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The man repeated himself more forcefully and pulled at the door handle. Lovelle nodded his ascension and held up a single finger, indicating for the man to wait a moment. He opened the door and explained his language problem. “No sprechen! Only English!”

The man climbed up into the van and pulled the door shut behind him. He squatted in front of Lovelle and shrugged. “What are you doing?” He asked in accented but excellent English. The man acted as though there were no need to explain who he was or by what authority he was questioning Lovelle. Lovelle was not about to say anything. Even if the man were not a person of authority, he was quite obviously packing heat. And it was quite obvious that Lovelle was up to something, even if what that something was, was less than clear.

Lovelle’s mind raced to find an answer for the man. He briefly considered stonewalling with some ridiculous lie. But, he wasn’t in the U.S., and without the protection of American jurisprudence it occurred to Lovelle that it might not be the wisest of choices. Besides, there he sat with his picnic lunch, binoculars, and a bottle of his own urine. Any tale that didn’t include an admission that Lovelle was on a stakeout was not going to pass muster.

“I’m watching the Mosque.” Lovelle answered. He decided to parse out his explanation as slowly as possible. If he hoped to fabricate a believable story he needed to slow his interrogation down enough to formulate those lies.

“Why?”

“I’m looking for someone.” This caused the man to just look at him and raise his eyebrows, waiting for Lovelle to elaborate. “Mohammed Atta.” Lovelle volunteered. The man didn’t say anything for a long moment, then took out a small two-way and said something in German. Another long moment passed, then Lovelle realized that the man was listening to the reply through an ear piece. He spoke again in German then addressed Lovelle.

“Would you mind coming along to answer some questions?” The man asked, and then moved to the driver’s seat without waiting for a reply.

“Not at all.” Lovelle answered like a bit of a smart-alack, then immediately thought better of it.

*****

In short order Lovelle found himself in a prototypical interrogation room in the local office of the BKA, the Bundeskriminalant. He knew where he was because they had informed him so. The fact that the BKA was the German’s rough equivalent of the FBI was something he would find out later.

Lovelle sat at a table across from the man who had picked him up, now officially introduced as Agent Burkhardt. Next to him was Agent Grundel, an imposingly large man with intense eyes and a deceptively kind manner.

“Why are you looking for this Atta?” Grundel asked in his friendly manner.

“I think he’s a member of Al-Qaeda.” Lovelle answered, not choosing to elaborate. He wasn’t stalling for any other purpose than to give himself time to think. There was no one coming to his rescue, no matter how long he held his interrogators at bay.

“There are lots of people in Al-Qaeda, what is important about him?” The man’s English was extremely measured and clear, which was probably why he had been assigned to deal with the “American”.

“I think he might be part of a plot.” Lovelle admitted.

“What sort of a plot is that?” Grundel questioned as if he were only casually curious.

“I’m not sure. I was hoping to find that out.” Lovelle lied with the ease of someone who had been living a lie for fifteen years.

“And how did you come to suspect this Atta? Why do you feel compelled to discover his plot?”

This was where Lovelle drew a blank. He could neither truthfully answer nor ignore those questions. But, he still hadn’t decided on a story. His brain scrambled to come up with an answer, but, only came up with another stall. “I don’t think it’s his plot. I just suspect he’s involved.”

Lovelle was trying the man’s patience and his demeanor changed almost imperceptibly. “Okay. How did you come to suspect that Atta is involved in a plot?” He said a little less politely.

“I can’t really say.” Lovelle answered, almost under his breath.

Grundel paused, obviously perturbed with this turn of events. He had been getting answers, if not elaboration up to that point. Lovelle could see the man take a moment to compose himself. “Why is that?” He asked, calmly, but a bit menacingly.”

“My source has to be anonymous.” Lovelle lied on the fly.

Grundel placed his index finger across his lips thinking, and then murmured “Hmm.” He removed his finger and opened his mouth as if he were about to speak. Then paused again, wagged his finger and frowned at Lovelle. Then he and Burkhardt left the room. Lovelle presumed that they were consulting with someone. Obviously he had thrown them a curve ball and they were no longer sure how to deal with their uncooperative suspect.

After a few minutes that seemed to Lovelle like forever, his interrogators re-entered the room. Without hesitation Grundel said, “Mr. Lovelle, did you know that withholding information from an investigator is a crime in this country?”

“No.” Lovelle answered honestly, not really knowing if the man was telling him the truth or just trying to scare the information out of him. It mattered only in the sense that Lovelle hoped to leave the country some day, and not because he had much choice in his response. For better or worse he would have to maintain this lie.

“You see, I’m a little confused.” Grundel continued. “If you’re telling the truth, then we are all working for the same thing. You should be trying to help us, not holding back information. So, I must wonder if you really are telling me the truth.”

