No Way Home

Inevitable

I opened my eyes again. Across the room was sitting my estranged wife.

Where am I? I asked.

You’re in the Saint Marks hospital. You’re in your room. You died twice during surgery and have been comatose for three days, she answered.

Thank you for coming, I said fishing for motive.

The doctor said you lost a lot of blood. He wasn’t sure if you’d remember me, he said your brain was swollen. Some of it came up black on the CAT scan, she said.

I was about to answer when the door became clouded by the silhouette of a Doctor. As I looked his way I could see that I was in a very complex bed. My left leg was up in a sling and was wrapped and bandaged from my hip to my toe. My left shoulder was in a cast which restricted the movement of my arm. My head was stabilized, strapped down and turned slightly to the right toward where my wife was sitting. There were cables and weights hanging from both my legs to a pulley. I felt a million pangs of pain.

Do you know who I am? the doctor asked.

Yes, you’re the doctor, I don’t know your name, I answered.

Do you know what day it is?

No, I said.

Who’s the president of the United States?

I think it’s Regan, I said wondering why the stupid questions.

We’re going to run some tests on you. You also are going to need at least five more surgeries. How do you feel? he asked.

I’m hurting, I said.

You have a morphine drip going into your IV. With your right hand you just need to press this button and you’ll get some morphine.

With that the doctor turned and looked at my wife and said something too low for me to hear and left. Elna stood and walked over to the bed.

The doctor says you’ll be in here for a long time. I’ll bring the kids and come and visit you as much as I can.

She then turned, reached into her purse and pulled out a small stack of papers.

These are for you. I’m divorcing you, Robert. I thought we might be able to get back together, but now that you are so injured and so unable to provide for me….. well, I just don’t think I have the patience to push you around in a wheel chair and tend our kids and work for money … Sorry it had to end like this.

With that she turned and left. It seemed cold to me, but we had been separated for three or four months before the accident and she must have had a lot of worries on how she was going to feed the kids and pay the mortgage. Still, I loved her and she once said she loved me. I lay there and looked at the ceiling. It was mostly thinking, reviewing my life and my relationship with her.

My mind began to drift back to Chicago. I had worked as a US Border Patrol Agent for four years in San Clemente, California and had been promoted to Criminal Investigator in June of that fourth year and transferred to Chicago.

I closed my eyes to think and relax. My thoughts took me back to an earlier time, far back, to a time I had almost forgotten; to a time when I was a different person, living a different life, in a different world.

III

CHICAGO

All of my dreams had come true. I had served as a United States Border Patrol Agent in San Clemente, California and had gotten a promotion to Criminal Investigator. The assignment was in Chicago, Illinois. So there I was reporting for duty. What a thrill. I was an Investigator for the United States Department of Justice. What an honor! Chicago was great. The federal building was on Dearborn Ave and we were on the seventh floor. I got out of the Cab, and took the elevator up. After I met with the other investigators, and got my badge and first assignment, I was briefed on the training program. Training was going to be each Thursday. I was assigned a training officer. There was homework and in six months I’d be sent to another academy. I loved it. All my life I had wanted to be a Federal Investigator. Here I was with my dream in hand.

Weeks and months flew by. I was doing several cases a week and after completing more than a dozen cases successfully, was mostly let go to work on my own. We were short handed and I’d get sent out with the training officer only a couple times a month. I’d completed the Department of Justice study course in a little over four months. The course usually takes at minimum one year and often Agents don’t finish it for two or more years. My supervisor was surprised and impressed, so as time went by I was let go more and more often without any supervision. The Department had given me a room, a sort-of office, with seven filing cabinets in it, in which there were more than thirty thousand cases. The supervisor had taken me into the eight by six foot room and said, "Here is your office, and there are your cases. Do as many as you can as fast as you can. Most of them are already a couple of years old. The Office had an old IBM typewriter, a phone, a small desk, and no window.

I gladly took out the first thirteen cases, made a plan, and went out and worked them. In a week I had finished twelve of the thirteen and had sent them in for adjudication, deportation or trial. One of the first cases I did was a medical Doctor who had come from Poland. He had set up an office in West Chicago and had practiced as a General Practitioner for about seven years. He had entered the United States on a B-2 visa which is for tourists but he had no intention of touring, instead, he opened up his medical practice and stayed. He had of course, changed his name and was serving only the Polish community. So he never had anyone report him or look to see if his license was posted. He did his prescriptions through a pharmacy which knew him and kept records of the prescriptions. The pharmacy could easily claim that he had given them his license number and they never checked it. So he remained undetected for seven years. For those seven years, the I&NS was so very far behind that they were only doing critical cases, cases where the alien was a felon or a danger to society. I had however, been given this huge pile of cases, mostly benign, to finish up. I arrested the Doctor without incident and took him back to the holding cell in the Federal Building. I interrogated him and he readily admitted to coming to the United States with the intent to work. He justified himself by saying that there were no local physicians who knew his people, could speak their language and could adequately meet their medical needs.

