Special Agent Page 24

  “Yes sir,” said agent Sheffield, as he exited the vehicle.

  Fifty-One

  Shortly after Unit two had disappeared into the night, a set of headlights appeared behind us, pulled over and cut the lights. Doug got out of our big black SUV with the government plates and walked back to the pickup designated Unit four, driven by Texas Ranger Sergeant Formby.

  Looking back, I could just barely see Doug talking quietly with the Ranger.

  When Doug came back and climbed into the passenger seat, he told the driver we should head back to Tyler.

  “What did you say to Sergeant Formby?” I asked him.

  “I just told him losing our subject wasn’t his responsibility. There was no way to predict he would be stopped by local Sheriff’s deputies. He handled it well, and didn’t tip them off that he was following Watkins. He may have saved Gary’s life.”

  “It was a good thing to do, Doug. I’ll bet the Ranger really feels bad about how it turned out. I’m sure he appreciates you telling him it wasn’t his fault.”

  He shrugged and said. “Yeah, well the ultimate responsibility rests with me, anyway.”

  “I still believe it will all work out.”

  “You would,” he mumbled.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Do you still think you have a direct line to that god of yours? Are you a prophet who can predict what happens next? I don’t think so. Nothing has gone according to plan. At the moment, we are up the proverbial creek, without the proverbial paddle.”

  I didn’t bother to respond.

  Clearly, SAIC Doug Booker was in no mood to hear the truth.

  We drove on in silence for a little while, until Doug spoke up.

  “The thing I don’t get about you religious types is why you always figure you know some secret that normal, healthy people don’t know.”

  “What do you mean when you say ‘normal, healthy people’?” I asked him.

  “Well, clearly your belief in some sort of god is irrational, magical thinking, and if it isn’t complete insanity, it’s certainly delusional.”

  “Hold on, are you saying you think all people who believe in God are insane?”

  “Of course, the evidence is irrefutable. You live in a fantasy world peopled by angels and spirits and who knows what. You think there is some sort of outside force directing the course of world events. You believe there is a higher law than our government or any government. Am I right or wrong?”

  “Are you right or are you wrong? That’s not a simple question to answer, Doug.”

  “Oh come on. You people are always pointing out what you think is wrong in our society. You hate homosexuals. You hate people who live any lifestyle you think is libertine. You hate our government for not supporting your twisted religious intolerance. I asked you a simple question. Is what I said about your beliefs accurate or is it completely wrong.”

  “Why are you attacking me?”

  “Oh, do you feel as if you’re being attacked? Maybe you should consult with a mental health professional.”

  “You’ve made some rather inflammatory statements. You’ve accused me of hating any number of people. Where is the evidence of that?”

  “The thing is this, anybody who has to believe in some kind of imaginary God, who will judge them someday, has to believe in that, in order to have any kind of morality - is a seriously sick and deranged human being. All decent people know the difference between right and wrong. We all have an inherent conscience. You religious types are the ones who are screwed up.”

  “I’m aware people have a conscience. I believe God has endowed all people with a conscience. But everyone also rationalizes and is subject to self-deceit. Everyone thinks they’re right and anyone who disagrees with them is wrong. This leads to pride and resentfulness, rage and hatred, strife, even murder. If the only standard we recognize is one we find within ourselves, we will find ourselves violating even that. We allow all sorts of desires and attitudes to get the best of us. We find ourselves doing and saying things in violation of our own conscience and must therefore judge ourselves as guilty of sin. We can’t do the right thing, even if we all agreed on what was right, which we most certainly do not. We all fail and we all fall short. It is the very definition of sin. That’s why God sent Jesus to redeem us and give us a new life.”

  “Your insanity is showing. You really don’t get it. We’re all just a collection of carbon based molecules. That’s it and that’s all. You live, you die, and you are forgotten. All that Jesus stuff…? If he ever existed, he was just a guy who claimed he was God, and you people blindly believe the whole mythology. I’ve got news for you, buddy. The Bible was written by men, a bunch of bigoted-dead-men. You people treat that book like it was literally the word of God. WAKE UP! There is no God, You people have attempted to stop every move our government makes to improve our society into a more integrated and healthy community. You opposed gay marriage. You talk about love and morality. You people are always up on some high horse preaching morality, while you’re visiting whores on the side.”

  I wasn’t shocked by his open animosity, but I was offended by his personal accusations.

  “You’re right, the Bible was written by men, forty of them, over the course of about fifteen hundred years. They wrote it in three different languages, probably on three different continents. Isn’t it interesting that not only did they manage to maintain a continuous spiritual narrative and accurately record history, but they also accurately predicted future events?

  “That’s BS. Silly stories about giants and floods were told by all kinds of ignorant people.”

  “Hmmm, and that proves, what?”

  “It proves the Bible is all a bunch of Jewish fairy tales.”

  “If I told you someone had written a prophecy; a man would be born in Eureka, California, the son of a Pentecostal preacher and an alcoholic mother. He would attend university and lose his fiancée to terrorists on 9/11, and then become an FBI Special Agent, who would eventually serve in Tyler, Texas. How many people do you know who might fit that prophecy?”

