Homeland Security

by William L Casselman

  With those two names on it, he knew the note was okay. He was directed to go to skip his appointment with Doc and meet with another agent tonight behind Clay’s church at ten p.m. and to come alone. They know where I go to church? Do they know I’m getting married in June? Do they want an invitation too? Or is this the kiss off and will I know my shooter… maybe one of my bud’s from Delta?

  DOOR OF HOPE CHURCH, OVERLOOKING FAIRBANKS

  10:03 P.M.

  Emy wasn’t happy when Clay had to leave the house early tonight, she wanted to discuss some of the finale wedding plans, but Clay wanted to scout the area out before the meet. The temperature had gone up, and it was snowing and climbing the hillside to reach the Door of Hope parking lot was no easy feat.

  He drove through the deserted parking lot at nine-fifteen p.m. and again at nine-forty p.m. and found no sign of anyone having recently been there. With fresh snow on the ground, it was easy to check the tire imprints, and his was the only tracks since he first arrived. Armed with his pistol, he walked around the church, looked for a sniper, and was relieved to find he was all alone. But when he came back at 10:03 he found fresh car tracks and a new model Ford sedan behind the church with the engine running. Clay, who drove in with lights off, left his vehicle out front and walked in. Again, he checked for a sniper, but with so much snow falling, it would be hard to see anyone. He took his time, and with a drawn gun made his way up to the back of the car. First off he checked to ensure the trunk was closed. During a police officer survival course he took, he was killed by a shooter who sprang up from a not so closed trunk and hit him with a Nerf dart. He then inspected the back seat and saw only the driver was in the vehicle.

  The driver’s window came down, and he recognized the voice of Mr. Bradley Carlson of Homeland Security. “Clay, would you please quit playing commando games and get in this car. I’m freezing my butt off here.”

  Clay was relieved. He knew if the government wanted him dead, they wouldn’t have sent Carlson up here to do the job. Thinking back, he knew the nurse could’ve got him with a quick and almost painless jab of a needle while they were on the floor picking up her books.

  Clay ran around to the passenger side and climbed in, holstering his pistol under his coat and shaking Carlson’s hand. “What’s wrong with Doc?”

  “He had a heart attack and died in his sleep three nights ago, and before you ask, yes it was a real heart attack. The old man should’ve retired about twenty years ago, but he loved the game and was still one of the best at it as a handler. I’m not sure what he told you about himself, but Doc worked with North Korean spies and Viet Nam prisoners of war. The agency had sent him to medical school to add to his other expertise. I can only imagine what he’s seen and heard over the last few decades. But it all went with him. We don’t have any of the work he did with you except for the initial contacts, and that’s why I’m here. We’ve got a lot of work to do before I fly out in the morning. I have to be brought up to date so Washington can decide on whether or not to cancel this operation.”

  Clay thought about it for a moment. He could get Emy out of it now and her parents by simply telling them his time up here had proven to be much ado about nothing, but when the Colonel’s plan was carried out, whatever it is, and people died, he’d have to live with it. Clay knew, and he couldn’t do that. “Doc was supposed to be sending you weekly reports, and I’m not sure why he wasn’t. Maybe it had something to do with his advanced years and his health problems. I knew he was old, but not that old. But this operation has revealed a major domestic terrorist organization here in Fairbanks. This is a rogue militia force, which I am now an officer in, inside the legitimate Alaska Defense Force and it numbers one-hundred and twenty officers, NCOs, and troops. They are motorized and extremely well-armed with high explosives and automatic weapons.

  He had just startled Mr. Carlson from Homeland Security, who was now all ears and no longer freezing.

  “I was made the unit’s training officer for both the Alaska Defense Force Northern Unit and more recently for the ‘Freedom for Alaska Militia’ or FFAM. This could become your worst nightmare, Mr. Carlson.”

  “And the good doctor was sitting on all this. We’ve searched his office and his condo, but we’ve found nothing concerning his meetings with you.”

  “He recorded every meeting we had…I wonder what happened to those recordings.”

