Homeland Security

by William L Casselman

  Clay could see Mom and Dad’s eyes were locked on his nervous look of apprehension, waiting for a reply or told to mind their own business. But he needed to come up with something, or he’d never be invited back inside this house, and this might be his first and only opening into the ADF. “I was awarded three Purple Hearts; one for being shot and another two for RPG shrapnel…that’s rocket-propelled grenade… They shoot them off like a small bazooka… sort of.” He looked at Emy and then continued. I won a Silver Star and two Bronze Stars, but I had very good men with me and feel those medals also belong to them. I also have my jump wings and my Combat Infantrymen’s Badge.”

  “Wow…” Dad said, but I like best of all what you said about the others being involved. Now that’s humility, as I understand the word.

  Emy grinned and then said, “You officer types, always getting’ the best medals for yourselves.”

  “Ma’am, if this wasn’t your house and you hadn’t been so sick, I think I might’ve taken offense to that remark. “Clay then looked to Mom and said, “That was a mighty fine breakfast, but now I must leave. I’ve got paperwork to do and another shift to pull tonight.” Clay stood to his feet, shook hands with Dad and grinned across the table at Emy.

  “Here, let me walk you to the door,” Emy said and added, “…an’ no remarks about my slippers. I’ve had them since Junior High, and my feet still fit.”

  “Wouldn’t think about it, Miss, I personally happen to like those cute little bunny slippers,” Clay said, just as he made a dash for the door before she could whack him with a pancake turner.

  After Clay left, Emy turned to her father and asked him, “Did you pay him for his lost time, Dad?”

  “He wouldn’t let me, Emy. But he loved my shop. That man knows his ways around a set of tools, and he knows cars. I bet he could’ve taken that Camaro apart and rebuilt again in less than 24 hours. He has the eye, Emy.”

  “Wish you could’ve paid him though. He’s on disability and even as a captain, that’s doesn’t mean he’s making a lot of money.”

  “I know, honey,” Dad said. “That’s why I invited him over for this weekend’s barbecue. I want the Colonel to get a gander at him. He’s an Alaskan, he’s tried and true, and he’s already been off to see the elephant.”

  “Oh, Daddy, you got that from some movie.”

  “Sure did, but I understood what it meant. He’s a man and any man will enjoy a good brew, a good barbecued steak and a good gathering with some pretty great folks.”

  “What do think of him, Daddy?”

  “It’s not what I think of him, honey, it’s what you think of him that counts and yes, that line came from some movie too. Fact is, every line, every remark, has been used in a movie. We can’t get around it, because that’s what we say. And you’re dodging the question?”

  Emy smiled, turned from her dad, and walked out to the kitchen to help mom clean up. Time for another mom and daughter chat, so dad decided he’d go out to the garage and play with his tools. Truth is, he did like the man, and he sincerely hoped the Colonel would too.

  5 - SEEING THE SHRINK

  BASSETT ARMY HOSPITAL, FORT WAINWRIGHT, ALASKA

  ROOM 318

  16:22 HOURS (4:22 P.M.), 30 SEPTEMBER

  Clay was a bit bleary-eyed, having only been awakened 25-minutes earlier from only 6-hours of sleep. But he was off tonight and was looking forward to hitting the sack early. He was supposed to be here seeing his doctor for a check-up over concern due to some pain generating around his chest wound’s scar tissue; where he’d taken the AK-47 bullet nearly three years earlier. But actually, he was here to brief his FBI handler on his progress in working his way into the Alaska Defense Force Militia. Up until this week, Clay had little to report, except for a few drinks with men he suspected of as members and how he didn’t believe anyone was watching him. This would be the first move the Alaska Defense Force would do if they were interested in Clay for their special unit if they had one: someone would be following to see if he was someone other than who he said he was. A lot of people were being used in this operation to provide him a good cover, but for the moment Clay was meeting with only a Dr. Adams.

