Chapter IX: A Thousand Sordid Images
1320hrs, 7 January 2014, Osceola, Iowa, United States
"Due to the terrain and logistics issues, bringing a small army to lay siege to the fortress would spell disaster...They would lure out the knights when they were weak, and slay them. Funny, how the smallest things made the biggest differences." Image 203: Gerard de Ridefort, A Thousand Sordid Images.
"I was tired of being threatened by Ike Clanton and his gang. I believed from what they had said to others and to me, and from their movements, that they intended to assassinate me the first chance they had, and I thought if I had to fight for my life against them, I had better make them face me in an open fight." Wyatt Earp
"Who the hell is this guy, Randy?"
Deputy Marshal Gary Morrison put down his paper and looked at Deputy Marshal Eric Henderson, who had recently joined the team from Washington D.C.
Henderson was a model employee of the US Marshals, having recaptured several escaped convicts, killed one, and participated in many other operations that were important to the safety and wellbeing to the people of the United States, all in a cool five year period.
Morrison had set up shop in a local diner in Osceola, and was starting to plan something out that might help him catch his fugitive. It hadn't been much, but after seeing the accident report and a local militia group possibly linked to the crash, it sparked curiosity. And that's all he needed in order to get the ball moving in order to get his man. Or woman, in this case.
"Who doesn't know of Randy," Morrison replied, giving Eric a look. "The man is a living legend."
He took a sip of coffee, and winced. Now this was an awful cup of coffee, but it only cost twenty-five cents.
You get what you pay for, he thought.
"Randy worked for the CIA. Thirty years, I think. They recruited the guy right out of high school, and almost after the Vietnam War."
Eric whistled. "Damn."
"It gets better. He ran every black-op that the government could throw at him. Cuba. Afghanistan. Iran. Iraq. Grenada. Panama. Egypt. The list goes on. If the higher-ups want something done, they go to Robert Grant."
"Wait a second, if he's so secretive, then how do you know his name?"
Morrison shrugged. "It's what they say his name is, but more than likely, it's a cover alias. Kind of like how the D-Force guys have 'names' like Bob or Mike, but those aren't their real names."
"So why'd he go off the deep end and form his own militia?"
Morrison took another sip of coffee.
"You sure you want to hear this?"
"I have compartmentalized security clearance, if that's what you mean."
Morrison shook his head. "That's not what I meant. I mean, this is why a hero fell off the deep end."
Eric nodded.
"He was in Afghanistan at some point. Maybe 2007, 2008, sometime between there. Randy was leading a team of about six agents from the Special Activities Division.
"Those are the black-ops guys, right?" Henderson asked.
"Yeah. Anyway, they were going to meet up with some guy who had some intel on OBL, but it turned into bloodbath. "
"Shit," Eric said, shaking his head. "That's too bad. How many dead?"
"The entire team, except Randy. He was the only one to make it out and back to a friendly base. Took him five days to walk there, since his radio got shot up and all."
"Jesus."
"He retired after that, and now he's here."
Eric was flabbergasted. "That some story there. And he's just running a some backwoods militia here."
He took another sip of coffee before realizing there was something wrong with Morrison's story.
"And how did you hear about all of this stuff anyway?"
"I have my ways," Morrison said, with a smile. "I knew a nice Representative from Illinois, until he got blown up in December."
"That's too bad."
"Meh. He was on his way out anyway."
The door to the diner suddenly opened, with a jangle of assorted bells sounding the arrival of a potential customer.
Both of the agents turned around to see a man dressed in an overcoat and dark slacks enter. He waved to both of them, and made his way over to their booth.
"Ah, Special Agent Comstock, thank you for joining us," Morrison said to the man as he slid into the booth, next to Eric.
"Not a problem," he said, waving a waitress over. "Yeah, I'll take a coffee. Thanks."
"How's your man?" Morrison asked.
"He'll be fine," Jeff replied, graciously accepting the coffee from the waitress. It had been a long day for him, with a flurry of phone calls to headquarters, to the family of Allen Franklin, and the assorted paperwork. "He's a bit banged up, but he's going to be back in action in the next week or so."
He took a sip of coffee. "I don't understand why you're out here though. This is a Postal Service matter."
Morrison shook his head. "I don't think it's quite as simple."
