by Henry Hack
“Then who do they have in custody? Did they just grab two guys at random?”
“Maybe they did that – grabbed up a couple of look-a-likes. But they didn’t have to. They’ll probably not parade the two unlucky guys in public until they hang them. They’ll be exposed only a few seconds before the bags go over their heads.”
“What has America become so quickly? It’s like Nazi Germany or Soviet Russia already.”
“But the people are content and happy, aren’t they?”
“Seems so,” she said with despair in her voice. “But then we should be safe, right?”
Harry raised his eyes in surprise and said, “Why wouldn’t we be safe anyway?”
Susan smiled and shook her head. “I love you. My big hero protecting me and his family from the truth of the situation. Keeping it all inside and letting it slowly dissolve your guts.”
“What are you…?”
“Harry, I’m not an idiot. I knew if one of those Committee members were captured alive you would be in deep shit – and so would I and everyone around you. So, as I asked before, we should be safe now, right?”
“You are something else. I should have known I couldn’t fool you. To answer your question, yes, we are safer than before, but not completely safe.”
“Meaning?”
“Despite the public proclamation about the capture of Connelly and Bradley, Zinnit will not give up the search. He’s former C.I.D. – a trained investigator like his former boss General Thorne. He and his unit will go over all our internal reports and newspaper reports with a fine tooth comb in an effort to find a clue to the whereabouts of Bradley and Connolly.”
“So what? What can he possibly find?”
“He can find that I attended their early meetings, that I joined in the fight at a late date, and that I sat on the sidelines for quite awhile before jumping in.”
“You can justify all that,” Susan said, “especially your late entrance into the fight against them. Not only was Lizzy shot, but the massacre at the high school killed two of the JTTF team.”
“Yeah, I guess but something’s nagging me about our investigation, worrying me, and I can’t put my finger on it.”
“Well, let’s have a small cocktail and get dressed.”
“For what?”
“Harry! For dinner. Did you forget we are going to the Phineas’s at 7:30?”
“That’s it, Susan. Alton Phineas!”
“What?”
“It will be in our reports when Danny, George and I first visited him suspecting he was still aiding and abetting the Minutemen after the attack at the high school. And before that I was there with Phil and other supporters for a meeting at his compound. And then that last recent meeting at his house where the Committee members showed up and we had Phil on the phone…Oh, shit!”
“Calm down, Harry. They haven’t approached him yet. We’ll hash it all out with him after dinner.”
* * *
After a home-cooked Italian dinner personally prepared by Anne Marie Phineas herself, Alton said, “Shall we go into the study and try to digest some of this lasagne? I’m stuffed.”
They all arose as the housemaid began to clear the dishes. The dinner conversation had been general and both Harry and Alton had avoided bringing up any unpleasantness, although each noticed consternation in the other’s face at occasional times during the sumptuous meal. When they were all comfortably seated with their after-dinner cordials Harry said, “You seem troubled, Reverend.”
“I am” he said. “And by the way, so do you.”
“Correct, but tell me what’s bothering you.”
Alton reached over to the end table next to him and picked up some papers. He said, “As you know the amended constitution specifically states that religious institutions must now pay their fair share of income and property taxes. About two weeks ago I received this letter from the Internal Revenue Service estimating that my church owes the government in excess of three million dollars in tax on collections, that I owe a half-million dollars personally on my income, and that the property taxes on my buildings and grounds amount to about a million more payable to the State of Wyoming.”
“That’s crazy,” Susan said.
“I agree and I referred the matter to my lawyer. Both he and I received a registered letter today stating that if a minimum payment of one and a half million dollars is not made by the end of the week the IRS will seize all my assets and padlock the church and grounds. And I and Anne Marie, personally, may be subject to arrest.”
Did Harry smell the hand of Major Zinnit behind the scenes here? Maybe, maybe not, but after sympathizing with Alton’s plight, he unloaded all his fears and possible consequences that faced them all.
“What do you suggest we do, Harry?” The reverend asked. “I don’t have that amount of money. I don’t even take a salary, just living expenses. What will I do if they come for us?”
“You have to leave the country immediately. Both of you. If they arrest you, for whatever reason, they will make you talk…”
“Never!” he said.
“Really? I know you have tremendous courage and faith in God, but when the CIA sticks a hot poker in Anne Marie’s eye with you watching, what will you do?”
“I…I…”
“They can make us all talk, Alton. I assure you of that. Why do you think the three Committee members were not captured alive?”
“But they caught Kevin and Jonathan.”
“Let me tell you about that, too,” Harry said.
It was well past midnight when they finished speaking and Alton Phineas was finally convinced to flee. He said, “I hate to leave and give up my life’s work to this heathen, socialist government, but I can’t put you and Susan and your families in jeopardy. And Phil MacDonald and all the other Minutemen supporters I know.”
“And I hated to ask you to leave, but you just know too much.”
“Yes, and I also know where Jeremy Riggins is.”
“I figured he left the country, too,” Harry said. “The price on his head should have resulted in his capture by now, I would have thought.”
