Remember The Alamo (25 page)

"No, ma'am, those are some of the people who fought back
against the terror-"

I said they're in the Alamo." The words came out between
clenched teeth. "Those are the people who are responsible for
disrupting a peaceful ceremony and causing a riot that left
more than a dozen people dead"

Hamilton shook her head. "Begging your pardon, ma'am,
but I don't think you understand. According to all the reports
we're getting from the local authorities and others on the
scene, some of those Mexican terrorists who call themselves
Reconquistadores were scattered throughout the crowd, and
they opened fire first. The men who wound up seeking shelter in the Alamo simply fought back against them"

The president's gaze was intense as she said, "No, Louise,
you don't understand. There were no Reconquistadores. This
was a protest by fanatical, right-wing extremists that got out of
hand. The Mexicans were simply trying to protect themselves
from violent opponents of diversity and multiculturalism and
international cooperation. Do you understand now?"

Conflicting emotions warred within the director of the FBI.
She sympathized with the president's position on just about
every issue under the sun; that was why she now occupied the
job she did.

But during her long career she had been a prosecutor on the local, state, and finally federal level. She had her eye on the
position of attorney general one of these days. Despite politics, she was part of the legal system and had been for years,
and in theory, that meant she was more interested in the truth
than anything else.

And the truth in this case, at least according to everything
she had seen so far, was that the Mexicans were responsible
for this atrocity, just as they had been responsible for the
killing of those Border Patrol agents and the massacre at the
VFW picnic. It was the same bunch all over again.

And yet, the president didn't want to blame this on Mexico
or Mexicans and risk further damage to the relationship between the two countries. Hamilton could understand that.
Theory was one thing, practicality was another. And image. .
. well, to people like the president and those who believed the
same way she did, image was everything. Perception trumped
reality every time.

"Of course I understand, ma'am," Hamilton said in a brisk
voice. "The criminals who are hiding in the Alamo are to
blame for this."

The president nodded. "Exactly."

After all, Hamilton thought, even though she didn't know
the identities of the men inside the Alamo just yet, chances
were that most of them were white, middle-aged males.

Everything had to be their fault. It was an immutable law
of the universe.

"You know what you have to do now," the president went on.

Hamilton nodded and said, "Of course"

The first step would be to come up with a way to silence
anyone who wasn't telling the story the way the president
wanted it told....

"Oh, my God! Phil!"

Being as careful as possible, Dave had lowered Phil to the
floor of the Alamo, placing him on his side because the wound
was in his back, and now Evelyn Harlow dropped to her knees
beside him. She said, "Is he ... ?"

"He's hit, and he just passed out, but he's still alive." Dave
got to his feet. "Stay here with him. I'll be right back."

Several members of the group now defending the Alamo
were doctors. They rode with Dave in Freedom's Guard.
People thought of bikers as bums and criminals, but most of
the ones Dave rode with were highly educated, successful
professionals, doctors and lawyers and accountants and
teachers.

He found Matt Stone near the rear door of the Alamo and
said, "Doc, we've got a wounded man up front"

Stone nodded. "There were supposed to be medical supplies hidden in here along with the food and the guns. I'll
rustle them up and be there in a minute."

Dave walked through the long main room of the chapel. It
was quiet in here. With the high ceiling, noises should have
echoed more than they did. Something about the place caused a natural hush in the air, though. The fact that it had started out
as a church, maybe. The memory of all the men who had died
here, defending liberty. You walked and talked quiet in the
Alamo because ... well, because it was the Alamo. Over there
was the little chamber where Jim Bowie had lain in his bed, a
brace of cocked pistols in his hands and his famous knife
beside him, waiting for death. Over here Davy Crockett might
have stood, grinning and cracking jokes and spinning yarns to
entertain his fellow defenders and take their minds off the fact
that they were all doomed to die. Somewhere in here William
Barret Travis had written his famous letter before going out to
draw a line in the sand with his sword, and Dave didn't care
how many liberal professors and historical revisionists said
otherwise because he knew damned well that it had happened
because that was the sort of men those defenders had been.
This really was sacred ground.

When he got back to the vestibule, he knelt next to Phil and
Evelyn and asked, "How is he?"

"He's bleeding too much," she said in a ragged, scared
voice. "He's going to die."

Dave shook his head. "You don't know how stubborn he
is, or how strong. He'll make it because he's too blasted contrary to do otherwise."

Tears shone in Evelyn's eyes as she looked at him. "I hope
you're right."

Doc Stone arrived a moment later carrying a medical bag.
He told Dave to move back and give him some room, then
knelt and cut away Phil's shirt to reveal the red-rimmed hole
in his back surrounded by thickening blood.

"No exit wound," Stone said. "The bullet's still inside him
somewhere. If it didn't hit a rib and bounce around a lot, there
might not be too much damage" He swabbed away some of
the blood with a clean cloth, then slid a long metal probe into
the wound. A satisfied smile appeared on his face. "The slug only penetrated a couple of inches. It must have been a ricochet that had lost most of its power. It was just bad luck Phil
got hit at all, and good luck that it's not any worse than it is."

"But all that blood," Evelyn said.

"It's a messy wound, all right," Stone agreed, "but if I can
get that bullet out of there and disinfect the wound, he ought
to be fine."

"Thank God," Evelyn breathed.

Stone continued working on Phil. Dave got to his feet and
left the doctor to that task. He started around the inside of the
chapel, checking on the other men. There were a few minor
wounds being tended to by the other medics, but nothing as
serious as Phil's.

