CHAPTER 9 

THE SANCTUARY 

 Since there were no direct flights from Las Vegas to Taos, the two FBI agents had to fly to the nearest major airport, which was Albuquerque, New Mexico. However, to reach Albuquerque, they had to first fly to Phoenix, wait an hour and then catch a connecting flight. It took almost four hours to complete the eight-hundred-mile trip. Agent Tully was a big man; he had not appreciated being sardined into those narrow airline seats. 

To prepare for their meeting with The Sanctuary, Agent Connors had tried to gather as much information on it as he could. Little more than an address and a phone number was found. Tax records disclosed that their full legal name was The Sanctuary of the Chosen. 

The Internal Revenue Service in Washington confirmed that under the law The Sanctuary met all the criteria of a legitimate church. They were unable to provide any details on who or what The Sanctuary worshipped. Their unofficial assessment was that their church status was a tax dodge.  When Connor asked why they allowed such a tax avoidance ploy, they said that top management in the Revenue Service had told the IRS to leave them alone.  

In their annual review of tax returns the tax agents had seen the generous contributions The Sanctuary had made to both political parties.  Connor's contact had concluded that The Sanctuary was being protected by New Mexico politicians. 

When Connor asked, the IRS, what were the criteria that made The Sanctuary a church and thus exempt from taxes? They replied that they had to register as a church, and that they had to have a religious history.  When he asked, what they meant by religious history, the tax people replied that it was a written record of what the church believed in and how they expressed their beliefs. They also had to meet to express these beliefs under a leader who had to be part of a defined hierarchy.  The IRS pointed out that a church need not have anything to do with Christianity or any established religion.  

The IRS agreed with Connor that almost any group could organize itself as a church if it followed those rules.  Connor shook his head in disbelief. 

An agent, from the FBI’s Albuquerque office, was assigned to meet them at the airport and drive them to Taos.  With Michael Asino’s high political profile in the South West and the fact that the casino robbery was now a murder case, getting budget approval for the trip had not been difficult.  

The Albuquerque special agent meeting them turned out to be a woman.  She was standing holding a small sign with Agent Connor’s name on it as they exited the plane.  She introduced herself as Mary Beth Corrado. Since they were carrying no luggage, she used her FBI ID card, to lead them around all the normal security barriers.  They were sitting in her car ten minutes later. Connors insisted that he had to sit in the front passenger seat. He said if he were not driving that he would get carsick if he sat in rear seat.  Tully took the rear seat but was not happy about it. 

Only twenty percent of the FBI’s agents are female.  Tully and Connors were part of the elite, chauvinistic, Criminal Investigative Division. They were surprised that the Albuquerque office had assigned a female agent to assist them with a murder investigation. Most of the female special agents worked in the Directorate of Intelligence or in the Cyber Division. 

Mary Beth had learned to put up with the macho guys from Criminal Investigations.  She knew what Tully and Connors were thinking. 

She answered their unspoken question, “We’re short staffed today.  I was the only one available to drive you up to Taos. I work in Intelligence doing risk analysis and foreign language translations.  I’m fluent in four. It’s nice to get out in the field for a change. A great day for a drive.” 

Connors grunted a neutral response. 

Mary Beth continued, “I wasn’t given a chance to read anything on this case.  All I know is that there is an organization in Taos that is connected to a killing in Nevada.  What do you think you will find up there?” 

Connors liked discussing the cases he was working on.  Sometimes, fresh eyes caught insights into motives and behavior that he might have missed.  Mary Beth seemed bright.  Maybe her analytical background might raise questions that he missed.  He and Tully filled Mary Beth in on what they knew.  She listened and absorbed it all but said little.  After they had exhausted the case, the three of them spent the rest of the two hours talking shop.  They learned that the Albuquerque office suffered the same internal political frustrations that they encountered in the bigger Las Vegas office.  

Mary Beth keyed in The Sanctuary’s address into her GPS.  It led them to a dirt road, on the outskirts of Taos. It stretched from the highway into the empty desert.  Far off in the distance, they saw the white adobe walls of buildings surrounded by trees. One three story building, with a pyramid shaped structure on top of it, soared above the rest. There were no signs indicting where this dirt road led. 