  “You son of a bitch! Who told you all that?”

  “What makes you think I was talking about you? Those were only six points of prophecy and we arrived at - you. You and you alone, fit the prophetic detail. In the whole world and in all of history only you fit the profile, with six little points of prophecy. In your case, no one ever wrote that prophesy. Jesus fulfilled more than eighty points of written prophecy. That’s EIGHTY. Would you like to calculate the odds of that happening randomly or accidentally? Now, try to calculate the odds of one carpenter’s son being able to deliberately fulfill all eighty, including his own birth, or of even knowing about those prophecies. I’ll bet you don’t know very many of the prophecies about the Messiah, and you’ve had access to everything ever written on the subject.”

  “Again, how do you know all that?”

  “What about the historical accuracy of the Bible.”

  “Big deal, they got some things right, somebody had to record some of those events. It just happened to be a bunch of Jews who did the writing. Some of it is clearly wrong. You’re one of those stupid people who believe the earth is only six thousand years old. You’ll believe anything at all. You people are a detriment to world progress. You can’t stand the thought that science continues to disprove your myths. You hate people who are smarter than you.”

  “Doug, I never said I thought the world was only six thousand years old. You are attacking me and generalizing me into a group you refer to as ‘you people’. You keep accusing me of hatred. If you’re speaking to me about my attitudes and behavior, where is the evidence? I don’t hate anyone. I have never said anything to you that was judgmental or unfair. Honestly, Doug, I think you have some animosity you’re directing at me without provocation.”

  He was silent for a moment.

  “Maybe, but you’re still a religious nut-job,” he mumbled.

  “Doug, I apologize if I’ve said some
thing that offended you. Even if I am what you would call a religious nut-job, I really didn’t intend any offense.”

  “Don’t worry about it. The day is coming when you people won’t even have a voice.”

  Doug’s hatred for people of faith was palpable. I thought about his last statement. While it was chilling, he was partly right and partly wrong.

  Doug seemed to think that at some point in the not so distant future, all religious people would be marginalized or even silenced. He was right about the fact that Christians will be removed. What he didn’t seem to comprehend was that there are all sorts of religions at work in this world.

  Doug didn’t realize it, but he was himself a religious person. His was a religion that worshipped intellect and reason, believing he was a superior human being. In effect, Doug was worshipping himself. Other people worship dolphins and deer and the other living things found in nature. Some people worship the planet, mother earth. Others worship science, replacing the Creator with the worship of creation. Some people believe in alien life forms and worship unknown entities in the cosmos. Some worship at the altar of wealth and power, and some worship lady luck and four leaf clovers. Fame and celebrity are worshipped, as are the famous celebrities themselves. Many of the older, darker religions still have practitioners. Everybody practices some kind of religion, even atheists, who are fundamentalists about not believing. Firmly believing there is no God, and putting all their faith, hope and trust in that notion.

  What Doug couldn’t begin to understand was that all people are religious in some way. Evil has distorted man’s natural desire to worship our Creator, and replaced it with a constellation of counterfeits.

  Doug was wrong if he thought all religious people would be silenced. Once the Christians are gone, there will still be plenty of religious people on the earth. Evil will have a field day with religious people. Even with people like Doug.

  I was hoping to change the subject and get Doug to re-focus on the task at hand

  “We sure don’t want to underestimate these guys. The RAGs had a good plan to prevent unwanted attention, didn’t they? That road block in the middle of nowhere was smart. Watkins did a really good job of trying to ensure he wasn’t followed. Don’t you think?” I observed.

  Doug didn’t answer me. He was lost in his own dark thoughts.

  It was almost eight o’clock as we came back to Tyler. Doug shook himself and turned around to look at me.

  “Do you want to come to my office and wait to hear what has become of Gary, or can we drop you off somewhere?”

  “He’ll call me the minute he gets an opportunity. Don’t you want to hear what he has to say?”

  “You’re rather optimistic aren’t you? We don’t even know if he’s alive.”

  “There’s no reason to believe he isn’t.

  “Have it your way.” Doug looked over at the driver. “Eugene, take us through a fast food place. We’ll get something to hold body and soul together. It could be a long night.”

  For the first time in the day, I thought I saw FBI agent Eugene Green, smile.

  Fifty-Two

  A little after nine o’clock, Unit two reported there was activity at the abandoned Stuckey’s parking lot. A pickup truck pulled in and dropped Gary off. A quick check showed it was Watkins.

  A couple of minutes later, my phone rang.

  “Hey, Gary, I understand Watkins just dropped you off. How did the meeting go?”

  “Wow, the Feds are amazing. Even though I knew I was being followed, I could never be sure. Watkins was taking all sorts of precautions, so I was afraid the feds had lost me. I was watching pretty closely but I couldn’t spot a tail.”

  “Yeah, they know what they’re doing. I’m here with Doug, I’ll put you on speaker and you can tell us about the meeting.”

  “Hello, Gary, I’m glad things went smoothly for you. Tell us about the meeting.” Doug said.

