Forty Days at Kamas (38 page)

The stone house had once been the vacation retreat of a Silicon Valley billionaire who enjoyed trout fishing and deer hunting in the nearby Uinta Mountains and who skied and partied at Deer Valley, some twenty miles to the west. Later the house had served as the district command post for an Army counterinsurgency unit charged with eradicating Mormon partisans from the Uinta Mountains. Later, the Army had turned the house over to the Corrective Labor Administration to quarter the engineers who supervised the Kamas camp’s construction. The house had been built in the rustic Deer Valley style, with a half–timbered, stone–and–stucco exterior; steeply pitched copper roof; and vast tiled verandahs on the first and second floors overlooking the Kamas Valley. From either of the verandahs one could see nearly every acre of the camp.

Martha stopped the jeep at the compound's front gate and presented her identification and parking pass.

"I'm Martha Chambers. We're here to deliver some lunch to my husband and his staff. They're expecting us."

The guard, who wore a red beret and a desert camouflage uniform, glanced quickly at the documents, returned them and waved Martha through.

"Park anywhere you like, Mrs. Chambers."

Martha took the advice literally and pulled up directly in front of the stone house. She and Claire removed the baskets from the rear of the jeep and carried them up the front steps.

Once they were inside the entry hall, Martha again presented her identification, this time to a black–uniformed duty officer. He led her and Claire past the half–open door of a conference room where a meeting was underway to an adjacent room whose rough–hewn oak table had been cleared for lunch. Martha and Claire placed their baskets on the credenza and began to unpack. Through the thin plasterboard wall and the half–open door, they recognized the voices of Doug Chambers and Fred Rocco. Martha and Claire cocked their ears to listen.

"Give it some time," Jim Tracy said impatiently. "We've only been at it a week, for God's sake."

"And during that entire week the total number of prisoners who came out to us was what, twelve? Fourteen?" the Warden demanded. "And, Jack, how many of those were stoolies who were supposed to stay put?"

"About half of them," Jack Whiting replied. "The longer we open the gates, the more informants I expect we'll lose."

"How about the others who came out?" Doug Chambers asked. "Did we draw off any of their young fighters?"

"Not a one," Whiting said with evident frustration. "Which is a damned shame, because they can use the labor up in the Yukon. But, if it's any consolation, Doug, the medic at Yellowknife was mighty pleased to hear we're sending him a nurse, and a good–looking one at that."

Claire noticed Martha suddenly stop unwrapping the food she had taken from the wicker basket. Her face was ashen. When she saw Claire staring at her she turned away and began straightening the place settings.

Doug Chambers spoke next.

"It's good you're getting a head start lining up prisoner transfers," he said. "We’ll need to make a clean sweep when this is all over. We also need to figure out a way to dispose of casualties in a way that won't alarm the local population. How is that part coming, Jack?"

"We've identified locations in the Kamas Valley where bulldozers can dig trenches deep enough to handle more than the estimated number of prisoner casualties. Since the Valley is already sealed off to outsiders, I don't expect any problems with the locals. It’s a matter of camouflage and speed.

"The only catch is that we don't have many bulldozers," Whiting continued. "And our brothers in the military haven't been very cooperative. You may recall that the National Guard turned us down when we requested backup last month. 'Not our kind of fighting,' their liaison officer told me. Frankly, Doug, I'm getting tired of being sneered at by those bureaucrats in uniform. Just because our work disturbs their precious peace of mind, they sit by and snipe at us, accusing us of being sadists and barbarians. They won't even lend us a damned bulldozer without a detailed accounting of what we plan to use it for. You know, I'm just trying to do my job. I don't see why I have to put up with their mudslinging."

The Warden addressed Whiting sympathetically.

"Let them say what they want. So what if they ask how we'll use their bulldozers? Go ahead and tell them–they'll still have to fork the things over. Cronin will see to that. Besides, a little knowledge will be good for our brethren in the military. Shared knowledge means shared responsibility. Shared responsibility means shared liability. There's the trap–once you say A and B, you can't stop at C."