  “How are you feeling, Clay?” Dr. Adams asked. The middle-aged man entered Room # 318 and closed the door. He locked it to ensure they would not be disturbed and then grinned as he lugged with him his heavy black briefcase across the room to sit down beside Clay. They ignored the exam table and only used the two chrome metal stiff back chairs in the room, with gray felt material stretched over thick cardboard and fiberboard. There was also a small rollaway table in the room for the doctor’s tools or the nurse’s equipment. But Dr. Adams used the table to hold his digital recorder, which he removed from his briefcase, along with his digital camera. He took two photos of Clay, which were to be accomplished on each visit for his own case file. He used these to show any evidence of visible stress to the operative, while on assignment.

  Clay estimated Doc Adams to be in his late fifties to early sixties. He was partially balding with white and grayish colored hair, now thinning across the crown of his head. Doc’s face was circular in shape, causing Clay to think of a small pie pan, yet the rest of the man’s body was quite thin and lanky, at around 160 pounds. Doc’s hazel eyes were heavily bloodshot, surrounded by an array of wrinkles and a flock of crow’s feet. His cheeks were beginning to droop to become heavy jowls and were splattered with reddish age spots of various sizes. He wore very thick brown framed tri-focal eyeglasses, and he had a mustache that drooped down well past the corners of his mouth. Doc had also apparently forgotten to shave this morning because his chin had stubbles showing. Doc was wearing the hospital white coat, with his blue officer’s name tag pinned to his right breast area. He had the silver leaves of a Lieutenant Colonel pinned on his collar, but Clay doubted this man was really an officer. He would never get away with such a long mustache, and he was simply too old for a Lt. Colonel in today’s Army. The FBI made a key mistake in selecting this man for his handler, but again, he doubted anyone was going to come on base to check him out on these hospital visits. At least the man was wearing a blue stethoscope around his neck to show he was a doctor. He hoped the people would simply believe he was a reserve officer or possibly National Guard if they even took time to notice.

  “Do you have anything to report, Captain?” Doc had turned his digital recorder on, took a seat and waited, hoping his trip up from Seattle and Anchorage hadn’t been a waste of time, like the previous three weeks. Yet, he couldn’t really say that. He did like Clay, and as a clinical psychologist, with a large amount of training in suspect profiling, he did enjoy learning more about the Athabascan people and adding what he learned here to his notes. He was putting a new training manual together for the Federal Bureau of Investigation and planned on using some of what he has learned from this case into it.

  “Yes, sir, I may have made a connection…at least with a member of the Alaska Defense Force.” Clay went on for the next 25-minutes, explaining what had happened the other night with Emy, her parents, and their views and the coming barbecue. Clay hoped this barbecue would lead to something, for he had grown weary of seeing the sorry shape some of his cousins from Minto and other Alaska Natives communities became when they come to Fairbanks and got all boozed up. A lot of them travel here from dry villages, where liquor is not allowed, and they spend all their time and money on brew. He’d found them living under the various bridges, which cross the Chena River in town, even large groups living in hotel rooms or unconscious on the street. Fairbanks Community Patrols would pick the unconscious ones off the street and haul them to shelters, or the combative ones were transported to the Fairbanks Correctional Center for a Title 47, which involved a 24- hour hold. This allowed the state to protect them while they were unable to care for themselves. During the winter the Community Patrol was extremely busy, trying to pull the drunks off the street before they froze to death and they were not always successful.

  Clay
knows his people; the Athabascan and Eskimo needed help, and a lot of good charity and church organizations were out there to assist them, but so many of these Alaskan Natives didn’t want any help and their poor conduct brought about such a pathetic example of the Athabascan Indian or the Eskimo. They pay their taxi fare, and he hauls them from one bar to another; usually, only the bars which still serve the intoxicated natives. A lot of bars won’t anymore for fear of losing their liquor licenses. The intoxicated person will complain, sometimes violently, but the bartender is protected by Title 4 of the Alaskan law. No intoxicated person was to be served, of any color or creed. However, some of the bartenders will serve them until the patron is unconscious and even lying flat on the floor. Then Clay is called to haul the drunk to some hotel room; 4-guys carrying the unconscious man or woman out and tossed into the back of his cab. He’s handed the money and directed where to take him or her. Clay would first make sure the passenger was still alive and not in need of a visit to the Emergency Room. He’d already taken 3 passengers to the Emergency Room, not that the staff was all that happy to receive them. A security officer had to be summoned to stand-by in the event the unconscious person suddenly came to and started swinging. When Clay took them to their usual hotels, he’d turn them over to the more sober people of the room and notice how 10-14 people were often sharing two queen-sized beds. He had run into three of his cousins, but they hadn’t recognized him, and he didn’t bother to stage a reunion. Fairbanks had several hotels the Alaskan Natives used for their weekly visits, coming from over a dozen dry communities and the owners seemed to care less how many people were put into a room as long as the money was paid.

