by Don Brown
On the other hand, life would have been simpler if he’d taken that assignment to teach military law at the Naval Academy. If he’d gone to the Academy, or gone to a carrier, it was doubtful he would have been assigned a project that would cause him to lose sleep. He was sure he’d go to bed tonight sweating bullets.
“Good evening, sailor.” Her velvety-smooth words coincided with a soft hand touching his left shoulder and an unexpected fluttering in his chest cavity. He stood, catching another whiff of her perfume, which proved more dizzying than the buzz from his Heineken. Her figure in civilian attire, in this case a nicely cut little black dress that accentuated her reddish hair and green eyes, achieved an instantaneous wow factor. She also wore heels just high enough for a glamorous, statuesque form. Her appearance caused him to lose temporary command of his ability to concentrate.
Focus, P.J.!
He rose from his chair. “It’s good to see you. You look great tonight.”
Her smile had a shy yet pleasant nervousness about it, as if she was pleased he had noticed how sensational she looked but didn’t wish to fully signal how much it pleased her that he had noticed. Already the electricity was amped to high voltage.
“Thank you. You look nice yourself.”
“Me?” He glanced down at himself in a solid black T-shirt and denims. “I just threw on a pair of jeans. Anyway—” He caught himself in an awkward moment. “Please have a seat.” He reached out and pulled out her chair, then slipped it under her as she sat. “Could I order you something to drink?”
“A glass of wine would be fine. Pinot noir, please.” Another smile. This was becoming a showstopping distraction.
“Waitress?”
“Yes, sir?”
“A glass of your best pinot noir, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
“On second thought, make that two.”
“Right away, sir.”
“This wine is fabulous.” Her eyes danced with an exquisite sparkle as she smiled at him from across the table.
You’re the one who looks fabulous, he thought about saying in response. Indeed, he would have said just that were it not for the fact that in a few days he would be facing the most awkward of situations he could imagine, working in the Pentagon, at Code 13, with the woman he had almost proposed to alongside this incredible new officer whom he suddenly found irresistibly attractive, against every impulse not to find her so desirable.
“Yes, it’s smooth,” he said. “They have some excellent selections here.”
“Yes, they do.” She kept her eyes on him as if she knew he had become entranced. “This is a great place to get away. Maybe we could try it again sometime?”
He hesitated. “Maybe so.”
“That would be nice.” Victoria’s hand found his forearm, enough contact for an electric jolt, then teasingly broke contact. “So, do you want to talk about it?”
“You sure you want to hear?”
“That’s why I’m here. To give you my ear, to give you my attention, and to be a sounding board. Right?”
“You’re kind.”
“That’s part of my duty, as far as I’m concerned. To help a fellow officer in need.”
He ignored that comment. “What part would you like to hear first?”
“Well . . .” She brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. “Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you most?”
“That’s a loaded question.”
“I’ve got all night if you need it, P.J.” She touched his forearm again. Her touch lingered a bit longer this time.
He took a sip of wine.
She withdrew her hand but compensated with another smile.
He looked around to make sure no one was in earshot. Two tables over, a young couple was enraptured with each other. Across the way to their left, three middle-aged women swigged their wine, engaged in blissful, cackling gossip.
No one was paying attention.
“Well, you know I’ve been assigned to write this legal opinion on the drone project.”
“Of course, P.J. Everyone at Code 13 knows about it by now. It’s an honor that you were selected. It demonstrates their confidence in you.”
“Yeah, right. I’d rather they take their honor and confidence in this case and shovel it on somebody else.”
“I don’t follow.”
He looked around again. He had to be careful about discussing this in public.
“Let me ask you something, Victoria. Have you ever heard of something called the Constitution-Free Zone?”
She gave him a questioning look. “Constitution-Free Zone? Are you talking about something in Russia or China or something like that?”
He sat back in his chair. “I think I need another beer.”
“Suit yourself.”
He raised his hand to summon their waitress. “Bud Light, please. You want anything, Victoria?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Just one then.”
“Yes, sir.”
He waited until the waitress had stepped out of earshot. “See, that’s what I thought too. At first. But in researching the posse comitatus angle of this brief that I’m writing—that’s the part about how you can’t use the military for domestic police activities.”
“Right. Right. I got that part.”
“Your beer, sir.”
“Thanks . . .” He looked at the waitress’s name tag. “Marilyn. Put it right there, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
He took a sip, waiting for the college-aged-looking waitress to walk away again.
“Of course you know posse comitatus. You’re a JAG officer. What was I thinking?”
“No problem. So you found something when you were researching?”
“Did I find anything in my research.” A swig of beer. “Let me ask you this. Did you know the executive branch of the federal government takes the position that the Fourth Amendment doesn’t apply within one hundred miles of all the coastal and border areas of the United States?”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“What I’m saying is the feds claim they can stop anybody within a hundred miles of the border even without probable cause. They can search within a hundred miles of the border even without probable cause. They claim the Fourth Amendment does not apply within a hundred miles of the border and they don’t need a search warrant.”
