The court was dead quiet now. Everyone paying close attention. Mona could taste blood on her tongue.
“Asylum law requires that the social group claiming prosecution be visible, Counsel,” said the judge. “Otherwise, it’s not a group. Now, how in the world are you going to convince this court that women in Mexico who experience domestic abuse are visible as a distinct group? Do they meet at a clubhouse? Do they wear distinctive clothing?”
“For some groups, being visible is just too dangerous, Your Honor.”
Before she could expand on that, the judge interrupted her with his own train of thought. “And what I want to know is, if Ms. Vega felt so threatened by her spouse, why didn’t she just leave him? She didn’t need to sneak into the United States in the trunk of a car just to get away from him. She could’ve just moved to another town within Mexico.”
“Ms. Vega’s abuser has a reach much greater than most, Your Honor. He’s a high-ranking member of the Caballeros de Cristos cartel. He could get to her pretty much anywhere in Mexico. Internal relocation is not a reasonable option for Ms. Vega.”
“Then why didn’t she just go to the police?”
Mona almost laughed. “Your Honor, the present state of security in Mexico prevents Ms. Vega from having any confidence that the police could or would provide her with adequate protection. Her only reasonable recourse was to leave the country entirely.”
The judge gave an exasperated wave of the hand and leaned back in his chair. “I’m losing patience, Ms. Jimenez. Women are not a group, the defendant’s asylum request is not plausible, and I’m dismissing your motion. You’ve wasted enough of my time already. This is an arraignment, and your client must enter a plea. But before she does,” he said, tipping himself forward, that supercilious smile returning to his face, “I want to make sure she understands her rights. I would hate anyone to accuse me of denying Ms. Vega due process.”
“Your Honor—”
“No, that’s enough, Counsel. Sit down.” The judge told Carmen to stand. He asked her to confirm her name, nationality, and age. Then he said, “Carmen Vega, do you understand that you are facing two years’ incarceration in a federal institution? And that at the end of any sentence you may serve, you will be returned to the custody of ICE, who will remove you from the United States?”
There was a delay while the interpreter did her job.
“Sí,” said Carmen.
“And do you understand that after your removal, you will be banned from returning to the United States for a further ten years, or face felony charges carrying penalties of up to ten years in jail?”
Carmen said she did.
“Then I hope, for your sake, that your lawyer bore all that in mind when she advised you on what to say today,” said the judge. “Carmen Vega, to the charge of illegal reentry after removal, how do you plead?”
Carmen glanced anxiously at Mona. Mona gave her a reassuring nod. Carmen took a breath, straightened her back, and said, “Inocente.”
Unnecessarily, the interpreter interpreted. There followed a long silence.
“The court has noted that the defendant has pleaded not guilty to the charge of illegal reentry after removal, 8 USC 1326,” said the judge in a flat tone. “The court will now set a tentative schedule for trial.” Another long silence while he looked at something on his desk, Mona figured a calendar. Finally, he set a date sixty days hence, saying that was the earliest slot available. Mona knew that sixty days was the maximum delay allowed between arraignment and trial. Judge Ross didn’t need to wait sixty days, she thought. He was doing it to punish her. She stood up.
“Your Honor, given the extraordinarily long delay until trial, we move that the court review Ms. Vega’s bail status,” she said.
“Motion denied. I don’t grant bail to illegal entries, Ms. Jimenez. They just disappear into the population. The defendant can stay at Paradise Detention Center with the rest of them. Be grateful, Counsel; at least there, she’ll be safe.”
“Then I move that the court set an earlier date.”
The judge gave a theatrical sigh. “I wish I could accommodate you, Ms. Jimenez. However, as you can see, mine is a busy court. Sixty days is the earliest I can do.”
Judge Ross brought down his gavel, stood, and disappeared through the door to his chambers. Mona turned to Carmen. The bailiff was already putting the shackles back on her ankles.
FIVE
THE following Monday, Finn got up early, drove over to Torrance, picked up Gomez, then drove sixty miles east on the Riverside Freeway to March Air Reserve Base.
“You call the union?” said Gomez.
“No. You?”
Gomez shook his head.
“I was going to, but then I figured, I’m still getting paid. Why not take it easy for a while out at Riverside? Learn something new. Let things run their course.”
“You’re not wrong.”
“Also, I did Taser him. There’s no denying that.”
“You did. Any regrets?” said Finn.
“Hell no.”
They talked shit about Figueroa for a while, then fell into an easy silence.
At March Air Reserve Base, they went through one security checkpoint at the perimeter, then a second one at the AMOC campus located within the base. An agent met them at the security gate. Young and friendly, she introduced herself as Leela. Finn only learned her last name—Santos—from her name tag. From the badge on her arm, he learned that she was a detection enforcement officer. She wore thick-rimmed spectacles and two diamond studs in each ear. He and Gomez followed her into a plain, warehouse-type structure that, Leela informed them, was known as Building 605C.
“605C. Pretty bland name for a place that watches half the world,” said Gomez.
“This isn’t a place that wants to draw attention to itself,” said Leela.
“How long have you been at AMOC?” said Finn.
“A year.”
“What were you doing before?”
“Before I joined CBP, you mean? I worked in retail while I was at college.”
“You went straight to AMOC out of college?”
“Yup.”
“What did you study at college?”
“Computer science.”
Finn nodded. Before he’d joined the CBP, he’d served in the navy’s Maritime Expeditionary Security Force in Iraq during the insurgency, guarding oil terminals from sabotage. Klein was right. Times were changing.
They came to a set of doors that required Leela to use her swipe card. Finn heard the door’s locking mechanism click, and he followed her and Gomez into a vast, dimly lit room.
“Welcome to the AMOC nerve center,” said Leela.
At the far end was a screen maybe eight feet high and thirty feet wide, onto which were projected four separate radar displays. The one in the center covered the entire continental United States. Finn recognized the outline of Florida on the right side of the screen, covered with thousands of moving green crosses. Below the wall screen were several rows of cubicles, along which were arranged dozens of monitors. There were about seventy or eighty people in the room, their faces softly lit by the monitors’ glow. It occurred to Finn that he hadn’t been in a command and control center like this since Iraq.