Joe sat down, but Nate remained standing. Joe looked out the window at the runway. Beyond the governor’s plane several tumbleweeds rolled across the pavement. In between the two runways, pronghorn antelope grazed.
“Am I boring you, Joe?” Rulon asked suddenly.
Joe looked up. “With all due respect, governor, I was hoping you would get to the point.”
Rulon froze, his face turning crimson. Instead of yelling or firing Joe on the spot, a slow grin formed. He held his hands out, palms up.
“Why can’t I be surrounded by sycophants who tell me how great I am?” Rulon said. “Instead, I get guys like you, Joe.”
Joe shrugged. “Sorry, sir.”
“Maybe I should run for Senate. Carson, write that down.”
“Please, sir,” Carson said, his voice begging.
“Okay,” Rulon said, winking at Joe, “I’ll cut to the chase. Have you ever heard of Senator Carl McKinty of Michigan? Thirty-year senator, he is. Democrat, of course—he’s from Michigan—but that hardly matters since I am, too, and we couldn’t be farther apart on just about everything. He’s chairman of the Natural Resources Committee. That’s where I’ve tangled with him. He’s on the Homeland Security Committee as well.”
Joe said, “I’ve heard his name.”
“Have you heard of a woman named Caryl Cline?”
Joe rubbed his jaw. “The name is familiar, but I’m not sure why.”
“Five years ago,” Rulon said, “she was all over television. She was a self-proclaimed activist for private property rights. She got that way because her Senator McKinty worked a sweetheart deal in the Upper Peninsula in Michigan for a huge tract of land she owned. He convinced the local government to condemn the land her family had owned for a hundred and fifty years in order to give it to a hotshot developer. The local government did it because the developer promised a higher tax base than from the little meat-processing company run by the family. And it was perfectly legal, because our brilliant Supreme Court in the Kelo versus City of New London decision said it was just fine for governments to do that.”
“Hold it,” Joe said. “Didn’t most of the states pass laws prohibiting local governments from doing that?”
Coon said, “Yes. But up until 2005 there were no laws to stop it in Michigan. So when it happened, it was okay all around. At the time in Michigan—and we’re seeing it more and more all over the country—the only way to stop it was civil disobedience with the hope that the local or state government would be ashamed and give up.”
“And that’s what she did,” Rulon said, taking over again. “She took her fight public. She did all she could to call out the senator and the local county commissioners who condemned her land. She and her three sons got their guns and said they’d fight for their property—that no government had the right to take private land or shut down a legitimate small business just so the tax revenue would be higher with the new owners.”
Joe said, “Okay, I remember her now. The media kind of made fun of her.”
“That’s right,” Rulon said. “Because she looked and talked like what she was—a rural midwestern white woman. She had crooked teeth, glasses that were taped together in the middle, bad hair, and she wore these big print dresses. She looked like a stereotypical hillbilly. They called her ‘Ma Cline.’ They did their best to make her unsympathetic, but she became a symbol with a few political commentators and just plain folks and she struck fear into the hearts of certain politicians.”
Joe remembered the I’M WITH MA CLINE bumper stickers that were popular at the time. He still saw some around.
Rulon said, “Do you remember what happened to her?”
Before Joe could speak, Nate said, “She was murdered.”
For the first time, Rulon turned his full attention to Nate. The governor studied Nate as if sizing him up. Joe knew Rulon considered himself an excellent judge of character. He wondered what Rulon’s judgment was of his friend.
“ ‘Murder’ is not the right word,” Coon interjected. “She was killed, yes. But it happened in a firefight at the Cline compound in the UP. There is some dispute whether she was killed by law enforcement or by her own family.”
Nate said, “No, there isn’t.” He shook his head, said, “It always amuses me how a family home or small business suddenly becomes a ‘compound’ when you folks decide to attack it.”
Coon said, “Owning the language and getting it out there first is a way to assure the public will be with us. Cynical, but true.”
The news story came back to Joe. He remembered how it had been reported; the Cline Family was armed to the teeth and refused to leave their land. The local sheriff as well as federal law enforcement ATFE—and FBI—moved in on the Clines after arrest warrants had been issued for firearms violations, refusal to comply with the condemnation order, and dozens of other charges. Gunfire greeted them, and two members of the strike force were wounded before the tactical units unleashed holy hell on the “compound.” In the end, Caryl Cline, her husband, Darrell, and one of three sons were killed. Joe recalled the news reports showing unpainted bullet-riddled shacks deep in a shadowed forest. He also recalled the outrage of the more extreme elements and accusations of government malfeasance. But because the violence took place off-camera, the location was remote, and several other similar incidents happened around the same time, the particular story faded quickly. In fact, when he thought about it, he hadn’t heard anything about follow-up investigations, or reports suggesting that the situation was any different than originally portrayed: the inbred white trash family paid the price for firing on federal law enforcement officers doing their duty.
“I’m confused,” Joe said. “What does this have to do with us?”
Rulon said, “Up until yesterday, I would have asked the same thing. But at this point, I’ll ask Special Agent Chuck Coon to pick up the story.”
25
JOE THOUGHT COON LOOKED AS IF HE WERE RACKED WITH turmoil, as if it would physically hurt him to talk. The FBI agent reached back and rubbed his own neck and seemed to be staring at something on the tabletop he found fascinating.
Rulon lowered his voice and looked kindly toward Coon. “Mr. Coon is one of the good guys in this whole situation. He came to me yesterday afternoon because his conscience was bothering him. I know how far out on a limb he is now, and how much courage it’s taken when he could have easily said nothing at all.”
Coon thanked the governor with his eyes, then turned to Joe and Nate.
“What the governor said about greed and corruption is all too true,” Coon said. “Especially these days. There’s just so much money sloshing around in the government that anything is possible. They can’t hire federal employees fast enough or throw billions at projects fast enough. They spend money like a pimp with a week to live. The only growth industry is us—the government. Luckily, we’re somewhat insulated from it out here in the field, but in D.C.—man.”
Joe shook his head and slipped a glance toward Nate to gauge his reaction. Nate looked back and waggled his eyebrows, as if to say nothing he would hear could surprise him. Joe was constantly amazed at the network of contacts Nate seemed to have across the country. He’d purposefully never asked Nate about the company he kept because he didn’t want to know.