A state of disobedience

Austin, Texas

"That's my boy, Jorge," muttered Schmidt as he, the governor, and her "war cabinet" listened in to reports coming uncensored from the scene. Half the words used were expletives and obscenities.

"Fucking gas isn't working. Motherfuckers took out both tanks . . . Jesus-Fucking-Christ they shot down the crews like dogs . . . Where the fuck are those goddamned helicopters? . . . What in the fuck are the snipers doing? . . . My God . . . they've got guns . . . machine guns . . . Explosives . . . Jesus . . ."

Juanita looked piercingly at Schmidt. "Where . . . where, General, did my brother get machine guns? Where did he get explosives?"

A tiny flicker of a smile. "Jorge always was a resourceful sort, Governor. You know that." Then Schmidt's face lit again in his broadest, brightest flash. "You really want to know? Fine. I gave them to him. I'll be damned if my best friend and your brother was going to be taken without a good fight. They . . . you . . . can do what the hell you want with me. But Jorge Montoya was not going to lack the tools he needed! And can you hear, Juani? Can you hear?" Schmidt pointed at the radio, still sputtering with federal outrage. "He's holding them; beating them."

Softly, "I wish I were there. I wish I were there.

"Do you know why I am not, Governor? Because I still hope to talk some sense into you. I still think that the girl I . . . voted for . . . hasn't got it in her to see her brother cut down by wolves in suits and ties."

Fiercely now, "Let me roll my division, Juani. Send Nagy there to arrest them, too. Save your brother Juani . . . save those children, Governor."

Juanita's mouth set as if concrete, hard, unyielding. "Do it."

With a triumphant shout, Schmidt headed for the door. "You coming with me, Nagy? We can take my helicopter."

* * *