by H. L. Wegley
“But so far, only Papa was targeted by the cartel.”
“But the cartel enslaved all three of them, even you. But even if only your father had been endangered, all of the family except adult children could come with him.” He paused. “Allie, I really believe this is the most honest way to go and the one most likely to give them the option of staying in the U.S. I prayed a lot about this last night and—”
“You prayed? Then let's do it.” A lawyer that prayed. If she was in better spirits, there would probably be a good lawyer joke in there somewhere. But for now, she was just thankful Jeff had put her in touch with Larry. His ideas and knowledge gave her hope.
Larry bent over a writing pad and scribbled at a furious pace.
Allie rested her head on Jeff's shoulder, thankful they were making progress and that some good people had come to her rescue. She turned her head and scanned Jeff's face. Some very good people.
She gripped Jeff's arm, leaned on his shoulder again, and prayed until, fatigued by the stress, she dozed off.
Wes glanced at the back seat. “Okay, everybody. This is our exit coming up,”
Allie brushed the cobwebs from her sleepy mind and sat up.
“Let's pray we can talk to an immigration judge before anyone here decides to send your family to Tacoma,” Larry said.
This was the United States of America, supposedly the best legal system in the world. Allie stifled some harsh words before they reached her tongue. “Is this process really so out-of-control that nothing is predictable?”
“Unfortunately, yes, it is,” Larry said. “There are groups that rate all the immigration judges in the U.S. One thing they rate is the asylum denial rate. The numbers vary from a judge who denies asylum to only 9% of the applicants to one who denies it for 97%. The high and the low number are both from judges in New York. Go figure.”
In America? Surely Larry was wrong. “But how can that be?”
Larry shook his head. “Our immigration process is in a state of disarray. Every day people's lives dangle from the whims of a biased judge. Some judges throw out a lifeline, while others cut it. We need an unbiased, fair judge.” He watched her reaction. Saw her shock and disbelief. “Don't get me wrong, Allie, the immigration judges aren't all bad, and they have been placed in an impossible situation.”
“What do you mean?” Jeff leaned forward in the seat, frowning. “Many times they have the power of life and death over the people brought before them.”
Larry blew out a blast of air. “For the immigration judges, it's like this. They hand down judicial orders. Let's say the orders are to deport a person, immediately. The guy is a murderer and a thief. Then the judge's orders are given to DHS, who executes them at their own discretion. So now we have non-judicial officials determining whether judicial orders will or will not be enforced. The judges have no further say in the matter. They can issue orders until they're blue in the face, but …”
“That's crazy.” Jeff shook his head. “The whole system is turned upside down. The immigration police pick out which laws they want to enforce on which people and the president, or attorney general, can determine what’s enforced by issuing policies for the department.”
Larry gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Welcome to the world of immigration law … as practiced in the good ol’ USA.”
She started to pray that this crazy system wouldn't turn her life upside down, but realized it was too late for that.
God, don't let it destroy my family, please.
As Wes searched for a parking spot, Allie spotted an ICE van unloading. A dark-complected man stepped out with his back to her. He helped a woman, then a boy. “There's my family.” She pointed to the van.
“You caught up with them. Way to go.” Jeff slapped Wes's shoulder.
Larry tapped Wes on his other shoulder. “Let us out here. I don't want to lose them.” He twisted in his seat to face her and Jeff. “We'll walk single file. I want all of you to stay behind me, or we'll only cause trouble. We're going to follow them, because I think they're headed for the hearing rooms. But don't approach them until I tell you it's okay. Ready?”
Allie and Jeff nodded.
Shortly after they climbed out of the sedan, Wes pulled into a parking spot and ran to catch them as they headed toward the entrance to the building.
Two ICE employees, engaged in conversation, stood by the van that had brought her parents.
Allie listened as she passed by.
“Bill, you need to fill the tank while we're here. I heard we're headed for Tacoma late this afternoon or early this evening.”
The other man nodded and climbed into the driver's seat.
Allie drew a sharp breath. “Larry, did you hear—”
“I heard, Allie. Try not to worry. We've got a solid case to present, a good one. I won't let anybody take them to Tacoma. Not without one heck of a fight.”
“From what you told me, we also need a sympathetic judge.” If anyone deserved asylum in the U.S., it was her father. He had led the group of businessmen that stood up to the cartel. It was more than many American authorities were willing to do against the powerful cartels.
After they had gone through a metal detector at the security checkpoint, a uniformed man escorted her parents to a room that didn't look like a court room. As they approached it, Allie could see it was a holding room, one with an armed guard at the door.
The door closed and her family disappeared inside.
Smiling, Larry strode up to the guard. “Sir, I'm Larry Wendell, attorney for the Santiago's, the folks who just entered this room.”
“Wait a minute.” The guard opened the door a crack, “You folks know of an attorney named Larry Wendell?”
She heard Papa's voice. “This is the man who called us, Mama. Yes, he is our attorney. May we see him?”
“If you made it this far, you may enter.”
Allie followed Larry.
The guard grabbed her arm. “Not you, Ma'am.”