Halfway, between the highway and the buildings, they encountered a six-foot high, chain link fence. It seemed to stretch for miles.  Where the fence crossed the road, there was a large rolling gate.  A small guard hut sat  next to that gate.  As they came to a stop, a uniformed guard approached their car through a smaller pedestrian gate. 

Another Albuquerque agent, not Mary Beth, had arranged for them to meet with the leader of The Sanctuary.  She showed the security guard her ID and told him that they were meeting with Winston Hawkins. Despite their efforts to be anonymous, the plain, large, dark grey car fooled no one.  It looked like a police car trying to appear inconspicuous. 

The guard studied her ID against a clip board he was holding.  He reached into his shirt pocket and extracted a shiny sheet with small white circles on it. Small numbers were faintly printed on the circles. Peeling one off, he indicated that Mary Beth should let him stick the small, round, flexible, plastic sticker in the area just above where her right thumb and her forefinger meet.  At each of the car's windows, the guard checked their identification, wrote in his clipboard and fastened similar stickers to their hands.  He told them they could now proceed to the only three story building on the campus.  He returned to the air-conditioned hut and a few seconds later, the large gate rolled open.  The agents drove toward the pyramid rising above the trees. 

As they approached the buildings, Mary Beth expressed her surprise at how large the campus was.  Hundreds of young men, mostly teenagers, dressed in white shirts and black pants were scurrying between classes from building to building.  She slowed to a crawl, to avoid hitting any of them.  The students gave the car a curious, but polite stare.  They made the FBI agents feel like aliens from another planet. 

Above the main entrance to the three-story building, was a sign reading Hawkins Hall. The agents parked in a slot close to the entrance.  They piled out and made their way inside to a reception area. An attractive, middle aged, woman seated behind a long counter greeted them. 

Since Taos was in the FBI’s Albuquerque jurisdiction, Mary Beth took the lead.  She explained who they were.  The receptionist checked a list. It confirmed their appointment.  She then whispered into a phone. In a few minutes, an attractive, well dressed, young woman entered the reception area and asked them to accompany her. 

Winston Hawkins’ administrative assistant, led them down a hall to an elevator which took them up to the third floor. The elevator opened into a small anteroom with a desk which the agents assumed was their guide’s.  She opened a door behind the desk and held it open for them.  As soon as they entered, she closed the door behind them and returned to her desk. 

 The room they had ventured into was a large, private office. It took up the entire floor.  The large, floor to ceiling windows, on all four sides, displayed endless stretches of desert underneath bright blue skies. 

Winston Hawkins stood waiting for them inside the door.  He was tall, thin, with a full head of white hair and a trimmed beard. He gave them a warm, friendly smile, shook their hands and led them to a large conference table in a corner of the room. 

Seated across from Winston,  the agents took out their notebooks and opened them. Connor glanced at the questions he had prepared.  Mary Beth and Tully stared at agent Connor and waited for him to begin.  As lead investigator, they expected Connor to start the questions. 

 Connor asked, "Do I address you as Reverend Hawkins, Doctor Hawkins or what?" 

“No, no, no, I prefer just plain, old, Winston.” 

“Winston, we are here on a murder investigation.  A few days ago, during the robbery of an armored truck, at the Cheers Casino in Laughlin, Nevada, a guard was killed.  Perhaps you read about it or saw it on television?                                                                                                    

“No, we get little outside news here.  What possible connection could a robbery in Nevada have with The Sanctuary?” 

“We believe it involves a suspect, by the name of John Cross.  Our investigation has also led us to believe that there is a connection between him and The Sanctuary.” 

Before he replied, Winston Hawkins looked perplexed by this statement, “I know a John Cross.  He was a student on this campus a few years ago, but I find it difficult to believe that he could ever kill and rob someone. The Sanctuary takes care of its own. If they have a need, they only need to ask for help.  A mistake must have been made.” 

Connor knew that The Sanctuary had owned 15% of John Cross’ company but Hawkins had not mentioned their share in FICA. Connor pursued that omission, “During our preliminary investigation, we also learned that The Sanctuary” owned a significant percentage of John Cross’ collection agency.” 