He pulled out a file from a laptop bag sitting next to him, handing it over to Jeff.
"The United Volunteer Front?" Jeff asked, opening up the sparse file. "What does this have to do with anything?"
"You might know this already, but that accident yesterday was not an accident," Eric said. "We've checked up on the owner of the vehicle."
Morrison pulled out another file from the laptop bag and started reading from it. "James Andrews. Age 40, received a BCD from the USMC after two years' service for striking a commanding officer, served two years in military prison, worked as a bouncer, strongman, and a library aide for years before joining the UVF."
"But does he have any criminal background, other than a big chicken dinner?"
"A what?" asked Eric.
"Big chicken dinner. Bad Conduct Discharge," Jeff replied.
"You a Marine?" Morrison asked.
"Lance Corporal, 2nd Battalion, 9th Marines," Jeff said. "We were in Somalia for Operation Restore Hope."
Morrison nodded his tact approval. "Nice. Sergeant, 3rd Battalion, 5th Marines. Gulf War."
"Semper Fi," Jeff said, a slight smile on his face. "So, back to this guy here. He doesn't have anything else on his record?"
"No, he's been clean ever since," Eric said, reading from the file again. "Which is surprising, considering he has a distain for authority."
"Well, they had to give him something in order to make him join this group," Jeff added. "But this could be a big coincidence, and I still don't see how I'm involved in all of this. There's no fugitive on the run here, or witness protection, or anything that falls under the purview of the US Marshals."
"That's a good point Jeff, but here's the clincher," Morrison said, leaning forward in the booth. "You've heard of Mina Aino?"
Jeff nodded. "Yeah, the Nakanishi gal who's been on the run. She's in Canada somewhere, right?"
"Maybe," Morrison said. "It would make the most logical sense, but this girl is anything but logical."
"That girl is something else," Jeff said. "Took down an entire FBI SWAT team, outran and outsmarted the Minneapolis PD, and then disappeared without a trace."
"Well, we talked to the local LEOs yesterday, just as a hunch coming down here," Morrison said, downing the rest of his coffee. "I think we might be onto something."
"I don't get it though," Jeff asked, wondering what the hell was going on. "You come all the way down here from Minneapolis on a hunch? That just doesn't make any sense at all."
"Let's put it this way," Morrison said, giving Jeff a look. "I've been in this business for a very long time, and I've just been given a blank check to find this girl. We found an abandoned weapon in the car she stole from some church people in Minneapolis, and then some people out ice fishing on the Des Moines river find a FBI ID card belonging to one of the agents who was taken out at the safehouse she was at."
"That's still a very far stretch," Jeff said, his eyes narrowing. He didn't like how Morrison was so focused on catching this one person, but then again, it wasn't his job to hunt down fugitives from the law. Not on a regular basis anyway.
"I've gone on less," Morrison replied. "This girl has given everyone trouble. I don't want to know what she has in store for those who oppose her, but that won't happen. I will stop her."
The intensity of Morrison's words as he uttered the last sentence terrified Jeff. Although the US Marshal was calm on the outside, inside, he was a burning flame, a firestorm ready to be unleashed on those who would threaten the safety of the United States of America.
"She is here, with the United Volunteer Front. We are going to talk to some of the local LEOs. They might have something."
Morrison nodded to Eric. "We'd better get going."
"I'm coming with you," Jeff said, starting to stand up, but stopped when Morrison waved him off.
"That's the other thing," Morrison said. "This is now a US Marshals operation. Take care of your man who was in the car accident."
With that, they left the diner.
"Goddammit!" Agent Comstock cursed under his breath, watching the two agents leave. He was being sidelined, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Well, almost nothing. He put a dollar bill down on the table on got up to leave. Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out his cell phone and quickly dialed a number.
"Chad. It's me. How is Allen doing? Good. We have some work to do."
Officer Jenson of the Osceloa PD was waiting for the US Marshals at the address he had specified the day earlier. After a brief conversation with the chief of police, it had been decided to give the Marshals their full cooperation. If it would make the UVF leave the area, then it would be in their benefit to work with the Marshals.
"Thanks for waiting for us," Morrison said, getting out of his SUV. "Hope we didn't keep you too long."