Larry turned to face the guard. “Allie is assisting me today. I need her.”
“But she's—”
“Hispanic. I may need a translator.”
“Alright, you two may enter.” The man turned to Jeff. “But who are you?”
“I'm a friend of the Santiago’s.”
“You might get to attend the hearing, but I can't let you into this room while they’re waiting for their hearing. It’s our policy.”
“I'll just wait out here for them.”
Allie turned toward him. “I'll keep you posted, Jeff.”
He nodded to her. “Good luck, Allie.”
She followed Larry until the door closed. When it clicked shut, Allie ran to Papa's arms.
“Allie, how did you get here?” His arms wrapped around her.
Papa's arms were comforting, but for the first time in her life, Allie noticed there was something missing. Something she'd only felt when Jeff held her, the desire to be held that way for the rest of her life. She stepped back from her father.
“The lawyer that Jeff found for us, Larry Wendell, heard that you were being sent to Portland, to Oregon's Immigration Court. Papa, Mama, meet your attorney, Mr. Wendell.”
Papa's smile faded. “Did you say Jeff found this lawyer?”
“Yes. He goes to Jeff's church. He is a good man. You can trust him.”
“Then he will be the first trustworthy person we have met since they took us to the detention center in Medford.” He studied Larry for a moment, then extended his hand. “Mr. Wendell, I am Rafael Santiago. If you are willing to help us, we will be truly grateful. I can pay you … well, sometime soon I can pay you.”
“Glad to meet you Rafael. Mrs. Santiago.” He nodded to Mama. “And you must be Benjamin.”
Benjamin nodded, his wide eyes filled with distrust.
“Don't worry about paying me,” Larry said. “That's been taken care of.”
Papa nodded slowly and remained silent.
“What we need to
focus on now is first, getting you out of detention,” Larry said. “And second, doing it in a way that enables you to stay here permanently, if you so desire.”
“Mr. Wendell, if you can accomplish that, we will be eternally grateful.”
“Please, call me Larry. Now here is what I propose. Let me tell you the entire plan, then you can let me know if you agree with it or not. There are other alternatives, but I believe this is the best for you and your family.”
They all sat and Allie listened as Larry explained his option of getting the family released today on bond, seeking asylum through a U nonimmigrant visa, leading to application for permanent residency in the United States.
Papa nodded slowly. “I do not pretend to understand all the legalities you have presented. But I can follow your logic, Mr.—”
“Larry, please.
“I see the logic, Larry. Mama, I think we should do as he says.”
Mama nodded and gave Larry a polite smile.
Good. It was settled. Allie prayed that by the end of the day Larry's plan would free her family from detention. But that outcome depended on several things coming together in the next few minutes. If anything failed, the outcome could be a death sentence for her family.
* * *
Jeff might not be able to go inside the holding room, but he would do whatever he could in the hallway outside. The only person around was the guard. There was only one way to find out if he could provide any helpful information.
Jeff walked up and down the hallway pretending to be antsy, nervous. He didn't have to try very hard. On his fourth pass, he stopped near the guard. “Did you hear about the family in there, the Santiago's?”
“No. I guess not.”
“It's quite a story. They took out six of ten Sinaloa Cartel members who were holding them as slaves.”
The big guard shook his head and grinned. “You're pulling my leg, right?”
“No. I know because I was there for part of it. Oh, we eventually got a little help. The FBI flew in a SWAT team to mop up. The father, Rafael, risked his life to save his family several times. Risked it to save mine once. And their daughter, Allie, she's a real tiger.”
“You mean the little dark-eyed beauty that was with the lawyer?”
Oops. One slip-up. The price of opening his mouth. Allie went in as the lawyer's assistant. She would now come out as the Santiago's daughter, thanks to Jeff. “Yeah. She's in a Pharmacy doctorate program at Oregon State. The lawyer thought she could help both as a translator and a witness.” Jeff paused and watched for any negative reactions from the guard. None. Maybe the big guy was on the slow side.
The guard rubbed his chin. “I heard about an FBI chopper that flew south. Someone said it was a drug raid.”
“That it was. Three marijuana plantations were terminated. And, at this point, only one of the ten cartel members is still running loose. Say … do you know which judge the Santiago's will be seeing today?”
“Unfortunately, I do. The only one that's working today, Judge Lynchesky. He's new here, but he's … I really shouldn't be talking about him. Suffice it to say, life was much more pleasant here before he arrived.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Yep.” The guard’s nod morphed to a shaking head. Then he launched into a character analysis of a very unpleasant human being. “Don't know how some of these people got to be judges.”
“The Attorney General appoints them, usually with the president's approval.” Jeff snorted. “Political favors, I believe it's called.”
The guard responded with a derisive laugh. “Either that or getting your legislation passed from the bench.”
Initially, big guy didn't look like the sharpest knife in the drawer, but Jeff's assessment of the man was rapidly changing.
“Sounds like a judge you don't want to have if you have problems producing ID papers.”
