A Sense of Justice

by Jack Davis

  The constable dutifully took Mihai to the state orphanage in Ploesti. Mihai spent a confusing day there and was promptly shipped off to a “less-crowded” facility in Bucharest. Any hope of his family finding him vanished the following week when the records of the Ploesti orphanage were destroyed in a fire. Now, the deformed little boy who walked with a limp and didn’t say a word was truly alone.

  Mihai would have stayed alone if it weren’t for the continued easing of the tensions between the East and West, and two Carondolet Nuns. With glasnost and friendlier relations between the Soviet bloc countries and the West, many US faith-based groups saw opportunities. They saw fertile ground for spreading the gospel to millions of individuals who had been deprived of the ability to worship openly. Communist or former communist governments saw that the groups coming in brought money and goods…for free. Another big bonus was that many couples, in the United States in particular, were willing to pay for a commodity Romania had in excess and wanted to get rid of: orphans. It could not have worked out better for the Romanian government. After a while they were not content with just having the US couples take unwanted stock off their hands; the next step was to levy a hefty fee for taking the orphaned infants, and the Americans paid.

  The missionaries were often thrust into the middle of the problem. They saw the appalling conditions of the state-run facilities and immediately set up their own. The governments were only too happy to have someone else take a problem off their hands, especially if the new orphanages paid taxes. There was no downside.

  The Sisters of Carondolet set up an orphanage in Bucharest within a month of being allowed into the Romania. Sister Imelda Miller and Sister Julia Chaison were two of the first to arrive, and had the painful task of selecting which twenty, eventually thirty, of the four hundred orphans they would be able to take. Mihai didn’t make the first cut, but after a night of prayer, the sisters decided that the disfigured, malnourished nine-year-old who wouldn’t speak, had to be included. He needed love and kindness, and they had an ample supply of both.

  The nuns’ first tasks were to make sure each child was fed, medically treated, and as importantly, loved. The results were almost immediately. Little faces became less gaunt and dull lifeless eyes began to shine—none more than Mihai’s. It only took two weeks for the sisters to convince Mihai they were different from the individuals in his previous situation. Within two more weeks, he was following the sisters everywhere, as much because he wanted to be with them as his fear they might leave him to be thrown back into the rat-infested institution he had survived in the past three years.

  Sisters Julia and Imelda started to employ their little shadow with small tasks. They found him eager to help and very dedicated to his chores. The more he did, the more responsibility they gave him. Soon he was an indispensable part of the daily routine. He loved helping others, especially the sisters.

  It was shortly after his seventh month with the nuns that he spoke for the first time. It was after supper and as they did every night, the sisters were saying the rosary. They had started reciting the second decade when they heard a whisper behind them repeating the words in a heavy accent. They looked to find Mihai kneeling just outside the chapel door, hands folded in prayer, reciting the words of the Our Father. They were delighted beyond expression and wept as they hugged each other.

  Over the next few months, Mihai spoke more and more. Strangely, Mihai spoke as much English as his native tongue. Within a year, he only spoke Romanian to other children; to the sisters it was strictly English. This, along with how quickly he picked up on instructions, led the nuns to realize that Mihai was a very smart little boy.

  Armed with that knowledge, the sisters, who had been teachers in the US, started Mihai’s formal education. In a few months, he had mastered the basics of mathematics and some English grammar. As they taught their “favorite translator” new subjects and concepts, they had him in turn teach the younger students. Mihai proved to be an excellent teacher. He was patient and kind. When the sisters reached the point where they could not teach the young man any longer, they purchased books for him to read and teach himself.

  When their star pupil reached the age of eighteen, Sister Imelda wanted to see if Mihai could pass a US GED exam. Without telling him what kind of test he would be taking, the nuns set up the exam for him. He passed with what would have been a 582, or the equivalent of a C. The sisters were ecstatic. They treated Mihai and the other children to ice cream, a rare treat in the orphanage.

  Emboldened, Sister Julia wrote to a friend who was a Jesuit priest at Le Moyne University in Syracuse, New York. She explained the situation and asked how their student could apply for the following fall semester. The priest was hesitant and tried to explain that the culture shock, in addition to the rigors of the classes, would be unduly hard on the young man. Sister Julia explained the hardships Mihai had endured in Romania, and assured the priest that with some attention and introductions to the right people, he could handle college.

  When he asked about Mihai’s tuition, the young Jesuit was admonished. “Father, I’ve known Cardinal Egan since he was in seminary. If I called him and told him the closest thing I’m ever going to have as a son is being denied an education because of money, he would be very upset.” Scholarship money was found.

  The sisters were very clear that everyone at the orphanage was praying for Mihai and if he did well in school it would open the door for others. They were stern with their favorite son and made it clear he had to study hard and not let the others down. He persevered, and by the end of the second semester, while somewhat reclusive, Mihai felt comfortable in upstate New York.

  After a year of general education courses, the priests at Le Moyne helped Mihai decide on a major in computer science. It was based as much upon their assessment that it was a field where he would be able to get a job that would allow him to stay in the US after graduation, as any aptitude on Mihai’s part. He struggled with the classes but was eventually able to graduate.

  In the first year of the major, one of the elective courses that Mihai chose was PC Repair and Maintenance. It dealt with all aspects of computers, from basic troubleshooting, to repair, to knowledge of how major software applications worked. It was Mihai’s favorite class, and he knew what he wanted to do when he graduated. While still in school, he worked for the school repairing computers. When word got around that he could fix computers, he was inundated with requests. He was a natural and loved helping people. Every weekend he could be found in his room working on computers, normally for a friend or a friend of a friend.

