Dark Money Read online

  “So,” Jack said, “must be that you’ve got a few of those new oil billionaires coming.”

  Walt nodded. “Guest list of two hundred and fifty.”

  “What’s your security?”

  “I’m the team leader of five detail members. Technically, I’m called the lead advance, but I call all the shots. You’ve seen they have a few rent-a-cops. And three off duty Fort Worth officers are lined up. Pretty standard for an event like this.”

  “You expecting trouble?”

  “No, but there will be a lot of politicians here along with all these rich folks, even a United States Senator. Just being cautious.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Another pair of eyes to make sure I haven’t missed anything. You had an eye for spotting problems in Desert Storm. Remember that sniper on the road to Dhahran? Since you’re living in Fort Worth, I wanted you to take a look-see. Let’s head over to the ballroom.”

  The two men walked through the garden and turned the corner of the house. Jack now understood why where they had been sitting was called the little garden. The one they walked through was four times the size of the other with an Olympic pool in the middle and a waterfall cascading from one end. Ten double French doors were open to the autumn air as people swarmed inside and out to make ready for the party. Jack pointed to the wall. “You see the problem there, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. Easy to climb. I’ll have one of the security guards out here all evening. And, I have given orders that these doors are to remain locked. You know what’s beyond the wall?”

  Jack turned around slowly to get his bearings. “Yeah. Woods on the other side, some type of nature preserve. Shady Oaks Country Club is on down the hill.”

  Walt motioned Jack into the ballroom. Jack surveyed it for a moment. He estimated it was a hundred by forty feet. Carpenters were constructing a stage at the end farthest away from the main house, right in front of the ballroom delivery entrance. On the other end there were three double doors that permitted entry through a screened and covered breezeway from the house. A second floor balcony surrounded the ballroom, displaying what Jack presumed were very expensive paintings. Even from the main level he recognized a Rembrandt, a Picasso and several Remington and Russell western classics. He figured that Colby, his girlfriend, could probably have named most of the rest without a program.

  “You going to be able to secure the balcony? I’m sure that Hale would like to show off his collection, but I’d recommend against it.”

  “I’ve made that request. That’s all I can do.”

  Jack studied the four sides of the balcony, the doors and the giant windows. “Big room but a helluva lot of people. I’d put some of your folks up on the balcony. I guess you’ll be with the governor up on the stage once things kick off.”

  “Yeah, me and two of my detail. I’ll have one more at the back of the room.”

  “Thought you said you had five?”

  “You’re right, only we always leave the limo driver out by the governor’s Suburban. It and the follow car will be parked just out the delivery entrance behind the stage. And there’s one more thing. This is a Halloween fundraiser. Everyone is required to come in costume. Masks are encouraged. O’Connell wants to emphasize that no one has to reveal himself or herself after showing credentials and the invitation at the front door.”

  Jack stared at Walt, not sure what to say at first. “Shit, Walt. Everybody in Halloween costumes with, I presume, fake guns and knives and swords. Your metal detectors will be working overtime at the door.”

  Walt shook his head. “No metal detectors. Governor’s a strong right-to-carry guy. He even demanded that people with a permit can carry their guns into the state capitol a while back. Someone has a permit, he wants them to know that guns are okay around him. Hell, he’ll even be armed himself. I gotta tell you, the whole set-up has me a little spooked.” He smiled sheepishly. “No pun intended.”

  “It’s Hale’s house. Couldn’t he overrule the governor?”

  “Could, but won’t. He believes in the Second Amendment just as much as the governor. He is going to permit security at the entrance to ask if a guest has a concealed handgun. That’s it. We can write down a name, but can’t even ask to see the weapon.”

  Jack grabbed a chair from a worker who was wheeling a stack by the two men and sat in the middle of the ballroom, letting it all sink in. “Look, I’m not saying anything is going to happen. Probably everything will go off like clockwork, but you’re looking at potential trouble. Did you try to talk the governor out of attending? Couldn’t you have him on closed circuit on a big screen?”