“He’s well-hidden in a small cabin in the woods not far from here. I bring him food and supplies from time to time. I better warn him.”
“Don’t do it by telephone or cell phone. Do it personally, making sure you are not followed there.”
“This is all so overwhelming,” Anne Marie said. “How long do we have to get out, do you think?”
“The sooner the better,” Harry said. “You have to avoid capture. Capture will be worse than death, if you know what I mean.”
“Indeed I do,” Alton said. “Tomorrow we’ll begin getting things in order. The IRS gave us to the end of the week. We’ll be gone well before that. But tell me Harry, to where?”
“Canada. I’ll drop off a few pre-paid cell phones for you tomorrow morning. Drive north using secondary roads whenever possible. When you get about ten miles from the border, call Phil MacDonald for advice and directions. Hopefully, Jonathan and Kevin are with him and can direct you. Wear warm clothes and sturdy shoes. You’ll probably have to ditch your car and walk over the border through some rough terrain.”
“Thanks, Harry,” he said with a smile. “It sounds like we’re escaping the Nazi’s like Colonel Von Trapp and his family did in The Sound of Music.”
“You are, Reverend. No doubt about that.”
* * *
Harry dropped off the cell phones to the Phineas’s at ten the next morning. “When are you leaving?” he asked.
“At the crack of dawn tomorrow morning,” he said. “I’ll warn Jeremy and drop off a big load of supplies for him this afternoon.”
Harry looked around and said, “I know it will be tough to leave. I’ll miss the both of you. Maybe we’ll meet again someday, somewhere, under happier circumstances.”
Looking much thinner, with cheeks sunken in deeper than they normally were, the Reverend grasped Harry’s hand in his. T
here were tears in his eyes when he said, “To better days ahead. May God bless and keep you and your family. Good-bye.”
It wasn’t the IRS that came for them. It was newly-promoted Colonel Victor Zinnit and five of his Homeland Security agents who beat them to it. They burst in the door of the sleeping Alton and Anne Marie’s bedroom at two o’clock in the morning, and arrested and handcuffed them without a struggle. Alton spotted the gleaming silver eagles on the shoulders of Zinnit and said, “Colonel, I demand you read us our rights.”
They all laughed out loud. “Traitors like you have no rights, except this one,” Zinnit said, viciously smacking him across the jaw with the pistol clutched in his right hand. “I see you are packed up. Good, I don’t know where you thought you were going, but your plans have changed. Your next stop will be a cell in Washington. Let’s go.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
They did not put a red hot poker into Anne Marie’s eye. They put her on the polygraph machine, and after an exhaustive three-hour session, she provided them with minimal information. They returned her to her cell and got Alton from his cell. He said, “Colonel, my wife…”
“…is fine, Reverend. It’s your turn on the polygraph.”
He breathed a sigh of relief, but then realized what was going to happen, what he might divulge. But he had to be somewhat truthful, he had to give them something. The colonel said, “The operator will ask only questions that can be answered with a yes or a no. I will be observing your responses. I expect you to be completely truthful, or the consequences will be extremely painful – to you and your lovely wife. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Colonel.”
“Proceed,” he said to the operator.
“Is your name Alton Phineas?”
“Yes,”
“Do you know Jonathan Bradley, also known as Christopher Steadman?”
“Yes.”
“Is your wife’s name Anne Marie?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know Harry Cassidy?”
“Yes.”
The exam lasted four hours and when it was over the colonel brought Phineas into an interview room where a sandwich and soda sat on the desk. Zinnit said, “There’s a bathroom through that door if you need it. After you eat we’ll have a nice long talk.”
* * *
Harry went over to the Reverend’s home on the compound around nine the following morning to make sure everything was in order – no lights on, no stove left lit, no water running. Using the key provided by Alton he entered the home and checked everything out. All seemed to be in order, except their bed was left unmade. That seemed out of character with the Phineas’s but what the hell? They weren’t coming back any time soon. He would have done the same thing – if Susan had let him.
There was more than a hint of cold weather in the air. Harry made a mental note to come back in a few days to fully winterize the place, but wouldn’t that be a waste of effort? No doubt, but he couldn’t stand the thought of burst pipes and the water damage it would cause to this beautiful home.
He checked around the outside of the house and tested the handle on the garage door. Tightly locked. He did not look through the side window of the garage where the Reverend’s fully-loaded Honda Odyssey rested in cold silence.
* * *
“So, you were an early supporter of the Minutemen?” Zinnit asked.
“Yes, I donated money to them and I once made my compound available to them for a conference.”
“And former Commissioner Cassidy is also a supporter?”
“No. He came to a couple of meetings at their invitation. They were trying to recruit him to be on the Committee as the law enforcement liaison, but he never joined.”
“But he didn’t actively oppose them when they began their campaign of terror?”
“No, he said he was retired and would sit this battle out on the sidelines.”
“Until they shot his daughter.”
“Yes, and then he went after them with all he had.”
“Do you know where Cassidy lives?”
“Yes, not too far from me.”
“He’s in Wyoming now?”
“Yes.”
“Where is Phil MacDonald?”
“I don’t know.
