Page 130 of Strays
When we step inside the building, we hit the security checkpoint. Two guards scan our IDs and check our belts. One of them waves the wand over Shane twice, then nods us toward the front desk.
Behind the glass reception window, a man sits at a terminal. He doesn’t even blink when I step up. “What’s your business today?” he asks.
“We’d like to speak with someone from the U.S. Attorney’s Office,” I say. “Preferably the U.S. Attorney himself.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No appointment. But it’s urgent. We’re from Special Ops, working with the DEA on a federal trafficking case.”
He stares for a moment, then picks up a phone and talks with someone.
We wait ten minutes. Then twenty. Finally, a woman in a dark suit comes down. She doesn’t introduce herself and stays behind the glass.
“I’ve been asked to inform you that the U.S. Attorney is unavailable,” she says. “No meetings are being granted at this time. If you have additional material to submit, it must be routed through your agency liaison or legal counsel.”
“We’ve done that,” Jay says. “Repeatedly. For weeks.”
“Then I suggest you continue through the appropriate channels,” she replies. “We cannot accept unscheduled visitors.”
We have no choice but to thank her calmly and politely. Showing up like this isn’t illegal, but we can’t afford even a hint of behavior that might be interpreted by humans as intimidation or disruption.
Despite the result, I don’t feel defeated. It was a long shot anyway. And we’ve only just begun. Since trying to speak with the U.S. Attorney in Jersey didn’t work, the next step is to aim higher: the Department of Justice.
It’s not common for agents — or any law enforcement, really — to reach out to the DOJ directly, but it isn’t illegal either. The DOJ is a public agency; anyone can call, email, or request a meeting, even civilians.
So we start calling. Same drill as before: one call a day, rotating between the three of us. We are always polite, just requesting to speak with someone from the Criminal Division or the Human Trafficking Prosecution Unit.
Every time, we’re redirected or told the line is unavailable. Sometimes we’re asked to leave a message, sometimes not. After a week, we’ve spoken to exactly zero officials and had no callbacks.
We’re being ignored. Deliberately.
At least at home, things are getting better and better. Jo’s situation with her co-workers and human patients hasn’t changed, and she hasn’t gotten to have her official gregalis clinic yet, but bit by bit and unofficially, it’s happening anyway.
She’s now handling the prenatal care of Makena, the Harris pack’s nyra, alongside the obstetrician, Dr. Moretti.
After treating the Solomons’ oldest son, Benjamin, she had them bring all the other kids back for check-ups and vaccine shots.
Then the Bielke pack’s fathers were in town visiting, and they brought one of them to see Jo at the hospital. Jo told us later, laughing, that the old man hadn’tbeen happy at all about his sons making him go. During the exam, he even called Otto a ‘pain in the ass’ for dragging him there. In the end, it was just an ingrown toenail, but it was infected enough that he could barely wear shoes without wincing.
But after Jo drained it, trimmed the nail, and bandaged him up, he thanked her and asked if she could take a look at one of his brothers too. Apparently, the brother has had this pain in his left ear that comes and goes for more than a year.
Jo was delighted, and her happiness was contagious, making us euphoric and a little bolder. My brothers and I start talking about making arrangements for a trip to D.C. to show up at the Department of Justice in person, just like we did at the New Jersey Attorney’s Office. We would need leaves from both the garrison and the DEA.
But before we can take the first step, D.C. comes to us.
It’s Tuesday morning. We’re still deep into physical training, dripping sweat, lungs burning from a brutal finisher set, when Josh steps into the room and calls us over.
His face is tight. “The whole Eneas pack is in the Command Room,” he says. “They’re waiting for you.”
Fuck. My. Life.
What the hell could’ve possibly happened to bring the entire Eneas pack all the way to Great Sky for us?
We move immediately. No time to rinse off, no time to change.
When we step into the Command Room, we see them: Commander Elias standing center, flanked by Julius on his left and Leon on his right. All in full uniform.
No greetings. No nods. Just pressure. Elias speaks first. “Close the door.”