He let that hang in the air, waiting to see how Hawkins would respond. 

“That is possible.  We own shares in thousands of companies. You should understand that the reason The Sanctuary exists is to develop entrepreneurs, capitalists.  Capitalists create corporations.  We have provided thousands of our graduates with their initial seed money in return for an equity position in their businesses.  In addition, they pay us a tithe on their company’s annual earnings. It is a legitimate charitable expense for them.  This flow of revenue, from all our graduates, finances our saving of poor, deprived, abandoned orphans. We rescue them from a living hell and turn them into productive, successful members of society.” 

“I don’t understand.  Why do your graduates continue to support your church years after they have left the campus?” 

“Because the church has given them a purpose in life.  They too suffered as children but we saved them.  It is a way for them to repay The Sanctuary for what we did for them. They agreed when we first took them in that they would do it. Most of all, they do it, because it is the right thing to do.” 

“It seems like a lot to expect from them.” 

“We think it is a fair exchange. At our expense, for ten years, we prepared them and gave them an education superior to any other institution in the world.  They were illiterate, starving and ignorant when we saved them. We fed them, protected them and prepared to them to be winners, in what is a harsh, challenging world.  After those ten years, we send them on a two-year mission to find and save abandoned children, who are as ignorant and lost as they once were.  They know that when they have fulfilled their mission that they will have qualified for seed money from the church to establish their business.   Their only commitment is to transfer 15% of their corporate shares and 15% of their annual profits to The Sanctuary.” 

“How willing are they to pay this 15 percent tithe? 

“Very willing. As a group, we have more millionaires per capita among our graduates than the graduates of any other educational institution in the world. Our graduates are capitalists.  The Sanctuary has guided them to financial success. Our graduates assist each other in growing their wealth.” 

“Surely, every graduate who receives this seed money does not become wealthy? Very few new businesses survive for even five years.” 

“Our entrepreneurs have set backs but they never fail. They can only fail if they stop trying.” 

“What happens when they do fail and you lose your investment?” 

“You must understand, that to our graduates, The Sanctuary is their everything; their mother, their father, their identity and their family. We are the center of their lives and they are the center of our lives.  We do not recognize failure.  Our stake in their companies allows us to see what is going on and to step in and fix things.  If a business was beyond salvage, we would look on that setback as a learning experience and would finance them on their next entrepreneurial venture.” 

 “John Cross was one of these recruits?” 

“We refer to them as Sanctuarians and yes he was one of us.” 

“Has he been on the campus in the last month?” 

“To the best of my knowledge, he has not.  It has been several years since he has been here.” 

“Is it possible that he is here now and you would not know of it?” 

“No, that is not possible.” 

“How can you be so sure?” 

Winston Hawkins smiled before he replied, “Have you wondered about the white patches that we stuck to your hands when you came in?” 

“Yes, security badges would have seemed more appropriate.” 

“Well, embedded in those patches are microchips. Every Sanctuarian on this campus, or who has ever lived or worked on this campus, has a microchip injected in their right hands between their thumbs and forefingers.  Scanners, throughout the campus, let us know where everyone is.  That microchip can even let us know what they had for lunch if we really wanted to know.” 

Winston Hawkins stood up and walked over to his desk and picked up a small computer tablet and brought it back to table.  He put it down on the table in front of them.  He pressed an app that said “Campus” and then tapped in John Cross’ name. The computer responded with “STATUS: NOT ON CAMPUS” and displayed the date of his last campus visit. It was three years ago.” 

“Would you contact us if he showed up here?” 

“I would.  The Sanctuary prides itself on keeping a low profile.  We gain nothing by drawing attention to ourselves and having a murderer on campus would draw attention to us.  We have lawyers, on staff, who spend a great deal of time steering us clear of any unfortunate exposures.” 

What Hawkins had deliberately omitted telling them, was that he was also able to scan for John Cross nationally.   The large national alarm company, that had installed the microchip sensors on campus, had a network of sensors installed in a hundred thousand locations across the country. 

