"The Vigilantes." A Short Story.

I did not  want to post this until I had my collection of short stories completely finished.  However,   events are beginning to imitate my Fiction!  I wanted to post this so I have a record that I saw things this way first. (In the event actual events  begin to play out the way I had imagined them.)  All persons,characters and events are FICTION! Made Up!  From my own Mind....   I just was wondering what would happen if the United States evicted these protesters and anarchist supporters instead of imprisoned them for their crimes.   And what if the Government was not the entity that did the eviction, but rather...  concerned patriots. 

The story is only 7500 words and I think a little over 10 pages ( depending on the formatting.)  I typed it up on my other computer...  This computer does not have a decent Microsoft Word Program. ( Not even Microsoft Works!)  So things may be screwed up.  Some scenes may need a little bit of cleaning up.  Consider it a "rough" copy.

So if you want a long boring read about "possible" current events,   And you have a free afternoon...  Enjoy.

"The Vigilantes."   A Post Pandemic Short Story.

I had just turned 50 when I first joined the movement. I’m not entirely sure how I was selected or why I was specifically recruited, but I have some ideas.   I had helped in defending our local city’s businesses from looters during the insurrection and riots.   People were calling it the “Second Civil War!”
  So dramatic.
  I was never one to prop up sensationalism, but that is what they were calling it at the time.   “A fight for the very fabric of our country.”
Our little group was nothing more than a rag-tag cluster of locals who happened to own a gun and saw the threat that was approaching.   Gun Free zones were the first to be hit.  Riots and protests mingled together and  provided cover for the criminals and anarchist to run wild.   It did not help that the pandemic that had everyone locked down for the previous three months had given local politicians an excuse to release criminals from State Jails and Federal Prisons.  The tense and strained conditions of the country were a powder keg waiting for a spark to explode into the perfect storm of chaos.
I remember those times.  They seem like a distant memory, but they were not long ago at all.  At first, Protesters were breaking the curfew that Governors has set for their states.   The goal posts kept moving and the citizenry finally had had enough.   They marched on the capitols and demanded the lock-downs to be lifted.   They were demonized by the Media as dangerous fools for spreading the invisible disease that had been on the decline for weeks. As food and resources dwindled, people began to re-prioritize income over the unseen health risks.
It is easy to go down that rabbit hole and try to explain the conditions surrounding the sedition of the country.  Media types were spreading conflicting news 24/ 7, to the point that no one knew what to believe.  Stay at home, wear a mask, don’t wear a mask.  You can buy food but not get a haircut.  You can swim in the water at the beach, but can’t lie on the sand.   None of it made any sense, and people had had enough.
But then the Riots began. 
A viral video of Police Brutality sparked a racially motivated protest that eventually became a riot.   The Media suddenly praised the valdalism and looting after condemning the peaceful protest just three weeks prior.  The Rioters destroyed everything in their wake, and it was tolerated by the leadership and local officials.
But the actual citizens were crushed!  Facing difficult times after finally being allowed to reopen, they were now vandalized and looted by nameless, faceless, masked criminals while the world looked the other way.   Any chance of recovery now was smashed  and set ablaze!  Along with their businesses that they had spent a lifetime building, people watched their dreams go up in smoke.   Some areas would never recover.
It did not take long before the news and pictures surfaced on other news sources.  While the main stream media spun the destruction as “necessary” and “peaceful.”   Other  pictures showed a different truth for all who saw them.   The police, overwhelmed and muzzled by the events leading up to this, were of no use here. Many of them resigned over the impossible situations they were put into.  Some  Governors scrambled to mobilize the National Guard with critics saying that would only incite the crowds more.   Other Governors caved to the demands, vowing to defund the police and publically submitted to the organizers of the riots.  It was a dark time in our History.
But there were pockets of resistance!  Just outside the “Gun-Free” zones were shop keepers and residents who were prior military.   They grabbed their guns, climbed onto the roofs of their businesses and homes and stood guard.  Others waved and directed protesters away from residential areas and their local businesses.   It had seemed that the smallest pushback was keeping certain places safe from the violence and looting.
But the conditions did not last long. 
Spurred on by the Mainstream Media, the locals with firearms were deemed to be white supremacists and Nazi’s.  It did not matter than many of them were also Black, Asian, and of Hispanic descent.  The rioters and looters soon escalated the situation with rocks, Molotov cocktails, and even random shootings.   It did not take long before casualties from both sides began to be reported.