  Even with some of his family members here, Clay knew if he drove out to Minto right then, he’d find most of the community dry and a good fair share of them living a Christian lifestyle. A flame of the Holy Spirit had come to Minto, setting off a revival and a lot of people had given their lives to the Lord. But a few had held out to their traditional beliefs, and some of them go to Fairbanks or even Anchorage for their fun.

  Doc Adams could see his young officer was under a lot of stress. He wasn’t agreeable with the plan to bring Clay back into his own area for this undercover operation, knowing how Clay would be feeling the extreme effects of cultural differences of going from the Middle East to Tennessee and on to Alaska in such a short time period. Here, he’d b thrown into a situation where he could be dealing with his own Athabascan family ties. Every rule he knew of was against it, but they refused to listen to him. He had argued in vain in how this was not the same as when Clay operated in Libya or Egypt, for here in Alaska he’d be dealing directly with family, where he was already known as a breed, berated by old friends and even family. It would cause a great strain upon him. In only this little time it was having this effect. Clay had shared briefly about his feeling for seeing all the drunkenness and misbehavior among his people, and how the Whites and Afro-Americans on the streets took advantage of them or hurt them.

  Doc needed to temper Clay down a bit and began a series of questions about his own life, “Clay, I’ve seen from your medical file you had some difficulty with alcohol in the past. Have you had any problem lately, any desire to take a night off and get intoxicated…wasted?”

  “Sir, I’d be lying to you if I said the old desire never crept up on me, but I am still able to call upon the Lord to defeat those attacks by the enemy.”

  “Yes, it does help having faith, especially in our line of work. A lot of good agents or other law enforcement officers are not able to handle it well on their own, and they suffer grievously for the lack of it.”

  “Were… or are you a drinking man, sir?” Clay asked. He also noticed the recorder was still going. Doc Adams never turned it off during their meetings and wondered if he would now. But he didn’t.

  “I’ve fought my share of demons, son. Cost me my marriage and nearly my job. Now I am a member of Alcoholics Anonymous and have my 15-year coin. Whenever I get the compulsion to have a drink, I pull out this coin, and it keeps me dry for another day.” Doc Adams showed the coin to Clay.

  “What about faith, sir…beyond the higher power the AA teaches on?” Clay handed the coin back; it was the first 15-year AA coin he had ever seen. He wondered if the AA had their coins before the military began using theirs. He’d heard from a lot of Viet Nam veterans who said they never had coins in their day, how it was a new fad.

  Doc Adams grinned and started to shut his recorder off, but then stopped and looked back at Clay. “I am of the Jewish Faith… though it has been a very long time since I last entered a synagogue to pray and I know you are a Christian. Our common enemy is the Muslim, yet he follows the same god of Abraham as we both do. I think you’d agree it makes for such a confusing world.”

  “What is your opinion concerning the fanatics…the terrorism?”

  “Clay, I do not believe in the slaying of innocents…of women and children. Only God the Father can order such a thing, as He did in the Old Testament when He ordered the destruction of whole cities. But Christians have done this to Muslims and Jews, and now this also involves what my Israeli brothers and sisters are doing to the Palestine Nation. Or what the alleged Christians do to each other because of a difference of skin color.” Doc Adams lowered his head and was silent for a moment, and Clay remained quiet also. Then Doc lifted his head and with saddened eyes, looked into Clay’s face and said, “No, sir, all we do is carry forth the battle standard of Satan when we do his work and not God’s.”

