SNAFU'S 'R US

The label on the door said simply, 'Secondary Screening'. With Tiafoe, even I would vouch, there was no need. We were cooling our heels waiting for further orders.

A snafu. High Commander Blaine had been trying to contact me. My radio was inoperable this far inside the terminal. My lieutenant came in, and right there in front of Tiafoe said, "Sir, the High Commander is pissed. He needs to talk with you. Right now!" I pointed to the mike on my shoulder. The guy continued, "Not working, sir. I'll stay, you go." It's not that I doubted my lieutenant's abilities, but I wish he had not undermined my authority in front of the prisoner!

Outside, I finally got a line of sight to Blaine. "Jefferys, where've you been? A Canadian diplomatic airplane is landing. Yes, landing as we speak. What's the matter with you?" I told him that there was no reception in the terminal, and that I was accompanying the package. "Whatever," said Blaine. "Make sure there's no problem with him getting on that plane. It's up to him if Mrs Tiafoe goes with him. Understood?" I acknowledged that I did. I said to The Commander, "Both he and his wife are asking about their boys?"

Blaine simply replied, "They're with Aunts, that's all I know. Don't tell them that, tell them they'll be processed differently, and in the hands of the Canadians, soon."

Walking back to the secondary security room, I wondered about that manila envelope back in my loft. I had to face it, I thought, that it would be filled with as many lies as was typical of this place. I did not know how I was going to manage the next part. Truly, it had not occurred to me until now - my future hung on what I was about to do.

I stopped to radio the tower, getting the frequency from someone in a reflective jacket. I identified myself, then asked where I would meet the incoming foreign airplane. Instead of telling me, they said they would dispatch an airport employee to the secondary security room. Fine.

He and I arrived at the same time. Entering, I saw that Mrs Tiafoe was now, indeed, with The Commander. I said to the lieutenant, "You're relieved. I've got it from here." My lieutenant said, "Are you sure, sir?" I said with a slight smile, "Get out of here." He left. There was just the four of us now.

I said, "Ok, this is what's going to happen. This gentleman here," I said pointing to the reflective airport employee, "is going to take us to an airplane out on the tarmac. We're going to get in it, and there is not going to be any trouble." Commander Tiafoe asked if he could be freed from his zip-tie restraint which held his hands behind him. I said no. He asked about his boys. I relayed Blaine's message, but without identifying it as from The Commander.

We were either lucky or someone else had set this up. The door to the tarmac was only a few steps away from the secondary screening room. Going outside, there it was in front of us, a sight to behold. An airplane with a Canadian flag on the tail, 'Gouvernement du Canada / Government of Canada' emblazoned the full length of the fuselage. Two screaming jet engines on idle.

At the base of the stairs we were met by three Canadian military personnel, one standing to one side at small distance, with a video recorder. A second one was behind the other of them weapon at rest, and the guy closest said, "I am Major Benevides, military police with the Canadian Armed Forces. I can take custody of these two people from here."

I said to him, "We can discuss that on board." He said in return, "I am only authorized to take Commander and Mrs Tiafoe into custody. You can't come aboard. We're only authorized for them. Check with your people."

I repeated, "We can discuss all that on board. You're still on Gilead soil standing here." I did not want to do the next thing in sight of the terminal. So up the stairway we went.

At the top, Commander and Mrs. Tiafoe were taken inside and his zip-tie was replaced with Canadian handcuffs. The couple then disappeared, escorted inside to the right. Benevides turned, me still standing at the top of the stairs. Before he could say anything, I handed him my automatic weapon, and gave my pistol to the officer standing behind him inside the cabin, noting that the third Canadian was still videoing from a couple of steps below me.

I said loud enough to be heard over the engines, "I respectfully request asylum with the Government of Canada."

Fighting back a look of complete mystification, Benevides asked me, "And who might you be?"

I surprised even me. I said, "I am Jeff Červeňák, a Guardian of Gilead, Chief of a High Commander's detail. I'm also one of the trafficked children to Canada from thirty years ago. What you call 'The Angels' Flight'."

WELL SHUT MY MOUTH!

The officer behind Benevides broke the rather dumbfounded silence. "Sir, we're going to have to frisk him before he is allowed into the cabin." Which is what they did. Good thing, too, because I had forgotten the service knife on my belt at the back, under my coat. Not to mention the one in my boot.

They then brought me into the airplane, seated me at some distance from the Tiafoes. The other officer said to Benevides, "regulations are that he be cuffed securely." I broke in, "perfectly understandable." Which is, again, what they did.

