Uncertain Justice

"Brady?"

Underwood's voice, heard distinctly in the quiet of dusk, was tinged with surprise.

"BRADY?"

Owens winced in pain as he turned back around. Underwood was walking fast into the clear space.

§

His fatigue was suddenly forgotten. It fell away as Miles walked stalked forward. He'd never thought he would ever see the Bexar County district attorney again ... but now he was out here?

No, that wasn't quite right, he reminded himself detachedly. Linda had told him Carl Brady had been made Deputy Attorney General of the United States. What was he doing in the wilderness ... in Miles' home? His eyes fastened on the slight figure of the man shuffling slowly into the middle of the open ground.

"Brady?" he asked softly. "You plan to use that or what?"

Thirty feet away, the man looked down at the M-16 dangling from his right hand. He'd forgotten he had it. Brady dropped the weapon, tossing it to the side as if the pistol grip he'd been holding had suddenly become burning hot. Though loaded and the selector in the automatic position, the M-16 didn't go off.

Miles winced, concern twisting his features into grimace. People who knew guns didn't treat loaded rifles that way.

Brady saw something in the grimace and was filled with dread. For the last year and a half, he'd lived with a monster in his closet ... a deep, abiding terror that Underwood would someday find and finish killing him.

He was sure that was what the accused man intended the night of the fire. He'd tried to disguise the fear, throwing himself into his new career and even taking the lead in the hunt for the fugitive. Now he was Underwood's captive again.

He watched the muzzle of Underwood's automatic rifle as it lined up on his belly. The Deputy Attorney General tensed his abdominal muscles, expecting to feel the shock of a bullet hitting him at any moment. The terror welled up; he wanted to scream ... he had to let it out. Then something flickered and died in his mind.

Abruptly the personal danger he was in didn't matter anymore and he was at peace. He started humming that tune his mother had liked so much. Where was Mummy, anyway? He looked around but couldn't find her. Oh well, he'd find her later.

§

Miles watched the man who had been the source of so much personal misery over the past couple of years as Brady's face cleared; the apprehension that had been there melted away. In moments, the man's face was as bland and carefree as a child's.

Brady began humming and wandered over to a group of rocks. Sitting cross-legged, he began to gather a pile of shiny pebbles from the ground around him. Unacceptable stones were tossed irritably into the darkness.

Miles shook his head. Brady was either the greatest actor Miles had ever seen or he'd become unhinged, and he was betting on the latter. Any chance he'd had to get an accounting from the former District Attorney was gone.

He waited for the bitterness and anger to surge as it had the last time he'd met Brady ... but it did not come. Miles watched the man play with the stones for a space, and then shrugged his shoulders in resignation. Truly, it wasn't important to know why Brady had done what he'd done anymore. As he'd told the woman reporter, what had happened down in the flatlands no longer mattered.

"You played hell here tonight, Mister," Owens said harshly. Miles' head snapped around to look the taller man directly in the eyes.

"Who are you?" Miles asked bluntly, irritated by the accusation. He turned his body to face the new accuser more squarely.

"U.S. Marshal David Owens."

Miles nodded without comment. Miles pointed with the rifle at Owens's wounded elbow. The joint was clearly mangled beyond any chance of the finest surgeon ever being able to repair it.

"Well ... you've played hell getting involved in a personal fight, Mister Marshal David Owens. But that's the risk you take when you set out to kill a man who hasn't done anything to you," Miles said shortly.

"I didn't come after you, Marshal. You came after me ... and after I gave you fair warning too. I sent word to you; get out of these mountains.' But you couldn't let it go."

Miles glared at the officer. "This is my home, damn you," he said hoarsely. "You and others like you ran me out of one home. It won't happen again, Mister Marshal ... never!" He stared at Owens for a long moment, his jaw clinched and his eyes glowing with anger.

"You people started the shooting, damn you. Just who the hell do you think you are? You can try to kill me but I can't shoot back?"

Owens winced. He'd put the three FBI agents and one deputy marshal under administrative arrest pending a decision by the U.S. Attorney for the Colorado region on any charges to be brought against the three shooters from the helicopter and their supervisor.

It had been against policy and against the law to shoot under the circumstances in which they'd opened fire, but he doubted any of that would mean much to the fugitive. Worse, Owens himself half-empathized with Underwood's position.

There was a fundamental principle that anyone attacked had a right to defend themselves. The shooting back at the rock house in the cavern ... Underwood's fire had been directed against machinery, not toward any of the men besieging the fortress.

"Yeah," Owens said quietly. "I...." He stopped. There was nothing more he could say.

Miles snorted softly. He had nothing to say either. He started to turn away.

"You know," Owens said quickly, "you could give up ... turn yourself in. I guarantee that you'll get a fair trial." He stopped.

Miles had begun shaking his head with the first suggestion.

"Not hardly," Miles replied dryly. "For one thing, you don't have the authority ... or power ... to guarantee that, even if you meant it. If I put myself in your hands, I might find out you were lying even about your intentions.

