A PATRIOT DIRGE: The Hideout

Taking Stock
Prisoners in a Free Land
Escaping the Hand of Injustice

As Rome knew too well, living too long in a confined space can drive one mad. Living with others in a confined space raises tempers, pushes patience to the tipping point and tests even the strongest relationships. When Amy joined Sinclair, Freddie and Rome at his one room cabin on the north coast of the Sound, Sinclair was reminded of Jean Paul Sartre’s No Exit: Hell is other people.

If not for the urgency of the situation and their unity of purpose, something would surely have exploded. Freddie resented that he was the designated gopher for supplies but he was a logical choice as Sinclair pointed out for he was essentially nondescript, a common type in this part of the country. Freddie argued that he had far more important things to do, having adapted Rome’s rudimentary technology into a secure, working system. It was undeniably true but it was also true that Sinclair, Rome and Amy were too recognizable to be seen in public.

Amy took the chance of contacting Rome by email and Freddie picked it up. After some discussion they forwarded instructions to rendezvous at a supermarket parking lot in Bellingham. It was a thirty-mile drive for Freddie who grumbled every minute going and coming.

The circle was closing and there little time to waste. Between Amy and Freddie, they pieced together what had happened and who was caught in the round up. In keeping with the administration’s notorious ineffectiveness, only Roy and Miguel were detained. Both were being held by Homeland Security at unknown locations. The only item that appeared in public media was a small article in the Washington Post suggesting that Representative Maggie Thomas was under investigation on unspecified conspiracy charges. It appeared Maggie was being threatened in exchange for her silence. Sara Kent in Canada was beyond their reach unless they could come up with more substantial charges.

The Independent Movement was the sole target of the operation. Miguel Estrada had the misfortune of being there with Amy and Roy while they were under surveillance. When they found out about his desertion, his semi-criminal record and immigration status, they decided he could be used to turn evidence – real or concocted – on the others.

Roy knew better than to resist the inevitable interrogations. His instructions were to wait twenty-four hours and then tell everything he knew. By then, the organization dedicated to providing safe refuge to dissenters and dissidents in all nations would have closed shop only to turn up elsewhere. Miguel had no such instructions. There was little need because he had little knowledge.

They sent out an encrypted message informing everyone in the Independent Movement exactly what had occurred. It asked them not to act and to hold the information back until the next communication.

They all agreed that the next move was to get out of the country. Having provided that service to countless clients, Amy took care of the details: false identification, passports, vehicle registration, bank accounts and Canadian citizenship. They would take the obvious route on the interstate through Vancouver. A less populated border station would raise suspicion. The story (if they needed one) was that they linked up for a week of vacationing in Seattle. A hapless Freddie would pose as Amy’s son.

They each packed a modest bag, loaded them in the trunk of Amy’s Canadian Honda Civic, and headed north with Amy driving. Once they crossed the border, they would drop the façade, check into a prominent hotel under their own names and defy American authorities to act. They would apply for political asylum and stand their ground in court on the foundation of international law.

Apprised of the situation Sara Kent was in motion, making security arrangements, organizing a legal team, laying the groundwork for asylum, securing financing and informing a community of activists. Everything hinged on the four of them making it to Canadian soil. The Americans made a huge mistake failing to capture them. It was uncertain why they left Maggie out of it to this point but they might have waited until Sara was back in America where her dual citizenship could not protect her. It was as they said: If not for the gross incompetence of the Bush administration and its team of political lackeys, they might have succeeded in gutting the constitution and eviscerating what remains of American democracy. They might succeed in any case but their collective lack of foresight and inability to execute their malignant intent provided an opportunity for effective resistance.

The incompetence of the Neocons was rivaled by the ineffectiveness of the antiwar movement. The same movement that brought three million protestors to the streets only to see the war go on without a hitch now seemed hopelessly divided. United in opposition to the Iraq War, divided on the Afghan War, united in opposition to Bush and the Neocons but divided on supporting Obama. United on policy but divided on strategy. The path to political resistance was blocked at every turn. Little wonder both parties sought to crush a budding independence movement in its infancy. They had a stranglehold on power and the only thing that could interrupt their plans was a viable third choice. Ralph Nader was not a threat because he had no coattails and he refused to take the long road that would have given him the one quality he lacked: legitimacy.

It was the same cycle of helplessness to hopelessness that led Sara away from politics only to be drawn back by extremes of injustice and a ruthless disregard for the people of a kind formerly known only in military dictatorships. Now that she was back, she would fight the good fight with everything she had at her disposal.