“Are you serious?”
“I’m dead serious.”
“How long has this been in effect?”
“It started back around 2008, with Homeland Security claiming the warrantless searches could extend a hundred miles inland. That includes most of the population of the United States.”
“Wait a minute. You’re saying they claim they can just stop somebody’s car for no reason? Or search an American citizen for no reason? Or go into someone’s house without a search warrant?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. The feds are saying they don’t need a warrant. They can search in the name of national security. I’m not just talking at the borders or at the coast. I’m talking inland. The heck with a warrant.”
Victoria rolled her eyes upward as if she was thinking. “I don’t understand this. If this is true, then how come I’ve never heard about it? I’ve never heard anybody talking about it.”
“Hey, don’t feel bad about it. I hadn’t heard about it either until I started researching for this project.”
“Well, I don’t get it,” she said. “If all this is true, then why hasn’t the press reported on it?”
“The press has reported on it in spots, but indirectly.”
“What do you mean, P.J.?”
“Do you remember back during the Boston Marathon bombing in 2013?”
“Sure. It was awful. There was a huge manhunt for the terrorists. Who could forget it?”
“Well, what do you remember about the manhunt?”
She looked quizzical. “I remember that it lasted several days, was pretty extensiv
e. Seems like they killed one of the terrorists and found the other one hiding in a boat in somebody’s backyard. Later convicted him for murder.”
“You’ve got a good memory. What else do you remember about the manhunt?”
“Let’s see. I remember that these terrorists were Muslim Chechens, from Russia.”
“So you remember how they found the Muslim Chechens?”
“Seems like they found them in some residential neighborhood in Boston.”
He took another swig of beer. “Found them in a residential neighborhood. That’s an understatement.”
“What are you getting at, P.J.?” A sip of her wine.
“What I mean is this. That for four days after these bombs went off—that killed five people, by the way—the Boston cops and federal troops got into this storm-trooper gear and drove around the streets of Watertown in military-style armored vehicles, ordering people out of their homes without authority, kicking down doors, entering homes without warrants. The Boston cops and the feds acted like the Gestapo, invading people’s homes, violating their property rights, and ordering citizens around like a bunch of little Nazis.”
“What?” A stunned look on her face. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.”
“How many homes did they invade without a warrant?”
“Dozens. These jackboots rolled up in front of these old, middle-class frame houses in these black armored personnel carriers. Platoons of them moved up and down the streets. Police officers and FBI agents. All dressed like military Gestapo storm troopers, complete with black uniforms, black boots, and black helmets that made them look as intimidating as Darth Vader.
“They acted like big he-men, turning the neighborhood streets of Boston into what looked like an occupation zone from a World War II movie. They strapped M-16 military assault rifles around their shoulders and marched down the streets with their bullhorns, ordering people to come out of their houses.”
“I can’t believe it. You mean they did this without a warrant or without a court order?”
“Believe it. You can see it all over YouTube. It’s all over the internet. All this was recorded by residents watching it in disbelief, even though the mainstream press decided to protect these illegal activities by not reporting on them. These jackboots stormed off the streets, rushed onto the sidewalk, stomped their way up the front porches of these houses, and banged on the doors.
“They banged on the doors three times and ordered people out of their homes. If the family opened the door, they pointed their rifles at them and ordered them to put their hands over their heads, then ordered them down to the street. If no one answered, they gathered around in a semicircle and aimed their rifles at the door while one of the jackboots kicked it down.
“Then they’d bring their rifles down into an aim position and crouch down like they were expecting incoming mortar rounds from the Russians. Then when they were all crouched down, they entered these people’s homes, covering each other’s backs like they were the SEALs hunting for bin Laden or something.
“It’s like if you give them a gun and a badge and a Gestapo uniform, they start acting like the Gestapo.” A sip of water. “I mean, these people in those houses had done nothing wrong. These were their homes. They were just minding their own business, and all of a sudden, these storm troopers showed up with armored personnel carriers and bullhorns and started banging their doors down.”
A puzzled look crossed Victoria’s pretty face. “I don’t remember seeing anything at all about this on the news.”
“Of course not. But it happened right in neighborhoods, family neighborhoods, in Watertown, Massachusetts. Google the Boston Marathon manhunt.”
“I don’t know what to say. I can’t . . .” She seemed to be in thought. “Why wouldn’t the press make more of an issue of this?”
“Because they don’t care!” He caught himself. Had to restrain the anger growing within him. “Just like they’ve covered up the indefinite retention periods under the National Defense Authorization Act, like they’ve covered up federal agencies like the EPA and the IRS just grabbing people’s properties or taking money from bank accounts without any notice, let alone them not getting a judge or jury.”
