A Triple Thriller Fest (8 page)

Most longtime political analysts were surprised that the movement had gained this much momentum. But the Sunday morning national news talk shows were treating it as a bona fide issue, though there remained a great division of opinion on the topic among politicians and pundits. Evidence of the strength of the notion that a state might legitimately secede from the Union was found in the number of other western states that were debating the issue, some state officials calling for a referendum in their own upcoming elections, just as John Henry Franklin had told Turner to expect. And the Mexican government’s support of the idea, giving it an international flair, added fuel to the fire.

The room was abuzz with conversation. Dan Rawlings nodded to several members of the county board of supervisors as he entered and shook hands with Woodland’s mayor, who was accompanied by the city manager.

“Looks like big times in the old town today, eh, Mayor?” Dan said.

“Maybe bigger than we wanted. Is the board going to come out in favor?”

“It’s too early to tell, but like the council, the supervisors need to sort out the impact on Yolo County. What seemed a farfetched idea has turned into the most serious question our locally elected officials have ever faced.”

Addressing City Manager Roger Dahlgren, Dan asked, “Roger, how do you see it? Flash in the pan, posturing—or what?”

Dahlgren frowned. “Dan, I’m surprised you don’t realize how serious this is. The Senator is the spokesman for a majority percentage of Californians. We’re fed up with it. We’ve already told Washington, in two statewide elections, that they can go bark up a tree, for all we care. We don’t need ’em, and for certain we won’t put up with their oppressive regulations, federal mandates, and bureaucratic ineptitude anymore.”

As soon as Dahlgren began his harangue, the mayor quietly slipped away and began speaking with another group of guests.

“Rog, you’re far too uptight about all of this. It’s politics,” Dan cautioned.

Dahlgren shook his head. “Look, the senator brought this important issue into focus. If Governor Dewhirst or the courts don’t recognize our rights in this matter, and I mean
soon,
you’re going to see this thing mushroom beyond belief. A new republic is the answer, and the people
will
be heard, either in the ballot box or from the bullet box—whatever it takes. I believe it was Thomas Jefferson who said
‘If a man hasn’t found something for which he is willing to die, then he’s not fit to live.’”

“Uh, actually, that was Martin Luther King, Jr.,” Dan said, straight-faced.

Dahlgren screwed up his face and gave Dan a disgusted look. Dan exchanged quick glances with Jim Thompson, who smiled just slightly, raising his eyebrow in question.

“You’re kidding, right?” Dan asked, looking back at the city manager. “You’d go to war over this family squabble?”

“
Squabble?
Was Fort Sumter a
squabble
? Did the South see it as a family feud? Jefferson or King, it doesn’t matter who said it. There
are
things worth fighting for—in fact, worth dying for.” Dahlgren shook his head even more vigorously.

Dan couldn’t believe it. Secede from the Union? Just send in your postal change of address notice and move on? And to equate this with the Civil War.
What is he thinking?
Irritated and struggling to keep his cool, Dan leaned into Roger, his body language somewhat threatening.

“And worth
killing
for?” he asked.

“Unlike some of the more patriotic members of your family, I don’t think you appreciate the gravity of the situation. When it all shakes out, you don’t want to be left … hanging around. Considering how long your family’s been in this valley, I thought certain you’d be a patriotic Californian.”

Dan bristled at the obvious reference to the recent hanging, to say nothing of the inference that his views on secession impugned his patriotism, but he stifled the sharp response that instantly came to mind. “Well, Rog, it’s—”

The room was gaveled to order as the chairman called all to seats. Roger Dahlgren walked over toward a group of younger men standing in the corner. Following a prayer, lunch commenced.

Buttering a roll, Dan shook his head, leaning toward his deputy, his voice muted. “Jim, what was that all about?”

“Rumor is, Dahlgren’s now a captain in the Shasta Brigade. Those paramilitary boys find this secession mania right up their alley.”

“Well, if his council members don’t support the movement, he’ll find himself working on his resume,” Dan said. “And what did you make of his ‘hanging’ comment?”