Jenson shook his head. "That's a negative. I've only been here a couple of minutes. Of course, our girl inside has already made note of our arrival."
The three of them started walking toward the house, which was located right across from the post office.
"Nice line of sight from this house to the post office," Eric commented, taking a quick look over his shoulder. "She could have easily seen anything or anyone going in there."
"Well, let's hope that she did see something," Morrison said, tramping up a couple of steps to the door of the house.
Jenson went up to the door and rapped loudly on it.
"Officer Jenson, ma'am. We'd like to have a word." No response.
He knocked again.
"I'm sorry sir," he said to Morrison. "She's like this sometimes."
"I understand." The presence of three very suspicious looking men on anyone's doorstep would be scary to anyone, and especially to the person inside.
After a couple more tries, they were about ready to give up.
"Well, sorry to waste your time," Jenson said. They turned around to leave, but as they did so, the door opened up a crack.
"Ah, Ms. Manfred," Officer Jenson said, approaching the door carefully. "You called our office earlier about the person you saw earlier?"
The door stayed open a crack, then closed. It wasn't to shut them out however, as the three of them heard a chain slowly being pulled back from the lock on the door.
The door opened up a second later, revealing a very old woman, even older than the one working in the post office. She looked confusedly at Officer Jenson, then to the two Marshals behind him.
"They're with me," Jenson said, trying to reassure her. "Marshals."
Both of them pulled out their badges and presented them to the elderly woman. She nodded, then beckoned for them to come inside.
"Thank…you…for…coming," she said laboriously. "Please…have…a…seat." She slowly motioned toward an ancient couch in the center of her living room. She slowly made her way toward a plush chair opposite of the couch and carefully sat down in it.
"Ms. Manfred, these men would like to hear what you told our office earlier," Officer Jenson said to her, speaking very slowly and carefully. "I'll be outside if you need anything."
"Thank…you." She nodded to him, and Officer Jenson stepped outside.
"Ms. Manfred, I' Deputy Marshal Morrison, and this is Deputy Marshal Henderson." They showed their IDs again just in case. "I have some questions to ask of you."
"Please…ask."
"Where were you when you saw someone breaking into the post office?"
Ms. Manfred stared blankly at Morrison for a second, then began to speak.
"I…was…making…breakfast. Scrambled…eggs…and…bacon…" She paused to take a breath of air, even though every word was punctured by raspy breathing.
"What did you see?" Eric asked her next, writing down the information on a tablet computer.
"I…saw…a…person…walking…around…they…"
Morrison held up his hand. "Ms. Manfred, we'll get to the particulars of that person later on. Tell us what they were doing after you saw them."
"They…looked…around. They…seemed…to…be…up…to…no…good…"
She started coughing. Eric immediately stood up to try and help her, but she waved him off.
"I…am…fine. Cold…air…hurts…my…lungs."
"Please continue as you are able," Morrison reassured.
Ms. Manfred sucked in another breath and continued on with her testimony.
"They…got…in…the…back…of…a…trailer. A…postal…one."
Both Eric and Morrison looked at each other. This was leading to one conclusion, one that matched with the information they had inferred with the Postal Inspectors and their own investigatory work.
"They…came…out…with…a…package. After…a…few…minutes…there…was…much…confusion. A…car…crash…of…some…kind. I heard…it. Then…a…big…truck…came…and…picked…them…up."
That basically settled it. There was one question left to ask.
"My final question is this." Morrison fumbled around in his overcoat for a second before pulling out a picture.
"Did you see this person doing all of those things?"
Ms. Manfred motioned to him to pass the picture over to her. He did so, and she grasped the picture very slowly and deliberately, trying not to drop it. She then put on some thick glasses so that she would be able to see the person in question.
"She…is…very…pretty," she said, smiling faintly. "She…reminds…me…of…my…granddaughter. She…was…killed…last…year…"
"I am sorry for your loss," Morrison replied, trying to be patient. "But did you see her the other day?"
She continued to study the picture in great detail, not saying a word, slowly turning the picture around, examining it from every angle.
"Ms. Manfred?" Eric said, trying to get her to answer, but she just ignored him.
Morrison wasn't quite sure, but he thought that he saw a tear fall from her eye.
Finally, after a minute or so, she slowly handed back the picture back to him.
