Free Domestic Enemies: The Reconquista by Matthew Bracken Page B

care?”
    “Shit, now you’re getting all existential on me?  Here in the Toy Hut?”  Garabanda laughed quietly for a moment and gestured toward his son, playing on the floor.  “Well, I’ve got Brian there, that’s one reason to keep going.  And besides the paycheck, as long as I stay in, I can get into the federal stores and shop on the Air Force base.  And getting free gas for the bureau cars, that’s another nice bennie.  I can’t imagine how you civilians manage it, without getting into the federal stores and the military bases.”
    “But is that enough?” replied Carvahal.  “Enough to keep you working for the whores in Washington?  Alex, that’s like being a stoker on the Titanic, and staying in the engine room shoveling coal while the ship goes down! For what?”
    Garabanda pulled a shiny black “Magic 8-Ball” from the shelf in front of him, and was slowly turning it over.  “It’s what I do, Luis.  It’s all I’ve ever known.  Protect the country; try to warn headquarters…it’s all I can do. Finish the career, hope for a pension, and raise Brian as best I can when I’ve got custody.  It’s all I’ve got left.  Like your memoirs and your history of New Mexico.”
    “Speaking of which,” said Carvahal, “There’s something else: Deleon is seriously paranoid about the Vice-Governor.  He’s as much as told me he thinks Magón is planning something, maybe some kind of a move against him.  Finding out about the Vedado Ranch conference back-channel from Senator Kelly—that really did it.  Now Deleon knows for sure that Magón is operating behind his back.  He thinks Wayne Parker set up the Vedado Ranch conference with Magón, making a private deal. Probably protecting Parker’s million acres from the Land Reform Act.”
    “And Félix Magón is a total whack job,” added Garabanda.  “He’s another Castro wannabee, if you ask me.  He’s worse than Hugo Chavez.”
    “You’ve got that right.  You should see his ‘Falcon Battalion.’  They make the regular Milicianos look like Girl Scouts.  Half of them are right out of the MS-13 and the Mexican Mafia—the worst scum from El Salvador to LA.  They’re not just another unit of the Milicia, they’re Magón’s enforcers.  They’ll do anything he says, anything at all.  Deleon has no control over them at all.  The Falcons only answer to Magón, and I don’t think there’s an American in the whole bunch.  And Washington doesn’t want to hear about it?”
    The FBI agent stared intently at his informant, absorbing these latest rumors about the neo-communist Félix Magón.  He was allegedly born in New Mexico and was therefore a U.S. citizen, but he had spent most of his adult life in Cuba, Bolivia and Colombia, before returning to America and entering politics.  He replied, “Exactly right—Washington doesn’t want to hear about it. DC is still in the PC lockdown mode.  ‘See no evil, hear no evil.’  If Montana and Wyoming can pass ‘English only’ laws and start kicking out the illegals, then Nuevo Mexico can pass ‘ Español Solamente ’ and fire all the gringo cops.  Washington doesn’t see any difference at all. They don’t see ‘land reform’ as confiscating private property—they prefer to think of it as ‘helping the little guy.’  Like they say: ‘no justice, no peace,’ right? Meanwhile, they’ve got a bunch of hard core neo-Marxists and narco-gangsters taking over an America state, right under their noses!”
    Carvahal added, “An American state, but for how long?  Listen Alex, I’m going with Deleon up to Tierra Andalucia Monday.  He’s going to inspect the Milicia training camps with Magón.  He has to show himself, make sure the Milicianos all know he’s really in charge, and not just the party figurehead.  I’ll take some pictures, and try to get you something you can send back to headquarters.  Something that might wake them up.”
    “What the hell Luis, give