John stopped at a small alcove and handed each of us a jacket to wear. “The cave is a constant fifty degrees inside, both winter and summer. Rather than heat the cave, we need to wear protective clothing to keep us warm.”
The cold air felt strange, considering how warm it was outside.
“Personal living spaces inside the cave are well insulated so your own body heat will eventually warm your room up to a comfortable level.”
“The air smells fresh,” I commented.
“Electrostatic air cleaners,” John replied.
Ed stopped and took in a deep breath of air. “What about oxygen content. With a lot of people in here the carbon dioxide levels could get dangerously high.”
“We also have scrubbers,” John replied. “Same kind used in nuclear submarines. They convert carbon dioxide back into pure oxygen.”
“Impressive,” Ed said quietly as he looked around.
“Over here is the mess hall and kitchen where food is prepared, and across the main aisle is the medical room for health care and emergency medical procedures.”
“So where’s the gym and theater?” I asked.
“You’re thinking of the opposing team, the one in the Ozarks,” John replied. “We’re a bit more primitive out here in the west.”
I laughed out loud. “Yeah,” I said, “I realize their budget is substantially larger than ours.”
John grimaced. “We do what we can. I just hope it’s enough.”
We walked for several hundred yards back into the cave before we came to our personal rooms.
“I also have a small communications room here connected to antennas hidden in the trees above,” John said. “I’m thinking this is the place for the robot’s head.”
“Well,” I said, “let’s see.” I connected the power supply to the cave power system and powered up the robot’s head and the computer.
NETCOMM is weak, but available. Appeared on the computer screen.
“Andy’s good with it,” I said. “This’ll work.”
“Good,” John said. “You can come out here and work with the robot’s head anytime you want. Just be careful that you aren’t being followed.”
“The forest is thick enough in this area that satellite surveillance shouldn’t detect us either visually or on infrared,” I said. “It’s a good location.”
“I’m glad you approve,” John said.
I looked over at him. He had that understanding smile on his face again. He had already considered satellite surveillance before the site was selected. I chuckled. John was two steps ahead, as usual.
Two days later, I awoke to the sound of the front door to John’s cabin being smashed in, followed by shouting. Within seconds, federal agents broke into my room carrying automatic weapons, dressed in padded black uniforms with black knit masks and goggles.
“FBI. Do not move.”
I slowly raised my hands. I was roughly thrown to the floor with one officer’s knee pressing hard into my back. My hands were secured tightly in plastic security ties. I was hauled out in my pajamas along with John and Tia.
“Remember the rule,” John said. Before he could continue he was struck in the back of the neck with a rifle butt. John fell to the ground and was dragged to a waiting black SUV.
The rule was “Do not say anything to anybody. Remain completely silent.”
I looked over at Tia. She looked back at me with a strong confident look on her face. I only wish I felt as confident as she looked. We were each placed in the back of a black SUV where we stayed for the next five hours, while federal agents searched every inch of John’s cabin. A large panel truck arrived and agents began loading all of John’s computer equipment into the truck.
None of us were accorded any bathroom breaks. After the two hour ride back into Denver I got a glimpse of Tia as we were brought into the FBI office. Her pajama bottoms were wet, just as mine were. I did not see John at all.
I was again placed in an interrogation room and handcuffed to the table. This time the entire angle of questioning was different. The only thing they wanted was for me to speak a sentence that was printed on a piece of paper. I looked at the sentence. It was constructed of words that I normally use. Then it dawned on me: the phone conversation with Leroy Simms. They must have a wiretap on John’s cell phone. They figured out Leroy was talking to me, but with my new identity in place, the only way they could confirm my old identity was with a voice print analysis. I refused to speak.
At 4:30 that afternoon I was removed from the interrogation room and offered a change of clothes — an orange jump suit, which I was happy to get into. I was taken by car over to the Federal Court House on 19th Street, and ushered into the back door. From there, I was brought by elevator to the fifth floor and into a court room. I was seated in a row with five other people, all of whom I recognized as computer techs from John’s media center. Evidently, the Feds had raided that, too.
The same old judge was already on the bench. I recognized Kravitz as the prosecutor and Charles was there for the defense. I saw John sitting in a wheel chair with a plastic brace around his neck.
“So, gentlemen,” the judge said flatly, “here we are once again. Mr. Kravitz?”
“Your honor the United States is seeking a court ordered voice print analysis for the six defendants present in this court room. We believe a known terrorist, one Carl Palminteri is among the defendants and we require a voice print to confirm his identity.”
Charles stood immediately and objected. “Your honor, the United States has all kinds of tests to confirm a person’s identity, including DNA, which is conclusive. Forcing my clients to speak, even for the limited purpose of voice print analysis is a strict violation of their rights so clearly defined in Miranda v. Arizona, 384 U.S. 436.”
“Yes, Mr. Harrington, the court is familiar with the citation,” the judge replied. “The objection is sustained. Mr. Kravitz?”
“Your honor, the six defendants present in this court room all fit the height and weight description for the terrorist Carl Palminteri. The voice print is the only way we have of confirming his identity.”
Charles stood. “Your honor, the government has already run a DNA analysis on all six of the defendants and none of them are identified as this alleged terrorist. As this court is aware, DNA evidence is conclusive. This is nothing more than an elaborate fishing expedition designed to violate my clients’ rights.”
The judge looked back at Kravitz. “Is that true? Has a DNA analysis been done?”
“Yes, your honor, DNA tests have been run on all six of the defendants present.”
“And?” the judge said.
“From the preliminary results, none of them fit the DNA profile of the terrorist in question.”
“Then why are we here?” the judge asked.
“Your honor,” Kravitz continued, “we have evidence, supplied by a Confidential Informant, on a recording in which we can positively identify the terrorist Carl Palminteri by voice print analysis. Based on Cell tower triangulation, we can place the terrorist in the media center of the Survivalist Network and as a close associate of the CEO, John.”
Charles stood and objected once again. “Your honor, this sounds more like a wiretap than a C.I. Does the government have a court sanctioned wiretap in place on my client, John?”
The judge looked back at Kravitz.
“Sidebar, your honor?”
The judge waved them up. After a few minutes of animated discussion, the attorneys returned to their tables.
“Mr. Kravitz, any further evidence?”
I had to smile. The fact that the recording attributed to a Confidential Informant had been dropped meant that the FBI was running an illegal wiretap on John’s phone. This was getting better by the minute.