Judge Kimball: “Mr. Foreman, has the jury reached a verdict?”
Jury Foreman: “Yes, Your Honor, we have.”
Judge Kimball: “Please hand it to the bailiff.”
Judge Kimball read the verdict, betraying no emotion and ordered the defendants to rise.
Judge Kimball: “Mr. Foreman, please read the verdict.”
Jury Foreman: “In the case of The State of Iowa versus Albert Thomas Jones, we find
Count One: Guilty as charged;
Count Two: Guilty as charged;
Count Three: Guilty as charged
Count Four: Guilty as charged”
The jury foreman read the same four guilty verdicts in the State of Iowa versus William James Masten.
Winthrop immediately demanded that the jury be polled. It was and it confirmed the unanimous verdict of all twelve jurors. Jones and Masten had been convicted and they were going to prison.
CHAPTER 6 - AFTER THE TRIAL
Monday, March 10, 2014
Judge Kimball had given the jurors Friday off and reconvened them at 9:30 am, Monday, March 10, to begin the sentencing phase of the trial. Winthrop was not especially pleased to have to spend another weekend in Iowa. Judge Kimball had denied his request to release Jones and Masten on their own recognizance and had the convicted men marched off to the Plymouth County jail.
Before any witnesses were called, Winthrop advised the court that he would be filing an appeal and asked that Jones and Masten be freed until their appeals could be heard. Judge Kimball took judicial note of the intention to appeal but denied the request that they be granted bond pending appeal. Jones and Masten, like so many other convicted felons, would be going to prison while their cases wound through the Iowa criminal appeal process.
Jones and Masten were both single and had no military experience. The only witnesses that Winthrop could offer on their behalf were three mid-level OSHA bureaucrats who testified that they had been competent and hardworking employees for several years. These three witnesses were so bland and general in their testimony that Pike and Stoddart did not even bother to cross examine them. Judge Kimball gave his final instructions on sentencing to the jury immediately after the lunch recess. The jury began its deliberations on sentencing at 1:45 pm. The bailiff heard two buzzes at 3:35 pm and Judge Kimball summoned all parties back to the courtroom.
Winthrop and Krugman were relieved to hear the foreman announce the punishment: three years of prison on each count for each man. Since the maximum punishment for each count was ten years, the defense lawyers silently breathed a sigh of relief. Jones and Masten could be paroled and out of prison in less than eighteen months. Then the jury foreman devastated the defendants with five simple words: “sentences to be served consecutively.”
Jones and Masten were now looking at a total of twelve years of incarceration. Since the sentence was over ten years in length, the Iowa Department of Corrections’ policy was that they would be sent to the maximum security prison at Anamosa.
The convictions and sentencing sent shock waves through the Federal Government, especially the Department of Labor. “FEDS CONVICTED” was the headline in most of the country’s largest newspapers. National television news organizations and internet stories carried all the details as did all of the national and local talk radio programs. Bureaucrats large and small all over Washington DC were scrambling to cover their collective asses. The citizens of Iowa had just sent a powerful message.
The firm of Pike and Wasserman was inundated with calls from State Attorney Generals asking for consultations. It was an election year and the Attorneys General of several states were now scouring their statutes for causes of action against overreaching Federal bureaucrats. For once it was the Feds and not the States that were on the defensive.
Diana Pike received a call from her husband on Monday evening about 9:30 pm. “Nelson, what is all that noise? It sounds like you are having a wild party in some saloon.”
“Of course its wild, I’m celebrating with the local citizens of Plymouth County and getting shitfaced with the prosecutor and sheriff in the process,” was the reply from Nelson, obviously in his cups.
“Just don’t get your ancient ass arrested,” warned Diana.
