That son of a bitch, thought Hayfield. It’s a fucking racket they got going here. Damn, I wished I’d thought of it.
Hayfield bought his car back and his luggage was still in his old room. He was out the ten thousand dollars he gave Sadie Meriwether, and a few grand more to the dealership. Furthermore, he was back to square one, still trying to figure a way across the border, and not much wiser for the effort.
Next, he went to the boatyard to see if someone could carry him to any shore in New America. He talked to a man named Phillips and asked him how much he’d take for the job.
“Nothing,” was his answer. “I’ve had two men take a few thousand dollars for the job. They left in the middle of the night; just a five mile trip across the border. The first guy to try it was chased by the Coast Guard and arrested. The second guy was shot and his boat exploded. You won’t find anyone else around here who will take the chance.”
Great! Now what am I going to do? Hayfield thought about it for a little while and concluded that maybe there were better opportunities to get across from a different spot. So Horace got into his Mercedes and headed north, but it was the same situation. The roads to New America were all blocked.
He continued to move northward until he reached Idaho. Then he got on Route 86, and took it toward Piper City, where, once again, the roads were blocked. Horace thought he might be able to bribe a border guard. He approached the duty officer, but was chased out of there before he could even make an offer. He searched for side roads that might get him across, but mostly they dead ended. A frustrated Horace Hayfield stopped at a motel for the night and contemplated his next move when there was a knock at his door. He answered it, figuring it must be housekeeping, but a man he never saw before was standing there. Horace thought he looked kind of goofy.
“Are you looking for a way across the border?”
“Who are you? Who sent you? How do you know what I’m looking for?”
“May I come in? I can explain.”
Hayfield let him in. He was tall and thin and walked with an odd gait. “My name is Milo. May I have a bottle of water, please?” Horace gave him the water.
“May I have something to eat? I ain’t et all day.” Horace made him a sandwich, and then waited for the man to state his business.
“You’re looking for a way in, right?”
“Let’s just say I am.”
Milo just nodded up and down as he wolfed down the sandwich. “I understand, sir. I know a way across.”
“Okay, I’m listening.” Horace was getting impatient. Christ, finish the blasted sandwich and get on with it.
“My fee is a thousand bucks.”
What, just one grand? Christ, all these hucksters. “How do I know that if I give you money you won’t just take off with it and leave me stranded somewhere?”
“I’ll take you there. You drive and I’ll show you where to go. I’ll take half now and the rest when we get there.”
Hayfield was hesitant to spend still more money. Yet, he knew he’d need somebody’s help. Hayfield was a self-made entrepreneur—mostly from commercial real estate. He had millions and he had to get across. “When will you be ready?” he said.
“I’m ready right now.”
“I have to get the cash. When is the best time to go?”
“Tonight—around midnight.”
“Be here then and I’ll be ready to go.”
Milo Hoopenmiller drove with Horace Hayfield, giving him directions, until they wound up at the end of a cul-de-sac in a neighborhood community. Just ahead was a forested area. Milo pointed to the trees. “It’s about three miles to the border.”
“You want me to walk through those trees in the middle of the night?”
“If you want to cross the border, that’s what you have to do. It shouldn’t take more than two hours. Just keep walking west.” Then he looked up at the sky. “You see that group of stars? Just keep walking toward it and you’ll be fine.”
“What am I supposed to do with my car?”
“Leave it. If you try to sell it, you’ll attract the police. If you get turned back the car will still be here. Now, my other five hundred.”
It might not be the bargain Hayfield wanted, but he gave him the cash and got out. Milo did the same. “Would you call a cab for me?” Milo asked.
It was about 1:30 a.m. before Horace started out. He didn’t like it; in fact, he was downright scared. He was especially afraid when he looked up for those stars and saw only the tops of the trees. There was no pathway and he was constantly tripping over loose branches, roots, and banging into limbs he didn’t see. He couldn’t be sure he didn’t get turned around. He remembered something about how one could tell direction in a forest by the sides of the tree that moss was growing on, but he couldn’t see the moss, and couldn’t remember what direction it grew on anyway.
It was now 3:30 a.m. and all he could see were more trees. He sat down and leaned against a pine tree, envisioning the forest going on forever. He imagined somebody finding his rotted body, still leaning against this tree, generations from now.
Did I sleep? He looked at his watch. It was going on four o’clock. Got to keep moving. He got up, hoped he was going in the right direction, and started walking. After about twenty more minutes he came to a clearing, but there was a wire fence in his way. He started climbing the fence but then there was a shout. He stopped for a moment, wondering if it was his imagination or not. Then, he heard a distinct voice to his left. He heard footsteps. Somebody was running toward him. He started climbing again. Somehow, he imagined that freedom existed on the other side of that fence. The shouts grew louder. He was tired. Maybe that’s what caused his foot to slip on the fence. He tried again but he felt arms wrapping around his legs. He was pulled down suddenly and violently. The sharp edges of the top of the fence ripped into his left breast, making a gash as he was pulled into the clutches of a burly man.
With a Scottish brogue the man said, “Where do you think yer goin’ laddie? No one’s permitted on the other side of the fence.” He held his left arm in a locked position and began leading him to a second man, who grabbed hold of Horace’s other arm. They were held in locked position until they got to a golf cart. Horace was handcuffed to the cart and they drove down a pathway for several hundred feet. Then the path widened and they came to a cul-de-sac where more men and a police cruiser were standing by.
Horace was transferred to the cruiser and taken to jail, where he was then interrogated. Once more, Horace demanded a lawyer, but one could not get there before later that morning.
That afternoon, an attorney by the name of Nathan Phillips entered his cell. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hayfield.”
Phillips sat on the cot next to Hayfield, and Phillips told him he was in trouble. “The D.A. learned about your misadventure in California. Overnight you were identified as the same man who tried to enter the CSA illegally. They want to try you for espionage. It’s bogus, but the judges demonstrated in the past that they are going to hear such cases.”
“Jesus Christ, whatever happened to freedom in this country?”
“Folks say they still have it, but the law is the law. I have a duty to uphold it, even the parts I disagree with, such as this situation, and what you’re being charged with.”
I’m screwed! thought Horace.
“I think I have a way out of this, however. I need a little more time to make a strong case. I need you to be patient for a few days. Whatever you do, don’t talk to the police. Even if they tell you that you can go straight home if you answer their questions, don’t believe them. Just wait a few days until I come for you. Even if they try and bait you into believing I won’t be coming back, don’t believe them.”