"Screw that, Mr. Deputy U.S. Marshal; I'm not a fool. I know the Supreme Court says law enforcement can lie, cheat, or promise anything when dealing with a subject.

"Even if you mean exactly what you say ... hey, maybe some prosecutor who wakes up some morning with a headache disavows your "guarantee" and there I'd be." He snorted explosively.

"Nope, it's way too late for that, if there ever was a time for it. Once that son-of-a-bitch filed bogus charges on me, nothing else mattered." Miles shook his head decisively.

"I'll tell you again, Marshal David Owens," he said. "Leave these mountains and don't come back. This place is my home and I'll fight for it as long as I can draw a breath.

"You can't win out here. You're too vulnerable. I've made a couple of mistakes out here; I let you find me down in the valley ... I don't know how you found me coming up on this mesa, but it almost has to be pure chance.

"But, I've learned my lessons real good ... and I'll never forget them. You build a big base again and I'll find a way to blow it up. You send helicopters out to find me and I'll shoot them down. You put people on my trail and I will track them down one by one and ... eliminate them as dangers to me. You know I can do it, don't you Marshal?

"You've seen today what will happen every damn time you come at me. Take my advice Deputy U.S. Marshal Owens--Don't ever push me again!"

He started walking, refusing to give in to an urge to look back. Marching fast, he faded quickly out of sight into the darkness. In his mind, an alarm clock had sounded. There was that other party of Federal officers out there somewhere and it was high time to be on his way. One firefight a day was about all he could handle.

Now he had to evade another party of law-enforcement officers coming up from his southwest. But the way was open southeast now; he'd just dealt with the group coming up from that way ... he thought so anyway. Miles was uneasy at the speed with which the southeastern group of officers had gotten to him--very strange....

Not trusting his analysis of who he'd encountered and who was left, he decided to wait an hour for full moonrise ... no sense blundering around in the dark and maybe running into someone he wasn't expecting. Miles settle down on his haunches in the lee of a piano-sized boulder, grateful for the chance to rest.

Behind him, Owens stood silent. After a time, one of Brady's staff members came to help Owens put a better tourniquet above his wounded elbow. The arm was beginning to hurt badly. What Underwood had told him could have been bragging, but the marshal didn't think so. Oh ... Underwood might not be able to actually do what he'd promised to do, but that wouldn't stop him from trying.

It wasn't until Brady's other staff member helped his female deputy remove her pistol belt that Owens realized neither he nor his deputies had even considered attempting to apprehend the fugitive when he was inside the clearing. Owens wasn't sure if he was happy or irritated they hadn't at least tried.

The three of them were already wounded; it wasn't likely they could have done anything worthwhile anyway ... and they might have gotten themselves killed trying. Underwood hadn't even asked them to drop their weapons; it was like he'd been inviting them to try.

Owens shivered. Either it was getting cooler fast ... or something had just trotted over his grave.

With some coaching, the staffer working on his elbow used the walkie-talkie to make contact with the crew of the downed chopper. An hour later, the repaired helicopter came up from the main base to locate all three groups of federal officers and evacuate them back to the main camp.

§

It took him a long time to recover from the exertions of the chase. It was two weeks after the explosions and fire ripped the camp apart before Miles slipped back to the area of the encampment ... to find the place deserted.

If Miles had been there to see it, he could have watched as all the personnel there boarded helicopters one afternoon and didn't return. Tents and equipment had been disassembled, packed, and placed on other choppers and ferried back to where they'd come from. A clean-up crew remained for a time, ripping up the partially melted hard stand that had been constructed for the helicopter landing pad. A few had been armed but they were there as security against predators.

Soon even the workmen were gone. There were no guards, no patrols, and no helicopters.

National command authority had finally determined the conflict had become too expensive in terms of personnel and materiel compared to the expected gain and chances for success.

It was Clausewitz who first noted that forcing those conclusions on one's enemy was the goal of organized combat.

In short, the war was over.

Epilogue

"This evening, White Paper Exposé presents the story of a rogue prosecutor--a District Attorney so intent on gaining personal power that he stepped over the line; falsifying documents, threatening witnesses into committing perjury, manufacturing evidence, and suppressing information that would exonerate accused individuals prosecuted by his office. Good evening, I'm April Cantrell." The young woman smiled wolfishly at the camera, relishing her time in the spotlight. From now on, she ... no one else ... was at the top of the heap on this network.

"Tonight we examine the case of Miles Underwood, an Army veteran decorated for bravery, who was caught up in circumstance he could not control. He became a victim of a prosecutor whose political aspirations pushed him to attempt to gain a reputation as a crime fighter so that he could be selected, though perhaps not elected, to high positions in our government.

"Our investigation shows that countless men have been jailed in Bexar County, Texas for crimes they did not commit in order to satisfy the ego of one man--the late District Attorney Carl Brady. Mister Underwood's case will serve to illustrate the plight of many others who languish in prison today because of Carl Brady. Two such men are on death row...."

