“But they let you visit them. You must have some authority.”
“No one let me visit them. I impersonated an ECA agent and managed to talk to them for about ten minutes. By now they know that I’m not an agent; I can’t go back. It’s a maximum security facility and virtually escape-proof.”
“What is the message?” Kris asked.
Moshe reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper.
Kris and Moshe seated themselves at the table, and with trembling hands, Kris unfolded the letter and began to read, “Kris, I must make this message short and say only the things that are most important at this time. First, I want you to know that I love you and Mitch more than anything in the world. When you came into my life, I had been alone in my grief for such a long time that I did not believe that I would ever know happiness again. But God gave you to me as a precious gift for this time, and you took away my sorrow and turned my mourning into joy. Then when Mitch was born, in spite of the dangerous circumstances in which we were living, I was once again overcome by the magnitude of God’s love—that He would send me a son in such a time as this.
“Now, the three of us have been separated, but we are never alone. God has brought us this far, and He will never desert us. He has a purpose in all of this. I believe that He has given us each other and our little son so that we will find the courage to fight for what is right—even though victory no longer seems possible. The fight has now come to you, Kris. Mitch is a baby, and I am in chains; you are the only one who can secure the victory. Fight for the God-given rights that were bestowed on this nation by our Creator. Fight for Freedom. Fight for the Constitution. Fight for the laws of our country.”
Kris wiped the tears from her eyes and turned to face Moshe. His chair was empty. She opened the trailer door and called his name. There was no answer. She looked up and down the road, but there was no sign of him. He was gone.
“The fight has now come to me?...” Kris reread Michael’s note. “What am I supposed to do?” She tried to think of her husband’s voice, of his face, of the hope that he had always inspired in her. Her mind drifted back to his stories about the Maccabees. He had told them to the whole family at the Hanukkah celebration, but he had often talked about the Maccabees to her privately. Michael was the descendant of the great family of warriors who had saved their nation from one of the cruelest tyrants the world has ever known. That seemed to give Michael’s life purpose—it appeared to inspire the courage that fueled everything he did. That sense of destiny was part of what had attracted her to him in the first place—it had contrasted so profoundly with her own utter lack of direction.
But now...now he was gone. Everyone was gone. And those stories he had so often repeated were just that—old stories no different from the tales of Robert Bruce or William Tell or any of the other legendary heroes she had read about in school. She could not even read about the Maccabees in her Protestant Bible—to her those accounts were not even scripture. They were just tales from long ago of the exploits of a group of people who had been dead for more than two thousand years.
Kris walked aimlessly around the outside of the trailer. Keith did not like for her to go outside—although he rode his motorcycle for hours at a stretch. Still, she could not bear the claustrophobic effects of the trailer right at this moment. She needed to be outside where her prayers could fly straight up to God. As she walked down the small path that Keith had carved with his motorcycle she read the note over and over and tried to form a prayer in her mind. She could not even think of what to pray, until finally she said aloud, “Oh, Lord, what am I supposed to do? You gave me my husband and my baby and they are both gone. And now Michael is telling me that I need to fight for him. I don’t even know where to start. I’m not a Maccabee; I’m not anything special; I’m just a real estate agent. My ancestors were farmers and seamstresses. I don’t have any idea what to do, and I don’t have any way to help him. Please, if there is anything I can do for my husband, please show me what it is.”
Kris remained outside for what seemed like hours repeating some version of that same prayer over and over with no results. Finally, she saw that the sun was sinking low in the sky, and she headed back to the trailer. As her foot touched the bottom step, one single thought came into her mind as clearly as if it had been broadcast over a loudspeaker, “Find Lena St. Clair.”
Chapter 15
Both Lena’s mobile phone number and the number on her card for the American Freedom Coalition had been disconnected. Kris hated to do it, but if she were to have any chance of finding her, she would need to drive to her house and see if she could catch her at home. Lena was not in the phone directory, but a search of the Central Appraisal District records gave Kris her address.
It was a long shot—visiting Lena’s house in the middle of the day during the middle of the week might, if she were lucky, put her in touch with the housekeeper, but it was unlikely that she would find Lena at home. The drive hardly seemed worth the effort. Then Kris thought again of Michael and Jeff. If she could find somebody who could help them, it would be worth following any lead.
Climbing back into the Jeep, she drove to Lena’s address in Chandler. Keith’s Jeep was not equipped with GPS, but Kris did not need it—she had spent almost two decades selling real estate in this area, and she could find her way around.
She pulled to a stop outside the St. Clair’s stucco, custom built home with its beautifully cared-for lawn and desert plants. She had sat with Lena at the closing table the day that Lena had signed the papers to obtain the financing to have this home built. That day neither of them could have imagined how much their lives would change in the next few years.
A pretty young black woman in her early twenties opened the door. “I’m Kris Linton; I used to be Kris Mitchell; I’m looking for Lena St. Clair.”
“I’m sorry, you’ve got the wrong house,” the young woman responded. “They moved away; I’m just leasing the house from them.”