And that is where I imagine my story begins.   I was one of those people on the roof tops protecting my favorite local shops.   We used to eat burgers at a local ice cream shop and get coffee from a convenience store across the street.   I was neither an employee nor a store owner.   I just wanted to protect the people I interacted with every day. And I wanted to continue enjoying, visiting, and patronizing their businesses.   I was welcomed and linked up with several other individuals who had the same thoughts.   Some of them were actual employees,  some were family members of the business owner.   We stood vigil through the night and into the morning.   The rioters and looters usually kept their activities hidden until after sundown; when cameras and witnesses would have a more difficult time identifying them.
I would have loved to say that our preparation and defenses were never tested, but that was not the case.   After the first two days,  the mood and tone of the rioters changed.   My thought was that the people who provided cover for the hooligans were having second thoughts when facing armed citizens.  We could see several individuals trying their best to stir up the others into rushing our defenses, yelling that we were bluffing and that we would crumble if everyone stormed the block at once.  Other individuals were caught sneaking around the back, looking for an opening or blind spot. 
It only took one shot to trigger the chaos that ensued. One of the younger “minute men” had spotted a person carrying a lighted Molotov cocktail, sneaking around the back of the convenience store.  He yelled out and one of the prior military citizens shot  a warning.   Instead of retreating,  the masked individual threw the fire bomb with all his might.
The next shot found its mark.  The Anarchist fell to the ground,  lifeless.
People scattered and screamed, dropping their protest boards and running in every direction.  More shots could be heard, but this time it was from the crowd.    The agitators, seeing their human shield fall apart, decided to take action before it had disbanded completely.   They hid behind pink-haired ladies and fired their firearms. 
Many of them had obviously never trained with their weapons before.  They were firing hand guns at extreme distances. The way their held their weapons demonstrated they had very little aptitude or knowledge how to use them.  In some cases, they appeared to be shooting at their own fleeing demonstrators!
But we had rifles and ALL of us knew how to hold them, aim them, and shoot them.  The order went out to shoot over their heads, as we did not want to hurt or kill any civilians that were foolishly swept up in the mix.   But as we watched the armed demonstrators take aim at the fleeing civilians,  someone decided to start dishing out justice on their own terms.
A well placed shot ended the life and destruction that an agitator was causing.   Deep down, we knew what was going to follow.   We knew that we would be blamed for any deaths that had occurred on either side.   But, despite that knowledge, several more shots rang out, and several more of the black masked demonstrators fell silent.   Someone shouted out  to the people around me to check their fire and make sure their targets were legit.  “Avoid shooting the unarmed ones.”  I tried to stipulate.
In the end, it did not seem to matter.   No one could tell who was hit by what bullet.   Those of us who knew combat, knew that the dogs of war are rarely perfectly controlled.  Enemies die, Allies die, and many times, civilians and non-combatants die.  But the news made no distinction.   We had saved our town, but we had brought the wrath of  public opinion down upon us.
In the days that followed,  the media had a new story of how White Supremacist had taken control of a small town and murdered hundreds of peaceful protesters.   Heck, anyone could have written that lie.    Anyone who was there knew we were a hobbled group made up from dozens of ethnicities.   And there were only a few dozen killed in the exchange,  not the hundreds that were speculated.   They also ignored that many of the injured were helped by the local towns folk, who bandaged wounds, and moved the injured to shelter out of the streets.
None of that made any difference when they suddenly called for the National Guard to  move in and take control of our town.  The same National Guard that only a week ago would incite more violence was now being used as a “means to restore peace.”   We were no match for tanks or heavy weapons…  So we dispersed and faded into the background, choosing to use the tactics of the enemy to our advantage. 
All of us had taken an oath to keep what we did silent.  We refused to be questioned without a lawyer or another member of the city present.  It was a risky move as many people had to trust their neighbor not to give away their role in the defense.  It was a moment I would forever be proud of my community.   Not a single person broke under the pressure.   The lights, the cameras, the interrogation… none of them could break the spirit of the Small town.  A Small town connected by their sense of Community and civic pride in knowing they had done the right thing.
In hind sight,  I believe many of the National Guard sympathized with our cause.  Protecting your family and property was one of the key elements for many to sign up and defend this country.   And the thought of fighting Domestic Terrorism was a daunting task to comprehend, let alone undertake.  I believe they actually respected our town for standing up against the mob, instead of kneeling.
