A state of disobedience

Matamoros, Mexico

No uniforms were worn here, though the two Americans carried arms under their light jackets.

Hanstadt listened appreciatively as birds sang in the warm and muggy Mexican morning. Civilian clad and traveling on a civilian United States passport, he waited on the tarmac of the town's still sleepy airport. In his hand was clutched a bag containing several million dollars in new bills from the Western Currency Facility, each one good legal tender anywhere in the world, indistinguishable from other bills printed in the Washington, DC, facility, indistinguishable from bills printed earlier.

Moreover, and the Texans were quite sure Washington knew this, any attempt at undermining confidence in U.S. currency could have disastrous economic consequences as literally hundreds of billions of dollars salted away all over the world, largely by rich people who felt the need for "escape money," came pouring out of the woodwork and into other currencies. The United States had put up with nearly two decades of massive Iranian counterfeiting, and the terrorism that counterfeiting funded, to avoid just such a possibility.

Beside Hanstadt stood his newly commissioned assistant, Lieutenant Christopher Perez of the Texas Guard. In the background were two dozen Mexican workers and drivers with a dozen trucks lined up behind them for the trip to Brownsville. In the foreground, a brace of moderately ancient cargo aircraft awaited unloading. Aboard the aircraft, some hundreds of Chinese-manufactured small arms and tens of thousands of rounds of Chinese-made ammunition.

Hanstadt turned to the chief of the Mexican drivers and workers and commanded, "Unload the planes." To Chris he said, "This will be your job for the near future. Receive, account and pay for what comes here—and remember that that will start including radios, compasses, body armor . . . basically everything almost as soon as I can set up the contracts with the manufacturers and shippers. Then you'll forward it to Fort Sam Houston through Brownsville. You'll need to spot-check a bit for quality. And you had probably better hire the local Mexican Army unit for guards, especially when you have any large quantity of weapons or ammunition stockpiled here or in transit."

"How large are we talking about, sir, total?" asked Perez.

"Schmidt contracted for an even 200,000 rifles, 21,000 machine guns, 12,000 RPG-7 antiarmor weapons, and some really, really impressive amounts of ammunition. Likewise mortars and some heavier antitank systems. That's just what's coming through here. I am told there is a contract for artillery being negotiated even as we speak."

"Negotiated? Negotiated with whom, sir?"

"The Chinese," Hanstadt answered, simply. "All of this material is coming from them."

"Why should the chinks care about Texas?"

"They don't," Hanstadt admitted, "except maybe to wish we would sink into the sea. But they would much, much rather the entire United States sink into the sea . . . and perhaps they see helping Texas—for a handsome profit, mind you, to be sure—as a way to make the United States sink into the sea."

"That's going to happen, too, isn't it, sir? I mean if this thing turns into a no-shit civil war, we are finished as a country and as a power in the world."

As he had before, Hanstadt reflected that his former driver, recently jumped in rank, was by no means stupid. "Well, that's what the Chinese hope. But from our point of view, these arms may be the best way to prevent a civil war, to buy us time to find some other way."

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