“I
am
trying to help you,” Lovelle insisted. “I will tell you everything I know. I just can’t tell you how I know. I would be risking someone’s life.”

“What harm could it be to tell us? This is our job. To stop terrorists.” Burkhardt interjected.

“Oh, come on.” Lovelle said, trying hard to sound bold. They needed to believe that he was some sort of vigilante anti-terrorist, so it would no longer serve him to seem intimidated. He would have to act like a tough guy, no matter how he really felt inside. Grundel looked at him and raised his eyebrows, clearly a little curious at this change of attitude. “Obviously,” Lovelle continued. “I have a contact inside Al-Qaeda, and you want him. Do you really expect me to believe that if I hand him over to you that you’ll put his personal safety ahead of whatever use you might think you could get out of him?” Lovelle paused for effect. “No, I think he’s safer if I’m the only one who knows.”

This set Grundel off, which told Lovelle that he had done a good job of selling his change in persona. “What makes you think that you can just decide not to tell us? If you have information that can help us stop a terrorist, you
will
tell us.” He insisted.

“I did tell you!” Lovelle shot back. “I gave you Atta. I told you he lives here in Hamburg and he’s up to something. That’s all I know. I wasn’t staking out the mosque because I already had all the answers.”

“Then give us your contact and we will find out what he knows.”

“First of all, if he knew anything more, then he would tell me. If he learns something, you can be sure I’ll know. But he is already risking his life to keep me informed. I won’t press him because
you
think he might be holding back. And I’m damn sure not going to trust anyone else with his wellbeing. You can keep asking, but you’re wasting your breath. The laws in this country may be different, but, right and wrong doesn’t change when you cross borders, and that’s the principle I’m concerned with."

At that point Grundel seemed to switch gears, choosing, for the time being, not to butt heads with Lovelle. Lovelle was grateful. As headstrong as he sounded, he was actually afraid he would crumble if any serious pressure were applied. As it was, he was keeping his hands folded on his lap to conceal a slight tremble.

“You see, I’m not sure if you are to be taken seriously. Without the name of your contact the only thing you have to give your story credibility is this Atta. I have to tell you, there is no Mohammed Atta at the Al-Quds mosque. We are well acquainted with the comings and goings there.”

“I never said I was certain he attended Al-Quds. That’s why I was watching it. I was simply instructed that it would be a good place to start.”

The three men continued on like that for a while. The men delved into Lovelle’s background, finding out about his short lived police career and his Arabic language skills. Lovelle gave them nothing more, mostly because there was nothing more to give. He couldn’t hand over a fictional informant, and he also could not very well tell them the truth. At some point, his interrogators seemed to tire of badgering him and decided to call it a day.

Lovelle was allowed to leave shortly thereafter. He was returned to his hotel and warned not to attempt to leave the city, or to try and continue his surveillance.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Lovelle tried to make some sense of his predicament that evening. He hadn’t expected to be cut loose that way. He wondered whether this was typical German jurisprudence at work, or was there some ulterior motive involved? Were they compelled to free him, or were they laying a trap for him? He couldn’t imagine U.S. investigators allowing some foreign national in a similar situation to just waltz away like this. Of course, they weren’t actually leaving him to his own devices. There would surely be someone watching the hotel. They were only giving him some space. Maybe they were just giving him enough rope to hang himself, or maybe they expected to find something out by giving him a bit of leash. Whatever their motives, they were certainly watching his every move.

But, no matter what they hoped to gain from this maneuver, Lovelle couldn't give them what they were looking for. They wanted his Al-Qaeda contact, but, since the contact was a figment of his imagination, they were doomed to failure on that score. And if they thought he might trip up and reveal the truth, then they were also barking up the wrong tree. Telling anyone the truth was simply not an option. And if Lovelle were adept at anything by this time, it was concealing the nature of his second pass through this life.

He got precious little sleep that night while he weighed his options. He leaned towards letting the scenario play out, mostly because it required no real effort, or more precisely, no decisiveness on his part. If nothing came of the leads he had given, then he might be thought a harmless crackpot and ushered out of the country. Or, should those leads pan out, he might be seen as a valuable asset. More likely though, he would find himself turned over to U.S. authorities to be grilled again after the Germans had had their fill of him. That would be okay, since one of the actions he was considering was to make a run for the US Embassy.

The only other option that occurred to him was a dash for the border. The probability for success on that maneuver wouldn’t be very good, and even if he made it out, the probability of an exchange of information between the governments was extremely high. Since Lovelle was hoping to return home to his anonymous existence when he was through, that option wasn't particularly appealing.