  “I tried. He and his staff wouldn’t hear of it. Staff said there would be too many big money boys here. He needs to shake their hands in person. It’s one of the most frustrating parts of this job. I get into arguments all the time with his staff about the risks he’s exposing himself to. Waste of time. Security always loses to politics. Hell, he’s even wearing a Lone Ranger outfit and carrying six-shooters on a belt around his waist. And he’s making all of us wear masks and six shooters, too. They’re all real, even the governor’s. I’ve told the detail to still carry their Sigs in shoulder holsters just for good measure. I’ve got an extra mask. You want to attend?”

  “Hell, no.” Jack shook his head. “We plaintiff lawyers are Democrats. I wouldn’t be caught dead around your governor and all those fat cat Republicans. Give me a call in a couple of days and let me know how it went.”

  2

  The young woman with the mane of black hair left the convenience store on the edge of Pecos, Texas, hollering, “I’ll open at seven in the morning.” She was dressed in a form-fitting yellow T-shirt, Wranglers and Nike running shoes. The logo on the T-shirt said, Don’t Mess With A Texas Woman.

  She walked to a dust-covered pickup and was stopped by a lean man, wearing a pearl-button cowboy shirt, jeans and boots. “Hey there, Miriam. How you doing?” His name was Johnson and he managed to stop by the store for something almost every day when it was her quitting time. “Why don’t you let me buy you a beer before you head out to the compound?”

  “Thanks, Jeb, but my dad called and is waiting for me. Maybe some other time.” She smiled, climbed into her truck and started the engine. Next she tuned the radio to a country station and was pleased to find they were playing songs by Lukas Nelson, one of Willie’s offspring who was developing a name as a country rock singer. She adjusted the volume and pulled out of the driveway, heading her pickup north on U.S. 285. There was nothing visually appealing about her commute. The terrain was flat desert with a few barely discernable low hills. It was covered with a sparse population of shrubs, range grasses, cacti and an occasional mesquite tree that managed to survive with virtually no water.

  When she turned right onto Ranch Road 302, and passed over the county line into Loving County, she was reminded why her father had chosen this desolate corner of the world to establish the compound. The sign at the county line announced Loving County and proclaimed it to be the least populated county in the country. Only eighty-two hardy souls lived in 677 square miles. Of course, that didn’t count those who lived in the compound. They wouldn’t allow census takers past the front gate. If they had, the population might have swelled to around one hundred and thirty.

  When she neared the Pecos River, she turned onto a dirt road and was faced with six foot barb wire fencing and a locked gate. Above the gate was a wooden sign, proclaiming it was the home of THE ALAMO DEFENDERS. Beside the gate, wired to the fence, was another, warning, TRESPASSERS WILL BE KILLED! On a pole to the right of the gate was a flag with a black star, an old cannon and the motto, Come and Take It, a copy of the banner made famous in one of the first battles of the Texas Revolution at Gonzales.

  Miriam Van Zandt dropped to the ground from her pickup, walked to the gate and twirled the combination lock until it clicked. She pushed the gate open, climbed back into her pickup and drove through, stopping on the other side to sh
ut and lock it. About a hundred yards past the gate were the beginnings of a replica of the Alamo. Years before, her father and other defenders had built the façade, complete with four Spanish-style pillars, a large window over the main door, and flanked by four arched windows. They completed the signature scalloped roof line and abandoned the project in the heat of one summer, promising each other every year that they would complete it.

  Down the road was a shooting range, suitable for a small army post. Across from the range were a three level ropes course and a shed where weights of various sizes were scattered among benches on a concrete floor in the shade. All were well maintained and obviously regularly used. As Miriam approached the Pecos River, she saw her father’s double-wide with multiple single and double-wide trailers positioned haphazardly within a hundred yards of her father’s trailer. Her own single-wide sat over closer to the river under a lone scrub oak that managed to survive within a few yards of the Pecos. In the center of the compound was a building with a gabled tin roof and concrete block walls. Antennas of multiple shapes and sizes dotted the roof. A sign over the front porch stated it was the Town Hall. A small window unit whined and cried as it struggled to keep the temperature inside below eighty-five.

