c. 2025 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(1-25)
After a day of frustration and failure, Libby Raal retreated to her small condominium in Lakewood. She had been home long enough to feed her Maine Coon feline, change into a pair of patterned, Maruchan Ramen pajamas, and start a teakettle boiling on the stove. She switched on MSNBC to catch a special broadcast from celebrity pundit Rachel Madcow, and sorted through her handwritten notes, while waiting to relax with a hot beverage.
A short, sharp knock at the door caught her by surprise. When she peered through the viewport, a trio of men in black overcoats were standing on her stoop. It was late enough in the evening that a security protocol at her development should have kept any visitors waiting at the main entrance, by their guard station. Somehow, however, they had managed to breach that line.
One of the group, a fellow with close-cropped hair and squarish jaw, raised a silver badge where it could be seen from her vantage point. The logo was one she recognized, immediately. Even though it was unfamiliar.
“My name is Darren Strock, from the Cleveland FBI Field Office. May I speak with you for a moment, Ms. Raal?”
Libby felt her legs weaken. She feared allowing access to the strange men who already knew her name. Yet instinctively realized that they were not going to simply go away without some sort of conversation.
“I don’t know you, or your business here. How did you get past our gatekeeper?”
The government agent pocketed his identification, and bowed gracefully.
“As I said, miss, we are from the Cleveland FBI office. I’d like to ask a couple of questions about your recent trip to Geauga County, and Evergreen Estates...”
The active journalist felt her insides go into a twist.
“HOW DID YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT?”
Strock smiled with a confident tightening of his long face.
“You’re known as a staff member at the Plain Dealer, Ms. Raal. Don’t sell yourself short. Your business and mine are very similar. We both live on digging up evidence, and putting it to good use. Might we chat about our shared interests for a moment?”
Libby unlocked the door, while fiddling with her cell phone. She had set the device to dial 911, when needed. It was hidden in her wooly pocket.
“Alright, come inside. You don’t want to talk out in the open, I’m sure. Actually, I’d expect you to drag me away to your offices, not do a face-to-face right here and now!”
The G-Man and his team were courteous enough to avoid soiling her carpet with their shoes. Instead, the trio remained at her entryway, which was under an arch decorated with artificial flowers.
“I’ll speak candidly, since you and I are both professionals. There’s been an uptick in the militia presence at that rural, trailer community. We noticed it right after Election Day, in November. Our Special Agent in Charge expects to be fired soon. The director has already stepped down. Most of my colleagues believe that our core mission will be sidelined in favor of other interests. But I want to stay the course. Protecting the country from radical elements matters. We know the threats they pose...”
His host heard the kettle beginning to whistle. She excused herself, and extinguished the stove burner, without filling her mug with hot water.
“I don’t get what that has to do with me, okay? You guys are creepy, I’ll just say it out loud. You also talk a lot for federal dudes. I’m not used to that! In my line of work, it’s normally hard to get a quote out of stooges like you.”
Agent Strock breathed heavily, and stroked his chin.
“Your take on this visit is correct. As I said, our mission will be changing soon. I want this to stay between us, which I know it will. Because no one would believe your report if you rendered it in print...”
Libby felt her eyes growing wider.
“Yeah, that’s probably true. Nobody seems to want my content right now, anyway! But why collar me here about that hillbilly, mobile-home park? There’s nothing happening on the premises that I could see. Just the normal grind of broke people struggling not to get evicted!”
The government representative raised an eyebrow and tilted his head.
“Nothing? That’s why I’m here. I want to know what you saw and heard. Our intelligence officers have indicated that the old Jonovic militia is scheming to take advantage of a new administration, In Washington...”
The newspaper scribe was puzzled. She leaned against the back of her sofa. Her face felt hot and red.
“Who? What? You’re spitting out riddles, bruh! What’s your point?”
The G-Man folded his arms in a power move.
“Did you interact with a resident named Aimes Porter Hefti?”
Raal grinned with recollection.
“That asshole with the thing for pretending to be a patriot soldier? He stopped me at the property entrance. I had finished doing interviews, and was on my way out. There weren’t many people who wanted to cooperate. That’s a MAGA enclave, for sure. They don’t trust anyone who looks like me, you know?”
Strock smiled again. He pondered her piercings, tattoos, and black mane, streaked with purple and gray.
“I can imagine! But that’s not my line of thinking, miss. I’d like to know if he divulged any details. Could you sense that his group was being reorganized and rearmed? They apparently have a large contingent of supporters across the county. And a stash of weapons, some of which were procured from underground sources, including 3-D printing...”
The counterculture femme flushed with amazement.
“If your agency knows all of that, then why aren’t those hicks in jail?”
The FBI servant narrowed his gaze.
“We can learn more with them on the outside, rather than the inside. There’ll come a time for arrests to be made. But not now. Show me your notes, please. Help me understand what is going on at that waste pit before things get any worse...”
Libby shuddered with ire.
“MY NOTES? HELL NO, DUDE! I’M A MEMBER OF THE PRESS! THOSE ARE SACRED! GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! GET OUT RIGHT NOW!”
The trio of agents glared at her, intently. Yet stayed silent. Finally, their leader offered a word of warning.
“I’ll leave you with this caveat. Remember that surveillance can be done by all sorts of people in the modern world. Not just members of my bureau, but also amateur sleuths and agitators. Anyone with an agenda to promote. You’d be safer under my umbrella. I caution you, don’t be foolish...”
The veteran scribbler clenched her fists and gestured toward the entryway.
“GET OUT OF HERE! GET OUT AND DAMMIT, STAY AWAY!”
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