“Where is Jonathan Bradley?”
“Excuse me? You have him, don’t you?”
“Of course,” Zinnit said with a crooked smile, embarrassed by his gaffe. “Just a trick question I threw in. Now, other than Harry Cassidy being at the conference that time, was he ever at your home?”
“Yes, after the attack at the high school he and two members of his team came out to interview me to see if my connections with the Minutemen still held.”
“Did they?”
“No, sir! After that massacre I was done with that murderous group.”
“Who were the two agents with Cassidy?”
“Danny Boyland and George Washington.”
“Washington! That traitor. He killed General Thorne, did you know that?”
“I read the papers and watch TV.”
“Did he seem sympathetic to the Minutemen when he visited you?”
“Not at all.”
The interview lasted another four hours. Colonel Zinnit got up abruptly and left the room. Ten minutes later two agents escorted the now handcuffed reverend into another room and strapped him in a chair and gagged him. He glanced over at another chair where his wife Anne Marie sat, also gagged and strapped in. Five minutes later Zinnit came in and said, “Now Reverend Phineas, I am going to ask you those questions once more, and this time you will tell me the whole truth. He gestured at one of the four agents in the room and said, “Remove his gag.”
“I told you the truth…”
“Shut up!” Zinnit yelled looking at two of the agents. “Remove her gag and begin.”
One agent spread Anne Marie’s fingers of her right hand out along the flat arm of the chair and the second came over with a heavy hammer and a one-inch wide carpenter’s chisel. He placed the edge of the chisel atop the base of Anne Marie’s right pinky and slammed the hammer down. The pinky flew off onto the floor in a gush of blood followed by agonizing screams of pain from Anne Marie, and the equally loud screams from Alton. “Don’t worry,” Zinnit said, “We won’t let her bleed to death. We have a long way to go.”
An agent came over with a plumber’s butane torch which he lit with a flint igniter. To more agonizing screams he cauterized the stump of Anne Marie’s pinky until the scent of charred flesh permeated the room.
“Stop, please,” the Reverend said in a sob.
“Then tell us the truth,” Zinnit said.
“I told you the truth. Look at your notes and tell me where you think I lied. If I did – and I’m telling you I didn’t – I’ll try to clarify it.”
“Clarify? Clarify this – where is Jonathan Bradley?”
“You have him. Wait, you don’t have him, do you? And you think I know where he is? I don’t. I have no idea.”
“We’ll see. Continue,” he said to the agents.
And so the torture continued for two more hours alternating between Alton and Anne Marie. Mutilations, burnings, acid, electrical shocks, fingernails yanked out, toes crushed, ears sliced, teeth pulled. And neither one broke. They drew down on their deep abiding faith in their Lord, Jesus Christ, and their love of America with the burning hope that one day good would triumph over this evil.
They were dragged to their cells, and as Zinnit threw the reverend in he said, “Your days are numbered. You and your wife will be executed with the other traitors in here. You’re good at prayers, so I suggest you start saying them now.”
“I will,” Reverend Phineas whispered struggling to get the words out of his swollen lips and broken teeth. “I forgive you. I will pray to Jesus to also forgive you.”
Colonel Zinnit strode away not wanting anyone to see the effect the Reverend’s words had had on him.
Down the hall and around the corner,
Red Baker sat in silence. In different cell blocks sat Jim Anders and Alan Acorsi. The Triple N employees had been secretly convicted of treason by a military tribunal. They would be hanged at an appropriate time as a warning to anyone who still believed the press had the freedom to criticize those now in power.
Back in his office, still disturbed by the reverend’s last words, Colonel Zinnit reflected on the interrogation. Although he now believed he had gotten as much truth out of Phineas as he was capable of, he was uncomfortable. Something was not fitting together. All the answers eluded him. Perhaps that great law enforcement hero, Harry Cassidy, could put the puzzle together. Yes, another visit to Wyoming would be a welcome diversion. And if Mr. Cassidy seemed evasive, and heaven forbid lying, he would bring him and his lovely wife back for a visit to Washington, all expenses paid.
* * *
When Harry went back to Reverend Phineas’s house two days later he began the winterizing process by draining all the water he could out of the water lines and closing all valves and taps tightly. He needed some antifreeze to pour into the sink and tub traps and toilet tanks, so he opened the connecting door from the kitchen and entered the garage. The sight of the reverend’s minivan stopped him in his tracks. What the hell?
Harry peered inside and then opened a door. The car was packed up with way too many clothes and household items to walk across the Canadian border, and a small cooler was on the space between the front seats. He opened it to find four sandwiches neatly wrapped in clear plastic, four cans of soda and two plastic bags half-filled with water, obviously ice-cubes a few days ago. Where were they?
Then it hit him. They never left. The unmade bed. The IRS or someone else grabbed them up in the middle of the night. And if it was the someone else he feared, then Alton and his wife were in custody and being interrogated. And if they talked...?”
He rummaged through the center console and found the three pre-paid cell phones he had gotten for Alton. The antifreeze could wait for now. He had to get home right away. He and Susan were in jeopardy. They had to make plans fast.
