Chapter 9: Strategy

A dusty pickup truck parked and honked in front of Camp Job’s gate. Decals on both side doors of the truck showed “Bureau of Land Management, U.S. Department of the Interior.”

Armond and his confederate stepped out of the truck, kitted out in complete BLM uniforms (but unarmed). They folded their arms and waited.

After a few minutes, Elijah appeared with two lieutenants, all three holding assault rifles, and he gruffly addressed the visitors.

“State your business.”

“You are operating a mine on federal land without a claim, a permit, or an environmental impact report. We’ve been sent to inspect your premises, including the mine, and make a report. If I complete a thorough review of this site, I have the authority to grant you a retroactive permit.”

“And if I don’t cooperate?”

“Then we return to the Bureau and initiate the criminal process. Unpermitted resource extraction on public land is a felony, and you will be prosecuted in federal, not state court. You are already in violation of Title 30 of the US Code, Section 21. I recommend you work with us to come into compliance.”

“This desert is a harsh place. Suppose you two don’t make it back to town?”

“You don’t want to play it that way. You think I’m stupid? There’s a satellite phone in the truck. They know where I’m going, that I’ve arrived here, and are expecting another call when we leave. Intact. So, what’s it going to be?”

Elijah considered his options, and decided he would comply, for now. Fortunately, it was afternoon, and the girls were out laboring in the mine. Armond confirmed that Molly (and a few other girls he was tracking) were in fact part of the crew.

As he passed her on the way in to “inspect the rock face,” he whispered urgently in Molly’s ear.

“Patrick says hi!”

When he returned from the desert, Armond put the finishing touches on what he called “Operation Desert Storm.” He had contacted some of the other families and could now show them the videos he had surreptitiously taped while on the premises.

With their support, he pulled together a well-armed and ill-humored group of retired military men and women. Two days later, all twelve of them joined Armond at the front gate. When they received no response from inside, Armond noticed the camera.

“Aw, they’re being shy. Dawkins?”

One of them stepped forward and placed an object against the gate, then retreated. After the explosion, the group streamed through the gate, with weapons ready. They found Elijah in his office, holding a handgun. Tossing in a flashbang, they were able to get into the room without gunshots. With four assault rifles pointed at his head, Elijah put down his gun and surrendered. He was promptly handcuffed.

Elijah’s minions were disarmed, handcuffed with zip ties, and lined up outside the ruined gate along with Elijah.

Molly walked out through the gate at the head of the column of freed girls. All of them were covered in dirt, their hair in greasy tangles, and their bodies covered by filthy, shapeless shifts down to their ankles.

Spying Elijah, Molly veered toward him, skillfully launching a generous spray of spittle directly at his face.

“How’s that for politeness? You fucking bastard!”

She kicked him in the nuts, and he went down, cursing her in biblical terms instead of good old-fashioned four-letter words.

Meanwhile, two full-size buses had arrived and parked. Bailey nearly knocked Molly over as she turned away from Elijah. With glee, relief, and effusiveness, Bailey was almost squeezing the breath from her friend.

“Thank God, you’re all right. I was so worried! Let me look at you ... SHIT! Molly, you’ve lost 20 pounds! Was it that guy?”

At Molly’s nod, Bailey rushed over and started kicking him, until Patrick could get his hands on her shoulders to pull her back. Then she also spat on him.

“Patrick? Was this you? You freed us?”

“Partly. There are other fam...”

This time, it was he who felt the crushing pressure. Molly was crying into his chest.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”