"Yes. That…is…the…girl…I…saw…the…other…day."
"Are you sure?" Eric asked, wondering if they could rely on her mind in her old age.
"Yes. I…am…completely…sure."
Eric's suspicious look at her caused Ms. Manfred to glare at him.
"I…may…be…old…but…not…stupid. That…is…the…girl."
"Thank you Ms. Manfred. We will be in touch."
Immediately, Morrison and Eric stood up to leave.
"Wait…your…picture." Ms. Manfred was holding out the picture of Mina, her hands shaking all the while.
Morrison paused for a second, then turned around to take the picture from her.
"Thank you for your cooperation."
Ms. Manfred simply nodded her head, and the two marshals left the house. Ms. Manfred continued to sit in her chair, wondering when she would ever see any nice visitors ever again.
"Well, that at least confirms some of our suspicions," Eric said to Morrison as they were walking to their SUV. "That still doesn't warrant a raid on this supposed facility." He waved to Officer Jenson as he drove away, responding to a minor traffic accident on the edge of town.
Morrison scratched his chin. "It doesn't, but I think that we can get some more evidence. Plus, with the assault on that Postal Inspector, I think that might be just the thing."
"Thing for what?"
Morrison smiled. "You'll see."
Five minutes later, he was on the phone with his boss, Kendra Sanderson, who was still at the FBI field office in Minneapolis.
"…and you want me to round up the entire SOG, plus FBI, plus National Guard down to some town in the middle of Nowhereland, Iowa? Gary, you're going to have to do better than that." Of course, convincing his boss was going to be an uphill battle.
"Kendra, listen to me, this is important. I know you have contacts within DNI's office and that you can get access to some of the satellite imagery out here. Don't tell me that the CIA hasn't been keeping tabs on one of their best agents. They wouldn't just let him go like that."
He heard an audible sigh on the other end.
"Jesus Gary, this is going to create massive shitstorm in Washington. The DNI is going to be screaming at me if this doesn't work out."
"Look, we get rid of two birds with one stone. I'm sure that the UVF has been giving the CIA and other agencies a headache just by existing, and their non-involvement in the December attacks makes it even worse."
"I don't understand," Sandra said.
"Look, if you were Nakanishi, you would want someone like Randy on your side. That's what they did with a lot of the Patriot and Constitutional Militia groups that were involved in the terrorist attacks."
"And most of them got wiped out."
"Exactly. Guess who avoided all that mess."
"Randy. Shit." Again, Randy was a living legend within government circles, and everyone knew how incredibly dangerous he was.
"That's why we need to take them down. We've finally got some evidence down here. I know it's not much to go one, but one of the locals here said that she saw Ms. Aino here with another associate of the UVF. She saw her go into the post office and retrieve something from one of the delivery vehicles. At the same time, one of the postal inspectors, you know, the ones I told you about earlier?"
"Yeah, the one that ended up in the hospital?"
"That one. A local guy backed up into the tail vehicle that was following Ms. Aino and sent the postal inspector guy to the hospital. I've asked for local LEOs to hold the person who backed up into him, a guy names James Andrews. He's got a pretty checkered past, but I think I can get the location of wherever their base of operations is at, and then corroborate it with what you get from the DNI's office."
"Assuming I get that information from the DNI."
"You'll get it."
"Fine. But you'd better have the information we need in order to get a warrant."
"I will."
"Okay. Next time you call me, I expect to hear good news."
With that, Morrison hung up.
"Eric, get us to the hospital," he said. "We got a perp to talk to."
"Why am I still here?" James Andrews asked the officer guarding him at Clark County Hospital, just a mile or so away from the accident. He had been checked by a couple of doctors and declared fit for discharge, but the police officer from the local PD had kept him in an exam room, away from all of the other patients…and the exits. The fact that he had been held for almost 24 hours didn't make him happy either, but he didn't have much choice other than to comply at the moment.
"Some people want to talk to you," was the gruff reply. The officer glared at him, and then stepped outside, closing the door behind him. He had just come in to check on James, make sure he hadn't escaped.
"Fucking cops," James muttered. This guy wasn't tough enough to make it in the outside world, so he became something even worse…a "police officer." At least lawyers made decent money.