Not really being able to come to a decision, he went with the default option. He would continue to work with the Germans to the best of his ability, and would hope that things worked out for him. When it came right down to it, this was the best way for him to try and prevent the 9/11 attacks, and that was what this was all about. He knew that any trouble it may cause for him would be insignificant in comparison with what was going to happen if he didn’t succeed. He had to hope that they would find Atta and foil the whole plot, and they would only do that if he convinced them that it was a lead worth pursuing.

What Lovelle didn’t know was that Atta was currently in Afghanistan, and that he wasn’t using the name Atta when he was in Germany. They weren’t going to have any record of the man, and Lovelle had no chance at all of spotting the terrorist in person. The BKA agents dragged him in that next day and informed him that they had no records of an Atta ever having been in the country.

“I’m not sure what to make of you.” Grundel was clearly irritated with Lovelle. “I don’t know why you would make up a story that is so easily disproved. What were you looking for at the mosque? What is your real connection? Why are you hiding something from us? You are making it so that we have to assume that you are up to something bad. Is that what you want?”

That scared Lovelle. But, he had to look as if it didn’t. “Bad?” he feigned incredulity, “Look, if you want to accuse me of something then just do it! All I’ve done here is try to save people’s lives the best way I know how. I’m telling you, if Atta isn’t here now, then he’s gonna be. You can bank on that.” Grundel looked at him blankly as though he was tuning Lovelle out completely. Lovelle continued just the same, “I don’t know what you could possibly think I was up to, but, if you’ve got some notion then just spit it out. Otherwise maybe you should stop wasting my time and cut me loose. You may be able to kick me out of the country, but I hardly think you have any justification to hold me. The only connection you can make between myself and Al-Qaeda is the one I gave you, and you’ve rejected that. Right now I think I might get more results talking to a wall than to you. So if you’re done wasting my time, I’d like to go home and figure out how to stop Atta without your help.” Lovelle’s heart was pounding, he couldn’t control that extra adrenaline so he channeled it to make him sound like a hard case. He wasn’t sure if it was working.

Lovelle found his interrogator's composure to be unsettling. The tough guy act wasn’t working like it did in the movies. Or maybe he just wasn’t doing a very good impression of a tough guy. Grundel answered him in his own tough tone, “Do you really believe that you can simply demand to be let go and we will let you walk out of the door? Who do you imagine that you are?”

“I’m an American citizen, damn it!” Lovelle raised his voice nearly to a shout. “I don’t know how it works here, but, where I come from there is a little something called due process. I have a hard time imagining you have a law on your books that says a man can’t have a picnic in a van while he does a little people watching.”

“Do you really want to be coy with me?” Grundel’s ire was up, “You’ve said too much to pretend now that you were not up to something.”

“And you’ve made it clear that you don’t believe any of it. So, like I said, if you think you have something on me, then let’s have it. If you don’t, then I expect you to leave me alone. If I’m just a crackpot, then you should have no problem with me just quietly going back to America. And if I’m not, then you should listen to what I’m telling you.” Lovelle was just shooting from the hip now. He hoped that he wasn’t improvising himself into a bigger mess.

“You’re not going anywhere until we get to the bottom of this.” Burkhardt chimed in angrily.

“Then I guess I’ll need to speak to someone from the American Embassy.” Lovelle regretted the statement as soon as it left his mouth. He had still been hoping to resolve this without involvement of the U.S. government. He was about to find out if the BKA were empowered to act as a rogue agent. If so, his demand would go nowhere, but so might he.

Grundel appeared to be agitated by this request. “You are in no position to make such demands.”

Lovelle thought he could read in the man’s discomfort that he
could
in fact count on being allowed to contact the Embassy. He felt sure that if he pressed enough that he would be allowed to call in the cavalry. But, he wasn’t at all sure whether that was what he wanted right now. He thought maybe just the threat would get him a little more slack. He decided to push a little more and see if he could turn things to his advantage. If he could convince them that he could walk whenever he wanted, then maybe they would take him seriously when he relented and hung around more or less of his own free will.

“What position do I have to be in to get you to respect my rights? I’m not in some third world country, am I? I’m sure you don’t want the world to see your country in that light. Unless you plan on burying me in a hole somewhere, eventually the Embassy is going to hear from me. You don’t want to deal with the fallout if I end up telling the world how you denied me. If I can’t see them when I want to, then it isn’t going to go well when I do.”

“I don’t believe you are quite aware of the gravity of your situation.” Grundel continued.

“Oh, I’m quite aware.” Lovelle was getting into his character now, finding it easier to seem adamant. “I know that the only way you can keep me from the Embassy is to put me down before I ever see a day in court. And if you’re planning on that, then I guess there is no reason for me to continue to talk to you.” Lovelle was about to step back from the brink. He was going to offer to continue to work with them if they would stop leaning on him like some criminal. He didn’t get the chance. The door opened and third man came in. He whispered something in Gundel’s ear, and the men all left the room.

