We waited in a
gray concrete room. Mold covered the plaster ceiling and the rank smell of
mildew overpowered my senses. There were no windows, only a single steel door,
and just one table with two small wooden chairs. We were not in a cell, it was
an interrogation room. We hadn’t spent much time in this part of the building,
as the CIA had specialized agents on site to handle the interrogations. Even if
they used the field agents we were attached to, they wouldn’t allow us in the
room with a prisoner. We had been trained in interrogation techniques, though,
and I had a feeling that training was about to come in handy.
Bear paced the
room along the walls. “You believe this garbage?” He said it flatly, shaking
his head.
I shrugged. “We
knew it was coming.”
“Yeah, but…” He
threw his hands up and resumed pacing.
“Just sit back,
nod your head and don’t admit anything.”
“You know I
can’t stand that suck up crap, Jack.”
“Me either, big
man, but we’ve got no choice. Let’s just take our slap on the wrist, get out of
here and get Abbot on the phone.”
“Abbot,” he
said, shaking his head. “Who knows what they’ve filled his head with by now?”
I agreed.
Chances were he and Keller had already been briefed and given Martinez’s side
of the story.
“He’ll listen
to us. Don’t worry about that.”
Abbot would
listen, I felt sure of it. He had known both of us since we were eighteen years
old. He oversaw our training and our placement within the agency.
“I still can’t
believe he agreed to these garbage orders,” Bear said.
“Yeah, well,” I
said. “I don’t think he had much choice.”
Following the
attacks, the agency pushed hard for all of Abbot’s men to deploy to the
mid-east. Most of the guys went to Afghanistan to join in the hunt for Bin
Laden and the attack on the Taliban. The remaining twelve of us were sent here.
The best of the best is what Abbot had said, and that meant our talents were
being wasted away guarding frigging doors and doing grunt work for guys like
Martinez while he and his team botched opportunity after opportunity. These
guys weren’t operators, they were baboons.
“What the hell
are you smiling at?” Bear said.
“Didn’t realize
I was.”
He stopped in
the corner opposite the door and leaned back against the wall. “I’m done with
this.”
“The team?” I
said.
“Yeah,” he
said. “I’m ready to get out.”
Bear and I
joined the Marines at the same time. And even though I only had a few months
left until my enlistment ended, he still had two years to go. When the topic
came up, neither of us could make a good argument for or against doing another
two to four years. I didn’t know what I would do next, though. I’d spent enough
time dealing with CIA operatives that I knew I wanted nothing to do with the
agency, even though I had an open invitation after my enlistment was up. The
FBI wouldn’t talk to us without law degrees, so they were out, not that they
were ever really in. There was local law enforcement and government agencies
like the DEA, but after everything I’d done, I didn’t take to the idea of
having to follow laws in order to do my job.
“I’m starting
to feel the same way,” I said.
I leaned my
head back, resting it against the top of the wooden chair back, studying the
mold patterns on the ceiling that started in the corner near the door, spread
out evenly across the ceiling and then turned to the right, stopping before it
reached the opposite wall. I wondered what was above the room.
“Look, Bear—” A
rap at the door interrupted me.
Bear
straightened up and braced himself against the wall. His face looked tired and
pale and void of any emotion. He stared down at his boots. They’d taken our
laces, but left us with our shoes.
I thought about
staying seated at the table, but if they decided to come in and rush us, it
would be better for me to be standing. I got up and went to the far end of the
room, away from the door, and leaned against the wall adjoining Bear’s wall.
We heard
another knock and muffled voices, and then the distinct sound of a key entering
the chamber of a lock followed by the latch turning. The handle bent down and
the door cracked open a few inches. The barrel of a gun pushed though. I felt
my stomach sink into that all too familiar personal pit of despair.
“Turn and face
the wall!” a man shouted.
Bear looked at
me, his expression spoke volumes. His cheeks turned red, his nostrils flared,
his wide eyes were covered by his heavy brow, furrowed down. I knew that look.