James heard a pair of footsteps coming down the hallway. He figured they were doctors at first, but that was quickly blown out of the water by two very chilling words:
"Federal Agents."
"He's in there," he heard the officer reply. The door opened up after that, to reveal two very ominous men dressed in overcoats, their pistols barely visible beneath them.
"Are you James Andrews?" one of them asked him. He looked visibly older than the other one, like he had been doing this for a very long time.
"Sure." One thing that James had learned from his years at the fringe was to be as unhelpful as possible toward law enforcement.
"Cut the bullshit." Unfortunately, two could play that game. He flashed his badge.
"Gary Morrison and Eric Henderson. US Marshal's Service. And I don't have time to dick around with folks like you."
"Look, I don't know what you're after," James replied, trying to brush off the verbal offensive that Morrison was going for.
"You mean, you don't know anything about backing into that Postal Inspector?"
James shook his head. "Nope. I don't know nothing."
"What do you know about the UVF?" the other agent, "Eric" asked.
"The what?"
"The United Volunteer Front," Eric repeated. "The guys you hang out with all the time."
"I dunno what you're talking about, Fed," James said back.
Morrison's patience was running very thin. It was time to step up the game. "Let me see you phone."
"No. Get a fucking warrant, Fed. The battery's dead anyway since I haven't been able to charge it."
Morrison didn't even blink. "Eric."
The other agent immediately walked forward and motioned for James to hand over the phone.
"Phone. Now. Or this will get even worse."
"Whatever."
James rolled his eyes…but before he could spit out another verbal comeback, he found himself slammed against an examination table.
"Phone! NOW!" Morrison yelled.
James had been through worse though. He just played along. "Jesus Fed, get off of me!"
"Or what? You're going to back a SUV up into me?" Morrison shouted. He was holding onto James' collar, his knuckles turning white from holding it so tightly.
"It was an accident!" James shouted back. "I told the other Feds that, so now would you get the fuck off me?!"
"You know, I would love to believe that," Morrison snarled. He released James, but started to pace back and forth, eying his prey. "But see, do you know anything about your boss?"
"Fed, if you haven't noticed, I'm my own boss," James sarcastically said. "I own that bar."
"Funny, seeing how it opened up right around the time that a certain militia group came to town. It's strange how you keep losing money on that place, yet it always stays open."
"My finances are none of your business," James said.
"But money laundering is," Eric piped up, sitting back down in one of the chairs in the exam room. "We pass that on to FBI, they'll be all over you."
"So what is it then?" Morrison asked. "If not money laundering, what?"
James looked at Eric, back to Morrison, then back to Eric. This was not looking good for him.
"I've got nothing to say to you, Fed," James said. "If you're going to press charges, just arrest me now and get it over with."
"Sounds good to me," Morrison shot back. "James Andrews, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of a federal law enforcement agent and for obstruction of justice. You have the right to remain silent…"
Morrison motioned for Eric to handcuff him. He complied, moving in with handcuffs at the ready. It was at this point that James realized how incredibly screwed he was at this point. There was no way he was getting out of this one. And it was especially clear what his role was for the organization he was involved in; it was supposed to be the sacrificial lamb that would alert the rest of the group that something was up.
He couldn't accept that. Not at least if he was going to get something out of it.
"Wait….wait."
Morrison held up his hand to Eric, who promptly stopped.
"If you cut me a deal, I'll tell you. Get me a lawyer, and then we can talk."
The reaction from Morrison was surprising. "No problem. We'll have the local police take you to the station and get you all set up."
"I…yes. That would be fine," James replied. He wondered what they were up to though…this was going to end badly for him, but at least he could make it suck less.
"Sir, you're not going to cut a deal with him….are you?" Eric said to Morrison, as they drove toward the police station.
Morrison nodded. "You bet I am."
"Sir, he just lied to you," Eric replied, looking at him with suspicion.
Morrison just shrugged at Eric's skepticism. "Sure, he's a scumbag, but he's just a little guy. If cutting a deal with this chump here gets me to my fugitive and takes out a threat to national security, then so be it. I am a man of my word."
"It just doesn't feel right," Eric said. "We don't negotiate with terrorists like that."
Morrison frowned at that. Eric still had a lot to learn. "I know it doesn't, but maybe someday, somewhere that little bit of mercy will pay off. He'll get what's coming to him, but for now, we just use him. End of story."
