Uncertain Justice

§

Camelot came to an abrupt end.

One Saturday afternoon, Paul and almost the entire staff of the main office, accompanied by their families, drove up in a long cavalcade for an impromptu barbeque and birthday party for Linda. It was a surprise, they said.

Linda absent-mindedly agreed. It surely was.

Paul and the staff were taken by surprise to find a man with their company's owner. Most of the ex-lumberjacks and truckers had known Greg and were slow accepting him at Linda's side.

After a number of rough contests in which Miles held his own, the ice began to thaw. By the end of the evening, Miles innate friendliness and ready smile had won most of them over. When he handily beat the company's reigning arm-wrestling champion, he was judged acceptable.

The women accepted him much quicker. Many had begun to introduce Linda to eligible bachelors as soon as they could decently do so after Greg's death, hoping to distract her from the tragedy. Bit by bit they'd seen Linda pull away from a dark abyss that threatened to engulf her and press on with her life ... but they had failed miserably to get her interested in other men.

They saw how well Miles and Linda fit together. There was no ostentatious display of affection but the feelings ran deep. The couple seemed unconsciously sensitive to each other's presence. Linda stepped closer to Miles when he came up beside her. She didn't have to look to see who was there.

When one moved, the other shifted instinctively to accommodate the motion, both staying well inside the other's comfort zone but not quite touching. When apart, their eyes constantly found each other across the room.

Paul's wife, Marjorie, found it necessary to wipe her eyes frequently as she watched them. The party was proclaimed a complete success and everyone went home happy.

Linda cried all night.

Miles had known his presence in Linda's home would be a secret from law enforcement so long as only she and Stephanie knew about it. Once several dozen learned his name, it was only a matter of time before someone in authority heard about it.

He hadn't tried to hide his origin and had given his real name when he'd been asked. It was too much to expect the employees of the family business to keep his being there confidential. He could not ask them to.

An hour after dawn on the morning following the party, Miles left through the kitchen door and walked quickly to the barn. Half an hour later he led the four loaded pack horsed out the corral gate and up the slope behind the ranch.

Five minutes after he passed out of sight, Linda locked the front door and got in the big Mercedes S600. She drove to the office in Denver, getting there after three stops in a trip that took her a good two hours longer than normal.

That afternoon she called together all the family friends and workers who had been at the party and let them know Miles was gone and why he was gone. She asked them to not talk to others about him except, of course, if the police should ask.

Coreen, the information technology administrator for the company, found the website set up by Jonah Trenton's oldest son to publicize the fugitive's plight. An hour later, the site had registered more hits than it had the previous two months put together.

Miles made poor progress through the mountains. It had been his intention to head south along the mountain chain and make his way back to the valley. He wanted badly to get there; it was the only refuge he had. Instead of walking, he spent much of his time standing still on the trail and staring blankly at the high peaks around him while the horses grazed patiently.

At night, he was joined at his campfire by brothers from the far ranging Wolf Clan and several times by old Zeb himself. His visitors had little to say though. All they could do was share his misery and, in the sharing, perhaps lessen it a trifle.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"In our 'News 6 Update' segment tonight we revisit the case of Miles Underwood, accused killer and rapist of a young San Antonio coed. You probably remember the first trial for the ex-Army NCO resulted in a hung jury. However, before he could be retried, he slipped out of town under cover of the worst series of storms in South Texas history.

"A Bexar County Sheriff's spokesperson says before he left, the accused assaulted and shot District Attorney Carl Brady. Then he chased Brady from his own home and set fire to it. Authorities say Underwood fled to Colorado where he disappeared into the mountains after a confrontation in which Mr. Underwood allegedly killed a police dog.

"Jonah Trenton, Mr. Underwood's attorney, disputes the official version of events, pointing to a complete lack of any physical evidence that would show his client has ever been in Mr. Brady's home at any time. Mr. Trenton quotes a fire investigator's report that casts serious doubt on a conclusion of arson, saying the fire appears to have been an accident. Additionally, Mr. Trenton has asked the court to compel the prosecution to reveal any evidence they have leading to a conclusion that Underwood shot Mr. Brady."