  “We may never know,” Carlson said. “Okay, I’ve got two thermoses of strong black coffee, my own recording machine with satellite transfer to Washington DC…even Radio shack doesn’t have that yet, and four belly bomber burgers with all the fixings. So let’s get started.”

  At 5:14 a.m., Mr. Carlson turned the recorder off and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “So, you’re convinced that if we moved in right now and made massive arrests, we’d end up with Ruby Ridge and Waco all rolled into one.”

  “Sir, Fairbanks, for as spread out as it is, is a tight little town and Alaskans love their freedom and especially their privacy. If you were to start making arrests, word would be out quicker than you could get your people moved around. Weapons would either vanish, along with the troops and you’d never find them out there. They know this land, and your agents don’t. I doubt you’d be able to find non-law enforcement Alaskans willing to track these people down either. There’s a lot of people up here who support this sovereignty issue, wary of the US government stepping in with their clodhoppers and telling the state what to do and how to do it. I’m not sure, but if this was to be handled wrong, you could initiate the war over statehood you wanted to stop in the beginning.

  “No, until I can learn the date of the event and the target, I’d say simply prepare your people. But hands off until then, Mr. Carlson, nothing is going to happen until summer anyway. No one does much of anything up here in the winter time.”

  Carlson nodded his head, “I can’t make any decisions, and you know that, but I will pass along your recommendation and my support of it. I would prefer taking down the whole unit with charges we can confirm. They botched the last militia trial they had up here because they moved too fast. Something about the cold up here… gets all the federal prosecutors’ brains chilled and they jump before they’re ready.

  “So, now I have to find another handler for you… be about a week. I’ll have him, or her bring their car to the shop and demand to see the shop supervisor. They’ll toss my name into the conversation, and you two work it out on meeting locations and times. But I want weekly updates and reports on this training you’re doing.”

  “How do you like the snow?” Clay asked. The car had seven-inches of snow on it, and both men had to get outside to clean it off so Carlson would be able to leave.

  “Alaska is a beautiful land, and between you and I, the US should stay out of most state affairs. It would make things a whole lot easier for the federal government to operate.”

  WICKERSHAM CHEVROLET DEALERSHIP

  SOUTH CUSHMAN, FAIRBANKS

  APRIL 2ND

  “Hey Clay, you got a moment?” Jeremy Packa asked. A longtime mechanic for Wickersham, Jeremy chose the vehicles he wanted to work on unless things were backed up. He was checked out on every piece of equipment on the floor and knew more about cars than anyone in the dealership. He also made as much money as Clay did, plus Jeremy earned extra with his overtime.

  Dressed in oily gray coverall with Wickersham Chevrolet stitched on the back and Jeremy Packa stitched on the front left breast area, Jeremy’s reddish blonde hair was equally oily, and the rag he wore to keep the hair out of his eyes was 10-30 weight for weeks of usage without washing. His tan work gloves were now mostly a stained dark brown, and his steel-toed black leather boots had suffered abominable damage. He also had a foul mouth from his four years with the US Navy.

  “What’s the problem, Jeremy?” Clay was standing by the parts’ counter, reviewing an order a customer had complained about over the phone concerning a charge for a part installed yesterday that was never
installed or requested. They got home and checked the paperwork, checked under the hood, and became upset.

  “I got this broad out front who wants to see the shop foreman about her car. She’s upset about some work we were supposed to have done, and I told her she’s got the wrong place. But she’s not happy, so I thought you being a real smooth talker and all with the ladies, you could get her…”

  “Yeah, I got it. Her ears started burning from all those big words the Navy taught you.”

  Jeremy shook his head, “I knew I should’ve stayed at sea. You meet a better sort of people on the ocean. You Army grunts are a bunch of…” Jeremy got cut off when Clay pointed toward where Silas’s office was. “I’ll take care of her, Jeremy…now go wash your mouth out with soap.”

  Jeremy walked off laughing. He liked Clay, even though he was an Army grunt.

