The Occupation: A Thriller

by W. J. Lundy

  “But don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll be there bright and early to pick you up.”

  He called into the department and cleared his schedule, which was unnecessary. Nohrs made a point of letting everyone know that Bill had been loaned out, and Dawson already filed the formal request, attaching him to her investigation. He tried to phone the city manager to disagree; he had a deputy to bury, and the department was already low on staff. Fred Nohrs, as usual, refused to take his call. Serve and protect was the least of his concerns.

  He shook his head and looked back down at the coffee. His life wasn’t always like this, and he knew in six months he could go back to living again. He had a home, a wife, and a family at one time. All of that changed with the Responsible Enforcement Act that effectively removed liability protections against non-corporate law enforcement officers. Bill Ransom had been a police officer for twenty years and a sheriff for four. He had a small farm just outside of town and a retirement savings they’d built up. He thought he had lived an honorable life, but when the protections dropped, it opened him to lawsuits, and he had to make some hard decisions.

  Even if a cop was innocent, a simple abuse case could bankrupt them with the legal costs alone. He could lose his farm and lifesavings just because someone felt a speeding ticket violated their rights. Bill had watched it happen in neighboring counties. There were no more big city lawyers or insurance policies to shield officers from malicious lawsuits. Now if someone, anyone, felt wronged, they could file a complaint against individual badge numbers and demand repayment for damages. If an officer resisted, they had to put up the legal fight on their own with no assistance from the department.

  Some unions banded together and started insurance policies and legal teams of their own, but the premiums were expensive, and most junior officers couldn’t afford it. They depended on non-profit groups to keep them out of bankruptcy. The only other recourse many had was to surrender their pensions and benefits and sign on to the subsistence contracts. To become just another ward of the state. Then they could be defended by corporate defenders, be guaranteed housing and an income. There would be nothing to take, as they had nothing.

  Sure, working a job allowed you to get the additional supplement on top of subsistence, but it all but eliminated any personal gain for going above and beyond. Regardless of the hours worked or the rank you achieved, the supplement was the same. A working detective would make the same supplement as a department janitor. And the retirement was nothing to brag about. Everyone received the same square footage and supplement, depending on the class you retired from. Even a retired sheriff with twenty-five years would get nothing better than a small apartment.

  Bill was one of the last legacy officers in the entire county, most of them holding on for those precious pensions. The sheriff watched, firsthand, officers’ lives and finances destroyed in frivolous lawsuits. A friend had his home taken away and his bank accounts drained over a wrongful arrest case. The officer had been ordered to enforce a warrant. He did everything by the book and still lost it all to an unsympathetic jury.

  Ransom knew he couldn’t allow that to happen to his family, so with the advice of a lawyer he divorced his wife, gave her everything, and moved into this tiny rental house. The courts could still go after him, but there was very little he owned that they could take. He had to limit contact with his family to keep appearances up. If Nohrs knew his divorce was a fraud, the man wouldn’t hesitate to turn Bill in to the compliance board. But this wouldn’t go on forever; in six more months, he would drop his papers for a full retirement and move back home.

  He sighed and stared at the plastic evidence bag on the table. “Six more months,” he whispered.

  Bill grabbed the bag and opened it, dropping the contents onto the table. The body camera case was cracked, the lens disconnected and hanging from a wire. Bill rotated it in his hand and popped the front of the case off. The memory card dropped onto the table. He lifted it and pinched it in his fingers. “I should drop this in the garbage disposal,” he said, twirling it in his finger. He shook his head, knowing he couldn’t do it. He walked to the living room and flipped on his laptop. The card clicked into the side.

  The rule was that no body cameras would be active during Homeland operations, and Bill always made sure his officers complied. But as sheriff, he didn’t trust Homeland to not sell his people out, which was why he was on the inspections. He made a point to go with Tony so he could protect him from Homeland if things went wrong. He still didn’t know why, but for some reason, Bill had turned on his camera, and knowing what was on the card terrified him. It would not only cause him to be fired months before retirement, they would kill him to make the story disappear.

  He watched the file load, then a play prompt appeared. He shook his head. “Delete it, Bill,” he said as his hand overrode his brain and clicked play.

  In full high definition, he watched it all. The Homeland agent killed Aaron Newsome in cold blood. The second shot at John Warren, then from outside the camera came three booms of a high-powered rifle as the agent fell. Bill turned to try to talk Robert Newsome down. Another gunshot, and when he turned, Tony and the female Homeland agent were dead. He gasped and wanted to vomit as he heard his own voice convince John Warren to run. The camera dropped to the ground and shut off as his boot stomped.

  There was a knock at the front door. Bill jumped then hit the eject on his laptop and closed the case. He went back to the kitchen, putting the contents in the bag and then into his shirt pocket. He walked to the door and opened it, seeing Dawson waiting for him. She was no longer in the black pantsuit from the day before. She was in dark blue jeans, a khaki shirt, and a black Homeland jacket with a matching ball cap. Before he could greet her, she pushed past him and into the small kitchen. She took notice of the coffee pot and began going through his cupboards, looking for a mug.