Our town was not unique, however.   Other small towns and even some cities, began to resist the insurrection and violence that came with the “Peaceful Protest.”  Citizen ignored their “gun-free zones” and began to openly carry their firearms through the streets, visible to all.  Rumors of vigilante justice began to pour in as the Media breathlessly touted that we had entered an era of lawlessness.
But the truth was the streets had once again settled into an aura of peace and safety.   Shop keepers thanked the armed bands of locals for protecting their store fronts and property.   Some of the groups even helped out in the clean-up.   This was all ignored by the Media, as always.   Kindness and good citizenship did not produce the fear and headlines they wanted to promote.  So they buried those stories and claimed any story that came from eye-witnesses and social media was “fake news.”
All of these things, and perhaps many more, had finally broke something deep within the American People.  A willingness to forgive and forget, to keep thing normal and tolerate yellow journalism had been lost.  There was a conclusion that many Americans had discovered on their own: that the Media had to pay a price this time.   The small number of Billionaires who ran the Media conglomerates had an essential monopoly on the news we saw and listened to.   They dictated and shaped our information while censoring any dissent through either their social platforms; or through the public officials they controlled.
 Even after all the events that were clear enough to read and understand without explanation, politicians continued to push for disarming the citizens. It was as if they were claiming blindness instead of seeing the obvious elephant in the room.  It became obvious to everyone that the political class had become corrupt and intentionally  inept.   They had passed the point of “incompetent” and solidly landed in the category of “Tyranny” in the way they dealt with the situation.   And since they overwhelmingly passed a new voter bill that would cause rampant voter fraud, relying on the public to vote them out of office no longer seemed a viable strategy. 
And somewhere along the way,  our group was born.   We really had no name.   Everyone knew what we were talking about and we did not talk about it to outsiders.   We were not law enforcement.   We were not a secret Government Agency, though I would not be surprised if someone deep in the intelligence agency was helping us out in some way.   We were partisan, that is for sure.    And I would defiantly consider us to be more attune to Vigilantes than Heroes.
We operated “in the shadows” so to say.   That sounds so “cloak and dagger, but really, it was the fact that we operated mostly under cover of darkness.   Away from cameras and witnessing eyes, we were able to keep our operations hidden and secret.   We moved fast and remained focused on our targets.   It was the quickest and most effective way to execute our operations.
And so the call came out to “remove” a well-known celebrity that had encouraged the riots and promoted the “social justice” agenda.  His inflammatory remarks had not gone unnoticed.  Every man on the team knew exactly why we were going after him and his role in the insurrection. We met at our pre-determined spot and went over the operation as a group.
Intelligence informed us that there were three body guards.  We had a small window where there would be a guard change and we were to kidnap the target.  Although we were heavily armed, the goal was not to use violence if we could avoid it.   It was a very tight wire to walk, keeping the violence to a minimum while trying to arrest an unwilling and  heavily protected target. 
There was usually a hidden exploit.   Most of our targets lived in gated communities;  protected from the riots and looting that they so willingly promoted.    They all had money to buy private security, while preaching the gospel of “defunding police” in inner cities and smaller towns around the country.  They  exploited  the very capitalist society that they sought to destroy. 
However, there was a flaw in their false sense of security.  Private security were  nothing more than mercenaries for civilian use.  And as a result, they could be bought off!   I’m not sure about the channels that were used, but I do know that many of the “good” private security forces were prior military and agents for the Government. They had friends in high places and many of them had their own network within the Deep State.   One simply had to pass a note through that information vine to let these people know about the situation… And offer them a bribe.
We called it “Severance Pay” as their employer would no longer be in a position to employ them.  We would make contact with the private force and hand them an envelope of cash with a note of termination.  Then our way would be clear.   I believe they also were sick of the way things had broken down and could see where things were heading in the future.
As we piled into the van that would drive us to our destination, we muffled anecdotes to each other to build comradery.  All of us had our faces covered, much like the very hooligans we fought against during the uprising.   If the public ever did see us in action,  they would be hard pressed to determine exactly who we were. Most reporters never bothered to look further than the surface of the story.   Seeing a group of black clothed men in the darkness kidnapping an individual would be reported as just that, and they would never bother to look at what was actually being done.  The “Result” or “Motive” of the action was never thought about.   Journalist no longer did their own investigations.  They simply read a prepared script of a narrative from a teleprompter.