  There was a moment of silence before Gary replied.

  “I’m guessing y’all got stopped by that roadblock, didn’t you?”

  Doug and I looked at each other.

  “Yes we did, Gary. We couldn’t risk trying to get past it. We didn’t want to put you in any more danger.” Doug replied.

  “So, you have no idea where the meeting took place, do you?”

  “We searched the area pretty diligently, but unfortunately no, we couldn’t find the meeting location. Tell us about it.” Doug repeated.

  “Well, it was in an old, unoccupied farm house. It’s well off the road, down a long dirt driveway. All the vehicles were parked in the empty hay barn and behind the house. You couldn’t have seen any of that from the road.”

  “We had planned to use aerial surveillance, but the weather eliminated the operation.” I said.

  “No problem. All’s well that ends well.”

  “Tell us about the meeting. Who all was at the meeting, Gary?” Doug asked, pointedly.

  “I’m just jerking your chain.” Gary chuckled. “You’ll be glad to know I’m in. They treated me like a full member of the group. At first there were only nine men there. Everybody but me was wearing those digital camouflage BDUs.”

  “Who are they, Gary?” Doug was irritated and it showed.

  “The three guys I met at the first meeting, you remember that guy, Brown? The other two were Tommy Turner and Hollister, plus me and Watkins, and four others. One of those guys was wounded and had his arm in a sling. They did it, Agent Booker. They talked openly about the shooting in Longview and what went wrong. They talked about the failed bombing and everything.” Gary was excited.

  “Did you get any more names?” Doug prompted.

  “Yeah, but just their first names. The four guys who did the shooting were named Jerry, Jim-Bob, Charlie and Edgar. Those deputies who had the road block set up came along later, so there were eleven of us altogether. The deputies were called Joe and Fred.”

  “That’s it, that’s all you got?” Doug asked, somewhat incredulously.

  “Hey, that ain’t exactly nothing. Besides, we did some planning for the next attack. They asked me a lot of questions about explosives. They all knew I had been a fireman and that I had hazmat training.”

  “So, they’re planning another attack?”

  “I just told you that.”

  “Where and when?” Doug asked intently.

  “We’ll meet at the same place. They were pretty focused on talking about explosives and being able to acquire the needed components. There was a lot of discussion about incendiary devices as opposed to shrapnel propellants, you know, pros and cons. They were treating me like I was some kind of expert on the subject, which compared to them, I guess I am.”

  “Did you get any idea about who or what their next target might be?”

  “Not really, no. There was some talk about continuing to strike against the government and legal authorities. They are going to make an announcement of some kind, taking credit for the shooting in Longview.”

  “What kind of announcement. How will they claim responsibility?”

  “They are calling our group the “Righteous Patriot’s Brigade”. There was a lot of heated talk about taking America back from the “mud people”. These are some seriously hard core haters. I’m telling you it’s scary, man.”

  “Could you tell who the leader was?”

  “The two guys who seemed to be in charge were Hollister and Turner, General Hollister and Colonel Turner. Everyone has a military rank. It was pretty casual at first. Then Brown called us to attention and started addressing people by their rank. It was sergeant this and corporal that. Get this, I’m now a sergeant, because I have specialized skills and I’m supposed to be training them on the use of explosives. Brown is a lieutenant. Watkins is a sergeant, and those deputies are also. Everyone else is a corporal. They consider the ordinary members of the RAGs to be foot soldiers, and I got the impression they have plans to use some of them on operations in the future.

  “Did they set a t
ime for the next meeting?”

  “Yep, one week from tonight, same time, same place.”

  “Do you know how to get back to that location?”

  “Maybe, not for sure, Watkins made me put a pillowcase over my head when we got to the roadblock. We were on the road for about five minutes before we made a left turn, then a couple of more minutes to a right turn. Then we made a right turn down a twisting, rough road that it turned out was the driveway. That was the place. It couldn’t have been more than four or five miles from where the roadblock was. I know the general area.”

  “Did you have to wear the pillowcase when you came out of there?”

  “No, but it was dark and we left by a different route. There were no road signs and all that deep woods looks the same in the dark. The next thing I knew we were coming into Gladewater. Then we went south on 271 to I-20, then back to the Stuckey’s lot. I expect they’ll have to give me directions to the next meeting.”

  Doug was studying the satellite image on his tablet, but I could see he wasn’t able to pick out the right property. There were too many possible roads, too many farms and the land was too heavily wooded to be able to make out features like the driveway Gary had described.

  “Gary, you did a great job tonight. Is there anything else you can tell us that might be useful? Did they have any weapons or explosives stored there” I asked him.

  “No. other than some cheap folding chairs and a big RAGs flag on the wall, the building was completely empty. I think pretty much everyone except me was armed, but there weren’t any weapons being stored there. They want me to start gathering the materials to put together some explosives. They want me to show them how to build bombs.”

  “When do they expect you to do that?” Doug asked

  “At the next meeting, that’s when I’m supposed to show them how to make explosives.”

  “How many more people do you think are in this radical group?” I asked him.