As they turned onto the Interstate heading north, Amy’s mind was racing through contingencies. She cautioned the others that once they got past the last exit in the states there was no turning back. Whatever happened they could not escape. They could only play the hand they were dealt. There was some discussion concerning logistics, the location of the last exit and the likelihood of their being discovered but they all agreed (with a mild objection from Freddie who thought he could make a run for it) that the best tack was to remain calm and stick to the story.

As they passed the turnoff to Ferndale approaching the border, Freddie’s phone buzzed. The others nodded their approval and he answered it. A woman’s voice identified herself as Aunt Sara and asked to speak to Freddie’s mom. Baffled (he had no Aunt Sara), he handed the phone to Amy.

"Have you crossed the border yet?" the voice inquired. No, they had not.

"Good. There’s a wonderful gift shop on Drayton Harbor. Northern Lights it’s called. They have these fabulous statuettes of dolphins. Would you mind stopping there to pick one out for me?"

Amy identified the voice as Sara Kent. There was a problem. They were walking into a trap and they were being monitored as they spoke.

"I’d love to," she replied.

"Wonderful! Take the 275 Exit and follow the road south. It’s right there on Drayton Harbor Road. You can’t miss it."

"All right," said Amy. "We’ll see you when we get there."

She took the exit and proceeded south at a snail’s pace. She explained what was happening and everyone looked to Freddie who was suddenly flush and fidgeting even more than normal.

"Did you call someone before we left?" asked Rome.

"My mom," he replied, "but there’s no way they could crack the code!"

"They cracked it," said Amy. "And now they’re tracking us."

"Idiot!" added Sinclair.

Freddie felt like a kid caught in a lie. It was a lesson he was still learning: Confidence is no excuse for carelessness. He apologized and promised it would not happen again.

Another ten minutes and they would have been in the custody of Homeland Security. Sara got a tip from someone who knew someone in the border patrol who in turn knew to contact Sara. Two vans of special agents were waiting for them even now.

Amy pulled into a café parking lot on Drayton Harbor Road, pulled out a map and explained her thoughts: They could not go back to the cabin because that was where they began tracking them. They could go back to her Seattle safe house but they could not know how long it would remain safe. Alternatively, they could plant the phone in a vehicle heading south. She pointed to a pickup with Oregon plates. It would buy time while they headed east to the next border crossing.

"With any luck we’ll be on Canadian soil in less than an hour."

Rome and Sinclair agreed. They would not turn back. Freddie remained silent as if he had lost the right to offer an opinion. He turned off his cell phone and stuffed it in a crack between a metal toolbox and the sideboard in the back of the pickup.

Rome was incensed. It was all he could do to hold it in check. Not at Freddie. Freddie made a fool’s mistake. It came with youth. His rage was directed at the nation that gave him birth, nurtured him and gave him an opportunity for growth. He was enraged at the betrayal. He was enraged at the mendacity of a government that turned on its own citizens for engaging the political process. He was enraged that the men and women who captured the reigns of power by subterfuge and fraud could now brand those who stood in opposition traitors to the nation. He was no traitor. He was no criminal. He loved America. He loved its founding principles, its idealism, its hope and dream. He loved the spirit of the American people – hard working, stubborn and devoted to family. Anyone who judged Americans as egocentric or rugged individualists did not know Americans. More than anything in the world, Americans wanted to belong.

He shifted in his seat and gazed out the car window, his eyes unfocused, looking inward, holding back the rage.

Sinclair was more or less amused. He could think of nothing better than to spend the last days of his life on earth a fugitive from the law. This was a grand adventure, a journey with a purpose, and the prospect, however remote, of reaping revenge was sweet. He loved the movement, the smell of the pines, the crisp fresh air and the companionship of his fellow travelers. It seemed his entire life was painted in shades of gray but this was vivid, striking color. He was on the side of virtue and he savored it.

He was profoundly content and the smile that painted his lips struck the others as strange. They did not know his fate was just over the horizon. They could not know how grateful he was to be riding this remote road on a cool summer day.

They drove in relative silence, an occasional "idiot" emerging from Sinclair, until they came to the border crossing at Sumas. The border agent looked them over, asked the typical questions – any fruits or vegetables – and welcomed them home to Canada.

Somewhere around Tacoma a startled Oregonian was stopped and interrogated by agents of Homeland Security.