We pulled into the gate of the community that our target was living in.   We could hear the driver greet the security guard and pass over  some documents.  I’m not sure what was on those documents, but they must have worked.   The guard let us pass without incident.  I can only imagine that the documents were either forgeries of the highest quality, or there was an elaborate cover story that was legit in some way.   It was also possible that the guard was in on the Take, so he took his money and looked the other way.
As we approached the  house, there was another gate closing off access to a very long driveway.  Our driver pushed the buttons and the gates opened.  Our van drove down the narrow driveway, through a thickly forested area.   The trees would offer us an excellent cover.  We looked at each other knowing our moment of opportunity was approaching.  We stopped and two of our crew exited the vehicle.   Their job was to secure the perimeter and keep a lookout for any unknown variables that might influence the mission. 
The doors closed and the van continued, pausing once more to drop off two more.   As we approached the house, many of us checked our gear and prepared for our deployment.  If things went as planned, this would be over within a few moments.  However, plans rarely went off without a hitch.
…

The van stopped near the front of the house.   Our doors all opened and we poured out in tactical fashion.  Our handler linked up with one of the internal security men.   They shook hands and had a brief conversation as our man handed him an envelope.     He then turned and began walking back to us.
“Looks like there will be at least one guy near the Target.”  He informed us.   “This guy is new and has a sense of duty…  so keep an eye out.   We don’t want any casualties on either side.  He may put up some resistance.”
He informed us that the cameras should be down and the other security forces has dispersed and made the way clear. 
“Let’s go get him!”  Came the command.   In single file, we moved through the door and into the house.
The house was not as big as I had imagined,  but still far more spacious than anything a typical American could afford.  As we moved own a hallway,  our team cleared each room. Our destination was the master office where our target was most likely to be.   We checked the door to see if it was locked.   It wasn’t!
With one swift push,  our team burst into the room.   Our target was behind the desk. 
His surprised expression told us he was not expecting us.  “Who the hell are you guys?  Where is my security team?” He shouted.
With our weapons pointed directly at him,  our Handler approached with a piece of paper.   He moved out in front of us and placed the paper on our target’s desk.  Next to the paper,  he placed a pen.
“Please sign here.” He pointed at the lower edge of the paper.
“What is this?”  Our target asked.
“It’s an official form where you renounce your citizenship of the United States.”  Our Handler replied blankly.
“What?!”  Our target looked at the paper and looked around the room.  “You want me to sign a paper saying I renounce my citizenship?”
“Yes!” The Handler replied.
“Why would I do such a thing?”  The man asked.
“Oh!  You already have done it. We are just here to make things official.   Shall we watch the tape?”  Our handler pulled out his smart phone and tapped the screen, bringing up a video.   A background of crowd voices could be heard as the man said he was renouncing is citizenship of the United States if the Police were not abolished and the President was re-elected.
The man’s face turned white.  “That was just talk! That was just for the cameras! I never meant any of that for real.”  He explained.
“Well, the cameras were watching! And people did not see it that way.”  The Handler looked at his watch.  “So let’s get this over with.  Sign the paper and we can be on our way.”
The man looked at the official and then looked at the paper.  He then glanced over to us.   The wheels inside his brain must have been turning but he decided to ask anyway.  “What if I choose not to sign?”  He asked.
“Things will get messy” The official stated.  It was a vague statement that was obviously meant as a threat.  Our goal was not to push that far, but if a bluff would work, we would back it all the way to give it legitimacy.
The man mumbled something under his breath.  He picked up the pen and signed the paper.  “What good are the security forces if they don’t work?”  He grumbled. “I should have fired them all  and replaced them long ago.”
“That’s good to hear.  Please sign this.”  The official produced another form and placed it out in front of the man.
“Now what is this?”  The man asked.
“This is a form officially firing your security force.”
The man looked shocked.  ‘Why would I do that?  Hey!  What is this really?”  He looked over the paper and attempted to read the fine print.  He put on his glasses and continued reading.  “Surrender of assets?  What does this mean?   I need a lawyer if I’m going to sign this.”
“Lawyers are only allowed for citizens of the United States… Which you are no longer a member of.   This document will allow the security to get paid one last time before you are deported.” The official explained.
“Deported!  What?  Where?”  The man asked.
The official flipped through some papers he had in his hands. “Hmm, let’s see.  Oh!  Looks like Mexico.”  He stated.   “I wonder how you pulled that one off.”  He mumbled under his breath.  “Nice and close, food is not too bad…  I hear they have nice beaches there. Count yourself lucky.”
