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Marshall Mann, Micah Love, Reed Spencer, and the two ‘generals’ arrived at El Paso International Airport. The men rented an SUV from a local car rental agency and drove to the Hotel Paso Del Norte, a one-hundred-year-old gem located in the heart of the city. The hotel was famous for its opulent lobby, stained glass ceiling, fine dining rooms, and spacious guest rooms.
Micah booked three rooms. He and Reed would share a “Queen/Queen” room, as would Sam and Liam. Marshall would stay in his own “King” guest room. They did not plan to stay more than one night.
The detention center was on the outskirts of town, less than halfway between the airport and the hotel. They knew exactly where the center was located—in fact, they passed it on the way to the hotel. They decided to check into their rooms, freshen up, and enjoy a quick bite. They planned a reconnaissance visit for later in the evening. Operation Child Recovery would commence at 0900 the following morning.
Micah’s preliminary investigation revealed that the detention center was once a Sam’s Club warehouse store. While the others were napping or freshening up, Micah visited the city offices and bribed a very willing clerk to provide him with a blueprint of the building that housed the detention center. The prints depicted the building as a shopping warehouse, not a detention center. Micah, however, was focused on the size and location of the offices. He also wanted to calculate how many children the government could shoehorn into the place. He expected to be shocked at the deplorable conditions, made an inquiry to that effect, and even offered more money. But the clerk knew nothing about the center’s operation. He didn’t know how many guards or administrative personnel were on duty or how many kids were imprisoned there.
Micah returned to the hotel and found his three companions loitering around the lobby.
“Where’ve you been?” Reed wondered.
“I bribed a clerk for plans to the detention center.”
“Anything interesting?” Marshall asked.
“Not really. The guy knew nothing about the operation, and the plans show the place as a Sam’s Club. Size dimensions and the lay of the land are all I’ve got. Not sure whether it’s going to be helpful or not.”
“What’s the plan? Same as Detroit?” Sam wondered.
“What exactly was the plan in Detroit?” Marshall asked. “I can’t be involved or know anything about anything illegal. I’ve got a law license to worry about.”
“That’s why we haven’t discussed Detroit or what we have in mind for El Paso. Plausible deniability, baby, plausible deniability.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Zack didn’t have any problem with it,” Micah reasoned.
“Zack is in Syria, Micah! Did he help you plan the Detroit caper? Was he involved in the operation? Was he with you when you pulled it off? I’m an officer of the court! I can walk in there and tell these morons I’m the Gonzalez family lawyer. I show the ICE representative the children’s birth certificates, and I walk out with the kids.”
“We discussed the whole thing with Zack. He’s concerned the kids might disappear if we play it straight. He strongly believes the Golding Administration, especially embarrassed Homeland and ICE officials, might try to cover up their involvement in the false arrest and imprisonment of these kids to protect the government from the eight-figure lawsuit he’s going to file. He authorized us to move forward.”
“I’m not sure I disagree. If the kids are not being incarcerated legally, how can subterfuge to obtain their release be illegal? I get it. But, like I said, Zack hasn’t been directly involved in any of this, which begs the question: Why am I here? Sounds like you don’t have any use for my legal services or opinions.” Marshall opined.
“Well, if the ‘caper,’ as you call it, doesn’t pan out, we will revert to ‘plan B’ and do this the legal way. You are our ‘back-up plan,’ so to speak,” Micah advised.
“Ugh!” Marshall expelled.
“You don’t want to see the place?” Micah wondered.
“I visited the centers in Detroit and Riverview. Keeping people in cages because of their immigration status is despicable and the conditions are inhumane. These are kids, dammit! No, I am not keen on seeing the place,” Marshall grumbled.
“Then go to your room,” Micah sounded like a parent scolding a child.
“Not on your life,” Marshall argued.
“Huh?” Micah was confused.
“I said I wasn’t keen on seeing the place. I didn’t say I wouldn’t go. What else do I have to do? I agree with Zack, though. I have a law license to protect. Keep me out of this when the time comes.”
“Well, okay, counselor. Let’s go.”
Thirty minutes later, Micah pulled the rental car to the side of the road, an eighth of a mile away from the facility. The men could see an outline of the warehouse store letters where the sign used to be. There were no official markings on the building to identify it as an ICE detention camp.
A few official-looking SUVs were parked near the entrance; otherwise, the lot was virtually empty. Micah wondered if there were more security people in the daytime. The building was completely encircled by a tall fence with a layer of barbed wire at the top. A short road marked the entrance to the camp facility, leading to a wrought iron front gate, manned by two armed guards. A mechanical arm prevented vehicles from entering the premises without permission from the guards. This was not a warehouse market.
“The only difference between this place and Detroit is that Detroit looks like a detention center.”