  Her father was Richard Van Zandt, who called himself Colonel. He had bought this barren hundred acres years before with the help of a Texas veterans land program. He also readily accepted a monthly disability payment for injuries he suffered in Vietnam. Otherwise, he wanted nothing to do with any government, local, state or federal. After he bought the land and moved his double-wide to it, he placed a much smaller sign beside the dirt road at its intersection with the highway, the first announcement that this was now the home of The Alamo Defenders. Over the years he had attracted a group of about forty men and women, along with a few children who were homeschooled at the Town Hall. Some with similar beliefs sought him out. Some drifted by in old pickups and meandered in, having no place better to go. And, there were others who were wanted by the law and saw The Alamo Defenders as a way to avoid arrest. The Colonel interviewed anyone who showed up at his doorstep. Few were turned away. Once he approved a new member, he arranged for a down payment on a used trailer in Pecos. When the fracking boom hit, most of the men had caught on with oil companies in the Permian basin.

  As the small band of rebels grew, he called them together on Sunday morning, not for a prayer service but to rant about the ways that the government was invading lives of ordinary people, reinforcing his beliefs that the day would come when they would be attacked by the feds and they must be prepared to defend themselves like Colonel Travis and his small band of Texans did at the Alamo.

  Miriam had been the product of a brief encounter with a barmaid in Pecos. When she was born, her mother appeared at the compound, as Van Zandt now called it, handed the infant to him and left for California. At least, that’s what she said. Van Zandt named her after his mother. Having no idea how to raise a daughter, he turned to two women who lived in the compound with their husbands. They showed him how to prepare formula, feed Miriam, change her diapers, and such. Once he caught on to the basics, he thanked them for their help and took over his daughter’s care. Having no roadmap to raise a girl, he treated her as a boy. He put a .22 rifle in her hands when she was five and taught her to shoot, first at beer cans and later they ventured into the desert, shooting rats and other varmints. She was homeschooled to shield her from any liberal influences that might come from the outside. He was determined to teach her his ways. And he was successful. As Miriam grew older, her dad took her on hunting trips to the Davis Mountains to the west. Deer, bobcats, and an occasional mountain lion or bear were their prey. She could kill a deer running full speed at a hundred yards with one shot. In fact, she knew she would incur her father’s wrath if it took a second. The ropes course was originally designed for Miriam. At first, it consisted of a tightrope strung two feet off the ground between two posts. As she grew so did the course.

  Other than leaving the compound to work, the men were like Colonel Van Zandt; they, too, insisted on being left alone. They spent their free time at the firing range or on the ropes course. As the compound passed its thirtieth year, they had assembled an armory of weapons. Most of the defenders were crack shots with all of them. The ropes course and weight shed were used to hone their strength, coordination and agility. They expected that some government force would raid their compound, if not this year, then the next or the next. They would be ready, just like the defenders of the Alamo. Come and Take It!

  Miriam spotted her father, rocking on the front porch of the Town Hall. A ceiling fan languidly revolved above him, doing little to cut the scorching air that permeated the compound and nearly every square inch of land within a hundred miles. A shotgun leaned on the wall beside him. Van Zandt was lean with blue eyes that peered through bushy, gray brows and a messy beard that covered his face and dangled down to his overalls. Periodically, he would lean over and spit tobacco juice into a Styrofoam cup. When he saw Miriam’s pickup park in front of him, she had barely turned off the engine before he said, “Baby girl, come over here and sit. I think I have a job for you.”

  Miriam took a bottle of water from the center console and walked to her father where she bent over to give him a kiss on the cheek before settling into a rocker beside him. She knew what was coming. Since she was sixteen she had been one of the two primary sources of money for weapons. By then she could outshoot any man, take down any of the defenders in a fight by using her quickness and agility to overcome their strength, and run twice as far through the desert as her closest rival. Shortly after her sixteenth birthday, Van Zandt told her he had a proposition.

