“Ma’am, on April 19th 2012, under a discussion post relating to President Obama signing an executive order for gun control, you posted the following, and I quote, “if they want my guns, they can take them from my cold dead hands”.” The agent glared at Debbie. “Did you type that post on your laptop, while you were drinking a latte at the Starbucks located at 575 Lincoln Street, Denver, Colorado at 10:35 am?”
Incredulous, Debbie slowly raised her gaze and peered into the agents’ eyes as anger suddenly consumed her flooded eyes. “What did you just say?” Debbie suddenly realized what was happening. “You’ve been following me?” She said, distraught.
The agent glared back at her. “You do know that April 19th is a special day to terrorists, don’t you, Debbie?” Debbie tried to organize her jumbled thoughts as the agent continued. “That happens to be the day that Timothy McVeigh blew up the Murrah Federal Building. Oh, and it’s also Hitler’s birthday.” The words shook Debbie to her core. “But then again, why am I telling you something you already know, right? Tell me, Debbie, did you not leave the Starbucks that day and go to Scotties Gun Shop and purchase 500 rounds of Federal LE +P+ 9mm hollow point bullets, the exact same caliber of ammunition used to kill a federal officer? Did you intend to make a statement?”
Debbie tried to speak, words struggling to come out.
The agent continued to interrogate her. “Did you not also call your brother to tell him, and I quote, “you better buy all you can get your hands on before Obama closes down all sales of guns and ammunition”?”
“What gives you the right to tap my cell phone!” Debbie screamed at the agent in disbelief. She knew this wasn’t a dream. “I demand to talk to a lawyer right now!”
“Unfortunately, ma’am, at this time you are considered a domestic terrorist, therefore you have no right to an attorney. If you don’t answer our questions today, we can return you to your cell and carry on tomorrow.”
Debbie’s mind was reeling. Her husband was one of the good guys. She was a good person, who always played by the rules, and she tried daily to instill those values in her children, so they would respect the law and appreciate the fundamental principles upon which her country was founded. How in the hell could this be happening to her?
After the initial interrogation, two female prison guards returned Debbie to her cell. It was a stark, bleak 8 x 10 room, with nothing more than a wooden cot, small sink and toilet. Sitting alone in darkness, Debbie threw her head into her hands as she tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together. It was as if she was living in another time and another place.
Debbie was very afraid for her children. She couldn’t possibly comprehend the horrific events of the past day, couldn’t understand why she wasn’t being put in front of the judge for a bail hearing. There were so many questions and no answers. Through all the fabricated stories, only one truth remained — her husband and friends were dead.
The next morning, she awoke to find a bowl of oatmeal, two slices of toast and a cup of coffee in the food window. Although she was hungry, Debbie couldn’t eat. She was staring at the floor when guards arrived to haul her back to the interrogation room.
At the table awaited a middle-aged woman, dressed in a business suit. “Hi Debbie. I’m Agent Hicks. Please have a seat. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
Debbie tried to gather her thoughts and sat down. “Yes please.” Debbie replied.
“With cream and sugar?”
Debbie nodded affirmatively.
Agent Hicks motioned towards the mirrored back wall. Seconds later, the door opened. A young woman set a tray down on the table with 2 cups of coffee. Debbie poured the cream into her coffee, followed by 3 packets of sugar.
“How are you doing, Debbie?” Debbie stared at Agent Hicks. “Are they treating you okay?”
For a brief moment Debbie wondered if it was a rhetorical question; surely she couldn’t be serious?
“Treating me okay? Are you kidding me? Take a look around lady! Do you have any idea what I’ve been through? You know damn well that my rights have been violated. So if you want to help, get me a damn lawyer now!”
“Calm down Debbie,” said Hicks, as she made a note on a pad in front of her. “Is your cell comfortable?”
“I’m in a jail cell, Agent Hicks. How comfortable can that be?”
Hicks made another note.
“Have you been tortured in any way?”