"Fred's right," Boscov agreed. "The Department has faced this problem for years. The government is still clogged with bureaucrats and careerists from former administrations. We have to bring these backward types along with us and force them to become accountable."

"Excuse my interruption," Doug Chambers broke in, "but we're running out of time before lunch and there are still a couple of items on the agenda. Jack, do you have any progress to report from your informant inside the camp?"

"We're still talking and he's still promising us the moon," Whiting replied. "He's also upped his demands to full rehabilitation with back salary and allowances and a promotion to the next grade in rank. We told him we can consider it, but first he needs to show us what he can deliver. And fast."

"You didn't tell him anything about our timetable, did you?" Doug asked.

"Absolutely not," Whiting replied.

He paused before speaking again.

"As for your other prospect, the one that the General talked to recently," Doug continued, "I think it's fair to say that we’ve struck out. So, unless anyone objects, I would propose that we take an entirely different tack with him. Jack, do you still have any agents in camp who are willing to get their hands dirty?"

A few minutes later, the meeting broke up and the men came around the corner to the room where lunch was waiting. Having expected soup from the staff kitchen, Doug's colleagues seemed delighted to see the variety of sandwiches, salads, breads, and cookies that Martha and Claire had brought.

The men were also pleased to have female company for a change. The Warden was particularly attentive toward Claire, whom he said for the hundredth time reminded him of his granddaughter. At first, the conversation kept to innocuous topics like the weather, local flora and fauna, and the history of Heber and the Kamas Valley. But by the time the men had settled back for dessert and coffee, talk of the camp revolt slipped back in.

"It seems to me," General Boscov suggested to Doug, "that we ought to be looking harder at ways to deflate the prisoners' fighting morale. Again and again we hear that the hard–line prisoners are hoping for some kind of sympathetic reaction from the other camps. They know that strikes have occurred elsewhere and I think they still believe that, if only they could get the word out, unrest would spread throughout the camp system. Of course, they're dead wrong. Theirs is the only strike within a thousand miles of here."

"But how do we convince the prisoners of that?" Colonel Tracy asked while stuffing a chocolate chip cookie into his mouth.

"Why not take them on a tour?" Doug suggested. "After all, we brought people from the Department to visit Kamas. Why not take some prisoners to a camp or two in Orem or Provo and let them see for themselves?"

"We could also plant the rumor that deserters from Kamas will be moved down to Provo instead of being sent to Yellowknife," Jack Whiting added. "Once they see that Provo isn't so bad, we might get more to desert."

"Let's discuss it again tomorrow," Doug agreed. "Unless anyone can think of some good reasons not to, I'm inclined to give it a try."

When everyone had finished eating, Doug and the Warden stayed behind to help clean the table and pack the leftovers for the return to Heber. For the first time in weeks, Doug was attentive toward Martha and seemed eager to please her. The Warden appeared to notice this and offered to take Claire for a short tour of the compound while Doug helped Martha carry the baskets to the jeep.

"That's kind of you, Fred," Martha said. "Claire, would you like to have a look around before we go?"

"Sure," Claire replied. "Could we go out on the balcony first? I'd like to see what’s in the valley if that’s okay."

"Come along with me," Fred Rocco offered cheerfully, taking Claire by the hand. "Your Uncle Fred will show you whatever you want to see."

With that, the Warden and the junior
au pair
set out for the verandah.

As soon as Doug and Martha were left alone, Martha gestured for Doug to take the chair beside her.

"Doug, don't you suppose I could help you more in your career if you talked to me more? This visit was nice, but it made me see just how little I know about what you do all day."

"That's not by accident, Martha," Doug replied. "You're better off not knowing. Believe me."

"Do you mean that you're afraid to show me or just ashamed?"

"Neither," Doug answered firmly. "First, this is a Restricted Zone. Just about everything we do here is classified Secret or above. Second, what we do isn't as simple as it looks. You can't judge it on the basis of an occasional visit."