KSAA Channel Nine

San Antonio Texas

March 30

§

The General Counsel for the Department of Defense looked over the file folder. It contained the request forwarded from the Department of Justice, asking for DOD assistance in locating an escaped fugitive out west. It looked like they wanted some aerial surveillance or something like that somewhere in the Colorado mountains.

Since the passage of the Posse Comitatus Act in 1878, American military personnel had been forbidden to interfere in civil matters within the fifty states. On occasion though, with Presidential approval, some assistance could be provided. The waiver for that was attached to the request.

The counselor tilted his head back to peer at the neatly printed sheets through his half-frame glasses. The package appeared to have been forwarded through DOJ channels and sent to the White House Counsel's office for approval there already.

Usually they came here first, but he wasn't going to fall on his sword complaining about the circuitous routing. Someone doing someone else a favor, he guessed ... a big one because the date of the request was only last Friday.

He tapped his pen on the desk pad and contemplated the portraits of past general counsels on the far wall. Might be worth finding out who had enough horsepower to get this thing moving so fast and, by the way, all the way to the White House before it came to his office. Never hurt to know things like that. He'd put someone on it; no telling what a few discreet inquiries might turn up. Leaning forward, he scribbled a signature on the document that would forward it to the Operations Directorate in the Joint Chiefs of Staff for them to decide who could best provide the requested service.

§

When the request came back from the Joint Chief of Staff's Deputy for Operation's desk, it had a hand-written yellow sticky attached to the front. "Sounds like a job for ? " and the General's initials. The young Air Force lieutenant correctly deduced the general wanted some recommendations for the correct service to task with the assistance. The job could be done with Air Force assets, of course, but it could also be done with satellite surveillance.

The Navy might even be able to handle it. The FA-18 had been reconfigured lately for a lot of missions it hadn't been originally designed for. He couldn't remember if aerial recon was one of them.

He tucked the folder under his arm and walked over to his boss's desk to ask who had last been tapped for something like this. The Marine Corps major took the folder absentmindedly and told the lieutenant he'd get back to him right after lunch. He put it on the top of the stack of things he had to get to today and continued reading the newest situation reports from CENTCOM's forward deployed headquarters. The situation in Syria was thoroughly screwed up and was probably going to get worse.

The major was a little distracted ... the lieutenant colonel board results were scheduled for release this afternoon. He knew a promotion to light colonel this early in his career, well 'below the zone', would kick his career into a higher gear and he also knew his last Officer Efficiency Report had been a glowing one; it had been endorsed by the Director of the Joint Staff.

There was a good chance ... an excellent chance, really. Visions of silver oak leaves kept overlaying the report and he had to keep dragging his attention back to the subject at hand.

When the fire alarm rang, the entire office went into a controlled panic. They shoved classified documents into safes en masse and made sure the vault door was locked securely. In the rush, some folders and documents fluttered to the floor and were scooped up on the fly. No one noticed that some information sheets from a proposed television documentary on a small Marine organizational element had been shuffled into the FBI request by mistake.

Everyone ran for the exits. Since 9-11, no one blew off an alarm. It might or might not be an exercise but even if it was, exercises were recognized as practice for the real thing now. They ran hard for the nearest exit.

When the all clear was sounded it was a while before the office returned to its routine. It took time for everyone just to get back through the security checkpoints and walk the crowded halls back to their section. When he got back to his desk, the lieutenant found the folder had been returned.

The major had forgotten why it had come to him in the first place and could only recall it was the lieutenant who'd given it to him. When the lieutenant opened the file, he found the Marine Corps documents. Surprised, he rose to go make sure the major meant it. Marine scout/sniper platoons weren't exactly in the same category as the aerial reconnaissance option he thought was the better choice.

