Due Process

by Lyle O'Connor

  Okie was an easy target. She managed to get on the con speaking circuit where she was paid to tell her story of vice and how communities could protect themselves from this type of criminal behavior. Her website had the whole circuit laid out. Why some felon had to explain what was wrong with kidnapping young girls and enslaving them in the sex trade and then get paid for her wealth of knowledge was pure bull and I wasn’t buying it. She was guilty, just as guilty as every one of those she fingered in the deal and I was a fixin’ to bring that to her remembrance.

  I arose that Tuesday morning with the prospect of a little drive to meet Carrie. I ground the coffee beans and flipped on the TV as was my routine. I wasn’t paying much attention to what was being broadcast; my mind was elsewhere when my eye caught a glimpse of one of the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center on fire. I was stunned with disbelief. All news channels were carrying the tragedy unfolding live from New York. Throughout the day and for days following I was riveted to my TV as government and news agencies pieced the puzzle together. Carrie Okie would have to wait.

  Anna contacted me via email as the events of 9/11 unfolded. I didn’t have any answers that made sense and I knew it, although I tried to explain these acts of terror in a rational way.

  Anna continued daily contact after 9/11, mostly just trying to understand why these rag-head Islamikazis felt the need to attack innocent American civilians. She readily professed herself to be busy with her writing but I didn’t see any articles being published from her desk. In the wake of the terrorist attacks a great deal of scrutiny was placed on the Islamic community by police and media. Oregon, with its liberal laws, was heavily populated with Muslims. Perhaps not all Muslims were terrorists but all 9/11 suicide hijackers were Muslim. A concern not easily overlooked by all law enforcement agencies, especially the Feds.

  Anna’s sources paid off once again.

  Scythian,

  As you are aware a national situation has evolved with Muslim “Cells”. What you may not be aware of is the scenario has pulled most of Agent Odar’s finances and manpower to be used elsewhere. At this point in time he essentially is working alone. My sources tell me MCSD is concentrating their efforts likewise on local investigations of Muslim activity. Terror threats to the nation take precedence and might as well be called the FBI’s only priority now. If you’ve been following the news, and I’m sure you have, Anthrax attacks over the past few days have the U.S. Postal Service ground to a halt. This is devastating to our national security and has stretched all law enforcement resources to their breaking point. My sources tell me Agent Odar is despondent over the changes and wants reassignment to one of the terrorist task forces. He’s made the statement, “That’s where the action is” and he feels he’s missing the opportunity of a lifetime.

  Archangel

  Agent Odar’s dilemma was to my benefit. This would be the first break I’ve had since the bloodhounds started tracking me. Muslim hijackers followed by Anthrax attacks—the FBI had to throw everything they had at this problem, and it was likely to last a long time. I’m not so foolish as to think any law enforcement agency was going to give me carte blanche but I’d be on the back burner for now and I could become a cold case file if I quit. What an opportunity to get out alive in one piece. But it was not going to happen. My goal meant too much to me.

  Road trip time! Carrie Okie was appearing on stage in Kelso, Washington. It was a hop, skip, and jump from my house. The Community Center engagement was slated to let out about 9 p.m. and she’d make her way from there to wherever she was staying. I was confident I could identify her easily and intervene. Her website and brochures plastered her face all over.

  I arrived early enough to get a seat near the back. A few officers in uniform were attending the conference and a couple of others were identified from the podium. It was psychobabble at its best. A pack of unskilled wannabe therapists wallowing in the aroma of this flatulence spewed out as “real life experience.” I was becoming ill. To me, it was nothing more than confessions of a con artist and making money off being a criminal.

  I struggled through the extensive cerebral pain caused by Okie. I felt like driving to the nearest bar and drowning myself in cheap beer, but first I needed to play the last tune for her.

  She exited the front doors of the Community Center and proceeded to her car. By this time most of the folks had left the parking area but it was still chancy. I had parked the Avenger in the rear of the parking lot nearest the roadway. One thing I like about community centers in small cities was that they tended to be located in isolated areas, like this one. I couldn’t make a decent shot from here but I had a good visual over the lot.

  I was in a good position to control the outcome at this point. Okie would have to pass by me during her exit. She was alone as she climbed behind the wheel of her car. She pulled forward toward my position. Having noted that she was an egocentric person at the podium, I grasped a brochure in my left hand and began to wave it at her. The Glock I kept concealed by my right side. She pulled to a stop while rolling down her driver’s side window. I introduced myself as a reporter and inquired if she was interested in feature coverage with the magazine I represented. She slipped the car into park, replying with an immediate “Yes.” Okie continued, “I have a phone number on my business card you can contact me at.”

  ”That would be great,” I said enthusiastically and began my threat scan of the parking lot. While Okie dug in a bag for a business card I placed the Glock next to the back of her head and fired. The moderator blocked the flash and muffled the sound perfectly. A quick scan and second round insured she was dead.