Dave came up to John Howard Stark and Edward Mahone,
who were talking together in low voices. They stood next to a
large glass case that contained a detailed diorama of the battle
that had taken place in 1836.

Dave wondered idly if sometime in the future anyone would
ever do a diorama of the battle that had occurred today, out
there in Alamo Plaza....

Mahone said, "John Howard and I were just talking about
the fact that we'll have to communicate with the outside somehow, and probably before too much longer."

"And here's the fella who needs to do the talking," Stark
said with a nod toward Mahone. "Folks are going to pay
attention to the director of the FBI"

"Former director," Mahone said with a chuckle. "I resigned,
remember? My name is pretty much mud in Washington these
days, I imagine."

Dave said, "People around the country know your name,
Mr. Mahone. And I'd be willing to bet that most of them still
respect you"

Mahone's broad shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. "We'll find out, I suppose. I don't mind doing the talking when the
time comes-"

As if on cue, a telephone rang somewhere.

Dave, Stark, and Mahone turned toward a long wooden
counter on one side of the room. This was an information desk
behind which some of the Alamo volunteers would normally
be working. Pamphlets and folders on stand-up displays were
arranged on its smooth wooden surface. And obviously there
was a phone behind the counter somewhere, because that was
where the ringing came from. The shrill noise, such an insistent reminder of modern-day life, sounded very out of place in
the hushed confines of the old chapel.

Dave, Stark, and Mahone walked behind the counter. A
cordless phone and its base sat on a shelf below the counter.
Mahone scooped up the phone, thumbed the button to answer
it, and held it to his ear. "Yes?"

After a moment, he went on. "Of course I know who you
are, Chief. We've met on several occasions. This is Edward
Mahone.... Yes, former Director Mahone" He put his other
hand over the phone and whispered to Dave and Stark, "The
chief of police."

He listened for a moment, then said, "I can tell you what
I'm doing in here, Chief. I'm one of the men who are now
holding the Alamo to insure that it's not turned over to
terrorists.... Yes, I am serious. Completely serious. The
Alamo is still under the control of Texans, as it should be ""

Dave and Stark glanced at each other and smiled as they
heard the sputtering and cursing that came from the man on
the other end of the phone connection. The chief of police
wasn't taking the news well.

"No, we won't be coming out any time soon," Mahone continued. "Demands? We don't have any real demands. We're
just here to protect the Alamo, that's all. As soon as that ridiculous idea of giving it back to Mexico has been done away with, we won't have any reason to be here anymore.... I believe
you'll find that we haven't broken any laws. Every man in here
has a permit to carry concealed weapons, and I'm sure that a
thorough investigation of the incident in Alamo Plaza will
show that we acted in a lawful manner to protect our lives and
the lives of others.... It was those Mexican terrorists, those
Reconquistadores-"

Mahone stopped short and drew in a deep, shocked breath.
His face set in lines of anger. "What? You can't be serious!
Everyone saw-"

"Uh-oh," Dave said under his breath to Stark. "That doesn't
sound good"

"That's a lie and you know it, Chief," Mahone snapped into
the phone. "Check with your officers who were actually out
there in the middle of it. They'll tell you a different story, a
much different story, I assure you.... All right. We'll talk
again."

He punched the button to break the connection, then turned
to Dave and Stark.

"What is it, Ed?" Stark asked.

"The chief has officially called on us to lay down our
weapons, come out of the Alamo, and surrender peacefully."

Dave shook his head. "Ain't gonna happen until they tell us
that the Reconquistadores won't be taking over the Alamo."

"The treaty Mayor Alvarez signed gave control of the
Alamo to the Mexican government," Mahone pointed out.

Dave grunted. "Government, Reconquistadores, all the
same thing. The Mexican military and the drug cartel are in on
it, too. They're all tied together and all corrupt, as big a bunch
of crooks as you'll ever find anywhere"

"I got a feeling Ed hasn't told us the worst of it yet," Stark
said.

"That's right," Mahone said with a nod. "There's bound to be a television in this place, somewhere back in one of
the offices."

Alerting everyone to be on their guard, the three men
looked around until they found a small room in the back of the
chapel. It still had the thick adobe walls of all the other chambers, but the rest of it had been redone into a modern office. It
looked odd to Dave's eyes to see computers, printers, filing
cabinets, and a television set here in the Alamo.

Mahone turned on the TV and flipped through a couple of
channels before it became obvious there was no point in doing
that. The same story was on all the channels. Only the talking
heads were different.

"-are being told now that despite the earlier rumors, what
happened at the Alamo this afternoon was not a terrorist
attack, as originally thought. Government sources are now
telling us that this was a riot brought on by right-wing protesters who objected to the goodwill gesture of returning control
over the Alamo to Mexico for the weekend"

"That's a damned lie!" Dave burst out. Mahone motioned
him to an angry silence.

"Violence broke out when the protesters, who had smuggled guns into the event, began shooting at police officers. The
resulting battle left numerous people wounded, and there are
reports of upwards of a dozen fatalities. After sparking this
riot, the right-wing extremists forced their way into the Alamo,
where they have barricaded themselves and threaten to kill
more people unless their demands are met"

Dave felt the hot sting of tears of fury and frustration in his
eyes. "How can they say those things?" he demanded. "None of
it is true. They didn't say anything about the Reconquistadores!"

"Spin control," Mahone said.