one Lieutenant Jeff Jefferds. Jefferds, a member of the Texas National Guard, had been imprisoned in Mexico for months, held by the authorities there. Aside from a small group of activists, Jefferds had been all but abandoned after his imprisonment; the Mexican government claimed he’d driven across the border loaded down with weapons. He claimed it was all a big misunderstanding, that he’d been going hunting and made a wrong turn. His history of mental illness didn’t help him much on that score.

Now the holes in his head that used to hold eyes stared through Ellen. Written on his forehead in blue ink was one word: “TERRORISTA.” She held back the urge to vomit.

She turned away, thinking. It was a genius move, she concluded: so offensive that there would have to be some response from the Texas government, a crime directed not at the national government but at an individual claimed by the Mexican government to be a criminal. It played directly to Davis’s soft spot: abandonment. He’d want to retaliate. He’d want to push across the border into Ciudad Juarez. And Prescott would want no part of it, not while he was still trying to woo the president of Mexico to endorse his job creation plan, and not while he had the entire world unifying around him.

Her cell phone rang.

The name flashed across the screen: Bubba.

She picked up.

“I heard about it, Ellen.”

“I’m looking at it right now, Governor.”

“Then you know what we have to do.”

“No, Governor, I don’t,” she said.

“This is America, dammit, not Afghanistan. This shit can’t happen along my border.”

“It’s America’s border, Bubba.”

“But America won’t do shit to protect it. They failed. Now it’s my turn.”

She took a deep breath.

“Governor,” she said, “you do this, and you could be looking at open conflict with Prescott this time. No more playacting. No more excuses.”

“You think he’s going to send his boys down here to shoot at our boys over us killing some drug dealers?”

“I don’t know,” she answered. “But neither do you.”

“Everybody on earth has called the president’s bluff,” said Davis. “Everybody. He’s caved every time. What would make this time different?”

“You,” she answered. “He hates you.”

“That won’t make his cojones any bigger, girl.” He laughed. “This has been coming for a long time. I’m looking forward to seeing some dead criminals for a change.”

The line went dead.

Ellen closed the box softly, walked outside, and looked at the river. “Alea iacta esta,” she whispered. “Damn, damn, damn.”

Soledad

Minot, North Dakota

AIDEN BURST THROUGH THE FRONT door of the cabin, sweating. Soledad stood. As she did, the men inhabiting the cabin stood up, readied for danger. Ezekiel picked up his M4.

“We need to talk,” Aiden said.

Soledad nodded. The men filed out of the living room, into the outdoors. Ezekiel nodded at her. “You need anything, holler. I’ll be outside,” he said.

Aiden collapsed into a broken-down sofa, breathing hard. Then he leaned forward, staring at Soledad.

“We need to go to Detroit,” he said.

“Detroit?” she laughed. “I thought we were staying off the grid, holing up. This is the first time in weeks they haven’t been looking for us. And you want me to take all these men into the heart of the firestorm?”

“I wouldn’t ask it, but Ricky needs my help.”

“You mean that cop? The one who shot the black kid? I heard they just let him off on the radio. They’ll get him out of town.”

Aiden shook his head. “No. They won’t. Those pieces of shit just took over the detention center.”

“They’ll let him out. Probably just shake somebody down.”

“I don’t think so.” He reached forward, picked up her portable radio. They sat, listening to the commercials for carpet cleaner and gold. Then the news came back on. A newscaster, speaking in somber tones, his voice cut by static interference. “The protesters—SHSHSHS—gathered outside the detention center—SHSHSHS—chanting that they want their own trial.” Aiden switched the radio off. “It’s an old-fashioned lynch mob,” he said. “They’re not going home without a head on a pike.”

“Why do you care? Bad shit goes down in this country every day.”

His eyes shifted to the ground. When he looked back at her, his eyes were watery. “We’re friends. He saved my life once.”

“So now you want to return the favor.”

He nodded.

“But this isn’t just about you anymore,” she said. “I’ve got forty guys out there who abandoned everything they had to come out here and try to be left alone. You want me to put them into the middle of a shitstorm.”

“The storm is coming to you.”

“They’re distracted. They’ll leave us alone.”

“For how long?” Aiden grimaced. “I’ll bet Ricky thought they’d leave him alone. That he was doing the right thing. Damn idiot.” Aiden looked at her, his eyes begging. “I don’t know what to tell you, Sole. All I can say is I’m going. If you can help, I’d be grateful. If not… all I can say is thank you for helping me find something I’d been missing.”

“What’s that?”

“A reason to do what I do. To fight.”