The man did not look like he was amused.   “Why would I go to Mexico?”
“Who knows?  Maybe someone requested you.  Someone owed you a favor? At least you are not being sent to Afghanistan like some others.    Now hurry up and sign the papers!”  The official demanded.
“No!”  The man declared.
The official waved a hand to one of our crew.   The man in front of me moved forward and tugged on his gloved hand.  He wound back and swung forward, slapping the man across the face.  The force of the blow made me flinch.
Apparently, that was all that was required.  After a second to recover,  the man yelled to stop and reached out for the pen.   He began to cry.   It was an awkward moment, I think, for everyone in the room.   But the job was almost done.
We handcuffed the target and escorted him to the van.   Our driver was talking to one of our outer security when we approached.   Everything was clear.    We loaded up the target and drove off into the night, picking up our other members on the way out.  Now all that was required was the drive to the border.
…
It was a long drive.   We sat in the back with The Target,  keeping a close eye on him as we bobbed and rolled down the highway.   Bathroom breaks were done in the dessert, away from the highway and away from other travelers.  A back up vehicle followed us to help with fueling and any unforeseen problems that might pop up.   But overall,  the biggest enemy was boredom.   Keeping watch that long in a vehicle would wear on your body and your mind.  It took all of your ability to remain focused on the task and not fall asleep.
When it was my turn to watch,   I focused on how the person sitting in front of me used to make me laugh.   I would tune into his show and watch the monolog and see if any of his guests were interesting.  Sometimes I would simply watch just because I was still awake that late at night.  It was sad, in a way.  That a late night icon from my younger days would fall so far. 
But then I remembered the venom his program spat out.  His call for more violence, more looting, more destruction.  And then his arrogant and ridiculous attempt to explain away the damage as “peaceful”.   The victims of the violence were described as “Racists” and deserved what happened to them.   And even then…  This was not what was considered “Damning enough” to have any action taken against him.
It was when he was discovered to have taken money from a foreign government to promote the violence that heads began to turn.   And when he openly urged protesters to kill the President and overthrow the government, that was when he lost even the most zealous defender of the first amendment.  Inciting a riot and urging rebellion required some form of punishment.  People debated about how close to treason these actions were and if the death penalty was required.
But common ground was found among the people in charge that would show others that the country would not tolerate this behavior.   It happened by accident, actually.   A militia group kidnapped an Antifa leader and threw him  over the border, out of the United States.  No one would have even known, had the Antifa leader not begged passing tourist for a way back into their country.
With the new border wall preventing illegal immigration,  the Anarchist could not simply walk back into the southern part of the country.  He walked for hours, maybe even days, before he stumbled upon a tourist group and asked them for assistance.   The tourists called the border patrol and from there… the process was born.  Instead of imprisonment or death,  we would evict them from the United States.  They would lose all rights and privileges.  They would become nothing more than another foreigner from somewhere outside our country.   From there, they could do as they pleased without undermining our way of life.
I’m sure there were legal questions.   Was this even “right” or was there a better way?  That no longer mattered to us, the common, everyday citizen.   Our laws were violated and our leaders did nothing.  They watched as the cities burned and then scorned the taxpayers and citizen groups who dared to attempt to stop it.  And the City Councils and  Hollywood Elites began promoting the destruction,  they became a cancer that needed to be cut out and removed… by any means necessary. 

My expressions must have caused the Man to take notice. “What are you smiling about?” He asked.
I paused for a moment.  It took me a second to realize he was talking to me.  But his look and scowl affirmed his direction.  I took a breath. “I used to watch you on your show many years ago.”  I answered.  “I enjoyed it and it used to make me laugh.”
“Hmmph!”  The Man frowned.  After a long pause he added,  “People will notice my absence and demand answers.  You won’t get away with this!”  He blurted out without thinking.
We all laughed at the cliché.  Our handler took notice and injected himself into the conversation. “Oh?  Maybe you were not aware of your ratings this last year.  Honestly,  they were so low, it may have been one of the reasons we almost passed you up as a threat to national security.   I mean,  Just how many people were you even influencing?”   We all chuckled at the inference.
It was true.  I had not tuned into his show for years.   After he started splicing social commentary into his jokes, they suddenly lost their humor.  And as more of the content became laced with social justice, more and more people began tuning out.