World Information News Network

'White Paper Exposé, with April Cantrell'

August 16

§

After three weeks of waiting, Miles concluded the law enforcement officers weren't coming back. He spent another two weeks combing the region, searching for a hunter-killer team hiding somewhere, waiting until he became complacent. He found no sign of anyone. If there was someone out there, they weren't making any tracks, hunting for game, or making a sound.

After a time, it was clear he was alone in the valley and the surrounding wilderness. With his friends from the People around him, he went back into the valley. He'd stayed apart from them during the hard pursuit and the fight on the mesa but now, as he relaxed in the solitude, they were with him again.

He built a rough lean-to across the river and well south of the stone house in the cavern. He saw that place as a trap now--there was no escape from there if one's enemies were vigilant and he couldn't count on having such good luck again. He would build more sturdy accommodations in the future.

§

From: Assistant Director, Denver Region

Subject: Case Closure--Underwood, Miles

To: Director of the Federal Bureau Of Investigation

Office of the Attorney General

In Turn

At your request, this office conducted an intensive examination of the operations conducted to apprehend fugitive Miles Underwood, First Sergeant (E-8), U.S. Army, Retired. The following conclusions are submitted for your review.

The United States Attorney for the Southern District of Texas issued a warrant for subject Underwood after Underwood allegedly fled to avoid prosecution for various felonies committed in the jurisdiction of the District Attorney for the County of Bexar in Texas. Exhibit A to this report summarizes the charges brought against the subject and subsequent disposition of the charges brought by the State Of Texas.

Before terminating the investigation on September 10 of this year, the Denver Regional Office actively participated in searches and pursued investigative leads to develop information on the location of the subject. Eventually, the subject was identified in a remote area in south central Colorado and a task force of Federal Officers was sent to arrest him. This large-scale effort to apprehend Underwood was organized at the behest of the United States Department of Justice (DOJ) and approved personally by POTUS. Through a series of regrettable errors and possible mismanagement, subject Underwood was able to escape and evade those officers.

Most recently a taskforce was assembled, consisting of agents from the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms, United States Marshal Service, Colorado State Troopers, and local police officers from five states. United States Marshal David Owens was appointed commander of the combined force. See Exhibit B for a list of all officers involved. Please note that Section IV of Exhibit B details the funding outlays for the taskforce. Any future prosecution of subject Underwood would necessarily add to the total shown there.

A team of psychologists and experienced profilers employed by the Bureau has analyzed the conduct of the operations in the mountain wilderness with a particular emphasis on predictable future activity by subject Underwood. Their conclusion is that the subject is unlikely to initiate future confrontations with law enforcement personnel unless he perceives a severe provocation.

The analysis specifically notes the subject's history of replying aggressively to perceived improper actions on the part of sworn officers. However, the pattern appears to be reactive rather than proactive. This office concurs with the analysis.

We draw your attention to the conclusion that future confrontations with subject Underwood will inevitably result in fatalities though none have been experienced to date as of the date of this letter. The full text of the psych report is attached as Exhibit D.

This office also concurs with the decision made by POTUS to discontinue efforts to locate and arrest subject Underwood. In view of (a) the dubious nature of the original charges assessed against Underwood; (b) allegations of misconduct on the part of the Bexar County District Attorney at the time and other government offices; (c) the subject's support in the media and public; and (d) certain regrettable statements and actions taken by senior members of the administration, we feel it is unlikely a conviction could be obtained in any jurisdiction.

We further support the administration's plan to provide the subject Underwood with a full Presidential Pardon for any and all offenses committed by the subject dating from his arraignment in Bexar County, Texas through (and including) the date operations were suspended by the DOJ in southern Colorado.

I have appointed Special Agent John Randall as my point of contact in the Denver Regional Office for all matters relating to Mr. Underwood. Special Agent Randall is particularly well qualified for the post in view of his personal knowledge of subject Underwood. He can be reached at extension 106 in this office.

Respectfully,

Patrick J. Reilly

Assistant Director, Federal Bureau of Investigation

Denver Region Field Office

§

In the new spring, Miles Underwood took a dozen men, two women, and thirty horses into the wilderness and guided them to the valley he called home. The loggers, eleven of them, helped cut enough trees for a big, comfortable cabin, hidden in the thickest part of the valley's forest and concealed from above by the branches of tall pines. They built the cabin where there were a number of avenues of escape.

When they finished, the twelve men and the younger of the women went out again, shepherded out by the Nez Perce hunting guide. The couple who stayed were both wealthy by any standard. The woman's daughter was the business manager of their combined affairs. They had no doubt she would do quite well in that capacity.

Out of respect for the newly married couple, the People and even old Zeb kept their distance. Miles saw them occasionally, usually when he was on extended hunts on the periphery of the valley. Sometimes then, they would come to his lonely campfires for a visit. Too shy to intrude, the People would not come to the cabin.

The man and woman were exceedingly happy with each other and with their lives. In the evenings, they sat in rocking chairs on the wide porch and watched the sun go down behind the mesa.

§

Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? ("Who guards the guardians?")

Ancient Latin Inquiry, Author Unknown