The Face of Freedom. Benjamin Vance
to look Isadora in the eye now and she seemed to have the same problem. That druggy façade was not as discernable as before. He talked amiably with most, over coffee which he spiked with lots of sugar and cream. They waited for another thirty minutes until most had eaten. Then Duncan asked if they could move some tables together and start. The walker was visibly relieved. The men started to move tables. Immediately the short straw winners began to gather around and introduce themselves. Some were women. All were interested and had paper pads to make notes. Once they were settled, food appeared on the table for those who would not have a chance in the line. The sense in the room was urgent, serious and unidirectional.
Once everyone had been superficially introduced, someone started passing around a pad for folks to write their names on. The walker stopped the pad and stood up. He said, “No one here should worry about their names being on a piece of paper the federal government can find and use against us. I certainly will not affix my name, and I do not want to be responsible for any of you getting hurt unless the time is right for you. I can see you’re wondering what I mean by that. There will come a time when each of you, some individually and some as a group may find it necessary to defend our country with force. I hope it never happens, but expect that it might. Anonymity might be the difference between success and failure. When patriots are of one mind and spirit, names are for history books; not police ledgers.”
He waited a few seconds, took a drink of coffee, cleared his throat and asked if there were any questions. A young lady asked Ralph Lazenby’s question, “What is your real name?”
“I contend that my real name is not important. What is important is that you get no impetus from me; that no one follows me; that no one refers to me and says so and so was a good guy, but some of his patter was flawed. I hate hero worship. My hero was Roy Rodgers. He deserved my childish worship. I have met no man since that can live up to his example. If I have no identity, which by the way the FBI is probably trying to establish as we speak, then you have only my message and my recommendations to take, or not take.”
The only sound for a while was the rain on the roof and runoff falling outside. That seemed to satisfy everyone except Duncan. He asked, “When we find out who you really are, as you infer we will, what will happen then?”
“There will be no need for anything to happen because of knowing my name. The need for things to happen will be because of you and Americans like you. I can assure you I am not a criminal or mass murderer so you shouldn’t eventually be embarrassed by having heard my message and suggestions, or my name and history.”
Someone else cut to the chase and asked, “What are your suggestions?”
“First, that each organization like yours, combines into equal but separate organizations with one thing in mind; the rescue of our country. ‘That you share information regarding political partners who embrace your credo. ‘That those principles share the truths written into our Declaration of Independence and the Constitution of our country, and that you enforce those inferred ethics upon every elected government official in this country. That’s the hard part. Preparing to do it is the easy part.”
He gave them time to assimilate what he’d just said and began his lengthy suggestions on defenses, armories, communications, weapons strategy and practice, storage of food, water and ammunition and monitoring of possible government plants. He reiterated the Ruby Ridge fiasco, the Waco Texas massacre and the possibility that anyone could be labeled a terrorist threat, individually or en mass if it suited the government. His basic message was, “Be politically and tactically proficient!” When he was finished, he knew he’d infused the spirit of revolution in the group. Whether it would be there tomorrow was a different question.
13.
Late that evening Charles Able perused the FBI report on the “Walker.” Face recognition did not work, or could not pull up a face with identity to match the photos taken. He looked into the eyes of the man on the podium in the black pajamas and whispered, “Who the hell are you, and why doesn’t someone stop you?”
His eyes slowly took in all there was in the three photos to take in. They showed a man of some age with loose fitting black attire with his mouth open. There was a note from some desk jockey at the FBI that the guy probably served in Vietnam and was wiry and muscular despite his age.
He read it and mumbled, “So what does that tell me … nothing! He’s an old guy that works out. So what? Looks like a knuckle dragger to me.” He thought the guy should at least be easy to handle.
He pushed the intercom and asked his secretary to call Roland Franks to come over first thing in the morning and take care of some business. Then he retired for the night.
***
The rain finally stopped around Whitefish. Everyone got fed … something. The walker answered questions until his vocal cords suffered. The folks left with a purpose he’d seldom seen in his previous meetings. He wished he could thank the person who placed the ad in the paper. He was finally allowed to retire around two in the morning. He and the old dog seemed equally tired. He fell asleep almost immediately. Bad dreams about fire and babies plagued him again so he was awake and showered at 5:00 a.m. when someone knocked lightly at his door. He answered and was greeted by the sight and smell of agent Denzine in her traveling clothes. She didn’t wait for an invitation.
“You have to get out of here right now! The President has authorized your arrest. I was notified about twenty minutes ago. The Local FBI is sending a team to take you in, or down. I’m supposed to disappear; I’m going to disappear with you!”
“Agent Denzine … .”
“You might as well call me Jen, because after today I won’t be of much use to the FBI, and I may not be seeing you again. Come on. We don’t have much time. I figure if we head into Idaho they won’t be able to find you for a few weeks.”
He looked at her with a bemused smile, “Why do you want to blow your career on me?”
“I’m not blowing my career on you, I’m staking my life on what you’re preaching, and since I have no problem picking fly shit out of pepper, I know what your message means to this country. That’s why I joined the FBI in the first place. I’m a patriot whether you believe it or not. Now get ready! We‘re leaving if I have to put you in a sack.”
Her demeanor and sense of urgency was contagious. He grabbed his few things checked his pistol and threw his pack over his shoulder.
“Okay, I’m ready, let’s go.”
“Is that all you have? How about ... is Teddy going?”
“No, he wouldn’t be happy away from Julie. She’ll take care of him.”
The old dog had been wagging his tail ever since Jenetta Denzine entered and she’d been absent mindedly rubbing his ears during their conversation. Now they both looked at him and he looked back and forth between them probably wondering who would take him for a stroll. After a moment all three headed for the door.
The walker waited in the agent’s truck while she went to find Julie to explain a few things. When she returned without Teddy, she had tears in her eyes. He said nothing as they headed for the main road. He watched her for a few minutes and simply handed her a tissue from her tissue box. She took it, squeezed her nose with it and put it between her legs. They rode in silence for a while. By the time they reached U.S. Highway two and turned north he thought it safe to ask a question,
“How did you decide on the FBI?”
She sucked in her breath and with a deep painful sob said, “I’ve been wondering what your first question would be.”She grabbed her tissue and wiped her nose again.
“I’m sorry to have caused you any grief … Jen”
She interrupted waiving him off with her tissue while keeping her eyes on the road, “You haven’t; you