Read Online A state of disobedience by Tom Kratman - Free Book Online Page B

of her office. Schmidt lagged behind until all the others had left. Then he quietly closed the door behind them.
    Even before they were alone, the governor had folded her arms across her desk, laid her head upon them, and begun to weep quietly.
    Schmidt hurried to her side, pulling a chair with him as he went.
    Seated beside her, he patted her back affectionately. "Juani, I know how you feel right now. But we have forty-eight hours, no more than that . . . and maybe less. Have you considered calling the President to try to work something out?"
    The shaking of the governor's shoulders subsided somewhat. She lifted her head up, wiped a runny nose with a hand, and sniffled, "She won't take my calls, Jack. Her chief of staff said, 'The President is too busy with the crisis.' But that's horse manure. She wants to make an example of Jorge."
    "Doesn't she care about the kids in there?" asked an incredulous Schmidt. "Her and all her 'it's for the children' crap?"
    * * *

Dei Gloria Mission, Waco, Texas
     
    Johnson Akers would do anything to save a kid. He just couldn't help it. He had never been able to help it. Shoot a criminal? Easy. Take a bullet? He'd done that, too. Anything.  
    "Look, Mister FBI man. Sir, I'm not asking you to risk one of your precious hides getting those kids out. I'll do it."
    The senior FBI man on the scene was as arrogant as any federal agent could be expected to be. From his expensively coiffed hair to his Pierre Cardin shoes to the tailored Italian suit in between, he portrayed an image of anal retentiveness difficult to equal. Even the high-fashion Gucci shoulder holster, which his suit successfully failed to hide, reeked of the proper FBI image.
    What the man was not, however, was a child killer. His orders left little doubt that the priest was to die. They gave no indication that the kids must as well.
    He looked over Akers—from his ten-gallon hat to his string tie to his faded denims and cowboy boots. Something about the old man must have struck a cord. Slowly the agent nodded agreement. "Okay, Sergeant Akers. You can try. I'll pass the word."
    "Thank you, sir," said Akers . . . and really seemed to mean the "sir" this time.
    * * *
    "Padre, there's a man at the front gate. Says he's with the Texas Rangers."
    "Is he alone, Miguel?"
    "Si, Padre. We used a little mirror to check over the wall and around the door. Nobody but him."
    With a fatalistic, and yet slightly hopeful, shrug, the priest walked to the gate. "What can I do for you?" he asked.
    "Is this Father Montoya?" Akers queried.
    "Yes. And you would be?"
    "Sergeant Johnson Akers. Texas Rangers. F Company. I've come for the kids if you will let them out, Father."
    An old memory tugged at the priest. He hesitated a moment or two, straining to remember. When memory struck, his face split in a wide, happy grin, his decision already made.
    "Sure, Sergeant. Can you give me a little time to get them ready? And how do I know it isn't a trick to get the gate open?"
    Akers voice was deadly serious. "I don't play games where children's lives are at stake, Padre."
    "No. I suppose you don't. Thirty minutes?"
    "Thirty minutes will be fine. I'll just wait right here." Akers leaned against the mission wall calmly, struck a match against it, and proceeded to smoke away the time.
    * * *
    "Oh, Sister, wait . . . just a minute . . . please?"
    Sofia's face showed how she was torn. "Won't you please go with him, Elpi? You don't have to stay here."
    The girl set her own face in grim determination. "I will not leave the padre." Her grim face melted as she hugged her infant son to her breast for what she was certain would be the last time. Tears welling, she very reluctantly passed the boy over to the arms of Sister Sofia.
    "Please take good care of him, Sister. Please."
    "Hush child. You know I will."
    It had not been without difficulty that Montoya had persuaded the sister to leave the mission with the infants. Ultimately, though, his reasoning had