“While we did obtain a search warrant, would I be correct in saying that you would give us complete access to all the records you have on John Cross. We are looking for clues that would lead us to him.” 

“By all means.  On your way out, my administrative assistant will provide you a print out of the contents of the file we have on John Cross.” 

He picked up the phone and made that request.  As he hung up Agent Connor asked, “Would it be possible for you to give us some background on The Sanctuary? For example, are you a Christian church?” 

“No, we are not a Christian church but that doesn’t mean we don’t respect Christians. Our founder, my father, Jack Hawkins, was a World War II veteran.  The war affected him greatly. After what he experienced, he no longer related to organized religion.  He was one of the first soldiers to see the horrors of the German extermination camps. The plight of the refugees, after the war, especially the abandoned orphans, troubled him.  It left him with a great desire to help them. He was not a rich man but providing limited help was possible.  He started with one abandoned orphan.  A twelve-year-old Polish boy, that my father got into the United States by claiming he was an orphaned nephew.  Immigration laws then were not as strict as they are now. A few months later he brought in another. Soon he was taking care of ten of these kids.” 

“That would require a lot of money.” 

“Yes, it did.  It turned out, my father was an entrepreneurial genius. Responsibility, for these children, gave him the incentive to make more money than he would ever have made working for someone. Just after the war, with all the servicemen returning, there was a huge demand for consumer goods. The economy was booming. My father worked out a deal with a Japanese electronics company that had built radios for the Japanese army during the war.  They supplied him with the tubes and the parts that he assembled into cheap radios.  The kids spent part of each day, after school, assembling radios. My dad would then go on the road, selling these radios out of the trunk of his car. The business took off and spread. Soon, he had to move the business out of the house into bigger and bigger facilities. Within a few years, he had thousands of employees. While the orphaned kids, he had first helped, showed gratitude for the food and shelter he had provided, what they most appreciated was being part of a successful business.  As my father’s business, had grown each of them had evolved into outstanding executives working for him. Each of them, had then established their own business.” 

Hawkins paused for effect, “This gave my father an idea. If he could help ten boys to become successful entrepreneurs, then he could help many others. If a percentage of the profits from each of his boy's future business was donated, he would be able to help thousands, of abandoned children. He recognized that he would have to find the brightest and the most aggressive of abandoned street children. They had to be able to  appreciate the opportunity they were being offered and be willing to share their wealth with The Sanctuary for the rest of their lives.  My dad visualized a result oriented curriculum focused on entrepreneurship. What you are seeing today on this campus, results from his thinking.  It worked.” 

Mary Beth asked something that had been puzzling her, “I saw only young men on the campus.  Are there no women in your program?” 

“No there aren’t.” 

“Why would that be?” 

“It isn’t that we haven’t considered it but to be honest, it would complicate things and increase our costs.  Since our aim is to invest as much money as possible in saving as many children as possible, we were unable to cost justify saving girls.” 

Mary Beth’s face showed she did not like the answer but she did not question Winston’s response.  Connor asked, “Where does this, church thing, come into it and the Sanctuary name?” 

“The name sanctuary is just another word for church.  The church thing, as you referred to it, came about when my father learned that churches did not pay taxes. My father was no fool. He believed that the money he was paying in taxes would be better directed to helping abandoned children.  A lawyer who saw the good work he was doing, helped him get the church legally recognized.  My father found no problem in meeting the requirements of being an established, distinct, legal church entity with a religious history.  A church, having a religious history, is open to interpretation. It is rather meaningless requirement.  Capitalism, filled the requirement for our recognized creed.  Three outstanding books on entrepreneurship and investing were our bibles. We fulfil the requirement for a form of worship and having regular religious services by our Saturday luncheon meetings.  Mind you, only those who have a real problem they want to discuss, show up for them.   Our ordained ministers are the administrators and teachers we employ.” 

“What were the three books you mentioned?” 

Currently, they are Jason Fried’s, Rework; Charles Duhigg’s, The Power of Habit and Benjamin Graham’s, The Intelligent Investor. When Sanctuarians come across better books, then these three, then we consider substituting the new books. We like to be current and relevant.” 

The four agents wrote the names of the books and authors down.  Connor asked, “No God is part of it?” 