“We didn’t have any problems getting into the other place with our phony credentials. I don’t see why we’d have any problems with this one,” Liam bragged.
“Who knows, Liam? These guys might be smarter? Might check with their superiors? We know for a fact that Billings wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer,” Micah cautioned.
“True, but with the right vehicle and those uniforms . . .” Sam began.
“Shit!” Micah cried. “The right vehicle . . . I forgot to obtain a government vehicle befitting two generals.”
“Calm down, Micah. Let’s think about this,” Marshall considered. “How about a limousine? Might two generals travel in a chauffeur-driven limo?”
“I suppose, but we have to involve a limousine company and a driver. I don’t want to have to trust them to keep quiet.”
“For the right amount of money and assurance that we have a competent driver, a limo company will rent us a vehicle.” Marshall studied Micah.
“Competent driver?” Micah asked.
Marshall continued to study Micah. “With a black suit, a chauffeur’s cap, and the right undercover attitude, you’d be perfect.” Marshall declared.
“I can’t wear a suit. I have Dunlop’s Disease,” Micah argued.
“Huh?” Liam shrugged.
“My stomach done lops over my belt. I’m too fat to wear a chauffeur’s outfit. You do it, Marsh.”
Marshall and the two actors giggled at Micah’s play on words. “I told you, Micah—I can’t be involved. We’ll just have to wake up a fine tailor and offer him or her appropriate incentive.”
“A limo and a custom suit and cap? This operation is getting expensive,” Micah groaned.
“Stop being so cheap, Micah,” Liam wailed.
***
Two hours later, the four men sat in Micah’s hotel room, awaiting the arrival of Gino Cavelli, owner of Cavelli’s Custom Tailored Suits in the Glen Cove neighborhood of El Paso. After Micah handed him five one hundred dollar bills, the hotel concierge was extremely helpful in securing Mr. Cavelli’s services. Micah cringed at the thought of what the suit might cost.
The room telephone rang. Marshall answered the phone and gave permission for the desk clerk to send Cavelli up to the room. Shortly thereafter, Liam opened the door to a short, slight, dark-haired man, holding two large garment bags and a bulky plastic shopping bag.
“Ciao,” the man chirped.
“Ciao, baby,” Micah retorted. Cavelli chuckled, deferentially, as if he didn’t actually think Micah was funny.
“May I enter?” Cavelli requested.
“Oh, sorry. Yes, absolutely, come on in,” Micah invited.
Cavelli entered and laid the garment bags on the couch. He turned and studied the four men, finally setting his sights on Micah.
“I take it you are my customer, sir?” he decided.
“How could you tell?” Micah kibitzed.
“Come, let’s have a look at you,” Cavelli rubbed his chin, studied Micah up and down, and pulled out a yellow tape measure. “Eighteen-inch neck, forty-two-inch waist, twenty-nine-inch pant legs?” he guesstimated. Micah shrugged.
Cavelli walked over to the couch. He opened the garment bag and pulled out several black suits. Next, he grabbed the shopping bag, pulled out a chauffeur’s cap, and placed it on Micah’s head. Micah’s companions laughed out loud.
Three hours later, Micah Love stood in the center of the hotel room in a perfectly fitted chauffeur’s outfit. He could not have looked more like a chauffeur than if he actually was one.
“Mr. Cavelli, you are the master,” Marshall extolled.
“Wow,” Liam exclaimed.
“Unbelievable transformation,” Sam marveled.
“Grazie,” Cavelli bowed.
“Prego,” Marshall retorted.
“I feel like an idiot,” Micah groaned. He pulled out twenty one-hundred-dollar bills and handed them to Cavelli.
The man’s eyes lit up. “Grazie mille,” he exclaimed. “A thousand thanks.”
“You’re welcome, two thousand times,” Micah grumbled.
“He’s really very grateful, Mr. Cavelli. We appreciate your coming here on such short notice,” Marshall assured.
“No, I am very grateful. You have been most generous. Will there be anything else?”
Marshall looked around at his companions. “No, sir, I think we are all set.”
“Arrivederci,” Cavelli chirped. He picked up the garment bags and headed for the door.
“Arrivederci. Thanks again . . . uh . . . grazie,” Micah prattled.
“Prego,” Cavelli bowed several times as he moved toward and out the door.
“Where to, sirs?” Micah joked, turning to his men after Cavelli departed.
“Now?” Marshall yawned. “To my room, I’m exhausted. And you guys have a big day tomorrow.”
“Come on, Marsh! Let me drive you somewhere!” Micah protested.
“We don’t have the limo yet,” Marshall reminded. “Tomorrow morning, bright and early, gentlemen. We will go limo shopping.”