“I’d take it as a warning. A very
real
warning.”

Dan thought for a moment about what Sheriff Sanchez had said earlier in his office. “You could be right, but, man, I hope not, and not—for just my own sake.”

Jim asked the man across the table for the salt, then leaned over to whisper in Dan’s ear.

“It’s quickly becoming a true rebellion.”

Dan shook his head in disbelief and began to eat, thinking about Jim’s comment and Roger Dahlgren’s implied threat. For the next twenty minutes he bantered with the Bank of America branch manager, feigning concern about the rising interest rates and the price of oil.

At 12:45, the program chairman once again brought the room to order and waited for conversation and the clanking of dinnerware to die down before he spoke.

“Members and invited guests, it is my distinct pleasure to open today’s forum and to welcome our distinguished guest. For eighteen years, Senator Malcolm Turner has served as California’s voice in the United States Senate. For six years before that, he served us well as a representative in the House. Many explosive issues have come and gone during his congressional tenure. Senator Turner has taken a stance on each, relative to his understanding of where Californians stood. But perhaps, in this latest movement, Senator Turner faces his greatest challenge. Indeed, perhaps all California faces its greatest test. Let’s hear what he has to say. Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce to you the man who may well be the first president—or perhaps even prime minister—of the Republic of California, Senator Malcolm Turner.”

A few of the Rotarians and their guests immediately stood in applause. Others, some less enthusiastically, joined them in standing as Turner rose from his seat at the head table and stepped to the podium. He took his place behind the lectern, confident, smiling warmly, acknowledging old friends in the room and nodding to new faces. Malcolm Turner looked very much the part of a U.S. senator. His artificially dark hair was immaculately coiffed. He wore a dark-blue suit, starched white shirt, and a bold, California bear flag tie. Smiling, he accepted their welcome, then raised his manicured hands to quell the generous applause.

As the audience took their seats, the senator looked around the crowded room. Attendance was up by a third, given the multitude of guests and media representatives. Nearly a hundred people were jammed into tight quarters. With the tables filled, some had taken their lunch on their laps and were seated on chairs lining the walls.

After the room quieted, Turner stood silent for a moment, allowing the tension to build slightly. Here in Woodland—in the heart of an agricultural county burdened by myriad federal regulations—he knew he had a sympathetic audience.

“Mr. Mayor, members of the Yolo County Board of Supervisors, Woodland City Council members, Rotarians, and honored guests: In 1958, during Eisenhower’s presidency, my father brought me to Woodland to the Yolo County Fair. I was home from college for the summer, and Dad wanted me to see some of the exhibits, as well as to participate in the business discussions he had scheduled with local farmers. It was my first introduction into the business end of farming, outside of the countless hours I had spent in our fields near Modesto. There may well be some of you in the room today who recall the glory days of the California farmer. And most of you will also recall eighteen months ago, when I first proposed consideration of California becoming a sovereign nation. To me, it seems like only yesterday …”

Chapter 6

Sea Ranch
Ninety-five miles north of San Francisco, California
January, 2010

It was election year, and Senator Malcolm Turner had put out the call for campaign contributions as he began his run for a fourth term in the U.S. Senate. The invitation to meet with John Henry Franklin at his palatial estate three hours’ drive north of San Francisco had been a welcome surprise. Their meeting changed Turner’s campaign rhetoric from politics-as-usual hyperbole to a more deadly indictment of federal intervention into state’s rights. Franklin’s retreat, called Sea Ranch Estate, sprawled over an area of about twelve miles, north to south, and running east from the coast nearly nine miles, well into the coastal mountain range. With its proximity to the route followed by California gray whales heading north to Alaska from Baja, the northern California coastline was a favorite gathering place for whale watchers, Greenpeace supporters, rabid environmentalists, and assorted tourists. Providing public access to the beaches across his land and a healthy contribution to ocean environmentalist causes was a concession Franklin made to placate those who might otherwise resent the size of his holdings. Access to the developed area of Franklin’s retreat and to his elaborate estate, however, was electronically restricted.

