I can’t stop replaying in my mind the first thing I saw when I clicked on this video link. Janet clipped her phone back to the waistband of her scrubs. She’d been doing something with it. Then it didn’t seem to work anymore. I called it and it didn’t ring.

She activated the surveillance system. Then she turned off her phone, making sure no one could reach her.

“This is funny though. Was I right?” Lucy pries up another tile. “Their ground-penetrating radar in their overkill chopper wasn’t going to find anything down here.”

I hear stone rubbing against stone as she slides tiles out of the way, and then she lifts out three more. Under them are a sheet of steel and a control box of some type. Lucy enters a code and presses a button. An electric motor hums to life. The metal subflooring begins to move, to open like a hatch.

She drops in the pry bar, the shovel, and they disappear in the void and clatter loudly at the bottom. There’s a ladder, and Lucy climbs down into a subterranean hideaway that I’ve never known about before now. It’s like her sound-masking boathouse and her Cone of Silence rock garden. It’s like so much I’m finding out. I hear the shovel scraping. Who else is seeing this or will? It’s an incredible thought that Janet might be the one spoofing Lucy’s ICE phone number and making sure I’m watching.

If only I could talk to Lucy right now.

“Everything all right?” Janet calls down to her. “You okay?”

“Roger that.” Lucy’s voice is muffled, and she’s out of range inside this secret place where she stashes possessions that are on the warrant but were missed.

Lucy knows exactly how federal agents conduct searches. When she puts her mind to it she can outsmart their every procedure, protocol and technology. I watch her lifting ammunition boxes up through the opening, setting them on the floor and pushing them to one side. She lifts out a sleek assault rifle with a silvery metallic finish, a Nemo Omen Win Mag .300 that she gently sets on the tarp.

This is followed by another one with a different finish on the receiver, and I recognize firearms that Lucy calls deadly works of art. I’ve shot them before, and I watch her continue to obstruct justice. It doesn’t matter that I don’t blame her. It’s of no consequence that what the FBI is doing to her is an outrage. Her behavior is criminal and they’d arrest her instantly if they knew, and I watch as she climbs up out of the pit. The motor starts again as she closes the hatch. A buzzer sounds loudly. Someone is at Lucy’s front gate.

Please God let it be the police.

“Who’s here?” Janet walks over to a security monitor.