  “Top left,” Bill said, watching her.

  Without speaking she changed direction and retrieved a cup and filled it from the pot. She looked for creamer then back at Bill.

  “I don’t have any, never got used to the stuff,” he said.

  She nodded and walked into the room, holding the cup in front of her. “Is this your assigned dwelling?” she said, speaking for the first time.

  “No, I’m independent. I rent it from a friend.”

  She looked at him sideways. “Independent, really,” she said, looking around the space in disgust. She walked to the table and sat at it. “The corporations provide nice homes for law enforcement.”

  Bill nodded. “I didn’t want to surrender my pension.”

  She looked at him sympathetically then nodded. “Well, I have some news. Looks like Washington wants me to stay on the investigation. They won’t be sending a relief; they want this to stay a regional effort, under Manager Nohrs.”

  Bill nodded. “I called the office this morning, and they told me I’d been reassigned.”

  “Yes, Manager Nohrs was very helpful in offering your full assistance.” Dawson shook her head. “But you are not reassigned, you’re just here to assist as long as we find you useful.”

  “How, exactly, can I assist?” Bill said, not wanting to be part of any of this.

  “How well do you know those hills that the locals call mountains?” she asked.

  Bill began to speak but before he could, she held up a hand. “Before you answer, I think you should know I took some liberties and pulled your file, Sheriff. You’re recently divorced. You used to own a farm on the edge of the national forest. You’ve taken a hunting license every year since you were fourteen.” She stopped to look at him for effect and then added, “It also appears you were classmates with one of the suspects. John Warren.”

  Bill shrugged and walked to the coffee pot to refill his mug. “Sherman is a small town, damn near everyone is classmates.”

  “Yesterday you said you didn’t know him,” she fired back.

  Bill shook his head. “I don’t. We graduated over
twenty years ago. John went off to the Army and only moved back here a year or so ago. I’m sure your research told you all of that.”

  She rubbed her chin with the palm of her hand and then nodded, taking another sip of the coffee. “Okay, I’ll give you that, but next time I ask for information, you need to be full and complete. Do you understand?”

  Bill smiled. “Loud and clear. Now, like I asked before, what can I assist you with?”

  “I went back to the cabin last night after I dropped you off,” she said.

  “You what? Why?” Bill asked.

  “Something didn’t feel right about it.” She eyed the sheriff to see if he would respond. When he didn’t, she continued. “The way the place was turned out, I don’t think that was rage. I think someone was there looking for something, looking in a hurry. And they treated the place like the owners wouldn’t be coming back.”

  “Okay, so they were searching. It still could have been Warren and Newsome,” Bill said.

  She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. They were looking for evidence, something that needed to be destroyed, maybe those missing guns.”

  Bill took a sip and said, “Still could have been our guys.”

  “Nope,” she said. “That’s why I returned. It’s not what they took, it’s what they left.”

  “And what did they leave?” Bill asked, now leaning in.

  “These guys are on the run, right? They allegedly trash the place in rage, then take off again. But they leave a kitchen full of canned goods, closets full of clothes, and an attic full of camping gear. Tell me, Sheriff, they stole a car to get there and then switched to a truck that we know about. Does that make sense to you?”

  Bill sipped again. He knew everything she said made sense. The Legion plan was faulty and full of holes. He pursed his lips then said, “I stopped trying to understand criminal motives a long time ago.”

  “Well, fortunately that’s what I am paid to do. I looked at the area again. I think someone went to that cabin, but it was to cover something up.” She paused for effect and then smiled. “I sent in all of the information we had of the area last night. Homeland requested a flyover and scan of the region, and they came back with four promising search areas. Two I already handed off to the state police. One surrounds the cabin; I think we both know that is a dead end.”

  Bill placed his mug on the table and crossed his arms. “And the fourth area?”

  “Back where it all started. The crime scene and the area surrounding it. I asked the geo team to give us an analysis on where they could have gone.”

  She pulled a color printed map from her shirt pocket. She unfolded it and placed it on the center of the table. Most of the map was dark green, but there were several areas painted in yellow and other circles in red. Bill moved closer, and she turned it so he could see it.

  He leaned over the table and studied the map. “This is hundreds, maybe thousands, of acres. Send in a helicopter.”

  “The governor won’t release the National Guard to help us, and the state police turned down the request for a helicopter. Homeland’s birds are all tied up with that thing in Alabama. It’ll be a week before we can get one,” she said.

  “You won’t be able to search that entire area on foot,” Bill said, staring at the map.

  She nodded and pointed to a yellow band and a road that ran through the bottom of it. The zone had been labeled The Gap. He had heard the name for that area before. It was thick and twisted with heavy brush. The place was difficult to get to, so most people ignored it. “What do you know about this spot?” she said.

  Bill shrugged. This was something he could be honest about; he hadn’t been there many times at all. Not many locals hunted there because of the difficulty to get in and out. There were a few popular hiking trails, but most of them stuck to the bottom of the valley and close to the road. All the land north of there was steep, rocky, and heavily wooded. It wasn’t the well-worn trails most hikers enjoyed.