“Exactly.” The man's eyes focused on Jeff's face, studying him. “I don't mind people pumping me for information as long as it's for a good cause.” He grinned. “Good luck. And I wish the Santiago's the same, including your girlfriend.”
Was he that obvious about Allie? “Thanks.”
The door by the guard creaked open and Larry led the Santiago's into the hallway.
It was time to see the judge. But before they did, Jeff needed to warn Larry about Judge Lynchesky.
Chapter 26
Jeff hurried down the hallway and fell in beside Larry. “I found out a little about the immigration judge we'll be seeing.”
Larry's head snapped around toward Jeff. “Give me what you've got.”
Allie moved to his side. There was no way to prevent her from hearing. It was better that she hear it from him than discover it during the hearing.
“Judge Lynchesky is a first-class jerk, according to the guard. He's not easy to deal with, has a bad temper, and he’s vindictive.”
Allie clutched his arm, her eyes pinched into a deep frown. “Great. He sounds like a good Sinaloan Cartel member. Isn't there any good news?”
“Looks like we'll have to make our own good news.” Larry looked from Allie to Jeff. “Thanks for the warning.”
Allie pulled Jeff close to her as they walked. “I'm so nervous I could, you know …” She pursed her lips.
“Well don't do it here. We've got enough incontinence to deal with.”
“Jeff, how could you—
“I mean Judge Lynchesky—emotional incontinence according to the guard. The guy’s a time bomb dressed in a black robe.”
“He really does sound like he’d fit right in with the Sinaloa Cartel. You're not making me feel any better, Jeff.” She looked at him, her large brown eyes, pleading for something positive. “Will you sit beside me during the hearing?”
“Of course. But first I've got to take care of something, then I'll be right in.”
“Hurry, Jeff. I need you in there.”
They stopped while the guard opened the door.
“See you in a minute, Allie.”
Allie’s hand brushed his cheek, then she turned and walked into the court room.
Allie hadn't asked what he was going to do. She was probably too preoccupied. That was a good thing, because he hadn't a clue himself. Only a prompting from deep inside that he needed to do something.
Jeff paced the hallway outside the hearing room. Frustration over his inability to help Allie and her family ate at him like a beaker full of hydrochloric acid. And the rumor that they would soon move Allie's family to the Tacoma Detention Center drove him to near insanity.
Who did he know in Portland? Only one name came to mind, and it was a very long shot. McCheney.
Jeff pulled his cell out of his pocket, opened the contacts list, and searched for the entry he’d added for McCheney.
Please. You’ve got to help me out here.
Jeff pressed the call icon.
The phone rang twice, then three times. His heart sank when he was transferred to an answering service. He left a message for McCheney, explaining the dire situation and the begging for any help the FBI agent could offer.
Jeff closed his cell. It felt like he was also closing the door on the last bit of hope he had for helping Allie. Maybe the guard had exaggerated the judge’s shortcomings.
He sighed, dropped his phone into his pocket, and turned toward the hearing room.
His cell rang. He pulled it out and answered.
“Jeff, McCheney here.”
Thank You, Lord.
“Sounds like Allie's folks got on the wrong side of ICE.”
“That's putting it mildly.”
“Do you know which immigration judge is hearing their case?”
“Yeah. Some fairly new guy here named Lynchesky.”
“Lynchesky!” A stream of vulgar variations on idiot blasted from McCheney's mouth. “I can't believe he passed the bar. I can’t believe someone actually appointed him to be a judge. That guy’s got his head cross threaded.”
“One of the pe
ople working here said he thought the plan was to send Allie's parents to the Tacoma detention facility. Is there any way we can stop that?”
“Allie's parents are good people. I know that from the dealings I had with them, and from the way they fought the cartel.” McCheney’s voice softened. “Rafael thought he was bringing his family here legally for a new life, and now this.”
“Yeah. This.”
“Jeff … I've had some dealings with Lynchesky, some very unpleasant dealings. The man doesn't like me.”
“Oh.” So getting McCheney involved might make matters worse.
“Has the hearing started yet?”
“No. But the family's in the court room. It could start any minute.”
“I've got a meeting now at a place about five minutes away from Immigration Court. See what you can do to stall things. Push it to the limits if you have to. Anything short of getting yourself arrested. I'll come over as soon as I can and try my hand at stirring the pot.”
“Thanks, McCheney. I hope this isn't too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all. But maybe I can stir up some of that commodity.”
Jeff had no clue what McCheney had in mind. But he would do his best to stall things until the FBI agent arrived.
He took a deep breath, opened the door, and strode into the hearing room.
Larry Wendell sat beside Rafael Santiago. Allie, her mother, and her brother sat in chairs directly behind them.
“All rise.” The deep voice of a guard the size of an NFL offensive lineman resonated through the court room.
Everyone stood.
A tall thin man entered the room.
Jeff studied the man's face as the judge walked to his chair. Everything about his bearing exuded one thing, arrogance.
The judge sat and waited while everyone else took their seats.
Jeff hurried to a seat beside Allie.
“Obviously these four people are the Santiago's …” Lynchesky's long, bony finger pointed at Larry, “…but who are you?”