Launching his campaign for reelection, Senator Turner had put out the word, and the usual corporate sponsors had responded. But in his three previous senatorial election campaigns, he had not been contacted by John Henry Franklin, nor, to his knowledge, had he received any contributions from the Franklin Foundation. So, this unexpected invitation to Sea Ranch was as intriguing as the messenger was beautiful and alluring. Delivered at that time and in that manner made it an invitation Turner could hardly decline.

Amelia Erickson, Franklin’s personal assistant and the woman who had visited the Senator’s office to extend the invitation, came out of the mansion as Turner’s limousine came to a stop.

She extended her hand. “Senator Turner, how kind of you to come.”

“Thank you, Ms. Erickson,” Turner replied, flashing his warmest campaign smile.

She linked her arm in his and turned toward the monstrous stone house. “Let me introduce you to the other guests.”

Three men stood near the veranda railing where they had been watching the sunset gather over the ocean. As Amelia and Turner approached, the younger of the men stepped forward to greet him.

“Welcome, Senator Turner. Please, join us.”

Turner recognized him as Paul Spackman, the evening news anchor for CBS Television’s San Francisco affiliate. He didn’t recognize the other two men, both Hispanic. Spackman made the introductions.

“General Emiliano Estaban Valdez, deputy chief of staff of the Mexican Armed Forces, and General Rodrigo Cordoba, retired. General Cordoba now serves as the Chief of Federal Police in Mexico.”

Turner shook hands then accepted a drink brought to him by a uniformed servant. “Gentlemen.” He raised his glass. “To your health.”

“
Gracias, Señor
. It is an honor to meet you, Senator,” General Valdez replied.

“The pleasure is mine, General.”

“I’ve just spoken with Mr. Franklin,” Amelia said, once introductions had been accomplished. “His helicopter is about ten minutes out. Please, make yourselves comfortable, and I’ll alert the staff to prepare for his arrival.”

The massive stone fireplace was fully ablaze, and the liquor sideboard in use as John Henry Franklin entered the room. Muscular, about five-feet-ten, Franklin exuded power as much from his physical presence as from his well-earned reputation for being able to resuscitate a business deal others had written off as moribund. While his outward presentation was always pleasant and courteous, Franklin had found it useful to carefully cultivate a questionable business reputation that his friends and enemies had come to call “Frankevelian.”

Though he never had been formally charged, a feeling prevailed that those who stood in the way of his interests frequently met with misfortune. On the other hand, his business interests seemed always to be blessed by the fortunate oversight of Providence.

Over the years, Franklin had acquired controlling interests in many companies, but it wasn’t until he cornered the market in communications—specifically cable TV and telecommunications systems—that he really became a major player, elevating himself to a position of near absolute power. By linking home shopping networks and cable television systems, he had gained direct-dial accessibility to millions of homes across the nation. Through these, he had garnered credit card information, personal data, and by means of extensive surveys, a sophisticated demographic data base that he used to market to a wide assortment of family needs—and in fact, to create those needs.

His most ambitious endeavor had been launched several years earlier. He had convinced election officials in the state of Missouri—a persuasive effort among four key politicians that had cost over six million and the life of a young attorney general who opposed the measure—to test a new voting procedure that allowed voters to cast their ballots by telephone from the comfort of their homes. As the program moved to California, he even sided with environmentalists who sought to eliminate the “paper trail” that had been required of election stations.  Dual electronic copies of each vote were ostensibly maintained off-site as a back-up.

Used at first merely for generating public opinion data, the concept had attracted attention from those who wished to promote greater voter participation. It seemed a natural extension of available technology, and, like many revolutionary ideas, was so obviously beneficial to everyone that it was a wonder it hadn’t been implemented sooner.

As an ambitious and progressive businessman, John Henry had envisioned a grander use of his system—a use that would serve his other aims. The technology could be applied to secretly manipulate polling results. He could see how such an ability could be put to a myriad of uses, all to the benefit of himself and selected clients.