"So why don't you explain it to me? I'm your wife. I want to know what you're going through. I see how unhappy you are and I want to help."

"You're a wonderful wife, Martha, and I appreciate your wanting to help me. But there really isn't much you can do right now. The problem is the revolt, not anything between us."

"But don't you see, Doug, your work and this camp have been a problem between us ever since we came here. And it's getting to the point where I don't know what to do about it anymore. You won't let me get close enough."

"I'm sorry," Doug said. "I promise things will be better as soon as the revolt is over. It won't be long now. We're getting close to the end."

"If it's not the revolt, it’s bound to be something else. Sometimes I think I hardly know you."

Doug sighed deeply and looked down at his hands as if they were weighed down by a terrible burden.

"So what do you want me to do?"

"Let me go with you when you take the prisoners to Provo. Show me the same things you show them. Let me watch you talk to them."

"I don't see what good it would do," Doug replied. "But I'll think about it."

"Thanks," Martha replied, kissing him on the cheek. "It would mean a great deal to me if we could get closer again, even for only a few days, before I go back east to have our baby."

"Oh, my God, I've completely lost track of when you planned to travel," Doug declared. "How late in the pregnancy can you go and still be allowed to fly?"

"It's already past that time. I've been planning to take the train and bring Claire with me. But Claire still has no travel papers. We're going to need your help."

"Her I.D. is already in the works. I'll ask them to expedite it," he promised.

"And I want you to be with me when the baby is born. Can you promise me you'll fly out before the due date and stay with us a while?"

"I promise."

"And can you give some thought to what I said about our need to talk more often?" Martha asked. "It's been terribly lonely these past few months. I don't know how long I can go on with you drifting further and further away from me."

"I will, Martha. I promise," Doug said. But his eyes were already looking out the door as his hands reached for the baskets.

****

When they returned to the house, Martha left Claire with Rosa, then left the compound headed east on Reservoir Road. After about a mile, she turned onto a dirt track and parked the car where a deer trail led up a hillside through scrub oak toward Helen Sigler's cabin.

C
HAPTER
37

"Every revolution evaporates and leaves behind only the slime of a new bureaucracy."
—Franz Kafka

SATURDAY, JUNE 15

DAY 28

The atmosphere of heightened tension that began with the tearing of gaps in the perimeter walls and grew with the war of the loudspeakers, the dropping of propaganda leaflets, and the solicitation of defectors continued throughout the week. Every day saw new skirmishes at the barricades, new loudspeaker appeals for surrender, and new opportunities to defect. Adding to the tension were rumors that strikes had broken out in labor camps near Provo and Orem. Hopes arose among the prisoners that revolts might spread to camps near Ogden, Logan, Price, and Green River. Some predicted that, before long, camps in Idaho and Colorado would rise and the whole Utah Security District would erupt and spread its choking gray ash over the entire camp system.

It was when these hopes rose to their highest level that the Kamas authorities suddenly offered us an opportunity to send a delegation to camps at Provo and Orem. The offer was made late on a Friday afternoon for departure early the next morning. Ralph Knopfler came to my bunk late Friday evening and asked if I would be interested in going. The delegation would consist of up to twenty prisoners, including four from the commission: Chuck Quayle, Georg Schuster, Libby Bertrand, and Betty Shipley. Knopfler would not be going, nor Reineke, Murphy, or anyone from the Security, Military, or Technical Departments, out of concern that the bosses might not release them afterward.

I reported to the barricades opposite the Service Yard's east gate promptly at eight the next morning. In addition to the other delegates, I also spotted Majors, Reineke, and Knopfler waiting behind a sandbag bunker. They were huddled together, deep in conversation.

At last a crackle of static emerged from loudspeakers outside the wall.

"Stand by for visitors," came the announcement. "Guard escort crossing the boundary zone."

Through the open gate I could see two black–uniformed officers crossing the no–man's–land, followed by several escort troops in desert camouflage. As they came nearer, I recognized the pair as General Boscov and Colonel Tracy. They stepped through the gate and stopped within a few yards of the barricade.