“Comedy is supposed to tackle the issues of the day and force us to face them!”  He reasoned.  The crew smiled and looked on dispassionately.
“But Comedy is supposed to make us laugh,  not encourage violence.”  One of the crew offered.
“Don’t engage him,  it is not worth it.   We all know he's being expelled for his actions and not his inability to make people laugh.”  Another member of the crew stated.
“I didn’t write the jokes…” The Man mumbled.  As if trying to explain his failing show on the producers.
“Yeah,  Who did?  China?  Or Russia?”  Another crew member offered.   We all laughed.  “Now that… was funny!”  Someone said aloud.
“Go ahead and have your fun.   The Network is going to search for me when I fail to show up on Monday.   Then I will tell the world what is going on here.”  He threatened.  “I will have all of you arrested and jailed for kidnapping!”
Again, we all chuckled.  “Who you gonna call?”  Someone asked.
“GHOSTBUSTERS!”  We all shouted in unison.   And then laughed even louder at the unrehearsed punchline.  The laughing continued.  Even the Man had to grin a little.
“I’m serious, though! You are all making a very big mistake.   But we can be reasonable if you just let me go.”  He negotiated. “Just let me go and I will forget everything and all of you.  We can pretend this never happened.”
“Well, it is a little late for that.”  Our Handler noted.  “You see,  you have already been replaced at the network.  Turns out your substitute was more than willing to take over the job in your absents.   Funny how you guys are all about demonizing the rich, but will sell your mother for a little bit of green.  If you thought you were not replaceable, you were dead wrong.  It barely took the network  an hour to make the phone call.   So you see,  you would not have a job to come back to here anyway.  Might as well move on to greener pastures.”
The Man’s eyes searched his mind, trying to process the new information.  After a moment he responded.  “Who’s  my replacement”   He asked.
The Handler looked distracted for a moment. “Hmm?  Oh,  I should tell you to watch the show on Monday to find out, but there is a good possibility that you may not have access to a television. So… I’ll tell you.  It’s Bob Parker.”  The Handler answered.
The Man’s face turned red.  He was doing his best to contain his anger.  “So…  Bob sent you!  That Backstabbing BASTARD!”  He shouted.  “He has said things just as bad if not worse!  Than I ever did…  And you guys come for me?”  He asked rhetorically.
“Well,  if you are able to watch on Monday…  You will see that his position on things will… soften…  as they say.   I doubt he will do any drastic 180’s or anything. He still is a whore for money and fame.  But I think he will notice the writing on the wall and behave accordingly.   That is just my 2 cents worth.   I don’t really know or care what he does.” The handler offered.  “We are not after him for what he might do… We came for you for what you did!  And now, you have to pay the price.”
The Man’s face suddenly appeared old.   He settled back in his chair and remained quiet for the remainder of the trip.  It was difficult to be yanked back into reality after a good laugh,   but inevitably… that is what always happens.
…
As we neared the border,  the word went around the vehicle and we prepared for the exit.  Our advanced team made sure the area was secure and clear of any prying eyes or border security.   I was not sure if the Border security was informed or not, or if it was for “plausible deniability.”  Either way, the fewer people to know what we were up to, the better.
I wondered for a second, how they planned on getting this guy over the border wall.   I had my doubts that we would roll up to a gate somewhere and open it.   Gates usually had cameras and monitors everywhere, so opening it in secret would be almost impossible. As we turned down a dirt road, we could see the lights and the edge of the border wall as it came into view.
This was the first time I had actually seen the border wall.  I had never visited the Mexican border  before, nor cared to.  The only thing I knew about the border was that it was a haven for drug cartels, human traffickers, and illegal immigration.  The border  wall was meant to stop all of that, and it was doing a pretty good job.  In fact, most of the Media refused to acknowledge that the wall was as effective as it was  unless they could use it as evidence that the country was “racist.”  How defending your borders was “racist” was never explained, but I think most Americans could figure out the truth had nothing to do with racism.
As we approached the wall,  a vehicle was there waiting for us.  Two men got out of the truck and moved to greet us.  We stopped near and filed out of our van, looking around for any possible threats.  The VIP remained inside. 
Our handler spoke to them for a moment and then motioned a few of us to gather around the truck.  In the back, there were several ladders and some rope.
“Ok!  Here’s the plan:  We tie him up and scale the wall with these ladders.    Then we drop him on the other side.   Our job will be done.”  He informed us.