  Clay walked out through the doors and found a tall lady in a heavy blue wool winter coat, over a white ski sweater, and black woman’s slack tucked into calf-high insulated black leather boots. She had long brown hair with gray highlights and a longish face, with a pointy nose supporting a pair of gold wire-rimmed glasses. Clay estimated her to be in her early 40’s and she was holding a pair of insulated black leather gloves in her hands, smacking them together to illustrate her impatience.

  “Ma’am, I’m Clay Jefferson, the shop supervisor. I understand there is some sort of problem.”

  “Yes, I should say so! I brought my car in here a week ago and talked with a Mr. Carlson, who promised me he had it all fixed. Now it’s broken down again, in my driveway and I have to use a taxi to get around town. I was hoping to have a nice chat with Mr. Carlson and give him a piece of my mind concerning promises made to women. I paid you people four-hundred and seventy-five dollars!”

  Mr. Carlson…so, you’re my new handler. Are you FBI, Agency or Homeland Security? “Ma’am, we have no Mr. Carlson here, but I believe he works for the Ford dealership up the street. I think you came to the wrong place by mistake. We sort of look-alike… South Cushman is one big car lot.”

  “Oh, my…I am sorry. I thought this was the Ford dealership. I told my taxi driver to take me to the Ford dealership, but I don’t think he speaks English very well. Cars all look alike to me.”

  “Well, why don’t I walk you outside and have a talk with your driver. I might be able to explain to him where you want to go and please let me cover the extra charge.”

  “Wow, a man of chivalry and here I thought it was a dying art.” She buttoned up her coat, put her gloves on, and walked outside. Clay held the door open for her and followed her to the taxi.

  He opened the door for her, and she slid in. “Don’t worry, the driver works for us. My name is Leslie File. Mr. Carlson sends his regards, and your recommendation is being considered. I’ll meet with you once a week. What day is best and where?”

  Clay had been considering this since he left Mr. Carlson but wasn’t expecting a woman. “Can you get on Post?”

  “That’s not a problem.”

  “Let’s continue our meetings at the hospital…Psychology Wing. I go in for my PTSD. You can pose as doctor, nurse, or whatever. But get a room so we won’t be disturbed…Doc cleared it with Hospital Administrator. Say, Thursday at 3 p.m. I know you have my phone number, but it could be wired. Call me as if you’re the reservations office at the hospital to confirm my appointment on Wednesday like they always do. They don’t trust me completely yet, and they have the personnel to wire whatever they want. This is a very dedicated and very possibly a dangerous group.”

  “Yes, I read your report with Mr. Carlson. I’m impressed with what you’ve been able to do. I’ll see you soon.”

  Clay closed the door, gave her a casual wave, and walked inside. The air was still pretty cool, and the heat on the showroom floor felt good. He was standing there watching the taxi drive toward the Ford dealership when he felt someone approach his blindside, and he turned to find Silas. “Is there a problem, Clay?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Clay said. He had a smirk on his face. “But it’s not our problem. She’s on her way to the Ford dealership now, had gotten them confused with us and it appears English was her driver’s second language. Apparently, a mechanic at the Ford place is about to get the tongue lashing of his life.”

  “Well, I’m glad it wasn’t us. I saw Jeremy out here with her, and I could tell his use of the English language was quite a shock in itself. I had to get off the phone, but then I saw you come out and handle it. By the way, how are things looking for our leadership training weekends?”

  “Everything is set up, announcements made, and ammo on order. We should have everything a week or two before the weekend we need it.”

  “Great,” Silas said. “You’re doing a fine job for me, Clay and I appreciate it.” Silas began to turn away, and then he remembered something and asked Clay, “How is the wedding plans coming along?”

  “I’m taking my future father-in-law’s advice and staying out of the way. I think scheduling the wedding for June 6th is prophetic; it feels much like the planning of the D Day Invasion.”

  “One very special day in a young woman’s life and she wants it all perfect. But I’d stay out of her way too. On another thought, how are you doing with your PTSD support group…is it helping with the nightmares?”