Kris studied the woman carefully. She looked like a younger version of Lena—with some of Ed mixed in. Lena and Ed had a daughter who would now be about this woman’s age. She had to be a relative, and if she were a relative, she would know where to find them.
The woman was going to close the door in Kris’ face, but Kris blocked her from doing so. “Look, I don’t want to be a bother, but I really need to talk to Lena. I’m only in town for today. I would like to leave you my phone number and ask that if you hear from her you ask her to call me.”
The young woman looked at Kris suspiciously, but she took the card, and then she did close the door. Kris had written her burner cell number on it—maybe Lena would call; maybe not. What should she do now? She couldn’t just remain in Phoenix hoping for a phone call. Should she wait, or should she head back to St. George? She had a seven hour drive ahead of her.
Ten minutes later, while she was still pondering what she should do, her phone rang. The incoming number was blocked, and normally that meant that Kris would not answer it, but this time she had a feeling…
“Hello,” she answered cautiously.
“Kris, this is Lena.” Lena’s usually friendly tone sounded guarded. “I got a message that you were trying to reach me. It’s good to hear from you. How have you been?”
“I’ve been fine. Thank you for calling me back. I need to talk to you. I’m in town for a few hours, and I was hoping that we could have dinner together. Same place as last time?” Kris was hoping very much that Lena remembered where they had last eaten lunch. The women had not seen each other in three years, and Kris did not want to advertise the fact that she was back in Phoenix to anyone who might be monitoring her call.
“That would be great,” Lena answered, “but I have plans for dinner. If you can meet me in an hour I can have a drink with you, but that’s all I can do right now.”
“That’s fine. I’ll see you in an hour.” One hour would give Kris time to get to The Gourmet and be seated before Lena arriv
ed. Lena sounded so strange on the phone. Kris had never doubted that her friend would help her, but after speaking with her, those hopes had already begun to fade.
As Kris pulled into the restaurant parking lot, she remembered the last time she had been there with Lena—so much had changed in the intervening years. After parking the Jeep, she went inside and got a table. She did not have to wait long.
Lena had changed. Kris had seen her many times over the years during some very stressful points in both of their lives, but she had never seen Lena look the way she did today. Although a seasoned former intelligence officer, Lena appeared stressed and nervous about their meeting. She was obviously not in the mood for chit-chat, so Kris went straight to the point.
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Lena. I’m here because I got married a couple of years ago. He’s a very good man—a doctor. We both worked for the Federal Municipal Planning Division, and we both left our jobs at the same time. We now have a child. A few weeks ago, Michael and my brother-in-law Jeff were arrested. The government says that they’ve been arrested and detained because they are domestic terrorists, and they pose a threat to national security, but that’s not true. Neither Michael nor Jeff is a terrorist or has any connections to terrorism. But I can’t get in to see them. The government claims that under the National Defense Authorization Act it has the right to imprison them indefinitely without a trial. I don’t know what to do. That’s why I called you. I was hoping that you could interview me on your show and help me through the American Freedom Coalition….”
Lena relaxed a little. She knew that Kris was telling the truth about her reasons for getting in touch. “Kris, the show is off the air, and The American Freedom Coalition is closed.”
Kris stared at her as the realization of what she was hearing sank in. Lena and her organization were the only leads that Kris had for getting Michael and Jeff out of jail. Her name was the only one Kris had been able to think of. If AFC were closed, she had nowhere to go.
“What? Why? What happened?”
“A few months ago the IRS revoked the tax exempt status of all non-profit organizations which were connected in any way to conservatism, Christianity or promoting patriotism. They also revoked the tax exempt status of all small unaffiliated independent religious organizations. Then they announced that the revocation was retroactive for the past two years, and they confiscated all of our furnishings and equipment to cover the back taxes we suddenly owed. Since then, various officers have disappeared without a trace. Last week my former assistant vanished between her home and her child’s kindergarten. There’s no way to find out what happened to them; I know that any day now it’s going to be me. I thought you were here to have me arrested too. I almost didn’t come.”
Kris sat staring at her friend absorbing this new bit of news. “I had no idea. Why did you come?”
“Because I kept thinking about it, and I thought I was supposed to. But I can’t stay long. Ed and I had to move out of our home. We’re leaving the state tonight, and we can’t let anybody know where we’re going.”
“The girl who answered your door; she was your daughter Lexy, wasn’t she?”
Lena looked uncomfortable, but she nodded. “We had to leave so suddenly that we were afraid that we would tip off anyone who was watching the house. So we walked away without taking anything with us and told her to tell anyone who came asking about us that we had moved and were leasing the house to her. She’ll join us as soon as we’re in a safe place. We haven’t told anyone where we’re going—not even Lexy. If anyone here recognizes me and follows me, I’m as good as dead—or disappeared, which is pretty much the same thing.”
Kris stared down at the table. Lena reached over and took her hand. “I’m sorry, Kris. There’s nothing we can do now but try to keep our heads down. The American people don’t care about what’s happening. I tried to tell them—a lot of us tried, but it didn’t do any good. There’s nowhere to turn.”