We looked at each other and laughed.  “Seems simple enough.   Let’s get to it.”  One of the crew said.
I’m not sure about the others, but my mountaineering skills were limited to the short time I spent in the Army.  And that was a long time ago.    However,  just like riding a bike,   it all comes back to you after a few moments of refreshing your memory.   We unloaded the ladders and extended them to their maximum length.  The wall was designed to prevent the use of ladders, so we were going to test that theory.   I had used ladders before while painting our house, and that was always an unnerving adventure.
Two of our men climbed to the top and straddled the wall with a leg on either side.  They draped a blanket over the tip to keep the sharp edges from causing problems.  We then tossed a rope up to them and they set up a z pulley  to ratchet up the VIP.  We then pulled out the man from the van and strapped him into a harness.   It was then just a matter of hooking him in and pulling him to the top.
Although it was never said out loud, I’m sure time was of the essence.  The longer we were on  the scene, the greater our exposure to unwanted publicity.  A sense of urgency was something all of us had pounded into us during our military training.  It only seemed natural that we speed things up now.
The man slowly slid to the top of the wall and the two men on top guided the rope and the rest of us pulled from the ground.   As the VIP neared the top,  the two men grabbed and flipped him over the top.   We then slowly lowered him back to the ground.
As he finally reached the bottom,  one of the crew reached through the fence and cut the rope.  He then un-cuffed the man and he was now free to go.  Our handler came over with a briefcase.
“Welcome to Mexico!  You might want to start learning Spanish if you plan on staying.”  He motioned to the briefcase. “Oh,  we decided you probably would need a little cash for your new life, so we withdrew all of your money and put it in this.”  He lifted the briefcase. “Well,  minus the severance pay for your staff and those annoying bank fees for early withdraw.  You can count it if you want.   And you still have your currency in any foreign bank accounts that we don’t know about…  but here is  your life’s work… in cash!”  The handler slid the briefcase through the slats of the wall.
The man grabbed the brief case.  He paused for a moment and then set it down to open it.  He lifted the lid and his eyes lit up.  “What kind of people kidnap a celebrity, force him to sign a bunch of papers and then hands him a suitcase filled with money?”  He wondered aloud.  It was like the deeper meaning was finally setting in.  It was almost sad.
“Enjoy the rest of your life.”  The Handler said.   His voice softened for a moment. “There is a town about 7 miles south of here.  It is a quiet town and you should be able to find services there.   Watch out for smugglers and coyotes.   Don’t advertise that you have that much cash.   They are not the same as us.”   His voice had genuine concern mixed with it.  “Goodbye.”   He announced, and then turned to walk towards the van.
“Wait.”  The Man’s voice whispered.
One of our crew took off his belt that held two canteens of water.  He handed it to the man through the slats of the Wall.  “We wouldn’t want you to get dehydrated out there.  The Sun will be up soon and this is a dessert, after all. “  The Man stood motionless.  “Wait.”  He said.
Another one of our crew pulled out a map and handed over his compass.  “You may not know how to use it, but the red tip of the arrow points north.  Follow the black tip south and you should be able to find that town.   7 miles is nothing… You can do it.”  He encouraged.   He then turned to walk towards the van with the others.
“Wait!”  The Man’s voice was louder now.  He began to cry.
The rest of us looked on.  We knew full well what was being lost, even if the Man was only now, finally realizing it.  Being expelled from your country,  you culture, your way of life…   It would cause you to question everything you took for granted.  The level of uncertainty could suddenly become overwhelming.  I looked over my shoulder as we all turned away.  The Man had fallen to his knees and began to sob uncontrollably.
“I’m sorry!  I’m sorry!  Really!  Don’t do this!”  He pleaded.  It was the first genuine apology I believe I have ever heard from a celebrity figure.
We continued on.  Some of our group had already climbed into the van and were putting on their seat belts, waiting to depart.   It was then that one of our crew turned around and began walking back towards the man.
“What are you doing?”  Another one asked.
“I’m just going to talk to him.  It will only take a minute.”  He waved his hand.  I instinctively followed.  I don’t know what compelled me.   Maybe it was to prevent him from doing something stupid.  Maybe it was to bear witness to what he would say.
I held back a few paces to give them a bit of privacy, but remained within ear shot of the conversation.