“Well, whose gonna bust me and prosecute me?” queried the slurred and cheerful voice of the recent special prosecutor of Plymouth County. This came amid much laughter and cheering from the crowd at Tiny’s, which of course included Sheriff Johannson and Steve Stoddart. After saying,” good night, I love you, and I’ll be home tomorrow early afternoon,” Nelson Pike returned to the piano and regaled the locals with a rendition of “Mule Skinner Blues.” The party continued into the early morning hours and the locals still talk about the amount of beer that the seventy-seven year old man from Chicago could consume.
Tuesday morning, before returning to Sioux City to catch the corporate jet back to Chicago, Nelson Pike stopped by Stoddart’s office to say good bye and pay his respects to the young county prosecutor. “Steve, the people of Plymouth County are well served with you representing them. If you ever get tired of clean country living, there is a job at Pike and Wasserman waiting for you. I know Jake feels the same way.”
Jerome Foster Winthrop III was not celebrating on Monday evening. His career just took a bad turn. He simply had his head handed to him by an old man and a country bumpkin. The jokes around the Department of Justice would begin soon and he would be known as the guy who lost the pig trial. He made a mental to note to have lunch with Allison Coyne upon his return to Washington and feel him out about returning to the firm. Winthrop endured the final insult of being stopped by the Iowa State Patrol near Sioux City, ticketed for speeding, and as a result, missing his flight back to Washington.
Deputy Mingo relished the task of handing out orange jail suits to Jones and Masten on Monday evening. Taking their civilian clothes he announced, “I guess you fellers won’t be a needin’ these anytime soon, the Hawkeye State is gonna feed and clothe you for awhile.” Mingo placed the two men in separate cells on different floors of the county jail. They would have no further contact with each other until they were transported to prison.
Monday, March 10, 2014
11:45 pm
Mountain and Meadow Ranch
Pete Wallis sat on his couch in front of a roaring fire. Sara lay on one side of him, Niko on the other. As usual, Mortecai was stretched out on his lap. Sipping his fourth Macallan of the evening and puffing on a Macanudo, Pete was feeling gratified. Earlier that evening, Peter Ross had called from Iowa and reported that Jones and Masten had received twelve years in the state pen. Wallis had been worried that the men would get off with relatively light sentences, but the citizens of Plymouth County exhibited a due respect for the law. As Pete looked out at the snowcapped Grand Tetons, he murmured to himself, “Let’s hope operation taxpayer works out as planned.”
March 24, 2014
Plymouth County Jail
9:15 am
“Gentlemen, there is no talking on this trip and I do not stop for comfort breaks, so go now or hold it until we get to Anamosa,” announced Sheriff Ed Johansson. The Iowa Department of Corrections had forwarded the necessary paperwork and Plymouth County would transport the two prisoners to the maximum security prison, Anamosa State Penitentiary, in Jones County, Iowa. It would take about four hours to complete the two hundred and twenty miles from LeMars to Anamosa.
Sheriff Johansson normally would assign one of his deputies to transport prisoners to other county jails or state facilities but he always transported prisoners to Anamosa. The reason was Major Molly McBride, the chief of the intake and assignment division at Anamosa. Since the death of his wife three years ago, the sheriff and Molly were seeing each other. Major Molly was forty-six years old and known around the Iowa prison system simply as “Major Molly.” She was an attractive and large woman, a brunette that stood five feet and eleven inches tall and weighed one hundred and eighty-five pounds. There was very little fat on her frame and
she could physically handle herself as well as any of the male corrections officers, a fact that had been demonstrated to the inmates at Anamosa on more than one occasion.
The trip to Anamosa was uneventful and the Plymouth County Sheriff’s cruiser entered the prison gate at 1:38 pm. They were directed to the intake section and the prisoners were taken to the processing room. After being sanitized and issued garments the prisoners were taken to another large meeting room for an orientation conducted by an assistant warden. Meanwhile, Sheriff Johannson busied himself with some paperwork and retrieved the Plymouth County prison suits from the staff. After completing the paperwork the Sheriff stopped by Major Molly’s office and politely announced that he had two gentlemen that would be needing accommodations. This was code talk for requesting that Jones and Masten be housed with some particularly unsavory characters.