While I was in my office finishing the paperwork, the senior investigator came in and read my report and then did something which surprised me. He called in IRS. The tax people came down from the ninth floor and talked with the Doctor for about an hour. I was excluded from the room so I’m not sure what they talked about, but it had to be money, or his income or holdings or something of that matter. What else is the IRS interested in? At last they called me in and I was then instructed by the interrogating agent to accompany the Doctor to the bank and his home where he would withdraw all his funds and collect whatever things he could carry from his home and return with him. I did as I was instructed. I thought it was good of them to let him get his belongings and money. Probably a professional courtesy, after all he was a Doctor and was helping his people.

It was about nine in the evening when I got back. I expected to put him a holding cell and call the IRS people in the morning. But two of them were there waiting for me. They sat down with the doctor and took all his money, every penny. He was then told that they would purchase a one way ticket for him back to Poland and that after he arrived he could file a claim against the IRS to recover whatever money wasn’t owed the United States. He strongly objected. He called us Nazis and said he had earned his money, which was more than two hundred thousand dollars, and that he had paid his taxes each year. He said we were thieves and rats and demanded to have an attorney present. This right he was summarily denied. They said he didn’t have the same constitutional rights as US citizens because he was an illegal alien so the constitutional laws did not apply to him. He was put in one of the holding cells alone. The next morning he was taken to the airport and sent back to Poland. Wow, I was surprised. I thought it a little unjust but the IRS guys assured me that he’d get his money back when he filed from Poland. I didn’t believe them. There were no US IRS forms in Poland, and if he did manage to send them in, I suspect he wouldn’t get an answer.

I was also assigned to go to the various jails in Northern Illinois and pick up aliens accused of crimes and being held. Most of them, except the serious felons we just deported. I was getting to know the job better and liking the parts where I actually got to investigate. That was seldom, mostly my only investigation was finding the subject, which wasn’t that hard, and arresting him. It was actually relatively easy, I just went to the places where the majority of the employees were Polish and looked for the guy who matched the picture. Most of my suspects changed their name and had counterfeit Social Security Cards and counterfeit ‘Green Cards". But I had their picture and the type of work they did in Poland. I also had a local address, which frequently was an invented address, but the area was almost always inhabited by aliens, both legal and illegal so I could often persuade the people I spoke with to give me the information I needed.

It had been several months and I had gotten more than two hundred cases done. One evening after I came in to do my paper work, I was met by the Senior Investigator. It was an honor to have him come to my little office and I was flattered. He asked how my cases were doing and I told him I had done twelve to fifteen a week for the past seven weeks. He invited me to go to breakfast with several of the other CI’s. I was excited. In all my work I seldom got to talk with other investigators except when I was assigned to pick up a felon or some other person who would be considered a risk or dangerous. Then I got sent with another investigator. But generally, I worked alone and almost never got to visit with the other CI’s.

We met at a coffee house in West Chicago. It was good to meet with the guys outside of the office. I’d been over to a couple of their houses and had had a cup with some of them, and we had done a couple of assignments together. Like when the department was making an industrial raid, we’d go with the Border Patrol to do a bust at an industry or plant. One time we all went to Mars candy company and arrested all the ‘wets’ there. When we left there were only about twelve of more than a hundred and twenty people who were legal. There were six or seven of us CI’s at that bust, so I had seen and worked with almost all of the other Criminal Investigators there in Chicago a little but didn’t really know any of them very well.

We all sat in the corner booth and told stories about cases we’d been doing. It felt good, I felt like I was important and accepted. One of the leaders, a Senior Investigator, the same guy who had come to my office, had just about finished up his breakfast when he looked up at me. The group got silent. I raised my eyebrows and listened. I figured this must be important.

We’ve got word that you are doing a lot of cases. The ADDI said you’d done a couple of hundred in three months.

I smiled and answered, Yeah, mostly old cases, not the tough ones like you guys do, but I’ve been pretty lucky

The thing is, you’re making the rest of us look bad. Me for example, I do maybe four, or five cases a week. Some of the guys here do less nobody does more. You see, there’s a system here. You put in your time, you complete four or five cases and you go home to your wife and kids. Know what I mean??

The tone of the conversation had clearly changed. Everyone knew I was putting in ten to fifteen hours a day. I thought I had to. I figured that it was the only way I could clear those files. But, to my surprise, these guys weren’t happy about it.

I was told to clean up all those old files. There are more than thirty thousand of them. I’ve barely made a dent in them as it is.. I proffered.

Thing is, sooner or later you’re going to need back up, right? And when you do one of us is gonna have to cover you. We know you’re not afraid to use your weapon, hell, all of us heard about the shoot out in San Clemente, but things work a little different here. We stick by each other. We cover each other’s asses. So I recommend you consider cutting down your case resolutions to about seven or even eight a week. Do that for a while and then cut down a little more. You don’t have to make it obvious, but you do have to do it. Otherwise, when you need us, it’s gonna be hard to get the back-up necessary to save your life.

At that he stood up and said he had to go pick up a couple of stowaways at the dock. The other agents each got up and left. One of them picked up the bill, and a couple patted me on the back and smiled. No-body said anything more, they just left.