“This is an outrage,” she said. “I don’t understand why the media doesn’t give this type of thing more publicity, why they wouldn’t care.”
“Because the mainstream media is in bed with the government! The press is part of the cover-up. I’m not making this up! I’ve discovered all this as part of my research for this project!” He paused. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”
“It’s okay.” She reached over and took his hand.
“All the mainstream press is owned by big, wealthy conglomerates with a financial interest in preserving the status quo. It’s not about being a watchdog against government tyranny, which was the whole idea behind freedom of the press. Now the mainstream press has become part of the problem. They hid the fact that cops were busting into people’s houses without warrants in New Orleans too.”
“In New Orleans?”
He looked at her. A look of shock washed over her face. “Yes, in New Orleans. Right after Hurricane Katrina. They busted into the houses of little old ladies who had been stranded by the storm, stole privately owned guns without permission, never paid for them, and in many cases those guns were the only protection some of these elderly ladies had against looters.”
Victoria shook her head. “Unbelievable.”
“Unbelievable is right. Of course, all that happened before the federal government got so bold as to declare this hundred-mile”—he made mocking quotation signs with his fingers—“ ‘Constitution-Free Zone.’ Hurricane Katrina emboldened them. By the time Boston rolled around, I guess they’d been so emboldened by what they got away with in New Orleans that they took the position that the Constitution didn’t apply because Boston is within one hundred miles of the coast.”
“Hang on a second, P.J.”
Victoria withdrew her hand, and he hoped she wouldn’t withdraw it for long. Focus, P.J.!
“When was Katrina, again?” she asked.
“Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans in 2005, during the second term of George W. Bush’s administration.”
“Okay. And Boston was 2013. Right?”
“Right.”
“So you’re telling me that sometime between 2005 and 2013, the executive branch came up with this secret policy of some sort, a Constitution-Free Zone, where they can do about anything they want as long as it’s within one hundred miles of the coast or the national border?”
Her leg brushed his under the table, which once again momentarily distracted him. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you. I’m also saying that even though the mainstream press refused to report on it, this policy change was not so secret if anybody was paying attention.”
She looked at him curiously. “So where did you find all this?”
“Would you like to order anything else?” P.J. looked up. The waitress had returned. “Give us a few more minutes, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
He waited again until she had stepped away, then looked across the table at Victoria, her red hair mirroring a subtle sheen under the subdued lights. “Actually, I learned about this so-called Constitution-Free Zone from a source I’m not always that fond of.”
“Let me guess. The Communist Party?” A coy smile.
He discovered that her smile, nicely timed, had a soothing effect on him. “You know the right things to say to get me calmed down, don’t you?”
“I try. We don’t want you having a stroke prematurely.” She touched his hand again. “Seriously, though, how did you find out about this Constitution-Free Zone?” Her tone had turned solemn.
“Okay,” he said. “I learned about it through the ACLU.”
“You serious?”
“Dead serious. The ACLU, to its credit, is the only group aware of this or that even cares. They’ve
been reporting on it since 2008. Nobody else has even noticed.”
“You know,” Victoria said, “even though they’re off mark on a lot of stuff, like church-state issues, the ACLU does a lot of good in a lot of areas.”
“Yes, they do. And exposing this policy is one of the good things they do.”
A raised eyebrow. “Okay, why does the ACLU say the government claims they can search within a hundred miles of the border with no warrant?”
“They claim this because it’s in a federal regulation. I’ve seen the regulation. The ACLU is right. It’s a regulation published by Homeland Security at 8 CFR section 287.2. Basically it’s a claim that they can stop-and-search whenever they have what is called a reasonable suspicion, anytime they want, as long as they’re within a hundred miles of the coast or the border. They claim they don’t need a warrant.”
“That sounds unconstitutional.”
“Of course it’s unconstitutional,” he thundered. “There’s this thing called the Fourth Amendment that is totally contrary to this regulation, and there’s this little thing called a search warrant that the Fourth Amendment requires be issued before a search can take place. But that’s not stopping the feds. They do what they want to do and nobody’s stopping them.”
“Hang on.” She pulled her smartphone out of her purse. The dim glow of the screen reflected on her face. Half a minute later, her eyes widened. “Wow. I see what you’re talking about with Katrina. These pictures are showing exactly what you described. It’s like a Gestapo army with soldiers in black Gestapo helmets with black armored vehicles and machine guns walking down these deserted residential streets.”
“Keep looking. Google some of the pictures of these guys kicking down people’s doors.”
She modified her search. A moment later, another look of astonishment.
“And this is the tip of the iceberg,” P.J. said. “The federal government, and especially Homeland Security and the EPA and IRS, are going hog wild.”
“What do you mean when you say they’re going hog wild?”
He leaned over the table, bringing his face within a few inches of hers, and lowered his voice. “Have you been keeping up with these gargantuan ammunition purchases by the Department of Homeland Security and the IRS?”