“Gentlemen” meant that the prisoners were jerks and the term “prisoner” meant that they were just routine crooks. Major Molly assigned both men to Cellblock C, the toughest area of a tough prison. Jones, a slight man of thirty-two, would be assigned to room with a particularly nasty drug dealer who was serving two life sentences for murder. Masten, an attractive blond of twenty-nine years, would be sharing a cell with a rough biker who was incarcerated for rape and promotion of prostitution, drawing a twenty-five to life sentence. In low voice the sheriff winked and said to Molly, I’ll see you tonight.
Having consumed two huge T-Bones, baked potatoes, salad, and three bottles of wine, Molly McBride and Ed Johansson made their way into Molly’s bedroom. Soon the room would be filled with the pleasurable sounds of consenting adults having sex. Molly’s bed was large and sturdy, as it needed to be since there was over five hundred pounds of human flesh copulating upon it.
Five miles away, Jones and Masten were having sex also. Judging from the screams coming from Cellblock C, the sex was neither pleasurable nor consensual, but it would be frequent.
CHAPTER 7 - DEAR TAXPAYER
Cincinnati, Ohio
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
8:15am
Jake Miller and the two other “specialists”, Harry Vonn and Case Rutledge, stopped their white service van marked Hamilton County Environmental Services on the side street a block away from the new Internal Revenue Service office. The new IRS building was an impressive facility comprising six floors and over one hundred and fifty thousand square feet of office space. There was also a five story attached parking structure for staff and visitors. The entrance and exit to the parking structure both had a kiosk that housed an armed security guard. Additionally, there was a security desk on each floor of the office building that was manned by armed guards during normal business hours. A kiosk near the main entrance to the building served as the main security office when the building was closed during weekends and holidays. Cameras that covered each floor of the parking structure, each entrance to the building, each elevator stop, and each stairwell were monitored by the main security office on the second floor. These cameras were switched to the monitors at the front entrance kiosk during weekends and holidays.
Harry and Case immediately set out traffic cones around the van and Jake proceeded to remove the manhole cover that would grant them access to the sewer system. Jake then placed a canopy over the manhole and all three men descended into the sewer along with their equipment. Two hours later the men returned to the surface, collected the canopy and traffic cones, fired up the van and disappeared into the busy Cincinnati traffic.
Thursday, July 3, 2014
3:30pm
Setting the parking brake on the white service van marked Honeywell Office Services, Jake, Harry, and Case entered the IRS building at the service entrance. A uniformed guard beckoned them forward with a disinterested nod and Jake presented the work order signed by a General Services Administration manager. The work order was as phony as the Honeywell ID badges they carried and their Honeywell coveralls. They did look the part however, and the guard was counting down the two hours remaining on his shift before the start of the three day Fourth of July Weekend.
“How long do think you guys will be here?” asked the guard.
“We should be out within 30 to 40 minutes, after all it is only a maintenance check to make sure that Uncle Sam doesn’t use too much power over the long weekend.”
“Very funny guys, the HVAC room is on floor two and the security desk there will buzz you in” replied the guard.
Taking the elevator to floor two and again showing their IDs and work order, the specialists entered the HVAC room and quickly went about their tasks. Within 27 minutes they had checked out with guard on floor two, returned to the elevator, arrived at the security desk at the service entrance, checked out with the same bored guard who admitted them, retrieved their vehicle from the parking structure and promptly melted away in the rush of vehicles. By nightfall the vehicle was left at a Wal-Mart parking lot in Covington, Kentucky, absent its magnetic logos and stolen license plates. There was no need to eliminate fingerprints since all three of the specialists had worn gloves during every phase of the operation. Within twenty four hours all three men had returned to their true identities, and had travelled via private automobile to their respective homes in Virginia, Michigan, and South Carolina.