  Back in the Avenger, I saw Destiny sitting quietly with me. I had not seen her arrive but evidently it was in time for the finale. Her eyes were aglow as she nodded to me her satisfaction. She looked in the direction of Okie’s car as we pulled out of the lot and headed toward Oregon.

  I don’t know how many young girls’ lives Okie or others like her have destroyed in their brothels but one is too many and too many of these remain in operation. During her presentation, Okie gave all the excuses of doing her part to feed and house the kids and help them all she could—but it rang hollow. She talked about being sorry for the girls, but her sorrow was a veneer; she was sorry she got caught, not sorry for what she had done. She rolled on the others to protect her own butt, which was her only concern.

  As I relaxed with Destiny as my passenger in the Avenger I opened the window a sliver, allowing a stream of fresh air to whistle through. Wafting within the artificial breeze were the sounds of many voices full of exuberant joy. I was satisfied.

  With Detective Ware out of the picture and Agent Odar wanting to fight terrorism I felt the field opening up more advantageously. Destiny was a great accomplice. She represented a legion of spirit-beings that sought vengeance without mercy. Sasins also played an integral part in fulfilling my quest. I had distanced myself from her and felt the need to reconnect. I wanted to work in absolute isolation but I understood the value of a companion like Anna. I couldn’t help but wonder if what bothered me the most was that she was not only intelligent and resourceful but a beautiful and desirable woman. At times I found her dominating my subconscious and I feared a relationship might form. I fear I desired it.

  Chapter 16

  Time had a habit of being slow when there was plenty of it and fast when there was too little.

  —Walter

  Religious cults have plagued societies since the dawn of man. Whether people realize it or not, all branches of religion started out as cults. For the most part I couldn’t care less about them, but on rare occasions one of these strikes a chord with me. It especially bothers me when they sexually abuse children under the guise of a mandate for sexual exploitation of minors sanctioned by a religious order. Of course they don’t see it that way; it’s a revelation from God. It was wrong; ask Walter.

  I find it difficult to understand how educated people “believe” these self-appointed prophets tha
t give any god a bad name. Most of these so-called prophets are nonconformists to their own religion and are frequently offshoots of an offshoot of an offshoot prophet who was supposed to be inspired by a revelation. God help us!

  Reverend Tom Katt was the fifty-one-year-old prophet in a sect called “God’s Chosen Salvation.” He launched out on his own after a falling-out with his church organization over interpretations of their variety of Holy Script. Following him were three elders and the devout. Most of the sect was a typical mix of city folk, mostly middle class and high school educated products of broken homes and divorces with little stability in their lives. They looked and longed for something with meaning and purpose, which Katt provided.

  The sect raised money and bought a small township in southern Oregon. This desolate area located just north of the Nevada border was hardly suited for a commune. Living off the land, farming, and so forth was a difficult cross to bear for the experienced in this remote and arid desert. Pair inexperience with lack of resources and you had a recipe for disaster. That was the course God’s Chosen Salvation was directed to follow.

  Recruitment was slow for the sect in the early ‘90s. Some of the folks had left with a couple of them telling their stories to reporters. This type of juicy stuff was what media thrived on. Authorities became aware of alleged underage marriages being arranged and performed, but with no complainant and a lack of evidence God’s Chosen Salvation continued on their course.

  Katt was himself a believer in polygamous marriages, having four wives. This prophet of God had no civil documentation and did not recognize the government mandates of legal marriage. Two of his wives came into union with him under fourteen years of age through divine revelation. The purposes of such early marriages were procreation and training in servitude to the husband. All God’s chosen elders had likewise engaged in plural marriage as did other males in lesser positions in the sect.

  With losses occurring in their ranks the sect set out to recruit followers. They canvassed homeless shelters for runaway teens or young independent mothers. The sect offered stability, security, and unconditional love. No more sleeping on benches or going hungry. It was the ticket a few looked for and accepted.

  Opening up the commune to so many brought trouble of its own. Eventually, a fourteen-year-old escaped the compound and fingered Katt as the one responsible for arranging her marriage to a fifty-eight-year-old elder of the sect. She was sexually assaulted the day of her marriage and continuously for the following year prior to her escape.

  What appeared to be the end of Katt’s reign as a prophet backfired as he transformed into a martyr amongst his followers. Presentations to the grand jury for indictments found flimsy grounds for the case to rest on. The problem was witnesses. Runaway kids had a credibility issue. The commune became restricted to avoid contact with the outside world. By 2001 prosecutors had decided not to pursue the criminal charges against Katt and settled for a lesser charge against the fifty-eight-year-old husband of the victim. That didn’t make Katt innocent; it only made him successful in dodging the bullet.

  I contacted Anna. Her response to my request for all the information she had on Katt was, “We need to schedule a face-to-face.”

  She had followed this case through its roller-coaster ride of ups and downs. As we discussed the material she’d compiled she provided me a glimpse into a secretive society I’d heard referenced, but considered nothing more than a myth. The more time we spent together, the more she referenced this mystical society. Did she believe it really existed? Did it exist? I was too focused on Katt and his followers to consider it one way or another.