  “You’ve been killing since you were five. There’s not an animal that gets in your sights that you don’t bring down with one shot. We need to be adding to our armory. Rifles and shotguns won’t cut it anymore. I’ve been reading about the arsenal of weapons that the FBI, ATF and DEA have at their disposal. I’ve lectured to our defenders about what they did at Ruby Ridge. The feds didn’t hesitate to kill innocent civilians, even children. When they come for us, we might as well be using BB guns. I got a call from a woman in El Paso, someone I knew in my younger days. Not sure how she found my number, but she’s been abused by her husband and wants him killed.”

  “Pa, there’s got to be plenty of hit men in El Paso. Why can’t she use one of them?”

  “The husband’s a rich lawyer. Represents a bunch of the drug dealers. She figures that if she goes to someone local, chances are good it’ll get back to him. She wants someone who can sneak into town and get out without being noticed. It’s worth a hundred grand to us. I’ll set up an account for you in the Caymans. Your share is $25,000. They damn sure won’t be expecting a sixteen year old girl. You have any problem with killing a man?”

  Miriam gazed off into space while she considered the proposition. “I guess not, particularly if he’s a wife beater. Besides, we need the money.”

  Van Zandt nodded. “I’m going to drive you to El Paso. Here’s the plan.”

  Thereafter, once or twice, sometimes three times a year, Van Zandt would get a call from places as far away as California, Florida and New York. He never knew how the word spread, but he certainly didn’t discourage it. And he turned down little jobs. If a caller wasn’t willing to get into six figures, Van Zandt told the caller to look elsewhere. Once he negotiated the money, he chose Miriam or one other sharpshooter in the compound to handle the contract. Over the years Van Zandt had brainwashed his daughter into thinking that killing a human being was no different from killing an animal. Besides, she knew she was helping to fill their armory to aid in withstanding the attack that even she agreed was imminent.

  As she sat beside her father, she already knew the topic of conversation. “What’s up, Pa?”

  “Had a call from an old army buddy of mine. You’ll recall that he’s sent me some jewelry from time to time that I sold to some of the cartel members. In fact I bought those d
iamond earrings for your last birthday from him. He’s like us. Doesn’t like what’s happening in our country. Doesn’t give a damn about the government or any of the politicians. He’s been approached about doing some shooting in Fort Worth at a Republican fundraiser. Wants to know if we’re interested in the job.”

  Miriam stared at the flat horizon where heat waves drifted above the landscape. “I’m listening.”

  “The target’s a rich guy. We may want to create a little collateral damage as a decoy.”

  “What kind of fee did you quote?”

  “$150,000. If you’re interested, you get $50,000. I figure that we’ll use the rest to keep stocking up on more ammo before Obama shuts down all the gun dealers. The day’s shortly coming when we’ll need all we can get our hands on.”

  “Why not one of the guys on this one?”

  “Miriam, we’ve talked about this before. You’re the best pistol shot we have. Anything you get in your sights within fifteen yards is done for. And this shindig is indoors. Figure you won’t be more than ten, fifteen, twenty feet from the target. Besides, a woman’s less likely to be noticed.”

  Miriam stood to face her father. “Look, old man, I know you’re holding back. You say $150,000, and I can see it in your eyes. There’s more. At least $200,000, maybe three. I want a hundred grand. You do that, and then we’ll talk specifics.”

  Van Zandt was silent while he mulled through the numbers.

  Finally, Miriam spoke. “Pa?”

  “You have a deal. The money will be wired to my account in the Caymans ten days or so before Halloween. I’ll wire your share as soon as the money hits. You can check it yourself before you take off for Fort Worth. Come over to my trailer and let’s take a look at Google Earth. I’ve already zoomed in on this mansion.”

  Van Zandt’s trailer was surprisingly neat. The kitchen was spotless. Books on warfare lined a bookcase against one wall. His computer was open on the kitchen table.