If the newly assigned ensign from the Navy component on the JCS staff hadn't leaned in to see if he wanted to go to lunch, he might have made it all the way to the major's desk. She was so cute though ... those dark eyes got him every time.

The lieutenant dropped the file on his desk and grabbed his flight cap. The Metro would get them to Crystal City in five minutes for a more private lunch than the cafeterias on the second floor of the Pentagon could offer.

When he came back fifteen minutes late, all thoughts of the folder were washed completely from his mind. The Army sergeant charged with making the distribution run had retrieved that file, along with the entire stack of folders on that corner of the desk, but the lieutenant didn't notice its absence. He did notice the pretty ensign passed by the outer door twice more that afternoon. She waved both times.

An impromptu promotion party for the major--soon to be lieutenant colonel--just before quitting time ensured the incident would never be recalled.

When the General saw the documents inside the folder, he wondered why the United States Marine Corps had been suggested for this exercise. He trusted his people though. Maybe there was some reason for this.

Certainly, using a few Marines would be a lot cheaper than the Air Force getting a U2 in the air ... and he didn't even want to think about getting the boys at Fort Myers to reposition one of their satellites. Sounded like a plan, he decided.

He initialed the request, checking the box that said 'Approved' and dropped his note in the trashcan. He called the corporal in from the liaison section and asked her to send the folder to the Commandant of the Marine Corps. He opened the next letter in the never-ending chain of correspondence he had to read today.

He forgot the request for assistance from the FBI. It had been handled.

The folder for the TV documentary found its way back to Public Affairs asking for further documentation. The polite note from the Air Force master sergeant regretted the General would not coordinate on the request until all the forms and accompanying draft recommendations were in the package.

The lieutenant commander made copies of the necessary documents and put everything into a new distribution packet to Operations. Jerks, he thought ... they'd loose their friggin' heads if they hadn't been screwed on real tight.

§

"We got 'im!" announced Special Agent Jack Randall as he walked into his father-in-law's office. He allowed himself to be distracted by the view of the mountains out the big picture windows. His tiny cubicle didn't have any windows ... or doors, for that matter.

He shifted his attention back to his boss. Pat Reilly had turned away from the computer screen where he'd been reading the last of his email and was looking quizzically at his subordinate.

"Who?" Reilly groused. He wasn't at his best until he'd had his second cup of coffee and that one was still in the Mr. Coffee machine in the outer office. The open door policy he'd implemented for easy communication with his personnel might need reconsideration too. Some people were abusing the privilege ... too early in the morning.

"Us ... the Department of Justice ... Underwood." replied the junior special agent--one of the most junior, in fact, in the Bureau. Assistant Director Reilly's pained expression intensified and his eyebrows arched higher in query. The word 'junior' might become more a permanent rank rather than a description if Jack didn't get on with it.

"Miles Underwood--fugitive out of San Antonio, Texas--wanted for flight to avoid prosecution from there ... suspect in an arson case and a shooting there and wanted for questioning in a kidnapping of two police officers in southern Colorado.

"We chased him for a couple weeks last spring ... we're pretty sure it was him ... near Monarch Pass on U.S. 50 and points south into the mountains. State Troopers and a bunch of sheriff deputies along with four of our agents from Pueblo chased someone down there for a while but he gave them the slip--but not until he killed a dog they were using to trail him. Since then, no one has seen him. An abandoned pickup with Underwood's fingerprints in the interior is all we ever found."

"Okay." Reilly frowned as he dredged up the details of the case from his memory. "The unlawful flight and kidnappings are the only Federal warrants, right?"

"Correct ... yes, sir ... so far, anyway. Most of the others are out of the District Attorney's office in Bexar County Texas. The complainant is the District Attorney himself. Colorado has some out on him for assault and some other minor offenses."

"Got it ... so what is this we got him?"