I had to be in Joliet to pick up a female alien who had been arrested for shoplifting and then fighting with the store security. When I got there she showed me a green card. It was counterfeit. I took her back to Dearborn and interrogated her and then booked her on felony charges of counterfeit alien identification. It was after three when I finished up. I walked back to my office which was up three flights of stairs from the booking room, opened my door and took out four or five more cases. I was going to at least start on them, but I was tired. I know I had childlike illusions about what Federal Agents do, but I wanted to believe that there existed personal integrity in them. I know it did, but just not in the way I had perceived. So I put them into my briefcase and went home.

The next few weeks I trimmed down my case resolution rate. I was down to ten by the third week when, Daniel, the CI who spoke with me at the restaurant came into my office. I was seldom there before five in the afternoon, because my regular MO was to work cases all day and then go back to the office and fill in the paperwork. It was six thirty.

Hi, how’s it going? he asked.

Ok, I’m just finishing up some paperwork.

Sorry I was so pointed a couple of weeks ago, just wanted you to understand, we’re all here to get the job done. I know you’re not trying to show us up, you’re just trying to get the job done. The point is; it never ends. There are probably twelve million aliens in the states; you’ll never even make a dent in it. You’re still too high, but you’re doing better. You started this morning at six, so why are you still here?

Well, like I said, I just needed to finish some paper work.

You can do that tomorrow afternoon. I’m here to tell you we’re going out on an industrial run in the morning. So bring your coveralls and be here at five. Oh, yeah, I’m putting you on dock duty for the next couple of months. It‘s part of your training and you should learn a lot.

He left. I knew what dock duty was. It was crap. You had to go to the docks and walk through ships, examine their hulls and see if there were any illegal’s being smuggled in. You also helped the Treasury agents inspect cargo. It was just long days and no cases.

I showed up at 0500 hrs. There were only seven CI’s there. We were going to go to a very large sheet metal company. Apparently they made ducts for heating and air-conditioning for really big buildings. I followed a couple of other CI’s from our office to the site. When I got there, I saw Dan, when he saw me, he quietly walked over and said,

Boz, it looks like we’ve got this one covered. Why don’t you report to the North East Dock, there’s a really big cargo ship coming in to day and I’d like you to do it. I’ve got a Patrol Agent there and he can show you the ropes.

He turned and walked away. That was it. I was on dock duty. For the next three and a half months I walked through giant ships. I hadn’t realized how huge they were, but some of them were two city blocks long. You really couldn’t examine them, only get an over view and look out for aliens and or contraband. There were only certain places aliens could stowaway, so you checked those areas first, then went to help Customs look at the load.

As time passed and I got busy again. Dan called me back from dock duty, saying I’d still have to take assignments there but I could start on case files again. I got back into my little office. It hadn’t changed at all, no one had even gone in since I had left. So I got back to doing cases in my files. I still drew dock work when they were short because I’d gotten good at finding aliens and contraband so they asked for me when a big ship came in or somebody called off.

Late, on a Thursday afternoon, I was sitting in my cubicle and looking at a couple of files and planning the cases for the next week when I heard a knock on my door. Opening the door, I was surprised to see the ADDI. His appearance made me a little worried, why would the Assistant District Director In charge be coming to see me? He asked how I was doing and if I liked dock duty. I told him I was willing to do whatever I was assigned, but that my record should indicate that I was better at resolving cases than working on boats. He agreed and left the office without saying much more. I figured that was good. At least the ADDI agreed that I was good at cases. Maybe he’d move me to current active investigations. I didn’t see him again and figured he’d come to see me and to find out about my high resolution rate.

I went to the Office now only a couple of times a week. It would always take me several hours to do my paperwork, especially when I had dock duty and then I added to it whatever cases I had completed, so I started taking some of my paperwork home. One afternoon, about a week after I saw the ADDI, while I was finishing up a ton of paper, there was a tap on my door. I had started leaving it open after the ADDI had come. Sorta to give me a chance to see who was coming and allow me to prepare mentally. I looked up and there stood a tall thin, gray-haired man. He looked to be about 50 plus and was wearing a dark blue, well cut suit with a thin pin striped white oxford cloth, button down shirt. He was carrying an out of context, old leather briefcase. The brief case was brown and scratched with one of the leather straps missing. The closure bar was not a snap like you see in newer briefcases, no, it was a brass ring where the strap fit through the loop and then twisted around and back through the ring to keep the strap secure.

Come in, I said watching him with considerable curiosity.

He stepped into the office and pulled up a chair on the other side of my cluttered desk.

What ya up to? He asked.

Well, just finishing some paperwork for stowaways. I’ve also managed to do a couple of cases from my files, in the last two or three days, I responded.

I wasn’t sure how much to tell him. He looked like a fed, and of course we were in a secure building, but he had not introduced himself so I wasn’t about to give him any specifics.

I understand you speak Gauchescho, he said laying the old briefcase on my desk and pushing away some of the small stacks of files I had covering the entire top of the desk. As he was sitting I could see the outline of a shoulder holster and pistol under his left arm. He also had a square leather