“Of course I am! What you’re doing to me is torture! I am being held with no legal rights as an American citizen. Damn it! I demand to see a lawyer and judge! So why don’t you do something about that instead of asking me more useless questions! You see, last time I checked, I thought this was the U.S., not 1930’s Germany!
Hicks peered straight into Debbie’s eyes. “Look Debbie, I’m trying to help, but I see that you don’t appreciate kindness. I don’t need to be here. I have far better things to do, but I thought this would be best coming from me than from one of those other hard-ass pricks they were going to send in here. Cut me some slack, please.”
“Well forgive the hell out of me, lady, but do you have any idea what’s happened to me? To my husband and children? We were going on vacation, when some trigger happy state patrolman gunned my husband down in cold blood for no reason! My husband was just reaching for his wallet when they killed him! Then they took my children away from me! As if that wasn’t bad enough, I get arrested and hauled off to a secret government PRISON and told I’m a God damn terrorist!” Debbie’s rage continued to explode. “This is an injustice! And now you have the balls to sit across from me and complain that I’m not grateful enough for a damn cup of coffee?!”
As Debbie was yelling at Hicks, the room echoed from the door opening behind her. She glanced over her shoulder to find two prison guards stepping in. Agent Hicks waved them back. “It’s okay, guys. We have this under control, right Debbie?”
With a patronizing tone, Debbie replied, “Yes of course. We’re just having a nice, friendly chat over coffee.”
The guards slowly exited, saying, “We’ll be just outside the door if you need us.”
“Let’s continue, shall we? Please understand - it will be better for you if you cooperate.”
“Okay, Agent Hicks. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.”
“If I can, I will,” replied the agent. “Now Debbie, did your husband conduct weapons training for terrorists on Dr. Brash’s property? You do know who Dr. Brash is, don’t you?”
“For starters, we are not terrorists! No, he didn’t. My husband was a wonderful man, father and law abiding citizen, who simply taught gun safety and shooting.” Her eyebrows angled and head cocked forward, she said, “Now it’s my turn. Where are my children?”
“I don’t have that information, Debbie, but I do know they are safe and being well cared for.” Agent Hicks continued. “Was the ammunition you bought on April 19th part of a plan to be used for a government take over?”
“What? But of course not! It was for personnel defense!” Debbie moved in with another question. “When will I be taken before a judge and assigned a lawyer?”
Agent Hicks looked down for a brief moment. Raising her eyes towards Debbie, she replied “Debbie, unfortunately that right doesn’t apply to domestic terrorists.”
“But I’m not a terrorist!” Debbie retorted.
“Furthermore,” continued the agent, “you can be held for an indefinite amount of time, until the powers that be decide what to do with you, especially if you don’t cooperate. Why did your husband buy the terrorist weapon of choice, the AK-47?”
Debbie briefly thought about the timeframe. “I don’t know. He already had it when we were married. Now when will I be allowed to see my children?” The thought of never seeing her children again was more than she could take. Tears blinded her vision.
“I don’t know, Debbie, but I’m sure you wouldn’t want them to see you like this now, would you? Trust me, orange isn’t you
r color.”
“I don’t care what I look like Agent Hicks! My children are living a nightmare with God knows who and I need to be with them!” Debbie broke down completely as the room fell silent. Seconds ticked away, as if watching the sun slowly rise but the light never materialized. There was only darkness, filled with deep stabbing pain and anguish, then the reverberation of Agent Hicks’ footsteps moving off into the distance as she exited the room.
Back in Denver, Debbie’s brother (John) contacted a good friend of his, Colorado Senator Michael F. Bennet. John needed his help in locating his sister Debbie and her family. The last time John spoke to Debbie, she and her family left their home to go on vacation. She was always very responsible and never once missed contacting family to inform them of where she would be in the event of an emergency. It was out of character for Debbie to act irresponsibly, yet it had been a couple of days since Debbie communicated with anyone. John couldn’t help but fear the worst.