“Lena, the American people don’t know what’s happening. I know they’ve been warned over and over again, but they don’t really know. I didn’t know until I was living it—and even now I can’t believe all of this is happening. But even if every person in the whole world knew and they were all okay with it, what’s happening would still be wrong. My husband is not a terrorist. My brother-in-law is not a terrorist. There has to be a way to get them out of prison. I just don’t know what it is.”
“I don’t know what it is either, Kris. The NDAA gives the federal government power to arrest and detain any person as a terrorist without proof and without trial. The last show that we did before we were taken off the air was about the powers that the government has under NDAA. It’s horrifying, but it’s the law.”
Kris looked directly at Lena. “It shouldn’t be the law. It’s unconstitutional. The Constitution guarantees Americans the right to a trial by a jury of their peers—that’s the law. Any law that says anything else violates the Constitution. The last words my husband ever said to me were, ‘Fight for the laws of our country.’ The laws of our country say that Michael and Jeff cannot be imprisoned indefinitely without a trial. I need to find a way to fight for that right.”
“Write down this number,” Lena told her. “410-555-5555.”
Kris excitedly copied the number onto a scrap of paper. “Whose number is it?”
“It’s a burner cell. But, Kris, listen to me because this is very important: DO NOT call or text this number on any mobile phone that you have ever used before—that includes burner cells.
“The Feds now require stores to register all disposable phones that they sell and send the registration information to the ECA. When you leave here today, I want you to drive to Queens Creek. Go to 5645 Main Street; there’s a mobile phone store there that sells burner cell phones. For an additional charge they’ll sell you one that they will not register. Go in, and ask for the special anniversary edition. It will cost you about twice as much, but they won’t ask you for any registration information. Pay for it with cash, and get out of the store as fast as you can. After you are out of the area, text me the number to the number I just gave you. I’ll send you back the name and number of someone who may be able to help you. That’s all I can do, and I can’t stay here any longer. You should go too. You don’t want to risk being recognized.” With that, Lena picked up her purse and walked out of the restaurant. Kris paid cash for her iced tea and then went out and got into the Jeep and headed to Queen’s Creek to find the mobile phone store.
An hour later Kris pulled up in front of a mobile phone store nestled in the corner of a rundown shopping center. The clerk looked at her suspiciously as she walked through the door—the hostile nature of the employees suggested that this store might be more of a money laundering operation than a money-making enterprise. Whatever its nature, it definitely catered to the gang banging teenagers who hung around the center. She hoped that Keith’s Jeep would be safe while she made her purchase—she would never be able to explain the loss of his beloved vehicle or why she had parked it in such a crime-infested area in the first place. Keeping one eye on the Jeep, she asked the clerk for the special anniversary edition and waited as he pulled one out from under the counter. In a world where the Feds could track every move, burner cells were a great way for low-level criminals to communicate while staying under the radar—no wonder the ECA had demanded that they be registered. Kris felt as though everyone was watching her as she paid cash for the phone and then hurried back to the Jeep. She drove well out of Queen’s Creek before pulling off the interstate to text the number Lena had given her. Ten minutes later, she heard the familiar ring signifying that she had an answer back. She read the text message. “(202) 555-1212. Julian Cicchetti.” That was a Washington D.C. exchange. In spite of the hot dusty air that whipped her face and bare arms as she drove through the desert in Keith’s Jeep, Kris felt a chill go through her. Had Lena set her up? Who was Julian Cicchetti?
She puzzled over it and p
rayed about it all the way to St. George. Kris knew that people all over the country were disappearing, but she had not realized that so many people she knew personally were being affected. To discover that Lena had also lost everything and was having to go into hiding was very unsettling. To be sent this Washington D.C. number was even more so. By the time she reached the trailer it was midnight, and she was exhausted, but she was too stressed to sleep.
Keith was sitting up drinking coffee and waiting for her. “I really want to call this guy,” she said of Cicchetti. “Part of me wanted to call the number as soon as I got the text. But another part of me is scared to do it. What if this is a set up? What if he works for Homeland Security, and he’s just waiting for phone calls from people like me? I honestly don’t know what to do,” she ran her hands through her hair as she often did when stressed and frustrated.
“Nobody’s going to do anything until we find out exactly who this guy is, who he works for, and what he does.”
“How can we possibly find out all of that? Even if we do a search on the internet, that doesn’t mean that any of the information we find out about him will be the truth. He could be anybody.”
“If we do a search, we don’t have any guarantees; that’s why we are not going to do the checking. This is a job for somebody who can check through all the back channels and find out who he really is. This is a job for Jessie and Kyle.”
The next morning Keith disappeared early and stayed gone all day. Kris was accustomed to his long absences, but now with everyone else gone she felt them keenly. She was alone with nothing to do but wonder and pray.
“Lord, I don’t know what to do. Please show us whether Julian Cicchetti is another set up or somebody who can actually help us. If he is a just another government plant looking for information, help us to find that out right away. And if he can help us, please show us what we need to do.”
W: The Planner, The Chosen Page 31