He pulled into the parking lot of the police station and into a visitor's spot.
"Federal Agents, I'm here for James Andrews," Morrison said, flashing his badge at the person working the front desk.
"He's in back," the receptionist said. She was in the middle of a Candy Crush game. "Jenson will escort you back there." She put down her iPad and pressed an intercom button on her desk.
"Officer Jenson to the front desk. Front desk, Officer Jenson."
Officer Jenson quickly appeared, straightening his tie as he approached the two Marshals.
"Agent Morrison, he's in back. I'll lead you to him."
Jenson and company weaved quickly through a myriad of cubicles and desks before reaching the interrogation room where James was being held.
"Has he said anything?" Morrison asked Jenson as he opened up the room.
"Nothing sir. Legal counsel in on way as well."
"Thanks." Jenson held open the door for the two agents, and they stepped inside.
James was sitting at a metal table; he looked a little bit nervous but not unduly so. There were two chairs opposite of him; the agents
Morrison eyed the suspect in question as he sat down, wondering what sort of secrets he would spill out. He and Eric did not say anything for a good minute, letting the tension spill out into the room.
Finally, the suspect broke.
"Okay, I'm ready to tell you what you want to know."
Just what I've been waiting for, Morrison thought. "Good. Let me hear it."
"The complex is located about ten clicks out of town. Give me a map, and I'll point it out to you. Now, will you give me what I want?"
"Not before you brief us on their numbers, armaments, and more importantly…"
Morrison pulled out a picture of Mina.
"This girl. She come by here?"
James took one look at the picture and scoffed.
"Fuck. I fucking told everyone that she would be trouble, but no one would fucking listen."
"So she did come here?"
"Come here? She's Randy's darling now. That's the person that went into the post office and did whatever."
That surprised him. "So she was here on some sort of mission?"
"Hell if I know. All I know is that I got a call from one of the guys…"
"Name names please," Morrison sternly reminded.
"…Dan. He's the 'First Sergeant' and the second in command of the complex there."
"Okay, that's good. Take me through the entire roster."
"Sure…"
Thirty minutes later, James had completely spilled the beans on everything that he knew about the complex and the United Volunteer Front.
"In sum, we're expecting about thirty armed guys with semi-auto rifles, shotguns and pistols, with a single access point in the middle of one of the few remaining forested areas in all of Iowa," Morrison asked, cracking his knuckles from all of the writing he had been doing. "Randy is in charge of it, Dan is second in command, and they're very well organized and trained."
"That about covers it," James said, taking a sip of coffee. He really didn't care much for the UVF now; it was going to be their problem now, dealing with the Feds. He was going to get the hell out of dodge and watch the fireworks.
Morrison smiled, putting the last touches on his notes that he had been scribbling down on his iPad the entire time. "Good. Very good. Wait here, and we will get you what you want."
Eric had been standing outside the interrogation room the entire time, making sure that the lawyers from both parties were going to work this out. James probably should have waited for his lawyer to show up, but it was going to be up to the legal system now to see what kind of deal his was going to get…and for the exchange of Mina Aino, it was going to count for something at least.
"Did you get what you wanted?" Eric asked Morrison as he stepped out of the room.
He nodded. "I did. Told you. I always get my man."
"I've been on the phone with the legal counsel and they say that they're going to be here within the hour to get everything straightened out."
"Good. Anything else?"
"Yes, should I make the call to Ms. Sanderson?" Eric asked.
"No, I'll make the call to her," Morrison said. "She'll want to hear it from me anyway."
Eric nodded, then left to make some more calls to the legal counsel. Morrison took his own phone from his pants pocket and dialed a number.
It rang for a couple of seconds, but was quickly picked up.
"You'd better have good news, Gary."
"Sandra, I got it. I have the location of the complex for the UVF, and I have one of their guys telling me that they saw the girl go into the facility."
"Let me guess. It's about seven miles outside of town in a forested area?"
"That would be it."
"Yep, that's what my contact at the DNI pulled up. I think we got what we needed. I'll get the troops ready. You just save the day. Again."
"It's what I do," Morrison said, with a smile.
"See you there." With that, Sandra hung up.