by Frank Klus
When New America was accused of violating its agreement with the United States—though few people knew why—the government broke off trade relations. Sanctions continued to be added until the point was reached where all access to the new country was blocked. The mail service was not allowed to bring mail in or out, and Canada was promised sanctions against them if it did not cooperate with the U.S. Internet sites were blocked in and out of New America, and various other restrictions virtually sealed off the new country from the rest of the world.
New America found ways around the restrictions, such as using a network of other countries that could relay communications to people in the United States, and even a rudimentary underground trading system was set up; but the U.S. Government estimated that about ninety percent of communications with New America were successfully blocked.
This was the situation facing Horace Hayfield as he tried to escape from Old America. His contact at the Piper Air Club was Sadie Meriwether, who used to live in the state of North California. She tried to start an air show, but went to work for the Club when her business failed. In her mid-forties, she never married and became the featured pilot when it came to taking businessmen to various cities in New America. When the restrictions came, the Club revised their business plan. They began taking tourists on overland trips to New America. The government approved this so long as they didn’t land.
“Hello, Miss Meriwether,” Horace said.
“Sadie, please,” she said as they shook hands. Sadie had her own office. It was small, but comfortable.
Horace leaned across the desk, indicating he didn’t want to be overheard by anyone. “I understand you can land people in Portland.”
Sadie looked up, surprised. She had done so in the past for a hefty fee, but things were different now. “May I ask why you want to emigrate?”
“Let’s just say my life depends on it,” Horace said. “How much will it cost and when can we leave?”
Sadie didn’t answer at first. She stared at her desk and took a deep breath. “My fee is ten thousand dollars.”
Horace was surprised. “I was told it was about one thousand.”
“One thousand dollars is the fee for the tourist flight.”
“What if you didn’t land? What if I parachuted out of the plane?”
“That was done once before that I know of. The pilot came back without his passenger. Questions were asked. That pilot lost his license, paid a hefty fine, and served a short prison stretch.” Horace just looked on matter-of-factly.
“What other options do I have?”
“If I take you there, we’d land. Then I could never go back. I lose everything. I wouldn’t even consider it except that New America is a great place. I planned to go back there someday. Can you be ready in a week?”
“I’m ready right now.”
“I need a week to make my own plans. Meet me here this same time next Tuesday.”
“Okay.”
“I need the money tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes, tomorrow or there is no deal. You said you were ready right now, or did I misunderstand you?”
“Fine.”
Horace would have to sell his car. When the day of his departure arrived, Horace went to Sadie’s office, but she wasn’t there. He asked around and somebody mentioned that she was arrested. Oh my God, he thought, we were found out.
Just then a man walked up to him. “Mr. Hayfield?”
“Yes.”
The man showed Horace his badge and identified himself as Detective Ferris. “Mr. Hayfield, you’re under arrest for espionage.” Hayfield froze.
At the local precinct in Salinas, Detective Ferris tried to question Hayfield, but Horace was a savvy businessman who knew never to answer questions without his lawyer being present. A frustrated Ferris shoved the phone over to him and told him to call. Hayfield preferred his own mobile phone, which had his lawyer’s contact information. His lawyer promised him a reference to a local attorney, who then called Hayfield and promised he’d be there in the morning. Horace was taken to a cell and told he’d stay there until he was ready to talk to the detective.
The next morning a man identifying himself as Stuart Hessfield showed up and got Hayfield out on bail, but he would have to answer some questions. Stu promised he’d be there with him.
Detective Ferris interrogated Hayfield for several hours about why he was leaving Old America, what he was going to do in Portland, and when he was planning on returning. Hayfield answered all the questions truthfully and the district attorney was satisfied that he wasn’t a spy. Nevertheless, he was told not to make any more attempts to enter New America or he’d be re-arrested.
Hayfield was curious as to how he was suspected in the first place. Detective Ferris smiled and said he’d seen a lot of people try to sneak across the border over the past three years. “First they find the border is blocked, then they try to sneak across, by air, boat, or their feet. To do this, they have to sell their possessions that they couldn’t carry. We’ve alerted all the auto dealers and pawn shops in the area to call the police whenever a customer wants to dump their car instead of trading it in. That’s what happened with you. The dealer bought your car, called me, and figured you’d be let out within a few days. He has your car all set to resell it back to you for a nice tidy profit for himself.”
“But Sadie?”
“Same thing with her. When she tried to sell off everything we picked her up.”
That son of a bitch, thought Hayfield. It’s a fucking racket they got going here. Damn, I wished I’d thought of it.
Hayfield bought his car back and his luggage was still in his old room. He was out the ten thousand dollars he gave Sadie Meriwether, and a few grand more to the dealership. Furthermore, he was back to square one, still trying to figure a way across the border, and not much wiser for the effort.
Next, he went to the boatyard to see if someone could carry him to any shore in New America. He talked to a man named Phillips and asked him how much he’d take for the job.