Thursday, July 3, 2014
11:30 pm
A slender man dressed in dark clothing ambled down the side street a block from the new IRS building. The streets were virtually deserted. With a controlled economy of movement the slender man removed the manhole cover and slipped into the dark hole, pulling the cover over him. Ten minutes later he repeated this process in reverse order and casually walked three blocks to a waiting vehicle.
Thursday, July 3, 2014
11:35 pm
The HVAC room at the new IRS building emitted a loud click and the sounds of the air conditioning unit shutting down. Three minutes later another loud click announced the arrival of the heating system starting. The state of the art HVAC system in the new building had a cutoff that would allow the maximum temperature to only rise to 78 degrees. A special override device had been attached to the system by the “Honeywell” men and the heating system had been programmed to a comfortable 94 degrees, so much for saving energy.
Thursday, July 3, 2014
11:36pm
The first valve in the sewer near the IRS building had been closed and thereby shutting off the flow of clean water into the building. The second and third valves had been opened and connected to a force flow compressor that had been added as a power boost by the “Hamilton County Environmental Services” workers. Whenever the investigators got around to researching the compressor’s serial numbers they would be able to trace it back to a General Services Administration warehouse in Chicago where it had been stolen.
Friday, July 4, 2014
10:40pm
As the fireworks displays reached their grand finales, several female patrons of Harry’s Rooftop Bar and Grill made their way to the restrooms knowing that there soon would be a rush by the other patrons to do so. Harry’s was a great place to view the fireworks and the crowd was large and well lubricated for this Fourth of July holiday. Harry’s was a full seven city blocks away from the new IRS building. The IRS was probably the last thing on the minds of the revelers at Harry’s and the many other similar establishments in the neighborhood. Dozens of retail establishments in the ten square blocks surrounding the IRS facility were anticipating huge crowds due to the great weather and the fact that the day after the Fourth was a Saturday. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday promised a bumper crop of sales for the area businesses. The merchants would not be disappointed.
Monday, July 7, 2014
7:30am
Security guards Bill Krawcheck and Omar Fayit arrived at the front of the IRS building to begin their shift as the first detail inside the building after the long weekend. They stopped to check in with the security man at the kiosk at the front of the building. They signed in and opened the front door for the
staff and the other security personnel that would begin arriving at eight. Then something went terribly wrong.
Krawcheck was the first to enter and was immediately staggered by the blast of hot air and the horrible stench. Fayit caught merely a whiff and he joined Krawcheck in vomiting on the steps of the building. This was observed by the security man in the kiosk who immediately dialed the special anti-terrorism number that was given to all security organizations that protected Federal buildings. Within minutes the Federal Government had deployed a special Hazardous Materials (“HAZMAT”) team, bomb squad, Homeland Security anti-terrorism task force, and the IRS internal security team.
The Cincinnati Fire Department and Police Departments also sent units to deal with traffic control and the possibility of explosions, fires, and other potential threats to the public safety.
By 8:30 the area around the IRS building had become chaotic as employees began arriving for work and were prevented from using the parking structure or entering the building. People trying to get to their jobs in the vicinity were turned away or sent on detours around the area. By 9:00 the media arrived to cover the breaking story on a potential terrorist attack at the IRS building. They were kept two blocks away and could only watch as the bomb squad and the HAZMAT team entered the building. Within twenty minutes the bomb squad and the HAZMAT teams exited the building and began to pack up their gear. It appeared that the officer in charge of the HAZMAT team and the chief IRS administrator were having some harsh words with each other.
Maria Perez, a reporter for Channel 4 News, was able catch the last part of the heated conversation between the HAZMAT team leader and the IRS administrator. Most of it would have to be bleeped out to be presentable for the evening news. The conversation went thusly:
HAZMAT: “Sorry, but we don’t fix your fucking plumbing problems pal.”
Patriots Versus Bureaucrats Page 8