Hell, I’d been on the wrong end of that look a couple times in recruit
training, before we were forced on this journey together.
“Take it easy,”
I said.
He started
toward the door.
“Bear,” I said,
arms out, palms facing him. “Don’t do it.”
He stopped,
face went slack, head lowered toward the floor. He turned slowly, placed his
hands against the wall.
I did the same.
Part of me wanted to turn and fight, just like Bear, but I knew the best option
for us was to get out of that room, off base, and back to the U.S. That
wouldn’t happen if we attacked the men who had the power to let us go.
The door
creaked open on rusted hinges. The concrete walls absorbed the echoes of dull
footsteps as several men entered the room. I turned my head to get a count.
“Face the wall,
Noble.”
I felt a
something in the middle of my back and quickly realized it wasn’t a hand. It
was the barrel of a gun. I turned my head toward the wall, focusing on an
imaginary spot. The scuffs and cracks in the wall created an illusion of a
woman with one arm over her head and the other across her belly. Maybe she was
on an island somewhere. Then it hit me. I knew what I’d do instead of
re-enlisting. I’d get out and head to an island where I’d open a bar and live
the dream.
“Sorry to do
this to you, Noble.” Hot stale breath hit my neck and wrapped around my face,
entering my nose despite my attempts to exhale heavily and send it away.
Men appeared on
either side of me, grabbing my wrists and jerking my arms behind my back. They
wrapped steel cuffs around my wrists, and I heard them click as the cuffs
locked and tightened. I glanced over and saw three men attending to Bear, two
on either side of him working his arms, while another man stood directly behind
him, holding a gun to the back of his head with one hand, handcuffs dangling
from the other.
“Let’s move,
Noble.”
I didn’t budge.
“Don’t make us
move you.”
I said nothing
and didn’t move.
“We warned
you.”
I’m not sure
what was worse. Knowing I was about to get hit over the head with a blackjack,
or the blackjack actually hitting me over the head. It didn’t matter. The world
went black right after impact.
*
* *
I’m not sure
how long I was unconscious. I couldn’t be sure I had actually regained consciousness.
My head hurt like hell. The dark room offered no signs as to whether the sun
had come up yet or not. I blinked the sleep away, opened my eyes and squinted
as they adapted to the dark surroundings. Tainted air burned my lungs during a
deep breath. They stretched and filled to capacity. The slow exhale eased some
of the pressure and pain in my head.
My hands and
arms tingled. I shook them until full sensation returned. Then I sat up and
stretched my arms behind my back and felt a twinge of pain in my shoulder
followed by a shot of pain radiating across my back and down my arm. I must
have injured it when they cuffed me, although I didn’t remember resisting hard
enough for my shoulder to sprain. It didn’t matter. I took another deep breath
and pushed away the pain, closed my eyes, tried to relax. I managed three
exhales and then there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I
said, not bothering to get to my feet.
The key clanked
against the lock. The latch clicked. The handle turned down and a crash filled
the room as the door opened the first few inches.
Two men entered
the room. Both were tall, skinny, dressed in camouflage cargo pants and dark
t-shirts. No weapons visible. I didn’t recognize either of them. I found that
odd. I thought after six months I’d seen every person on this base. They took a
seat at the wooden table in the middle of the room.
“Sit,” the dark
haired one said.
I got up
slowly, using my hands to keep my balance in check. Took a couple steps and
grabbed a hold of the wooden chair across the table from the men. I sat down
and placed my hands on the table. They didn’t appear to be armed, but that
didn’t mean they weren’t. I didn’t feel like finding out just yet.
They had two
manila folders spread out in front of them. Both were open. They rifled through
papers. A quick glance confirmed the files were all about me.
“You guys know
what time it is?”
They said
nothing, just continued to look at the papers.
“You know, most
of that is fake,” I said. “Fodder for the guys at the Pentagon.”
Neither of them
looked up. Neither of them said anything.
“What’s for
breakfast today?”