“Nothing,” was his answer. “I’ve had two men take a few thousand dollars for the job. They left in the middle of the night; just a five mile trip across the border. The first guy to try it was chased by the Coast Guard and arrested. The second guy was shot and his boat exploded. You won’t find anyone else around here who will take the chance.”
Great! Now what am I going to do? Hayfield thought about it for a little while and concluded that maybe there were better opportunities to get across from a different spot. So Horace got into his Mercedes and headed north, but it was the same situation. The roads to New America were all blocked.
He continued to move northward until he reached Idaho. Then he got on Route 86, and took it toward Piper City, where, once again, the roads were blocked. Horace thought he might be able to bribe a border guard. He approached the duty officer, but was chased out of there before he could even make an offer. He searched for side roads that might get him across, but mostly they dead ended. A frustrated Horace Hayfield stopped at a motel for the night and contemplated his next move when there was a knock at his door. He answered it, figuring it must be housekeeping, but a man he never saw before was standing there. Horace thought he looked kind of goofy.
“Are you looking for a way across the border?”
“Who are you? Who sent you? How do you know what I’m looking for?”
“May I come in? I can explain.”
Hayfield let him in. He was tall and thin and walked with an odd gait. “My name is Milo. May I have a bottle of water, please?” Horace gave him the water.
“May I have something to eat? I ain’t et all day.” Horace made him a sandwich, and then waited for the man to state his business.
“You’re looking for a way in, right?”
“Let’s just say I am.”
Milo just nodded up and down as he wolfed down the sandwich. “I understand, sir. I know a way across.”
“Ok
ay, I’m listening.” Horace was getting impatient. Christ, finish the blasted sandwich and get on with it.
“My fee is a thousand bucks.”
What, just one grand? Christ, all these hucksters. “How do I know that if I give you money you won’t just take off with it and leave me stranded somewhere?”
“I’ll take you there. You drive and I’ll show you where to go. I’ll take half now and the rest when we get there.”
Hayfield was hesitant to spend still more money. Yet, he knew he’d need somebody’s help. Hayfield was a self-made entrepreneur—mostly from commercial real estate. He had millions and he had to get across. “When will you be ready?” he said.
“I’m ready right now.”
“I have to get the cash. When is the best time to go?”
“Tonight—around midnight.”
“Be here then and I’ll be ready to go.”
Milo Hoopenmiller drove with Horace Hayfield, giving him directions, until they wound up at the end of a cul-de-sac in a neighborhood community. Just ahead was a forested area. Milo pointed to the trees. “It’s about three miles to the border.”
“You want me to walk through those trees in the middle of the night?”
“If you want to cross the border, that’s what you have to do. It shouldn’t take more than two hours. Just keep walking west.” Then he looked up at the sky. “You see that group of stars? Just keep walking toward it and you’ll be fine.”
“What am I supposed to do with my car?”
“Leave it. If you try to sell it, you’ll attract the police. If you get turned back the car will still be here. Now, my other five hundred.”
It might not be the bargain Hayfield wanted, but he gave him the cash and got out. Milo did the same. “Would you call a cab for me?” Milo asked.
It was about 1:30 a.m. before Horace started out. He didn’t like it; in fact, he was downright scared. He was especially afraid when he looked up for those stars and saw only the tops of the trees. There was no pathway and he was constantly tripping over loose branches, roots, and banging into limbs he didn’t see. He couldn’t be sure he didn’t get turned around. He remembered something about how one could tell direction in a forest by the sides of the tree that moss was growing on, but he couldn’t see the moss, and couldn’t remember what direction it grew on anyway.
It was now 3:30 a.m. and all he could see were more trees. He sat down and leaned against a pine tree, envisioning the forest going on forever. He imagined somebody finding his rotted body, still leaning against this tree, generations from now.
Did I sleep? He looked at his watch. It was going on four o’clock. Got to keep moving. He got up, hoped he was going in the right direction, and started walking. After about twenty more minutes he came to a clearing, but there was a wire fence in his way. He started climbing the fence but then there was a shout. He stopped for a moment, wondering if it was his imagination or not. Then, he heard a distinct voice to his left. He heard footsteps. Somebody was running toward him. He started climbing again. Somehow, he imagined that freedom existed on the other side of that fence. The shouts grew louder. He was tired. Maybe that’s what caused his foot to slip on the fence. He tried again but he felt arms wrapping around his legs. He was pulled down suddenly and violently. The sharp edges of the top of the fence ripped into his left breast, making a gash as he was pulled into the clutches of a burly man.
With a Scottish brogue the man said, “Where do you think yer goin’ laddie? No one’s permitted on the other side of the fence.” He held his left arm in a locked position and began leading him to a second man, who grabbed hold of Horace’s other arm. They were held in locked position until they got to a golf cart. Horace was handcuffed to the cart and they drove down a pathway for several hundred feet. Then the path widened and they came to a cul-de-sac where more men and a police cruiser were standing by.