*****

Lovelle sat alone in the room for roughly two hours before being introduced to a man named Justin Hooper. Hooper reported himself to be from the American Embassy. Lovelle had his doubts about this man as well. He knew that it was common practice for the CIA to use diplomatic positions as cover. He assumed that this man was probably more of an interrogator than an advocate. The men were left alone in the interrogation room, and Hooper began his own inquiry. After the niceties had been set aside he got down to the matter.

“Look, these guys have given me the broad outlines, but, I think I’d rather you give me your own story. You can fill in the gaps, and make sure they haven’t screwed it up somehow.” Hooper sort of drawled in a heavy southern accent. Lovelle got the impression the man was consciously trying to affect a laid back and unconcerned manner, probably to convince him that he was both on his side, and that he was an outsider to all the intrigue.

What followed was a thorough rehashing of Lovelle’s story. He was careful not to trip on any of his lies, but, that wasn’t too difficult, as he had left his story as simple and truthful as he could manage in the first place. He put his tough guy persona away for the time being, hoping that Hooper would be more sympathetic to his countryman than were the German inquisitors. At first this seemed to be the case. But, when Lovelle was done, the man attempted to draw a little more out of him with his good cop routine, and when that failed, things took a turn for the worse.

“Look, I can see why these guys are all riled up. You’re spewing a bunch of nonsense here. By all measures, what you’re telling them, and me, is a poor excuse for a cover story. I might be tempted to believe in your loyalty to some mystery informant, but, none of your facts pan out. There is no evidence to support the existence of your terrorist, or his plot. Hell, even if this Atta existed, why would anyone believe that you had inside information about a serious plot? You said yourself that he’s just a low level conspirator? It strains credulity.

“Think about it, if your informant has knowledge of something, then he has that knowledge from somewhere. If he is in direct contact with a conspirator, then you should be giving me that person. Atta can’t be that contact or you’d know where he is. If Atta isn’t your boy’s contact, and he isn’t above him in the food chain, then why go after him at all? Sounds to me that either your lying, or your informant is holding out on you.” The man paused for effect. “So which one do you want me to believe?”

Lovelle sat silent. He was trying to assess where this was going, and what he should do next. Hooper looked at him impatiently. “Come on. There has to be something more you can give me. You’ve either got to give me your man, or you’ve got to give us his contact.”

Lovelle stiffened in his seat. Had Hooper just said ‘us’ instead of ‘me’? Lovelle was sure he had. And it seemed to him to be no small thing. It may have been a slip of the tongue, but, it was revealing. The man was clearly a part of some bigger group. But, who was the us? Who did Hooper identify himself with in this instance? Was it the State Department, the CIA, or maybe even the Germans?

Hooper seemed to notice the change in Lovelle’s disposition, “Look, I can see you have something more to tell me. Just give me the name and you can wash your hands of it.”

“No, you look. You people seem to think I’m doing this for kicks and giggles.” Lovelle re-assumed his defiant posture, this time not out of choice, but, honest anger. He was passionate about what he was doing, and these people were interfering. “What makes you think I want to wash my hands of this? Do you think I came all the way to Hamburg just to walk away the first time I ran into a little trouble? If I give you his direct contact, I might as well hand you my source. It isn’t going to take much for you to trace back to his identity. And I’m not going to do anything that places him in any more jeopardy than he’s already in. He’s put his life in my hands, and I don’t take that lightly.”

Hooper was taken aback by this outburst. “I don’t know how much I can help you then.”

“Damn it. I didn’t ask you to come here and help me convince these guys that I’m not lying. I expect my State Department to keep me from being harassed by foreign law enforcement when I haven’t done anything illegal. It really doesn’t matter if I’m telling the truth or not. If I hadn’t told them, or you, a damn thing then I would still expect you to fight for my release. If I hadn’t tried to cooperate, they wouldn’t have any reason to hold me. Are you going to let them keep me here because they caught me watching a mosque? It may seem suspicious, but I bet it isn’t against the law, even in this country. The fact of the matter is, whether I’m a crackpot or a legitimate asset shouldn’t matter. You should be getting me out of here.”

“Well, I don’t know what world you think you’re living in, but, you have to understand that you’ve moved beyond pretending that they have no reason to be interested in you. Can’t you see how difficult you’re making this?”

“I don’t care about that. I don’t see how I’ve done anything they can hold me over. Just because I’m doing something they’re interested in, does that give them license to hold me this way? I chose to share with them some information that I thought to be useful. I didn’t scream for a lawyer, or the Embassy. I tried to be helpful. If they think I’m nuts, then why bother with me? And if I’m not, then why treat me like I’m the enemy? Are they allowed to just throw my rights out the window? Don’t they have to accuse me of something? Or is German jurisprudence that different from our own?”