Edge of Battle

cross the border and respond to the location to investigate,” Jefferson said. “If it encounters any illegal migrants, they can detain them until Border Patrol officers arrive to make an arrest.”

“Let’s get to the bottom line, Sergeant Major,” the President interjected. “What’s this plan going to cost?”

“Personnel costs are approximately one hundred thousand dollars per month per base, or one hundred twenty million dollars per year. Total manpower required is approximately twenty-five hundred soldiers rotated among the facilities every week, or a total manpower commitment of ten thousand troops per month, or one billion dollars per year. Cost to operate the ground vehicles is eighty million dollars per year; cost to operate the helicopters and UAVs is approximately eight hundred million dollars per year. We estimate we will have approximately twenty-five thousand detainees in custody in our facilities; they will cost another billion dollars a year to feed, house, and provide support for them. This brings the total cost of this program to approximately three billion dollars a year, plus approximately a billion dollars to build the bases themselves.”

Lemke looked at the briefing slides projected onto the screen before him. “What about these detention facilities, Mr. Jefferson? Assuming your reaction teams work as advertised, what do you propose to do with the detainees you capture?”

“They will be held in detention facilities at each surveillance base until processed, sir,” Jefferson replied. “Each base will have facilities to house two hundred and fifty detainees. We anticipate that detainees will be held a minimum of thirty days until their identities, political status, and criminal records are checked; repeat offenders will be detained for longer periods of time, or transferred to other federal facilities.”

“You’re going to arrest them, Jefferson?” Lemke asked. “Women, children, old men—arrest them just for trying to cross the border, make a better life for themselves, and do work that others won’t do?”

“No, Mr. Secretary—we’re going to arrest them because they broke the law,” Jefferson said. “I did check, sir, and the United States still does have a law against crossing the borders outside of legal border crossing points or ports of entry. It does not mention any extenuating circumstances. There is no age limit, medical qualification, or lawful purpose for doing so except for political asylum: it is still illegal.”

“Don’t get smart with me, Jefferson!” Lemke snapped. “I’m very well aware of the law—I’m the one chosen to enforce it, not you.”

“And I’m very well aware of my duties, Mr. Secretary,” Jefferson shot back. “There is a national security issue here, especially apparent after the murders of the four Border Patrol agents near Blythe.”

“If the attackers were wearing uniforms and helmets,” the President interjected, “it seems to me there would be no question in anyone’s mind that the United States was under attack and that there was a national security deficiency here. Why is there a question now, Jeffrey—because the illegal migrants are old, young, or female?”

“To me, sir, it’s a question of whether someone committing an illegal border crossing is entitled to due process,” Lemke said after an uncomfortable pause, unaccustomed to being queried directly by the President of the United States. “It is assumed, and I think everyone here will agree, that putting the military on the borders by definition means that we’re taking away due process…”

“And I would disagree, Mr. Secretary,” Jefferson interjected. “The military has for many years assisted law enforcement, and it would be no different here. The Bureau of Customs and Border Protection would still be one of the lead agencies involved in Operation Rampart; the military would be in a major support role.”

Lemke held up Jefferson’s presentation outline. “I think the question of who is in charge would be a subject of considerable debate, Sergeant Major Jefferson, since you propose putting a military officer in charge of the operation,” he said. He dropped the outline back on the table and shook his head as if very frustrated and confused. “So your task force finds and detains the migrants crossing the border and you put them in your detention facility. Are they allowed to be bailed out?”

“They are subject to normal criteria for release imposed by a federal judge,” Jefferson replied. “As far as I’m aware, the prevailing criteria are government-issued identification, U.S. resident or resident alien status, a verified U.S. address, and no outstanding wants or warrants. Most illegal migrants would not fall under these criteria and would probably be held without bail or at a higher bond amount.”

“So you’re going to build a hundred of these Guantanamo Bay–like prison facilities right here in the U.S.?” Lemke asked incredulously. “Are they allowed to have legal representation, or do we just allow the International Red Cross to visit them?”

“Who’s being sarcastic now, Secretary Lemke?” Jefferson asked. “I see no reason to withhold legal assistance or representation. They may prefer to waive their right to trial and accept detention rather than risk being held in detention for an unknown number of days until their case comes to trial.”

“So it’s like getting a speeding ticket, eh, Jefferson?” Lemke asked derisively. “Pull ’em over, throw ’em in a camp, and make ’em sign a confession? If they plead guilty they spend a couple weeks in a camp?”

“We feel the loss of income from being detained would provide some measure of deterrent for many migrants, yes, sir.”

“When was the last time you visited a federal detention facility or even a medium-sized county jail, Sergeant Major?” Lemke asked. “You could have hundreds, perhaps thousands, staying there for months, including children —are you prepared to handle that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And then they spend a couple weeks in a camp—where, by the way, their living conditions might be markedly better than their conditions either in Mexico or on a farm—and then what? Your only option is to deport them, and everyone knows that becomes a simple revolving door—they’ll try to make another border crossing as soon as they’re able. You took away all those weeks of income, so they’ll be even more hard-pressed to try a crossing again. You’ll have to expend the time, energy, manpower, and money into recapturing the same immigrant over and over again.”

“First of all, Secretary Lemke: the mere fact that this program will be difficult, expensive, and manpower- intensive shouldn’t be the major disqualifying factor,” Jefferson said. “Government’s duty is to uphold the law and protect the citizens—as far as I’m aware, how much such duties cost has never been a criteria for whether or not it should be done.”

“It’s a criteria if Congress says it is, Sergeant Major,” Lemke pointed out.

“Second: we have technology that may allow us to help in identification,” Jefferson went on. “Major Richter?”

Jason stood up, then held up an oblong pill the size of a large vitamin tablet. “It’s called NIS, pronounced ‘nice’—nanotransponder identification system.”

“Cute name—obviously trying to make it sound pleasant and peaceful,” Lemke said, chuckling. He motioned to Richter, who brought the device over so Lemke could examine it. “What is it…a suppository?” The audience broke out in strained laughter. “Pardon me, Major, but I think getting rid of that won’t be much of a problem.”

“Not a suppository, sir—a system that implants thousands of tiny microtransceivers throughout the body,” Major Richter explained. “The transceivers are powered by the human body itself and emit an identification signal when interrogated by another transmitter, much the same as an aircraft transponder transmits the aircraft altitude when interrogated by air traffic control radar. The cells last for years and can’t be shut down by the body’s normal immunological system.”

“You have got to be kidding me, Major Richter,” Jeffrey Lemke said, looking at the tablet in amazement, then putting it down on the table in front of him as if worried that the little robotic cells could slip under his skin and invade his body. “You actually expect someone to swallow one of those things?”

“Yes, sir, I do,” Jason said. “In fact, I already have.”

“What…?”

“Two days ago, when I was first briefed by Sergeant Major Jefferson that I’d be giving this briefing,” Jason said. Ariadna Vega walked up, carrying a device that resembled a short baseball bat, and pressed a button. After a short wait, one of the overhead electronic screens presented a list of information. “Dr. Vega is demonstrating a prototype NIS scanner,” Jason explained. “The scanner is sending out a coded digital interrogation signal, and the NIS devices respond with their individual code number. The NIS system can then call up information on the person.”

“Why are there three lines of information on you, Major?”