Exile Hunter by Preston Fleming Page A

Front.”
    “So what brought on
the refugee crisis?” Eaton probed. When Roger Kendall tried to
answer, Eaton silenced him with a headshake. Clearly, Eaton had
something particular in mind and wanted to hear it directly from his
Mormon visitor.
    “It seems to me that
the problems started when FEMA reneged on its promises to bring in
more federal relief supplies to facilitate the eastward movement of
refugees into Wyoming and Colorado,” Linder answered. “FEMA bled
Utah dry and when we had no more to give, the President-for-Life sent
in the Army to seize whatever they could find and hand it over to the
refugees. When the state government voted to resist, federal agents
arrested the governor, his cabinet, key members of the legislature,
the LDS church leadership and anyone who dared to resist or protest.”
    “And then?” Eaton
demanded.
    “There began the
largest forced migration of peoples in American history, ten times
larger than the internment of Japanese-Americans during World War II.
Over a million Latter-day Saints were rounded up and sent north to
hastily built labor camps in Alaska and the Yukon. Thousands died
along the way and many more in the first year of captivity. The
state-controlled press has gone absolutely silent on it.”
    “You said that the
Utah detainees were sent to labor camps,” Eaton went on, now
sitting at the edge of his seat. “Has your organization been able
to maintain communications with your people being held in those
camps?”
    “Certainly,” Linder
responded. “It’s one of the most important functions we have
until our people are set free. But it’s been extremely difficult.
Security at those northern camps is tighter than Area 51.”
    “How about
non-Mormons?” Kendall asked eagerly. “Are you also in contact
with other outlawed religious groups in the northern camps, like the
Quakers, Christian Scientists, Seventh Day Adventists and the like?”
    “Of course,” Linder
obliged. “You know the saying, ‘First, they came for the Jews.’
We learned that one right away.” He was on a roll at last, building
up the credibility he would need to draw the two men into his web.
    “How about the MIA’s
from the Manchurian War?” Kendall wanted to know. “Have you run
across any of them in the camps, or any Russian or Chinese POWs?”
    “Interesting
question,” Linder temporized. He knew well that the fate of missing
veterans from the Manchurian War was a highly charged issue all
across the country and remained a tightly guarded secret, even within
the DSS. If the apartment were bugged as Denniston had claimed, it
would be wise to avoid the topic.
    “Sorry, can’t help
you there,” Linder responded with a shrug. “It’s as if any
troops who made it back to Alaska disappeared the moment they arrived
on American soil. Strange.”
    “Do you have any idea
why?” Kendall probed. It was a thorny question, and by now Linder
felt he had scored enough points to let it go by.
    “Not yet, but we’re
working on it,” he replied.
    Before Linder could say
more, the kitchen door swung open and a dark-haired woman backed into
the room, carrying a large tray of sweet oriental pastries of the
kind that had been served at the restaurant less than an hour before.
    The instant she turned
around to face them, Linder recognized her as Patricia Eaton, now
Patricia Kendall, Roger’s wife. At thirty-eight, she remained a
stunning beauty. Linder could not resist staring at her glistening
dark eyes, mahogany hair, flawless olive complexion, and her trim
athletic figure. She wore a simple sleeveless linen dress that called
attention to her noble profile and her sleek shoulder-length hair,
which was tied at the nape of her neck with a plain blue ribbon.
    Though it had been
nearly two decades since he had seen her last, the sight of her
thrilled him anew and for several long seconds he could not resist
the urge to stare. She must have sensed this, for all at once she
raised her eyes to cast