  He pointed at a black curved line that went through the bottom of the yellow zone. “This is really the only road in or out. I got to tell you, this is some shitty terrain; we’ve rescued hunters and hikers from this area before. People that overestimate their skills and venture off the path.”

  He paused and thought to himself, then looked back at the map. There were roads all around the Gap and hiking trails that went below it and above it. But in the yellow zone itself, there was nothing. He leaned in closer. It was a natural dead zone, blocked off by ridges and valleys you couldn’t drive in. The only way in would be by foot. He bit his lip; it’s exactly where the Legion would hide a camp. He looked at her. “I got to say, we should probably stick to the cabin area.”

  “I have teams going door to door in the cabin area, running a full search.” She frowned and pointed to a spot. “The intel guys say a pair of men with knowledge of the area could make it to the center of the Gap in half a day. They could stay hidden there and then come out after they decide it’s safe.” She looked at Bill. “What do you think?”

  He studied the zone. “I mean, yeah maybe, but why? There are plenty of more hospitable places to hide. You sure they didn’t just run for the Free States?”

  “Free States? What a derogatory term.” She said this like she was spitting garbage from her mouth. She sighed, took a sip of the coffee, and said, “They are running, and they want to get away. If that is their only motivation, then wouldn’t the Gap be the best place around? A place to hide until things calm down?”

  Before Bill could answer, she stood and folded the map. She placed it back in her pocket and stepped toward the door. “I already have the tactical team on the way there.” She looked at her watch. “In fact, we are probably late.”

  Bill pointed to the door, signaling for her to go first, and then followed her outside. She had parked the car on the street instead of the driveway. As he walked toward the patrol car, she tossed him the keys. He waited for her to enter then made a U-turn, headed toward the national forest. He got on the highway and looked across at her. “You know, if they are hiding in the Gap, we probably won’t find them. Why not surround it and wait for them to come out?”

  “We won’t find them right away, you mean,” she said with a smirk.

  “Still, if they are in there, they aren’t going anywhere,” Bill said. “Let’s wait them out.”

  She glanced over at him. “Have you seen the news, Sheriff?”

  Bill shook his head.

  She nodded and said, “They are reporting this like those men are heroes. The media is saying the men were only defending themselves. They make it sound like you had them lined up for an execution when they managed to fight their way out of it.” She grunted. “So tell me, Sheriff, were you trying to execute those men?”

  “You know we weren’t,” Bill said.

  “Well, as long as they are out there and go unpunished, that is the story that will be in circulation. And you know what happens then? More and more attacks just like it will follow,” she said. “So, yes, we may not find them right away, but we will find them.”

  The sheriff shook his head. “Maybe not. That’s an unforgiving place. I wasn’t joking about rescuing people up there. Those boys may just vanish in there.”

  She smirked. “Don’t worry, Sheriff, we’ll find them. We always do.”

  “You seem awful confident for admitting you don’t know the area,” Bill said. He slowed the car and then turned onto a two-lane gravel road. “This isn’t a search and rescue; you’re looking for people that don’t want to be found.”

  She turned to look at him as he drove. “Sheriff, we’re going to choke that Gap off and then search it from one end to the other. We’ll turn over every stone before we give up.” She sighed and then said, “And if the place is as bad as you say it is, they’ll be begging to be found after a day or two. We’ll grab them like we always do, and we’ll punish them for what they did.”

  Bill looked away. He wanted to tell her about J
ohn Warren’s and Robert Newsome’s backgrounds, but he held his tongue. Dawson was the type who liked to figure things out on her own. Let her find out in her own time that Warren was a decorated Green Beret and Newsome a veteran of the Army’s 10th Mountain Division. He bit his lip to hide the smirk and focused on the road ahead.

  He saw a convoy of vehicles parked on the shoulder of the road—the black Suburbans from the night before, along with blacked-out armored police vehicles and several panel vans. Bill slowed and steered around them to the front of the procession, where a pair of State Department of Natural Resources and forestry service trucks were parked, blocking the road. He pulled to the opposite side of the road and shut off the car. “Well, this is it, the only road in or out of the Gap.”

  Dawson opened the vehicle door and stepped into the road, moving toward a large gravel clearing filled with people and canopy tents. He saw the DNR and forestry service men near a wood post that designated a trail map. Dawson never asked him to follow her, so he moved toward the DNR people.

  “Morning, Sheriff,” one of the men said as he got closer.

  Bulky in his olive-green and khaki uniform, his shirt was covered with patches that made him look like a boy scout. Bill squinted, suddenly recognizing the man. Of the group of four, he was the only one he knew by name.

  “It’s Earl, right?” Bill said. “You helped us out with those poachers last summer.”

  “The one and only,” the man said. “I’m sorry to hear about Tony. He was a good man.”

  Bill bit at his lower lip and nodded. He pointed to the vehicles blocking the road. “What’s this all about?”

  “I’m sure you know more than we do,” Earl said. “Got the call before the sun came up to block this road. They said they were bringing in search teams and all of that, looking for those boys that ran off. Told us we needed to shut everything down and wait for them.”