“Do you mean some kind of all-powerful, all-seeing entity, floating around on a cloud who sees little sparrows fall and controls everything that occurs?” 

“Yeah.” 

 “Because of his wartime experience, my father was unable to accept that an all-powerful God could  exist. No God would have tolerated the extermination of millions of Jews, the dropping of the atomic bomb on Hiroshima and the starving to death of millions of innocent children. What he believed in was capitalism and that people pursue what is in their own selfish interest. He saw that entrepreneurs maximizing their profits benefit everyone. They do what is right for their customers so that the customers will keep on buying from them.  Profits tell companies what is worth producing or abandoning. To him capitalism was the absolute motivator and the only true explanation for everything good and bad in this world. He selfishly turned abandoned street children into successful entrepreneurs.  These kids selfishly pursued profits that they shared with The Sanctuary, who selfishly used these funds to save even more children.” 

This was too much for Mary Beth, she asked, “Wouldn’t the ancient Ten Commandments be better laws to guide you than capitalism?” 

“Whether you call them commandments, laws or rules, they are political tools meant to control the masses. All rules are open to interpretation by the powerful. Without power, laws are unenforceable. Politicians and capitalists use conventional religion to justify their questionable actions.  Religious rules keep the masses obedient and compliant.  The Sanctuary avoids running into conflicts with the law of the land but it is not afraid to dispute laws that it does not see as profiting mankind.  You must understand, that these lawless, godless children were searching for meaning and security in a complex, hostile, insecure world.  With us, they found a logical, tangible rule to guide them.” 

Mary Beth, with her ritual of going to church on Sunday, praying, singing hymns and reading the bible, saw that he was rejecting her Christian teachings.  She was intelligent.  She accepted that in the real world, any object that provides no hard evidence of its existence is imaginary. This did not stop her from believing that God’s existence must remain hidden because if he proved his existence that would take away the need for faith. 

It was impossible for her to let Winston’s statement go unchallenged.  She interjected, “I thought that the Ten Commandments are simple rules for anyone to live by?” 

“Not all that simple, or your religion would not have fractured into a multitude of competing faiths. Sanctuarian’s have only one commandment. They measure every decision in their life against it.” 

Surprised, she asked “What is that commandment?” 

“All actions that profit mankind are good and all actions that do not profit mankind, are bad.” 

“That sounds too simplistic. I am not sure I even understand it. For example, is theft good or bad?” 

“That depends on the theft. Money stolen from a constructive, positive project would be bad because mankind is not benefitting. However money stolen, from someone who was not using it positively would be good if it benefited mankind.” 

“Surely selling heroin to junkies would be bad.” 

“Sanctuarians look beyond the obvious. If the profits, from the sales of heroin, fed thousands of starving children, it would be good. Why? Because saving people's lives is a positive. There is a net benefit to mankind.” 

“Well, if that is the case then surely murder would be bad?” 

 “Not necessarily, if through murder, you saved your own life or your loved one’s' life or perhaps you murdered a potential terrorist destined to murder thousands of people. These would be a positive benefit to mankind.  You must look beyond the obvious.” 

“Sanctuarians have reduced everything to the ends justifying the means. This can be very dangerous.” 

“Yes, it can be a challenge. Every Saturday, those Sanctuarians, who are facing such challenges, meet to discuss and debate the difficulties of living in a society where the authorities only superficially look at what is good or bad. Most people obey the law, like sheep. Sanctuarians don’t. Unlike them, we know why we obey laws.” 

“So, Sanctuarians can obey or to not obey the laws of the United States?” 

“As much as it is possible, they obey the laws of the United States but we have martyrs who will sacrifice their lives to profit mankind.” 

“Are you saying that Sanctuarians can act as judge and jury? That our nation’s laws are for everyone but Sanctuarians? That all our laws are open to interpretation?  Are you saying that Sanctuarians can decide that someone is standing in the way of profiting mankind and can then kill them?” 

“As a last resort, yes. Is this any different from soldiers being sent to kill strangers, just because Congress has declared war against some poor, tiny nation, thousands of miles away. Democracy is a tyranny of the majority and the majority may or may not make a right decision. Sanctuarians make their own right decision, regarding whether someone is standing in the way of profiting mankind.” 