Senator Bennet had met John several years before, after John joined the senator’s campaign team. As an attorney, John worked tirelessly to secure Senator Bennet’s re-election. First and foremost, he looked and talked the part. He knew how to manage every aspect of a campaign, from interacting with high-profile donors, to putting on and managing elaborate fundraising events and securing and handling the finances. Some often wondered if John himself should have been elected to office instead. It was well-known on many fronts that John was not only instrumental in the senator’s win, but actually brought him victory. For that, the Senator was eternally grateful.
Although Senator Bennet didn’t know Phil very well, he remembered him from various events when Phil had provided extra security detail. “I’ll make a few phone calls, John, and will let you know if I come across any information on Phil and Debbie,” said the Senator.
“Thanks Michael. I really appreciate it.”
John gave Michael as much information as he could on Phil, Debbie and their children. That evening Senator Bennet made numerous calls. He instructed several officers from the local law enforcement division to search the National Crime Information Center (NCIC) database in an effort to find a link to the family’s whereabouts. Later that evening, Senator Bennet received a call.
“Senator Bennet?”
“Yes?”
“Good evening Sir, this is officer Kemp. Sir, I’ve come across some information on the family you inquired about.” Senator Bennet was eager to hear the news. “Sir, it appears the couple was recently involved in a tragic incident.” The officer continued to explain. “Now Mrs. Davis is detained by the FBI on domestic terrorist charges.”
“What about the children?” The Senator asked.
“In foster care, Sir.”
Senator Bennet found the circumstances highly unusual and, after speaking with John, felt there had to be some misunderstanding. The Senator enlisted the help of several aides. Together they made a series of phone calls, until the Senator finally reached Director Banks of the Fusion Center. Banks was expecting his call. The Senator took the call privately from his office. As he listened to Banks, he sat back in his leather chair and crossed his legs as he placed his heels on the edge of this desk.
The two men spoke for quite some time. “You do understand, Senator, that this does not come without a price for all of us, but I will do what I can to ensure the swift and quiet resolution of this matter.”
“Understood, Director Banks. Thank you.” The Senator hung up the phone and twirled his chair around to admire the view from the back office window as his mind trailed in thought. It wasn’t clear what arrangement was made, but, within 2 days, Debbie was released.
With her belongings in hand, Debbie walked out of darkness into the daylight. The sun blinded her vision as she walked towards the cab. It was a very long drive home and Debbie arrived to find her house unrecognizable. Doors were broken, furniture laid upside-down, her bedroom and kitchen drawers emptied and paper covering the ground. Slowly, she scanned the room and gasped for air. She fell to her knees in disbelief and tears streamed down her face. She shook her head and momentarily closed her eyes. As she opened them again, she struggled to maintain any sense of composure, her thoughts racing in every direction. Her husband was dead and her children were taken away. Her mind tormented her from within, knowing her children were, and would remain, tied up in foster care for a long time. Her life was utterly destroyed.
Back in the center, Director Banks was very pleased with the media coverage of the past days’ events. In the mind of the public, Director Banks and his team had successfully infiltrated a group of dangerous, radical domestic terrorists. The news clips of the dead agents and their grieving wives and children secured the advancement of his project and he looked forward to his joint conference with the FBI and ATF.
Chapter 9
The ALF extremists hit the lab that night. They released all the healthy rats into nearby woods, then captured and secured all infected rats from the inner lab. Later that night, they delivered them to Jason in the briefcase he had provided.
Becca was getting ready for work when she heard Jason’s phone ring. Jason picked up. “Hello?” There was a short pause. “Oh hey, how are you?” Jason’s eyes suddenly widened. “What? When?” Becca tried to listen, but Jason began urgently pacing back and forth. He shook his head in disbelief. “How’s she doing,” he asked.
Becca stared at Jason, then threw her arms up in the air and whispered, “What’s wrong?”