"Well, I just finished a conference call from Marshal Owens's office in DC. Six weeks ago, a National Park Service Ranger reported seeing Underwood, but then he disappeared into the woods. Brazen devil though ... he evidently told the ranger exactly who he was though. He didn't try to hide it at all."

Jack paused and looked up from his notes. Damn, he sure would like a window--with or without a view--in his cubicle. The faded tan room dividers that formed the walls of his own tiny domain couldn't compete with this. He sighed, careful to keep it to himself. He glanced back down before meeting the senior FBI agent's eyes once more.

"Twelve days after that, a little north of where the ranger saw him, someone who matches the description of Underwood damn near killed a big ... and I do mean big ... football player from some college back east. Couple of the boy's friends got him down some hiking trail to civilization in time to save his life, but he lost his right leg below the knee." He looked up at his boss.

"Something's not right about their story," he said confidingly. "The local sheriff told me he's hunting a couple of women who were seen up there right about the same time the college boys were there. Some deep scratches on the injured man's face are suspicious. Anyway, the description the guys gave matches Underwood to a "T."

"Then, three days ago, here in our own office, we got an anonymous phone call from Boulder saying that Underwood was staying with a Denver business woman in her country home. A couple agents from the local office went to interview her and she admitted he'd been living with her in a house she owns up in the mountains south and way west of the Springs ... said he took off last week but doesn't have any idea where he went. She was adamant about that ... said he specifically would not tell her where he was going.

"Our guys tried to develop more information but she laughed at them when they mentioned obstruction and harboring a fugitive. She said if the agents wanted to play games, the interview was over.

She quit talking and had a couple of hard-case lumberjacks escort our guys to their car and put them off the property. Their report says it isn't likely the woman will ever cooperate with an investigation. They've already had a call from her attorney ... from a firm of attorneys, actually.

"But ... anyway ... we think we can catch him before he can disappear again if we hurry, boss. Owens wants me to head up one team of agents to deploy out into the mountains to cover some of the trails and try to intercept Underwood. They think he's heading south over some of the less used passes in route to ... somewhere.

"They don't know exactly where yet but we're getting some kind of help from the military. I'm going down to Pueblo this afternoon to help the local office organize, if it's alright with you." He looked at the senior agent inquiringly.

"You're our representative on the DOJ taskforce, Randall," replied the Assistant Director a little testily. "You do what you need to do." He paused for a moment and Jack got ready to head for the door. He knew a dismissal when he saw one coming.

"Alright." Reilly slapped his desk pad lightly and his eyes lost their focus on his junior agent. "Keep me in the loop. Let me know what happens, okay?" He cautioned the younger man. He returned to his email. In a little bit, he was going to get himself that next cup of coffee.

Jack nodded and lifted a hand in casual salute though he knew the boss was no longer looking. He made his way back to the bland, uninteresting cubicle he called home to call his wife. She would pack him a suitcase for the afternoon's trip.

§

Drifting south through the mountains, Miles was beginning to ... not recover, but ... accept the separation from Linda. They'd both known from the moment when the partygoers arrived at the secluded ranch he would have to leave. They couldn't ask everyone in the company to keep quiet about him. Even if they'd been asked, someone would blurt out the information eventually ... and somebody else would take notice.

They made the cut clean instead of dragging it out until their nerves were scraped raw waiting for the knock on the door. The company satellite phone she'd given him had been used a lot in the first week, but the battery was dead now. He'd have to go down from the mountains to find a place to recharge it and he wasn't ready to do that just yet.

A young deer he killed had dressed out at just under a hundred pounds and replenished his supply of meat four days ago. He didn't expect to have to hunt for a couple of weeks though he probably would have to just before going over the first western pass that led to the valley.

The hide performed another service after Miles had stretched and dried it. Moccasins wore out like other footgear and he had to sew on new soles or replace the whole moccasin every so often. In the shade of the tall cottonwoods, he'd enjoyed a satisfying lunch of jerky and some wild onions. A patch of wild strawberries had topped off the meal.