“Does this mean you have no heaven or hell?” 

“No heaven. No hell.  Any reward or punishment, that we receive for our decisions, will be in this world, in this life.   The happy, successful people of The Sanctuary share their wealth. They help others.  Why? Because they have true empathy.  Every one of them, first suffered before a Sanctuarian saved them. They understand the marvels of receiving help.  Helping is not a prerogative of just established religions. Sanctuarians understand that their ultimate purpose in life is to help the hardened, desperate children that society, and its traditional churches, have ignored and abandoned. All Sanctuarians die, knowing they have profited mankind. When they die, they accept that the only thing they leave behind is a disposable shell. Their spirit lives on, in the lives of those whom they have saved, just as those they save, will become Sanctuarians, and perpetuate the benefiting of mankind.  This will go on forever.” 

Tully brought it back to the murder investigation, “How would you explain John Cross murdering this armored truck guard?” 

“First, you don’t need me, to tell you, that someone is innocent until proven guilty. However, if he did it, then it was an accident or some form of payback.  Someone was standing in the way of profiting mankind.  His motivation would not have been greed. This would not be a simple robbery. Something else would have had to have occurred.” 

The two agents from Las Vegas looked at each other and acknowledged that they had a motive.  They now understood why John Cross had dared to strike back at Asino. He had stolen John’s company, and that company was an important source of revenue for The Sanctuary whose commitment was to profiting mankind. 

Connor, suddenly feared for his safety. With his elbow, he nudged the butt of his hidden Glock with his elbow, for reassurance. He knew he should have no reason to fear this, harmless, white haired Sanctuarian, but he did not deny the fear of knowing that, if Winston concluded that these FBI agents were standing in the way of profiting mankind, they would never leave this compound alive.  To threaten The Sanctuary was the same as threatening mankind. A thousand fanatical Sanctuarians on the campus would not hesitate to sacrifice their lives to remove a negative threat to mankind.  Each FBI agent only had seventeen bullets in their Glocks. 

It was time to escape the confines of The Sanctuary. To Connor, it was like swimming in a Louisiana swamp and learning that what you thought were logs floating around you, turned out to be man eating alligators. 

Connor brought the meeting to an end. He now realized they had nothing more to gain here. If the Sanctuarians knew where Cross was, they would not see, telling the FBI where he was, as being of any benefit to mankind. The longer they stayed in this compound, the greater the chances were that the Sanctuarians would see these FBI agents as a threat to mankind. 

Taking a business card out of his suit’s breast pocket and placing it on the table Agent Connor said, “Winston, thank you, for your help in this investigation.  If Cross shows up, please phone me at this number.” 

“Would you stay for lunch?” 

“Thank you for your kind invitation but we have a plane to catch in Albuquerque.” 

The three agents stood and left.  Before they had reached the car, all three had peeled off their hands and crumbled the round, white security patches.  They threw them on the ground as if the patches were diseased. 

On the drive, back to Albuquerque, they reviewed the meeting.  All three agents agreed that they had felt intimidated in it.  Yet, they found difficulty in explaining why they felt that way. As the embodiment of the most powerful government in the world, they expected to be the intimidating factor.   Had they encountered something with a power beyond their comprehension? 

 As soon as the three agents left, Winston Hawkins searched for John Cross in the security company’s national sensor system.  If a Sanctuarian passed close to an automated teller machine or rested their hand close to a monitor in a bank, the security company’s system would pick up their microchip. The last time a sensor had picked up Cross’ microchip was at a truck stop in Tucson, Arizona, two days ago. He had now disappeared. 

As the agents drove into Albuquerque to catch their return flight, Connor received a phone call from the Las Vegas FBI office. John Cross’s Cadillac had been found parked on a street, a few blocks north of the Mexican border crossing at Nogales, Arizona. 

Connor, believed that this must mean that Cross was now in Mexico. With the three and a half million dollars in cash, he was carrying, Connor knew that in Mexico John would be able to buy a new identity and protect himself from extradition for the rest of his life.