  Anna referred to the compound of God’s Chosen Salvation as more of a fortress than a commune. “It is a restricted compound,” said Anna. Reports from police sources told of a withdrawal by these members from society as a whole. No TV, radio, or music were allowed. More recently, Katt had called for celibacy on the families part except when Katt announced he’d had a vision revealing it was time for “the seed of God” to be passed. Katt was now the only person in the sect who could arrange marriages within the commune. All matrimonial unions were required to take place in the “faith.” Women were not allowed to talk except in a common room such as a kitchen. The supposed utopia of God’s Chosen was nothing more than a Gestapo death camp. It was ruthlessly suppressed by stringent rules and penalties that succeeded to cover their abuse of children. One last oddity about this cult kept nagging me and probing my consciousness for an answer. I sat back and looked over the situation; the question came to me, how is it so many female babies are born into this commune and so few males? The ratio of boys to girls was questionable. Coincidence? Walter didn’t think so.

  My suspicions were nourished by bits and pieces of depravity exposed by Anna’s research into the history on the cult. Over the next couple of weeks Anna and I met many times to discuss Katt and his flock. The reverend was not the original prophet. He had ascended to the position when the original leader disappeared. During grand-jury indictment hearings an attempt to locate the original leader was made, to no avail. His disappearance and whereabouts continued to be a mystery. Walter suspected foul play. This was his inveterate tendency when foul people were involved.

  Katt was entirely a self-proclaimed prophet. His message was salvation of God’s chosen people through divine intervention by the “seed of God.” This mystical seed was passed through his followers during the “end times” to repopulate Earth. He claimed the “end times” were here and the “seed bearers” would be persecuted by the unholy. Walter called it horse droppings. The bigger the lie the easier it was to swallow.

  According to Anna, the sect originated in Idaho as an offshoot of a polygamist religious sect, which was the offshoot of another supposed Christian denomination, which derived from another and so on, and so on. Probably more important was the fact that Katt had originally come in contact with the sect in Idaho through a prison ministry. Tom Katt was incarcerated at twenty-one for sex with a fifteen-year-old minor. It appeared to Walter that the revelation came before the religion.

  Anna was clearly coming ever so close to being involved in what she knew would inevitably transpire. For someone who didn’t want to become involved she was practically leading the way to the crime scene. Maybe she was living out her fantasies through me. Something she would do if she could but didn’t have the cahonies to do. Personally, I didn’t want Anna involved beyond her present role of providing information. Over time my thinking might change; perhaps a lot of things would change, but for the moment I preferred things to stay the same. I welcomed every moment we spent putting this project together. I had grown to trust her and her judgment, but I didn’t want her incarcerated should the mission fail. I concerned myself for her safety; I was aware my concern for her might cause me to overlook something vital to the success of the operation.

  You had to consider Katt a lucky man. He found people who believed in the same rubbish as he did and then called it “religion.” From my years on the ranch I understood what I saw to be “herd” mentality. Maybe that’s why Christians were commonly referred to as sheep. They behaved like herd animals. They were easily driven from watering hole to bountiful pastures by a shepherd. Unfortunately, in God’s Chosen Salvation, the watering hole was dry and the pastures weed infested. Thus, the herd became hopeless victims in the harrowing of hell.

  Walter, being Walter, saw the whole picture differently. Instead of victims he saw those responsible for the cultic revelations as guilty participants who had willfully violated the law of humanity. With FBI Agent Loren Odar wallowing in self-pity over missing the big terrorist ticket there was little to get in Walter’s way.

  Anna and I met at a little diner to go over material she had compiled. I sensed she knew I was very close to taking matters to the next level; one she had not been involved with previously. That might well be the reason she exposed the cult’s weakness at this meeting. Anna reported, “God’s Chosen Salvation makes a yearly pilg
rimage to a secluded mountainous hot springs near Estacada, Oregon. They do this around Thanksgiving, so you have a little time to prepare if you’re interested in seeing them outside their compound.” Was this a question or a suggestion?

  It was a lengthy road trip to southern Oregon with my trailer in tow. I made a couple of general passes by the commune to get an idea of the layout. The community consisted of a few homes along the paved road and a couple of houses on either side of two adjacent gravel roads. A small grocery store and gas station sat at the westernmost border of the town and existed more as a convenience to the commune than as a for-profit business. At the end of the southernmost gravel road was a large, square, three-story building enclosed by a chain-link fence eight feet high with concertina wire around the top. Floodlights lit up the building and compound like a prison; I had no doubt there were intrusion alarms. It wasn’t going to be easy to breach security.

  I’d pulled hundreds of observations and to my recollection none were as protected as this fortress. One of the benefits of having all the time I needed was being able to wait for an opportunity and the right moment. The only negative I could see, I’d have to watch with binoculars. I couldn’t afford to have contact with the townsfolk; they all knew one another. An outsider hanging around or asking questions would only serve to alert the clan to someone spying on them and result in their kicking security up a notch. Nevertheless, there was always something to be learned through observation, even from a distance.