  Clay stood up and walked to the side of the room, looking at an aged Department of Defense eye chart, and then he turned to face Doc Adams, “That was quite a mouthful, Doc…you sure you wanted it recorded?”

  “I learned long ago it is better to be honest, and then you do not get tripped by lies, but that is a difficult rule for one carrying out your duties. But my best advice is to not get too attached to this Emy. She is only your assignment, not your future. When this case is brought to closure, and a conspiracy is proven, you will have to testify against she and her parents, and she will hate you until the day you die. Do you realize that?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Clay replied. “Sitting there at breakfast with the family, I knew I might be put into a position that would involve sending them to federal prison. But I also have a job to do, and though I have trouble with the Lower 48 at times, especially when they interfere with Alaska’s future, we’re still part of the United States, and I am proud of our country’s history.” Clay set back down and added, “Is that what you wanted to hear, Doc?”

  Doc Adams had that fatherly grin on his face again and reached across to pat Clay gently on the top of his left knee. “You’re doing fine, but take it very slow at that barbecue. You’ve worked enough of these operations to know how easy it is for an operative to get too pushy with too many questions from the beginning and end up dead. Simply enjoy the food, meet the people, and leave the rest to them. We have time, no matter what Washington thinks. I doubt anyone is going to do anything up this far north during an Alaskan winter. Besides anything else, you’d never get any southern reporters up here to cover the news. Those people with all the flashy dental work, expensive hairstyles, and $5,000 monthly clothing allowances love their comforts and freezing to death is not in their contracts. No, if anything is going to happen up here, it will be in the summer. Still, it’s the target or targets we have no information on and this we must obtain before the snow melts.”

  “I see you watch a lot of cable news, Doc. Our local news people are more homey-like. We’ve got a few people who’ve grown up on our TV news, going from young 20’s to early 50’s. We even had one who left the news to become a church pastor. No we rarely see an outsider newscaster up here unless the Pope is coming through to meet the President, which is pretty rare, the Iditarod Dogsled Race is on, or we suffer another oil spill or massive earthquake. We may be the largest state in the US, but we don’t make enough news unless it’s on the grand scale. I think that last tim
e we had the big commentators up here was when Sarah Palin was running for Vice President and now she’s become one of them.”

  “Do you want her back?” Doc Adams asked in jest.

  “I’d have to think a bit on that one, Doc.” Clay stood to his feet, shook hands with Doc and agreed on another meeting a week from now in the same room. “Hey, Doc, where do you go from here? Do you stay in Fairbanks for a bit or fly straight out?”

  “I’ll be in Anchorage in about three hours from now, Clay…Tomorrow, I’ll be in Seattle. But I’ll be back up here next week. You and I are working together on this one. No one else will be here to see you. In the event they are, you make sure they have those two names you received in Washington, as you were instructed. If not, take whatever action you need and get out. If you do not believe you can make it off base, turn yourself over to the MPs and demand they turn you over to the Provost Martial. Then you will have him contact J. Edgar Hoover Office in DC and not any of the Alaskan offices… only because the offices up here won’t be able to help you if this operation is compromised. Okay…you got it?”

  “Yes, Sir…I got it. See you next week.” Clay shook hands with the Doc and was out the door. Half an hour later, he was back at his apartment with a take-out dinner from Burger King. He was a Whopper fan, but also liked the Big Mac. Driving cab and not working out, he had noticed he was beginning to put on a few pounds and needed to watch out with these fast food meals. He was drinking either too much soda or coffee to stay awake at night and eating far too many doughnuts. He’d failed to get any jogging in as he had promised himself. He needed to find a job that was more physical, possibly working in one of the lumber yards or some kind of construction, but all the jobs were taken up by active duty servicemen needing extra work to make ends meet and college kids between classes. It saddened Clay to see how low the pay was for the enlisted personnel, especially up here in Alaska and down in Hawaii.