(1) Sweetgrass Montana, 11:30 PM
A white SUV drove off and a plain light green sedan pulled up.
Customs Officer Michael Hughes held up his hand and the car stopped right at the line. He hated this. It was supposed to be his day off, but he took the shift for a friend who was celebrating his tenth wedding anniversary. They’re probably having dinner right now, he thought, in a nice warm restaurant. It was cold and raining and it was impossible to stay dry even under the drive-through. He knocked on the driver’s side window. It could be worse. It could be cold and raining and I could be bored on the Yukon border instead of here. The window, obscured by rain on the outside and condensation within, opened, revealing a single occupant. “Business or pleasure?”
“I was visiting friends. I’m going home now”
Hughes examined the driver’s papers. “Salt Lake City, That’s a drive!”
“Yeah. Might have to pull off the road for a while a little later. I’ve got a blanket in the back. We’ll see...”
Everything seemed OK so far.
“Do you have anything to declare?”
“No.” came the reply.
He looked at the driver. Something wasn’t right. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he could sense it.
Pointing, he said, “Sir, would you slowly drive over to that space on the left, please?”
He got to the vehicle’s driver-side door just as it opened. Another Customs Agent escorted the driver inside while Hughes popped open the trunk. It was empty. He opened the rear doors. There was just a knapsack with a few clothes laying on a blanket. Everything looked normal. He looked in the trunk again. Then back in the passenger area. He grinned. There was a space between the rear seats and the trunk!
“Jim! Get over here and help me with this!”
The two yanked and pulled on the seats until, finally, the seats gave way and contraband spilled loose.
The two officers were baffled. There had to be at least fifty cell phones. Who smuggles cell phones? If you want a cell phone, you just buy one.
They resumed their search, but there were no drugs, no nothing illegal. Just the phones.
As they threw the phones in a box, the officers noticed that these phones all had wires coming out of them. Hughes really wanted to hear this guy’s story. It was going to be interesting, and interesting things just don’t happen at this border crossing.
He’d just opened the door, and entered the Station when he heard a chaotic commotion.
“Get a doctor!” “Call 911!”
The driver was on the floor, convulsing, white foam frothing from his mouth. Some agents were holding him down, everyone else was just watching. Nobody seemed to know what to do. Suddenly his whole body arched stiffly, seemingly racked in intense pain, then, just a few seconds later, he collapsed and stopped moving, his mouth agape, his eyes gazing vacantly at the ceiling. He was dead.
“What the hell just happened?” Hughes demanded.
