The Uvalde Raider by Ben English (great books for teens TXT) 📕

Wearing his nicest pair of black Justin ropers and with his best uniform freshly dry cleaned, Micah eased out of the driver’s seat of the Dodge. Though wrapped tightly in the Velcro secured chest brace, his slowly healing ribs still did not take kindly to any sudden movement. That was why he was driving a Diplomat today, its automatic transmission was a lot easier on those fractured bones than the five speed manual in his Mustang patrol unit.

Gingerly Micah put on his uniform Resistol felt hat, trying to avoid the still tender gash on the top of his head. Carefully, almost reverently, he laid his Ray Ban Aviators on the Dodge’s dashboard. They had been a gift from Tio Zeke when Micah graduated from DPS Recruit School, all those years ago. A memento of happier days, he would be buying another pair in order to put these away for safekeeping.

The highway patrolman adjusted the gig line on his Sam Browne belt by habit and pensively eyeballed the massive white building before him. Like many other troopers, he did not like going to Austin and he also didn’t like being anywhere near the academy area. Beyond that, he especially didn’t like going into the Headquarters Building when summoned by the high brass.

On top of everything else, he was supposed to be meeting with the Director of the Texas Department of Public Safety himself, in his office. That was usually a place where they summoned you when you had really screwed up, or if the brass wanted something really special out of you. Micah did not care for either idea.

He checked his watch and mentally prepared himself for whatever awaited. Up the steps and through the glass doors, Micah soon found himself in front of the area marked ‘Director’s Office.’ Taking in a long breath, he pushed through and walked inside.

At the desk sat a middle-aged woman wearing reading glasses who was evidently the director’s personal secretary. The lady looked up from the assorted papers on her desk and smiled one of those professional secretary smiles, the kind that makes you wonder if they are in on the joke while you don’t even have a clue.

“You must be Micah Templar,” she said.

“Yes ma’am, unfortunately I am,” he deadpanned in return.

The secretary laughed politely. “Would you please sit down? The director is expecting you, I’ll let him know that you are here.”

“Ma’am, I have been sitting for the past 250 miles. If you don’t mind, I’d just like to stand a bit.”

“Well, of course you can,” she responded in an agreeable manner. Picking up the phone, she pushed a button. “Colonel? Trooper Templar is here.” There was a pause. “Yes sir, I will.”

She put down the phone and spoke to Micah. “He’ll be right with you.” The secretary smiled again and returned to her work.

Micah looked around the room as he waited, thinking more than anything else about what might be in store for him on the other side of that inner door. He took stock of his situation and what he knew about the DPS’s recently appointed head.

The Texas Department of Public Safety was changing rapidly, much like the state which it had served so faithfully for the past half century. The days of Homer Garrison and Pat Speir, when the occupancy spent in the director’s chair was measured in decades, had mostly come to a close.

The current director, or colonel as the head of the DPS was traditionally known, was said to be a good enough man and had been in the Department for over thirty years. But the scuttlebutt had it that he was already on his way out to make room for someone else. That was another reason for avoiding DPS Headquarters: much like any other large government bureaucracy it served as ground zero for personal fiefdoms, rumor mills and political intrigues.

Absentmindedly Micah studied the large map of Texas centered on the wall before him. Though covered with a plexiglass shield, it was obvious the area just north of San Antonio had been receiving an inordinate amount of attention. Finger smudges covered the general location, along with small marks and light scratches made from other objects.

Micah knew the crash site was brimming with activity and the list of unanswered questions were growing even as the cleanup continued. As a highway patrolman stationed in a somewhat isolated, rural area he had not been made privy to much of anything by official channels existing within the Texas DPS.

Captain Burton had called on occasion, as well as some of the troopers he knew in the San Antonio area. But no one could tell him much as far as what was going on. All his captain could say was that in his opinion Micah had done an exceptional job, which made him feel somewhat better about the situation. However, he was not to talk to anyone as the investigation was still ongoing.

The fact was most everybody in the DPS had no idea of what was happening. As soon as the Feds moved in, the exchange of information that was supposed to go both ways was shut off and apparently forgotten. As far as Micah knew, no one from the DPS was allowed on scene save at the very highest levels.

Fellow highway patrolmen he had visited with were able to confirm that much. Though they were nominally part of some sort of response force, their duties consisted of nothing more than traffic control to keep the curious away. This was easy enough to do, as their checkpoints were also kept a good deal of distance from the site. Anything closer than their outlying posts was soon nicknamed ‘G-Man Land.’

One young troop had brought along a small camera, and was taking photographs of the general area while manning one of the check points. Somebody had seen him do so and the