The Uvalde Raider Ben English (good novels to read in english txt) 📖

camera was confiscated on order from a federal honcho who showed up minutes afterwards. Then some high-ranking brass from DPS Headquarters came out and reamed the hapless rookie a new one. He was threatened with anything and everything including being fired and filed upon under some sort of obscure federal government statute. Needless to say, nobody brought a camera with them anymore.

Inside G-Man Land, the Feds had their own checkpoints manned by some sort of uniformed troops armed with M16s, M60 machine guns and no sense of humor. There were also patrols out around the clock, both on foot and by vehicle and on occasion a few were spotted in special protective gear. Heavy equipment, some of which no one had ever seen before, was going into the site and then back out.

There were also numerous tractor trailer rigs with some sort of custom-built vans being used. The units would arrive empty and then leave the scene loaded down with whatever. The License & Weight troops were the first to pick up on this, but they weren’t exactly sure of their purpose.

Meanwhile, the sheriffs of the counties involved were not real happy either. If the DPS troopers felt like they were being kept out of the loop, these local peace officers were being treated like the proverbial mushroom. Their citizens, concerned about what was happening and rattled by wild rumors, were demanding information from the law enforcement agencies they knew best: their county sheriff’s offices. The sheriffs were asking the feds and in turn found themselves summarily ignored, or handed off to public information types who had no real idea themselves of what was occurring.

The maddest of all was the recently elected sheriff of Kendall County. During the critical first minutes of what could have been a major disaster in the making, he and his small department had responded without hesitation to protect their citizens, as well as their county. One of the callers, a nearby rancher, had reported The Uvalde Raider going down and stated he was enroute to the crash scene to see if he could be of any assistance.

On direct orders from the sheriff, a responding deputy veered away from his original route. The peace officer ran through a couple of closed gates and fence lines in determined fashion, cutting across country to intercept the rancher. The end result was one thoroughly trashed example of what had been a new Ford Crown Victoria patrol car, but the deputy had succeeded in stopping the could-be dead man before he had gotten into the danger zone.

Now that same sheriff and his department were being treated like diseased pariahs by the federal authorities. Roy Sharpe had relayed to Micah what transpired in the phone conversations shared with his furious Kendall County counterpart.

“I’d be fighting mad too,” Roy had declared. “He and his men did a crackerjack job, risking their necks and putting themselves out way beyond what anybody could expect.” Sharpe paused and shook his head in admiring frustration. “Not one civilian life lost, not even any injuries.”

The plain-speaking lawman then snorted in disgust. “Hell, the whole outfit deserves some sort of official recognition and the feds treat them like they don’t even exist. Worst thing is, his locals are scared and wanting to know what’s happening out there. But he can’t tell ‘em nothin’ because the feds refuse to say anything to him!”

Bob shook his head again, but this time not for the same reason. “So he’s in the dog house with the folks who elected him to office, the same folks he and his deputies busted their butts for in keeping safe. What a deal…”

The sound of the inner door opening behind him brought Micah back to the present and he turned to see the director himself standing there. “Come on in, Micah, we’ve been talking about you.” The colonel was smiling, but Micah did not know if that meant something good or something bad. He decided to play it as if it was something bad, that way he wouldn’t be disappointed or unpleasantly surprised.

Moving closer together, the two men shook hands and the trooper noted the director’s firm grasp. He also made note that the colonel looked him straight in the eye when he did so. ‘At least it’s not like shaking hands with a dead fish,’ Micah thought. ‘And he don’t have that look of one eye on a snake and the other one looking for a stick to beat it with.’

The head of the DPS escorted the highway patrolman into his paneled office, where three other men sat in different chairs. Micah was introduced to each one in turn and also shook hands with them.

Leading out for the three was a large, overweight man with a receding hair line that swept back to a bald spot at the very top of his head. The thinning hair that remained had turned white and contrasted sharply against his ruddy complexion. The near obese fellow wore horn rimmed glasses and dressed in an ill-fitting suit, which made him look more like a seedy lawyer than anything else.

The colonel introduced him to Micah. “This is Mr. Humboldt, he’s in charge overall of the federal recovery efforts where your uncle’s plane went down.”

“Very pleased to meet you, Trooper Templar. Very pleased.” Humboldt smiled broadly and in vigorous fashion pumped Micah’s right arm up and down.

“This is Mr. Wadley,” the colonel continued. “Mr. Wadley is with the FBI, and was sent in from Washington to head up the law enforcement and security angles for the operation.” Micah turned slightly and found himself looking at a thin, pasty fellow who reminded him of an animated caricature of a human ferret.

He instinctively found himself disliking Wadley, a feeling that was only reinforced when the two shook hands. The government bureaucrat had a limp grasp and a clammy feel to the palms, and his hands were too