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Jedda Diah Whitter had a Black oil-skinned scalloped band Aussie hat given to him by a foreign agent in Alaska while investigating an illegal oil rig operation. The rich black earth mixed with moose and caribou was his dream assignment. Jedda Diah Whitter hands were clean now but the sweat that travailed his body was mounting even though it was a mild 75 degrees with toxic humidity in September in a late mid afternoon in Waco, Texas. He tipped his hat to the waitress as a positive affirmation that he wanted one more cup of coffee with a side of ice. The climatic change felt like an embraced inferno and his air conditioned quarters at the Dust Bowl Inn, federally sanctioned domicile, only provided temporary relief. Jedda Diah was sent here on special assignment. He had to find the inside connections of the Branch Davidians and a possibility of a crime committed by them on their compound. A former Davidian had informed the feds that there was a meth lab but it was far from the truth and it had been destroyed by “the leader” when he took over. Two days earlier, Jedda Diah had been in the Wal-Mart aisle of hardware when a man with shoulder length dark curly hair and large wire rimmed glasses approached him, asking him if he knew if Wal-Mart carried bunson burners. He looked like a morphed version of a Steely Dan band member but his presence gave off more confidence than angst. He had a square tin of kerosene oil in his hand, distilled water in the other and lighter fluid tucked in his arm below the shoulder. He was warm with a glow about him somewhat muttering to himself inbetween conversation. Jedda Diah said, “The last time I saw a burner like that was in 10th grade chemistry lab.” The man retreated, once looking back. Their eyes locked for only seconds. “Welcome to Waco,” Koresh said and then turned away. Jedda Diah did not miss the opportunity to tip his new Aussie hat once again, a friendly gesture in these parts. He was confused about the presumption he was a visitor. Was it because he was not wearing a Stetson hat? At the checkout, Beverly Parsons, wife of the local Southern Baptist Pastor, whispered “That was David Koresh.” Jedda Diah knew her as he attended some local churches to get the general feel of tolerance of religious denominations in the area. On a sliding scale, the Baptists even felt the Catholics were a cult with their use of idols and exalting of the Virgin Mary. Beverly Parsons, whose eyes displayed fear and also laughter, reminded him of the attitude of all Texans. That this land somehow belonged to “them” even though the Branch Davidians had been in the area since the 1930s. While pondering that trip two days ago, Mr. Whitter got up in his booth and dropped a .40 cent tip on the red checkered tablecloth for one cup of coffee which included one smile from the waitress but a minor deduction for not refilling his cup of ice. He sauntered to his car and noticed a small postal outlet with a high standing Texas flag above the U.S. flag. Jedda Diah crossed the street and entered the small brick enclave. Robert Rodriguez was there with a full name tag and badge of friendliness. “Do you want to open a P.O. box today?” “No, I get my mail directly where I am staying and usually by phone call or fax.” “You new in this town?” Mr. Rodriguez asked. “I am just a temporary businessman with just a little bit of curiosity and a little too much time. Time enough to decide.” He left the answer open ended. Jedda Diah ordered two pre stamped envelopes and went over to the counter to write. He picked up a pamphlet that didn’t seem to belong to anyone. It had an introduction followed by a paragraph signed by a man titled prophet in signature style. “But in the beginning it was not so, in the beginning all the heavens beheld the word of God. And God, who said let there be light, manifested the power of the invisible world, the power of the unseen, the power of the prophet, the power given unto men that they might declare what is to be. We, the children of the prophets, are to know our signs. We are to know the authenticity and the power of the word of the fathers, the family of God, the children of light.” It was slightly wrinkled and Jedda Diah brought it back to the clerk. “Someone left this here. Should I throw it out?” The clerk shook his head. “Naw, we keep those there. That’s the last one. You can have it.” Jedda said “This is a federal post office, you can’t leave witness tracts in a federal building.” Robert replied “There are 3 concepts in Texas and few unmistakable laws. God, free will and our own authority. Yeah, we follow the laws but we subscribe to higher laws, the unseen. Read the pamphlet and you might get the drift.” Mr. Whitter left the store with the crumpled tract in his hand. While opening the door, the sun glared in and he lost his temper and turned his head directly so Mr. Rodriguez could hear him. “There ain’t no ghosts of the Alamo here. You are a public servant of the U.S. government. Now start acting like one.” He walked to his rental car at the end of the second block. He wasn’t thrilled about the unseen. He wasn’t even sure of his assignment. He was used to manuals not a battle of wits. When he got back to his hotel room, he turned the cool fan on. The phone rang. “Special Agent Whitter. Don’t piss off the locals. Robert Rodriguez is the brother in law of David Koresh.” The dial tone returned. Maybe there were three sets of eyes watching him. (to be continued).