  “Thank you for asking, Colonel,” Clay replied. “Yes, it helps, but the nightmares come and go. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Yes, but you handle it better than most, Clay and I would have to say you owe that to your faith in God. Am I right?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Clay answered. “Good Lord has brought a lot of healing to me, I now wait for my Emy to find her faith. It can be so hard after experiencing what we did over there. The Barbarism and brutality of man can cause a might rift between God and man. But He is always there.”

  “Amen to that.” Silas put his right hand on Clay’s left shoulder in friendship and then returned to his office.

  THURSDAY 3 P.M. BASSETT HOSPITAL

  PSYCHOLOGY WING/EXAM ROOM

  APRIL 5TH

  Leslie File wore a white doctor’s smock, white pants, and white jogger’s shoes. A lot of nurses and doctors had switched over to the more comfortable joggers in the last several years. She had a blue stethoscope draped around the back of her neck and an official hospital ID card pinned to her right breast area of her smock.

  “Is it Mrs., or miss?” Clay asked.

  “Make it simple and call me Leslie. Personal information is not needed at this time. Except to say, I work for Mr. Carlson at Homeland Security, and you are not my first operative. I know your entire personal history, for which I might add I am greatly impressed with your service record. But having said all this, let’s turn on the recorder and begin.”

  Leslie used a similar device to what Doc had used and now turned it on and began with a question concerning Clay’s latest moves within the FFAM.

  “As the militia and FFAM training officer, I’ve advised the Colonel of several areas of concern involving leadership. I’ve done this in hopes of gaining further trust in hopes of learning target and target date. I know with the size force we have, it will be large. He wants to make a big splash in the worldwide news in hopes of gaining sympathy from the United Nations. His whole goal is to bring about a second statehood vote. He feels if another legitimate vote was taken today, under UN law, the people of Alaska would vote for sovereignty and become a free nation and ally to the USA and Canada. He would rent the military land to the US for $ 1 a year in order to keep its protection, but Alaska would then have a real say in what happens here.”

  “Let’s go back to the leadership problem areas you mentioned…”

  MILITIA TRAINING FIELD

  22-MILE RICHARDSON HIGHWAY / ACROSS FROM EIELSON AIR FORCE BASE

  MAY 23RD/ SATURDAY MORNING 9:40 A.M.

  Over the weekly meetings with Leslie, Clay had come to respect the woman’s insight and keen intelligence. He was relieved when Washington DC
had taken his recommendation to hold off on massive arrests and had moved twelve-new FBI agents and six Homeland Security Agents into the Anchorage offices. Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms (ATF) moved a special weapons team in under the guise of spring bear hunters up from California. A Federal Fish & Game Officer was posing as their guide. Three other teams of Homeland Security Agents and the FBI Hostage/Rescue SWAT were on standby in Seattle. The feds were doing everything they could not to alarm the FFAM or even the Alaska Defense Force of the extra federal presence. Men and women who usually wore suits to office were now wearing typical Alaska wear for the season. Tourist season was just beginning, and a lot of extra people in Anchorage was no big thing.

  The Officer retreat had come off quite well, except for the two lieutenants who were reduced in rank to Staff Sergeants and placed in non-leadership positions. They attended the NCO weekend and actually had a pretty good time, and there been no apparent hard feelings. But this meant two new lieutenants were needed to balance. The senior officers discussed it, and two senior NCOs, with good leadership skills, were promoted and made platoon commanders.

  Clay looked out over the formation of the Alaska Defense Force Northern Command. They were formed up by squads, then by platoons and by companies before Colonel Wickersham. The tents were all up, breakfast was completed, and everyone was heavily dosed down with mosquito repellant. According to today’s training schedule, they would begin with weapons training by platoons, while the other soldiers were working on hand-to-hand fighting drills, exercising, obstacle course Clay had set up, a three-mile compass course with full pack. Special teams had been chosen to work with Explosive Ordinance Disposal personnel, anti-tank squads, and heavy weapons squads. This made for a very busy day, and the training field was packed with active personnel and the background filled with the near-constant sound of weapons fire.