Horace was transferred to the cruiser and taken to jail, where he was then interrogated. Once more, Horace demanded a lawyer, but one could not get there before later that morning.
That afternoon, an attorney by the name of Nathan Phillips entered his cell. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hayfield.”
Phillips sat on the cot next to Hayfield, and Phillips told him he was in trouble. “The D.A. learned about your misadventure in California. Overnight you were identified as the same man who tried to enter the CSA illegally. They want to try you for espionage. It’s bogus, but the judges demonstrated in the past that they are going to hear such cases.”
“Jesus Christ, whatever happened to freedom in this country?”
“Folks say they still have it, but the law is the law. I have a duty to uphold it, even the parts I disagree with, such as this situation, and what you’re being charged with.”
I’m screwed! thought Horace.
“I think I have a way out of this, however. I need a little more time to make a strong case. I need you to be patient for a few days. Whatever you do, don’t talk to the police. Even if they tell you that you can go straight home if you answer their questions, don’t believe them. Just wait a few days until I come for you. Even if they try and bait you into believing I won’t be coming back, don’t believe them.”
“They’d do that?”
“They can and have.”
For the next four days Horace Hayfield was confined to a holding cell at the precinct. He believed in Phillips—that he would come back—but each day felt like a lifetime. He was allowed out after two days to shower, but then taken back into his cell. He got two meals a day. They weren’t very satisfying, and he was hungry all the time. Finally, a guard came to his cell and let him out.
Horace was escorted to the duty officer, where Phillips was standing. He was smiling. “You’re a free man, Mr. Hayfield. We just have to have you sign a couple things.”
The duty officer gave him a bag with his personal things. “Sign here,” he said.
Then Phillips gave him another document that said he must not attempt to climb that fence again. He signed it.
Phillips led Hayfield outside. As they walked down the steps to a waiting cab, Phillips said, “We need to get you out of the country. Don’t say anything yet.”
In Phillips’s office, Horace sat down. “That spiel the other day about how most people have no problem with freedom was for the sake of open ears. People will listen to what any lawyer has to say. What I told you was bullshit. There is no freedom to say what you think in this country. People have disappeared after mouthing off about government.”
“What do you know about my situation?” Horace said. “You know somethin’. You know more than you’re tellin’ me.”
“You’re right, I do. I know about your summer camp for bad children. I know you used the brain probe to change their behavior. This was a secret government program. A man named Grifton invented it. He was given financial support by another man named Schmidt. The government let paramilitary groups in on it in exchange for their protection. When Dr. Schmidt and Dr. Grifton sold the machine to you everyone was pissed, but didn’t know what to do. They were willing to let things go until your patients began reliving their treatment. Then the shit started.
“They wanted Schmidt and Grifton to fix the problem, but Grifton suffered an accident that harmed his mind. He was the brains behind it. As more people started remembering, demands were put on the Congress to investigate. The Justice Department got involved—well, everything began unraveling.”
“They want me, right?”
“I think you know that. That’s why you’re so desperate to get across the border.”
“I got people suin’ me, and I figured sooner or later those government thugs would be after me as well,” Horace said.
“They were initially after Schmidt and Grifton. There’s an organization called NOGOV that is the de facto government in this country. The nominal government does what NOGOV wants. With everything concerning the Brain Probe Program coming undone NOGOV gave the order to cover up the whole prog
ram; deny its existence. Anyone who had first-hand knowledge of it was meant to disappear. Schmidt and Grifton knew this and tried to run. They were killed by mercenaries. More of them are on the run.”
“Including me.”
“Yes. There’s going to be a bounty on your head as soon as they find out you’re missing. They don’t know yet, which is why you were let out of jail. But they will soon be after you.”
“How did you get me out?” Horace asked. “You said you had an idea.”
“According to the treaty with the CSA—that’s the Cooperative States of America—once you are on their side, you are free. No one can capture you and bring you back to Old America. I argued that since part of your hand touched the back of the fence, you were in CSA territory and were illegally pulled back into Old America.
“Now the D.A. wasn’t buying that argument, but in a trial our government could get a black eye over such allegations. I argued that I would drop a lawsuit against the county in exchange for your freedom. They bought it.”
“Thanks, but my life depends on me gettin’ out of the country. So, how do I get out of here?”
“I have an idea on that as well, but it will involve a lot of money, about a hundred grand. You have that kind of money?”
“Jesus. I guess so. I’ll need to withdraw money from the brokerage house that has most of it.”
“Good. Let’s get started.”
He turned his computer around and put his browser on the screen. Hayfield began typing and, after a minute or so, reached his brokerage house. He clicked on the sell button. The screen indicated the stock sold, number of shares, and balance. It showed more than one hundred thirty grand. He then withdrew a hundred grand, to be transferred to his bank account. The screen displayed a dialog box indicating he must call the firm to complete the withdrawal.