Benevides said to the other officer, "We'd better get wheels up. Fairly quickly. Tell the pilot a situation has developed." Major Benevides went to stand with the Tiafoe's motioning the videographer to follow, then began, "Commander Tiafoe, I inform you that as soon as we are in Canadian airspace, I will be placing you in formal arrest on charges related to war-crimes you've committed in your role as a State actor on behalf of Gilead. Crimes related to slavery, forced rape, and murders all deemed crimes by the International Criminal Court." He looked at Mrs. Tiafoe, "You, ma'am are welcome to join your husband, but you will not be placed under arrest." She asked about her sons. Benevides said he knew nothing about that.

Benevides came back, looked at me. With camera rolling behind him, he said, "What was that name again, and can you spell it for the video?" I explained that I was probably known as Jeff Jefferys, one of the 86 children "trafficked" (the word I preferred, because that's what we'd been) to Canada from our homes in Gilead. I explained that my surname was originally Červeňák, and I noted its spelling had marks above some of the letters (although I didn't know what they were called). Jeff Červeňák. Three of the letters in that name had marks above them, something that I now always include. I told them for the camera that my people were Romani. Gypsies.

Benevides motioned to the videographer to stop. He then said to me, "My name means 'Servant of God'." Not that I cared. He continued, "It also means I'm now officially in shit with the PMO. I sincerely hope we're not shot down."

At that, the airplane began its taxiing to the runway.

CANADIAN HILTON

This was why Canada would probably eventually fail. I was being held in custody, but this room had basic hotel amenities. A coffee maker. With both regular and decaf in packets. If they knew me, they'd not bring decaf. Okay, okay, I was officially an asylum seeker, but back in Gilead I'd have already been garroted and hung on the wall. Here, I can complain about the dessert on the tray being too small. With the guard bringing me a second helping. It's hard to think that Canada has the stomach to do what's necessary to keep the likes of me at bay.

I mean, I'm still against the place. I'm still loyal to Gilead. As strange as that must sound. That was why Canada would fail. They were gormless to the hazards of the likes of me.

The guard (was he a 'guard'?) came, which meant it must be 10 am. Breakfast had been here in the room at 7:30 am. They seemed almost apologetic to be rushing me. Me, I just wanted out of here. Except that I had not thought ahead, not really. I mean, what would Jeff Červeňák do next? Here in Canada?

They sat me in the spacious interview room, with flat-screen TVs adorning the wall. A techie fine-tuned some cameras so that my image was dead centre. At that, in came three of my interviewers. They sat, introduced themselves, then the lead woman said she'd be asking the questions and that the other two were simply observers. If I had any questions whatsoever, I was simply to interrupt and ask. They would do their best to answer. (I'd had a tooth loosened back at the reeducation centre for asking a question. My teeth were safe here.)

I had asked them not to refer to me as a 'defector'. I was an asylum seeker. I suppose somewhere in my addled brain back there was the notion that this was simply a 'time out' from Gilead. That I'd eventually return. Then I realized that 'time-out' was a politically correct, liberal term I'd remembered from Canada. They don't give 'time outs' in Gilead.

I was losing it.

The rest you yourself could probably anticipate. They covered it all. Was I really a Guardian of Gilead, a security officer distinct from the Guardians of the Faith, aka. Commanders? Yes, I was. Did I work for High Commander Nick Blaine of the New Gilead District of Gilead? Indeed, was I not his chief Guardian and personal body-man? I had no idea where they'd come up with that somewhat dated terminology, but I just said: yes.

Had I first been brought here as a four year old, under the name of Jeff Jefferys, and did I not fifteen years later repatriate myself to Gilead? Yes, I had done that. As a teen in Canada, had I not been investigated by both the RCMP as well as CSIS for conspiracy with foreign terrorist organizations? Yes, except that Gilead wasn't a 'terrorist organization', it was a God-ordained Republic set-up for the world's righteousness, as well as to solve the world's fertility crisis. The shorter answer was: yes.

They then ventured into questions about the inner workings of The Chancery, the Guardians, The Commanders. I simply refused to answer. "I'm not here to turn on my country. I need asylum, but I am no traitor." One of the observers mumbled, "You have a strange way of showing it."

They asked me my role in the exfiltration of Commander Tiafoe and his wife. I told them that I was tasked merely with making sure he got to the airport. That he boarded the airplane. I hadn't even known it would be a Canadian aircraft.

They asked if I'd known how Gilead would react to one of its highest ranking Guardians defec…. er, asylum seekers being a part of that exfiltration? I told them that my High Commander wouldn't exactly have been thrilled. I never used Blaine's name, not with them. Who knew, they're probably getting better stuff from Tiafoe, or at least his wife. Guardians tend not to know stuff.

WHY?

Their basic question was - why? I simply did not have an answer to that one, not even one I was intent to conceal. Maybe they would tell me why I'd done it?