Texas Hero

Pulling on a ball cap in the same chili-pepper red as her top, she hooked a bag over her shoulder.

“Yes.”

Chapter 3

Outside, the July sun blazed down with cheerful brutality. Exiting the hotel, Ellie turned right toward Alamo Plaza. Jack walked beside her, his eyes narrowed against the glare as he scanned the crowd.

It included the usual assortment of vendors and tourists, with a heavy sprinkling of men and women in Air Force blue. They were basic trainees, released for a few precious hours from the nearby Lackland Air Force Base. With their buzz-cut hair and slick sleeves, they looked so young, so proud of their uniform. So unprepared for the crises that world events could plunge them into at any moment.

What they didn’t look like were riled-up patriots seeking vengeance on a historian who dared to question the courage of a local legend. Nonetheless, Jack didn’t relax his vigilance.

“What do you know about the Alamo?” Ellie asked as they approached the mission.

“Not much more than what I absorbed from the John Wayne movie of the same name.”

And in the data Mackenzie had pulled off the computers. Jack kept silent about the background file. Right now, he was more interested in Ellie’s version of the Alamo’s history.

“It’s one of a string of five missions located along the San Antonio River, founded in the early 1700s,” she informed him. “Originally designated Mission Antonio de Valero, it didn’t become known as the Alamo until much later.”

With a sweep of her arm, she gestured to the adobe structure dominating the wide plaza ahead.

“There it is. The shrine of Texas liberty.”

The distinctive building stirred an unexpected dart of pride in Jack. As a symbol of independence, its image had been seared into his consciousness. Of course, all those John Wayne movies might have had something to do with the sensation.

“Originally the mission compound sat by itself, well across the river from the settlement of San Antonio de Bexar,” Ellie related. “Now, of course, the city’s grown up all around it.”

They wove a path through sightseers snapping photo after photo. A red-faced, grossly overweight candidate for a stroke backed up to frame a shot, banging into several fellow tourists in the process. Swiftly, Jack took Ellie’s elbow to steer her around the obstacle.

Just as swiftly, he released her.

Well, hell! Here it was, going on nine years since he’d last touched this woman. Yet one glide of his fingers along her smooth, warm skin set off a chain reaction that started in his arm and ended about six inches below his belt.

For the first time since Lightning’s call some hours ago, Jack conceded maybe Eduardo Alazar had reason to be concerned. The fires weren’t out. Not entirely.

Jack had been so certain the embarrassment he’d caused Ellie and himself had doused any residual sparks. The sudden flare of heat in his gut screamed otherwise. Clenching his jaw against the unwelcome sensation, he tried to concentrate on Ellie’s recitation.

“A series of droughts and epidemics decimated the mission’s religious population,” she related. “In 1793 the structure was turned over to civil authorities. At that point, Spanish cavalry from Alamo de Parras in Mexico took occupancy, and the fort became known at the Pueblo del Alamo. When the Spanish were driven out of Mexico, Mexican troops moved in. About the same time, the Mexican government opened the province of Texas to foreign settlers.”

“Foreign meaning Americans?”

“Americans and anyone else who would put down roots and, hopefully, help stem attacks on settlements by the Commanches and Apaches. Given the proximity to the States, though, it’s only natural that most immigrants were Americans. Led by Stephen Austin, they flooded in and soon outnumbered the Mexican population five to one. It was only a matter of time until they decided they wanted out from under Mexican rule.”

“Those pesky Texans,” Jack drawled.

“Actually,” she replied with a smile, “they called themselves Texians then. Or Tejanos. But they were pretty pesky. Tensions escalated, particularly after General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna seized control of the Mexican government and abrogated the constitution. In the process, he also abrogated most of the rights of the troublesome immigrants. There were uprisings all over Mexico—and outright rebellion here in Texas.

“After several small skirmishes, the Americans declared their independence and sent a small force to seize the Alamo. When Santa Anna vowed to march his entire army north and crush the rebellion, the tiny garrison sent out a plea for reinforcements. William Travis, Jim Bowie and Davy Crockett, among others, answered the call.”

The names sounded like a roll call of America’s heroes. Jim Bowie, the reckless adventurer as quick with his wit as with his knife. Davy Crockett, legendary marksman and two-term member of Congress from Tennessee. William Barrett Travis, commander of the Texas militia who drew a line in the sand with his saber and asked every Alamo defender willing to stand to the end to cross it. Supposedly, all but one did so.

Those who did met the fate Ellie related in a historian’s dispassionate voice.

“When Santa Anna retook the Alamo in March, 1836, he executed every defender still alive and burned their bodies in mass funeral pyres. Or so the few non-combatants who survived reported.”

“But you think those reports are wrong.”

“I think there’s a possibility they may be.”

With that cautious reply, she led the way through the small door set in the massive wooden gates fronting the mission. Inside, thick adobe walls provided welcome relief from the heat. A smiling docent stepped forward to greet them.

“Welcome to the Alamo. This brochure will give you… Oh!” The smile fell right off her face. “It’s you, Dr. Alazar.”

“Yes, I’m back again.”

“Our museum director said you’d finished your research here.”

“I have. I’m playing tourist this afternoon and showing my, er, friend around.”

The docent’s glance darted from Ellie to Jack and back again. Suspicion carved a deep line between her brows. “Are you planning to take more digital photos?”

“No. I’ve taken all I need.”

“We heard those were stolen.”

“They were,” Ellie replied coolly. “Fortunately, I make it a practice to back up my work.”

The volunteer fanned her brochures with a snap. “Yes, well, I’ll let Dr. Smith know you’re here.”

“You’ve certainly made yourself popular around here,” Jack commented dryly.

“Tell me about it! The exhibits are this way.”

Exiting the church, they entered a long low building that had once served as the barracks and now housed a museum of Texas history. Ellie let Jack set the pace and read those exhibits that caught his interest.

They painted a chillingly realistic picture of the thirteen-day siege. There was Santa Anna’s army of more than twelve hundred. The pitiful inadequacy of the defending force, numbering just over a hundred. Travis’s repeated requests for reinforcements. The arrival of the Tennesseeans. The wild, last-minute dash by thirty-two volunteers from Goliad, Texas, through enemy lines. The final assault some hours before dawn on March sixth. The massacre of all defenders. The mass funeral pyres that consumed both Texan and Mexican dead. The pitiful handful of non-combatants who survived.

The original of Travis’s most famous appeal for assistance was preserved behind glass. Written the day after the Mexican army arrived in San Antonio, the letter still had the power to stir emotions.

Commander of the Alamo

Bexar, Fby 24th, 1836

To the People of Texas and All Americans in the World

Fellow Citizens & Compatriots

I am besieged by a thousand or more of the Mexicans under Santa Anna. I have sustained a continual bombardment & have not lost a man. The enemy has demanded a surrender at discretion, otherwise the garrison are to be put to the sword if the fort is taken. I have answered the demand with a cannon shot, and our flag still waves proudly on the walls. I shall never surrender nor retreat.