“Noble,” the
bald one said without looking up at me. “Shut up.”
I smirked, sat
back.
Should I push my luck? Why not?
“I’m an egg
man, personally,” I said. “Pancakes hang in my gut too long. And cereal, shoot,
cereal never fills me up. But give me three or four eggs and I can go all—”
The bald man
looked up from his papers. “I said quiet. We’ll be with you in a moment.”
“Ok,” I said.
“Just trying to pass the time.”
His partner
pushed back in his chair and stood. He put his hands on his hips and stared
down at me. His head bumped the single light in the room, which hung on a
fixture suspended over the table, and sent it swinging. Shadows danced around
the room and across his face. His look went from menacing to evil with each
pass of the light.
The bald man
turned his head. “Jim, don’t let him get under your skin.”
Jim sat down.
He appeared to be done with the files in front of him, and he fixed his gaze on
me. He worked thick muscles in his jaw while rubbing his cheeks and chin with
one hand.
“Jack,” the
bald man said. “I’m Bill, and this is Jim. We just want to ask you a few
questions about last night.”
“I don’t
remember anything,” I said.
“This will be a
lot easier if you cooperate, Jack,” Jim said.
I shrugged and
looked at the wall beyond their heads.
“Start with
what happened between you and Martinez,” Bill said.
“He’s a great
guy,” I said.
“He’s an
asshole,” Bill said. “We know that. But he says you attacked him. Do you agree
with that?”
“That’s what
Martinez says, huh?”
They both
watched me, arms in front of them, hands on the table. I’m sure they studied
every subtle movement I made. I could answer one way, and these guys would know
if I was lying or not based on how I shifted my eyes, twitched my nose or
licked my lips. I did my best to mirror their posture and movements, which were
meant to be as neutral as possible and draw no reaction.
I sat up
straight and placed my hands on the table, palms down. “Martinez reached the point
of using unnecessary and borderline force with members of a family who likely
had no reason to be in the room.”
“Likely?” Jim
asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Likely.”
“Why do you say
that?” he asked.
“You just know,
Jim. Just like you guys just know.”
He blinked a
few times, quickly, but said nothing.
“Then what
happened?” Bill asked.
“I told him to
stop.”
“You
contradicted your team leader?” Bill said.
“He’s not my
leader,” I said. “I’m a Marine, deployed here in support of your teams. I
answer to Colonel Abbot and General Keller.”
“You answer to
your team—”
“Jim,” Bill
said, cutting his partner off. He smiled at me. “Then what happened?”
“He told one
man to stay behind and then led me and my partner outside at gunpoint.”
Bill looked
down, scribbled something on a pad of paper, and then resumed his neutral
stance.
“Go on.”
I shrugged.
“Then—” I paused and turned my hands up. “Then we fought.”
“And the
outcome?” Bill asked.
I opened my
mouth to answer, but a loud knock at the door interrupted. The balance that had
been restored in the room was about to be offset.
Jim pushed back
in his chair, stood and walked to the door, then cracked it open an inch or
two. He nodded a few times and then pulled the door open all the way. A third
man entered the room. He was taller than the other two and looked like he
weighed as much as both of them combined. Sweat beaded up on his waxed bald
head. He stood at the end of the table, between them and me, looking down
across his wide nose in my direction.
“Jack,” Bill
said. “This is Nathan.”
I looked up and
nodded. Nathan grumbled.
“You just keep
answering questions like you have been and Nathan here will stay nice and
quiet.”
“And if I
don’t?”
Nathan laughed.
Jim joined him.
Bill frowned.
“Let’s not go down that route.”
The set up was
familiar. I recalled studying it, role playing it during my initial training. I
knew they didn’t have anything on me. They knew it, too. This was all a show.
The only question I had was how far they would go with the charade.
“I’m going to
get right to it, Jack,” Bill said. “When did you return and kill the family?”
Kill the
family?
“I’m afraid,” I
said, “I don’t know what hell you’re talking about. We didn’t kill anyone.”