“Stand up!  You are still alive.   You are still able to move forward.”  The Partisan  commanded.  “This is the moment that will define you and show people who you really are…  Including yourself.  Will you  give up and die here or carry on living.  The choice is yours and yours alone.  But at least you have a choice.”   The Partisan lectured.
The Man looked up with pleading eyes.  “Please!  Help me!  I can give you money!”  He bargained.  “Just let me come back.”
“That is impossible.”  The Partisan acknowledged. “ And that level of dependency will get you killed over there.  You better start learning how to fend for yourself.  You can do it…  If you try.”  He encouraged.  “Now hurry!   Get up and start moving.” 
The Man slowly stood up on wobbly legs.  He gripped the Wall for support.  His eyes remained on the ground.  “What will happen to me now?” He asked rhetorically.
The partisan looked on.  “I don’t know,  but you at least have a say in which direction you can go.   Now…  Goodbye!  And safe journey.”   The Partisan tuned his back on the man and began walking towards the van once again.
He passed me as he walked,  never looking back.   I watched as the man crumpled back towards the ground and sat there.   As if he were shell shocked.   I turned away and walked towards the van, following the member of my crew.  I didn’t even know his name, but I can only imagine he was used to this sort of exchange.   Perhaps he was a  Drill Sargent, Priest, Guidance counselor,  or Teacher.  Maybe he had kids of his own.   Maybe he was just someone trying to offer encouragement.  I never asked, and he never volunteered the information.
We climbed into the van.  “What were you doing?”  One of our crew asked.
“Just giving him a pep talk.”  He smiled.  The others looked out their windows with dispassionate stares.
“You know all he has to do is walk 7 miles to the town and he will most likely be back on top as Mexican Royalty.  Give him some credit for surviving the world of Entertainment.”  The other man offered.  “7 Miles is nothing.”
“Maybe.”  The counselor said aloud,  but I’m sure he was thinking about the possibilities that could happen if someone lost that will to survive.
The  conversation ended there.  No one else really felt like talking.   Aside from a few moments of small talk,  no one else bothered to talk about what we had just done.   Instead,  I’m sure all of us were having a conversation with ourselves and justifying  our actions.  At the end of the day,  we would be the ones who had to live with our decisions.   I believe all of us ultimately felt like we had done the right thing.
I never did hear from that Celebrity VIP again.  I don’t know if he eventually did get up and begin walking towards the town.  I don’t know if he even reached the town.  I do know that he never returned to the United States.   And I do know that the Network he used to work for never bothered to explain what happened to him.  They simply announced his replacement that following Monday and continued on as if he had never existed.  The Causes that he championed for never mentioned his disappearance or what it signified for their movement.  He was just a disposable tool that they used and threw away when he was no longer useful.
A part of me wants to believe that he found a quiet part of the world and is living off the grid. He certainly had enough resources to live comfortably for the rest of his days.  I would wish that for most people.  I would hope his punishment would have opened his eyes  to the other side of the equation:  That other people will not tolerate having their freedoms and livelihoods threatened.  And as a result, he would learn to get along with others and not champion divisiveness or violence.   That would be the best case scenario.
But another part of me thinks back to all of those people who lost everything during the riots.  And hearing all of those celebrities like him scold people  for wanting to defend their families or property.   Would it have been equivalent to let those enemies of the State keep everything they owned but lose their citizenship only?  At the very least, it was a possibility for everyone to rebuild again.  Perhaps we were not hard enough.
If you searched  for the right things, you would discover that other outspoken Celebrities and politicians went missing during that same time frame.  I was shocked that there were no posts online asking questions of their whereabouts. One network had completely replaced its usual lineup of talking heads… And no one seemed to notice.  It appeared that both sides of the aisle did not want to know the answer and were simply happy to be back to a certain level of a normal life.  Perhaps it was all a dream on my part.   As if it never really happened within this world, but only within my own imagination.
Maybe.
But when I think about the possibility that the Man we deported to Mexico might have run into the Cartels or Human Traffickers, a feeling drips over me like a wall of shadow.  It is an action I will have to live with for the rest of my life.   And even though there is a possibility that the Man recovered from his  banishment, and continues to live a new life elsewhere,  the uncertainty of it will plague me for the rest of my days.
But that was the price for fighting  in that Civil war.  And at the end of the day,  I look out over my Family, and watch out over my neighborhoods and cities, and I think  about how others died to protect them.  When I think of those costs,  I think I may have gotten off easy.
  And I think I can live with that.