Yeah, I thought, talking was what got me into prison the last time. It’s not happening again.
The lead FBI agent studied my face for a bit. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was being rude. My name is Special Agent Bergman and this is my partner Agent Woldrich. Can we have your name?”
I stared at him. After a long pause, Agent Woldrich slammed his hands down on the table and yelled. “Come on, you fucking scumbag, give us your name.”
I looked over at him and said nothing. The good cop / bad cop routine continued for the next ten hours without rest. I had nothing to drink or eat during that time and I was quickly getting worn out. They baited me, telling me John was an international drug and arms dealer and plotting terrorist attacks against the United States. It wasn’t working. I knew they were lying.
Finally there was a knock at the door. The two FBI agents got up and left. Two new agents took their place. One was carrying a small tray with a bottle of water on it. He set it down on the table close to me, uncuffed my left hand, and motioned for me to take it. I hadn’t had anything to drink in at least twelve hours. I grabbed the bottle, unscrewed the cap and drank. It was such a relief. My hand was shaking and it was hard to keep the bottle steady. I spilled some of the water down the front of my clothes. I didn’t really care; I was just so thirsty. I finished the bottle off and placed it back on the tray. The agent picked up the tray with the bottle on it.
“Thanks for the prints and the DNA,” he said. “Now we can find out who you really are.”
My thoughts went immediately to Tia as I wondered how well she did with my new identity.
The interrogation continued hour after hour. I was exhausted and drowsy. Every time I started to doze off the bad cop agent would slam his hands down on the table, or shove me, or grab me and shake me. My mind was wandering. I couldn’t concentrate. I thought I could see Tia through the mirrored window. She was so beautiful, smiling at me. Her face turned serious and then sad. She shook her head, and then disappeared. I wanted to call out to her, to get her back, but I held on to the image of her smiling at me and said nothing.
The door to the interrogation room opened. “We’re ready,” a male voice said.
They uncuffed me from the table and led me to a restroom. I was so grateful to pee. After that I was led into another room. This one had what I assumed was a polygraph machine set up next to the table. They hooked the sensors up and started the machine.
“Is your real name Karl Koenig?” the agent asked.
I said nothing.
“Did you grow up in Milwaukee?” he asked.
I stared at the wall.
“Are you a member of the Survivalist Network?” he asked.
I continued to look at the wall.
“Have you ever been arrested before?”
The thought of going back to prison was creeping back into my mind. I couldn’t shake it.
“Have you ever been married?”
I realized they were fishing. They didn’t really know anything. I tried to push the thoughts of prison out of my mind.
“Did you graduate high school?”
Focus, I thought. Focus on Tia.
“Have you ever done drugs?”
She seemed to be slipping away from me. Tia! My mind screamed. Don’t leave me!
“Do you own a firearm of any kind?”
Tia! Come back!
“What were you doing in India?”
The questions continued as I tried to focus only on Tia. Gradually her image returned. She smiled at me. I was going to be all right.
Another agent entered the room.
“I was hoping to get some kind of baseline,” the technician said, “but everything is elevated. I’m afraid this isn’t going to work.”
“Okay,” the agent said. “Bring him back to interrogation.”
Bergman and Woldrich were back in the room. Again the good cop / bad cop routine played itself out. Several hours later there was another knock at the door. “His lawyer’s here,” a male voice said.
Oh thank God, I thought to myself.
A tall man with thin wire rimmed glasses entered the room. “Okay, you’re done here,” he said. “You can’t question my client anymore.”
Bergman and Woldrich got up with a disgusted look on their face and walked out of the room.
“You’re safe now,” he said. “John is proud of you for how well you held up in here.”
I looked over at him. Finally this insane ordeal was over. I was about to say something when Ed’s words came back into my mind. Trust no one but John. I stopped and looked closely at the lawyer. He wore a nice suit, but it wasn’t that nice. John was impeccable in his clothes. I had trouble imagining a lawyer working for him that didn’t dress the same way.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Anything you say now is covered under the attorney client privilege. They can’t use it against you.”
My mind was swimming. Thoughts were spinning around with no apparent connection to one another, but something didn’t feel right about this guy. I put my head down on my arms and closed my eyes. My hope was if I could just rest for one minute, my mind would clear.
“It’s all over,” he said. “You can relax now. Just tell me the truth and I can get you out of here.”
That’s it! I thought. He isn’t getting me out of here. If he’s my lawyer, why are we still in the interrogation room? Why aren’t we leaving? I saw Tia again in my mind. She was still smiling at me. I reached out to her, but she faded away and disappeared.
“Wake up, asshole!” It was Woldrich again. Bergman was back and the so called lawyer was gone.
“Look,” Bergman said, “we’ve run your prints and your DNA. We’ve verified that you are Karl Koenig from Milwaukee. You don’t have any criminal record. Your prints and DNA are not in the system. Just tell us what you know about Carl Palminteri and we can get you out of here. It’s that simple. Just tell us about Carl.”
I put my head back down on my arms. Woldrich grabbed me and shook me again. “Tell us about Carl!”
I shook my head and tried to think about Tia, her blue and brown eyes, her hair, the softness of her voice.
The door to the interrogation room opened. A man stepped in and handed Bergman a piece of paper. Bergman looked at it and tossed it back onto the table.
“It’s a Federal Court Order releasing my client immediately,” he said. “Your Assistant United States Attorney refused to provide any evidence whatsoever to support your claim that my clients are connected in any way to any known terrorist organizations. They are not enemy combatants. You can’t hold them any longer.”
Bergman got up and left the room with Woldrich close behind.
“Hey,” the lawyer shouted. “Remove the cuffs.”
An agent came in and took the handcuffs off my wrists.
“I’m Charles Edward Harrington the third,” the lawyer said, “of Harrington, Harrington and Spetznaz, Attorneys at Law. Come on, we’re leaving.”
I looked at the suit he was wearing. It was expensive and impeccable, right down to the thousand dollar shoes. I whispered to the lawyer.
“Where are his personal effects?” Charles yelled. Everyone ignored him. “Are you begging for a mulit-million dollar law suit or are you just plain stupid?” he yelled again.
An agent opened a desk drawer, removed a manila envelope and tossed it to Charles who handed the envelope to me. I opened it and slid the contents out. There was my iPhone, my wallet, money, passport, watch and my medallion. I told Charles we were good and we left.