Jason ignored her. A moment later, he replied, “I can be on the road within the hour and there by nightfall.” Becca was very concerned. “Thanks for calling. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Jason hung up.
“Jason, what’s wrong.”
“It’s my mom. She’s been taken to the hospital. She thought she was coming down with the flu, but apparently it’s much more serious than that.”
“Oh Jason, I’m so sorry. Can I do anything to help?” Becca was fearing the worst.
“No, but I have to go now. They don’t know exactly what’s wrong with her, but she’s in bad shape and I need to make sure she’s ok.”
Becca hugged Jason tight. “I’ll go with you.”
“No, you stay here. I’ll be back in a couple days. Besides, with Dr. Dulling away for the weekend there’s no one else to watch over the lab, so it’s a great opportunity for you to gather additional evidence of his experiments.”
Becca didn’t want Jason traveling alone, especially considering the circumstances, but she knew he was right. Dr. Dulling entrusted her to take care of matters at the lab. Ten minutes later, Becca headed for the lab. After Becca left, Jason began getting dressed. He pulled out a navy blue dress suit from his closet and a light blue shirt. He laid the suit on his bed, then dug out a yellow-striped tie from his dresser drawer.
When Becca arrived at the lab, what she saw scared her to the very core. All the rats were gone and the lab was smashed to pieces. Sprayed on the wall in large black spray paint was written ‘ALF was here. Stop the torture.’ She raced to the inner lab and, to her horror, saw the same thing. Oh my God, the ignorant fools. Did they know what they had just released on the world? This was nightmare, a dream. This couldn’t be happening. Her heart was racing and she was hyperventilating. She had to calm down and think what the protocol was for this. She had to go home and call Jason; he would know what to do.
Jason was usually clean-shaven, but today he wore a dark, thick beard, which he glued to his face using a facial adhesive he purchased at a local costume shop. With various root touch-up and highlighting pens, he grayed-out several areas of his hair, thickened his mustache and eyebrows and applied minor facial imperfections to complete his transformation.
Jason gathered his things and drove to the airport, with the rats secured in his new briefcase. When he reached the airport, he parked his vehicle and made his way to the terminal to check in for his morning flight to Dulles International Airport in Virginia.
Final destination
……the Pentagon.
Chapter 10
Jason headed to security with his briefcase in hand. As he walked through the airport, he looked around nonchalantly. There were people everywhere. It was a typical day at LAX. He got in line behind a couple with four children. One of the boys standing in front of him seemed to admire his briefcase. The line was unusually slow. Minutes seemed like seconds. As Jason inched his way forward in line, he thought about his plan for releasing the little monsters. It had to be done at the right moment and at the right location. The little boy in front of Jason continued to stare at him. Hadn’t anyone ever taught him not to stare at strangers?
After several minutes, Jason realized what the boy was fixated on. He was so concerned about getting through the security gate, that he failed to notice his briefcase was shifting back and forth ever so slightly. His arm wasn’t moving. Jason suddenly wondered if everyone else around him noticed it too. It made him very uneasy and further impatient.
Meanwhile, the fabricated cage housed inside the briefcase was quickly becoming no match for Einstein. The previous night, Einstein had located a weak spot where the hinges were screwed into the cage. He’d been chewing his way out of it for hours and had moved to the next compartment, where he unlatched the spring clips that secured the other rats, just as he had back in the lab.
When Jason reached the conveyer belt, he set his briefcase in one of the bins, then stuck his keys, watch, wallet and belt in another. The briefcase moved through the x-ray machine, stopping halfway inside. At that same moment, Jason walked through the metal detector. His chest pounded profusely as he slipped through seamlessly. Ah, thank God.
The agent watching the monitor was reviewing the briefcase contents when the screen suddenly flickered. She scrunched her eyebrows together and cocked her head slightly to the side as she continued to stare at the screen with a perplexed look. The screen flickered again, almost revealing an entirely different image. That was strange, the agent thought to herself. She motioned for her supervisor.
The Rabid Mind Page 6