MacArthur's Freehold

Chapter 69

Chapter 69 -- EQSDWYANVQZGFINQVDNSM

Walking slowly and clumsily in leg irons and manacles, Scott James moved between the two guards down the aisle of the courtroom. The room was nearly empty - the only action today was a hearing of his request that he be moved to another facility. The cell where he had been in solitary confinement for weeks wasn't that bad, as solitary confinement goes, and the new one was probably not any better. But to accommodate his requests for a couple of innocent creature comforts, given in exchange for his cooperation, he had to be moved. And moving would involve a ride in a prisoner transport van.

Days earlier he had, accompanied by his new lawyer, offered to cooperate. The lawyer was of course sent by the League, to facilitate his escape. Knowing that their conversations were monitored, even the supposedly private ones permitted between lawyers and clients, he had begun to build a trap. Pretending to be attempting to persuade him to cooperate, the lawyer dropped hints that were eagerly consumed by the listeners.

Believing that they finally had some useful information, the government lawyers offered to deal. Once he began talking, he embellished the hints he had dropped with details. He was a member of a nationalist militia, he admitted. The 'New Republican Army', it was called. He wasn't sure how many members there were because the organization was compartmentalized for security, and most of the members knew only a few others. No, he didn't know where the central headquarters was, or even if it had a fixed location. Yes, his section camp, as they called it, was always the same. How many members? About forty to fifty, not sure exactly.

And so it went, seven or eight hours over two days. He couldn't miss the elation in their eyes as the story was filled out, each time they went over the same subjects looking for inconsistencies. And finding none because everything he told them about existed. The camp, its location, the layout. He knew they would have it under surveillance from the time he told them its location, and the men at the camp would know as well.

It was a dangerous game he was playing. Outside the courthouse the sky was grey and a light breeze blew leaves and street debris across the sidewalk as they walked to the van. He sat in the assigned seat, a guard on either side and two more in the seat behind. Another sat beside the driver.

The Thursday afternoon traffic was as light as it ever got here, and the ambush vehicles had plenty of room to maneuver. Before the driver or guards had any hint of trouble, the windshield was penetrated by a large object which quickly flooded the interior of the van with gas, and within seconds the driver sagged in his seat and leaned over, suspended by the seat restraints. The other occupants went almost as quickly, as two small cargo trucks came alongside, sandwiching the van between them and forcing it to a stop in the median.

One of the trucks moved away to allow a pair of SUVs to stop beside the van. Men emerged and quickly opened the van's side door. Two of them were wearing gas masks and entered to unfasten the prisoner, and seconds later were carrying him to one of their vehicles. Both quickly disappeared into the traffic.

*    *    *   *

Everett Fallis was in his hotel room when the call came in. It was his boss, who was personally overseeing the operation.

"How soon can you move?" the boss asked.

"Any time." he replied. "We were waiting for a go-ahead."

"You've got it" the boss said. "Our informant escaped from custody a few minutes ago. We don't want to risk him contacting them."

"It will take us twenty, thirty minutes to assemble" Fallis said.