  In Mihai’s senior year, the nuns convinced him his future lay in the United States and not back in Romania. They explained he could sponsor other children to come to the US for education, and with that, others would have a chance to break out of the crushing poverty he had escaped. Mihai knew they were right. He discussed what the sisters had told him with the Jesuits, and they went to work to find him a job. As luck would have it, one of the priests found Mihai work at SUNY Binghamton. It was entry-level, working the help desk assisting end users with their problems. Mihai accepted the job and moved to the small town of Vestal, New York.

  Mihai loved all aspects of his employment except one—his supervisor. He enjoyed helping users and solving problems. He spent as much time as needed to resolve the customer’s issue, even if it was the customer themselves. His thick accent was sometimes an obstacle, but he worked hard to overcome the language issue.

  The flip side of that coin was that he was criticized by his supervisor for taking too long per call. In Mihai’s mind it was okay because he was doing his job and helping customers. That was all that mattered to him, that’s all he wanted to do: help people.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t all that mattered to others. To his supervisor the length of time it took Mihai to resolve calls was entirely too long. Mihai would have been fired if it weren’t for the steady stream of emails, telephone calls, and even letters from users praising hi
s “patience,” or his, “ability to make things make sense.”

  Finally, after reviewing the timestamp of one call where Mihai had taken forty-five minutes to reset a password, Antonescu was ordered to report to his supervisor’s office. The email was short and terse. The meeting was long and awkward, but by the end, surprisingly friendly. The supervisor seemed genuinely interested in Mihai. He even commented how much he liked the name Michael after Mihai had explained it was the English translation.

  Mihai came out of the meeting thinking that his supervisor wasn’t a bad person, just misunderstood. His impression was very wrong and very right.

  56 | Arrest of Antonescu

  Johnson City, New York, 10/17/09, 0903 hours

  As Mihai turned onto his street, he was surprised to see police cars in front of his apartment building. He hoped no one was hurt and made the sign of the cross. Sipping his tea, he continued on. Getting closer he noticed a police officer standing outside his front door, or where his door had been. Just then, he was seized from behind. His shoulders were thrust forward forcing him off balance, and his hands were wrenched behind his back spilling his tea. Within seconds Mihai felt handcuffs around his wrists.

  As quickly as he was subdued, he was rushed toward his apartment building. He had trouble keeping his feet under him, but during the times when he slipped, he was carried by the men on either side of him. If he had lifted his feet, he would have floated. His mind was still on floating when he heard what the large African American man to his right said, “Do you understand your rights as I’ve read them to you?”

  Mihai did not look up, but in his heavy Eastern European accent said, “Mihai not hear vhat you say. Mihai sorry.”

  “You’re bein’ placed under arrest for computer hacking. Do you understand the rights?”

  “Computer hackink? Mihai sorry; Mihai no understand.” Although his head was turned toward the agent, his eyes were glued to the ground.

  The agent started again, “I know you understand English. I’m gonna read you your rights again; pay attention!” With that he pulled off the surgical mask that Antonescu always wore.

  Antonescu understood from the man’s tone that he was angry. He listened intently, and when the man asked him if he understood, he answered, “Yes.”

  As they walked through Mihai’s front door, he gaped at the shattered dead bolt assembly and the splintered wood around the frame. Mihai have to pay for, or security deposit go.

  The agents carried him into his living room where they had set up three kitchen chairs. There was a pleasant-looking man, or at least one who didn’t look mean, walking up to him.

  “My name is Agent Morley. I am an agent with the Secret Service.” He showed Mihai his credentials. “Have the agents read you your rights?”

  “Yes. Mihai no understand vie is happenink.” Now Mihai started to think about what the man had said—Secret Service.

  The Secret Service in Romania were rightly feared by everyone. They had the power of life and death. People disappeared when the Romanian Secret Service came for them. Fear started to mingle with Mihai’s confusion.

  He sat in the one chair facing the other two, leaning forward because of the handcuffs.

  “Mihai no understand.” He looked around the apartment, “Vhat is Secret Police vant?”

  “I need you to sign this form. I know you can read English, but if you need help understanding the form tell me. It’s a form saying you do not want a lawyer before you talk to us. It doesn’t mean you can’t have a lawyer in the future, and you can stop the questioning at any time. You need to sign it and date it before we can talk to you. Do you understand?”

  Mihai nodded cautiously and Morley gave him the form to read. Once he was done, he was uncuffed and given a pen. After signing he was recuffed, this time in front. He was about to ask a question when the large black agent came back into the room. He said he needed to talk to the non-scowling agent.

  The two agents left Antonescu in the room with an agent who looked like a Romanian Olympic wrestler Mihai had once met in Bucharest. He smiled at the man but got no change of expression in return. Antonescu’s eyes returned to the floor.

  The other two agents were back in less than a minute, both scowling. The agent who had done all the talking took a seat again as the black agent whispered something to the white agent who had stayed in the room. Mihai, who had spent almost no time looking at people’s faces, was able to read the look that came over the white agent’s face. It was anger, bordering on hatred. Surprised, Antonescu looked down. The agent who seemed to be in charge, started speaking again. “Okay, do you want a lawyer? We can’t talk to you if you want a lawyer, so I have to ask you that first.”

  This was the first time Antonescu remembered what his friend and boss, had told him. “Anytime you deal with the police, never say anything. Always demand a lawyer.” Mihai, who was literal to a fault, felt that since these men were not police, the advice did not apply. “Mihai no need lawyer. Mihai vant to talk. To have you understand is mistake. Is no right. Vhat you doink, is mistake.”

  The large black agent spoke, “It’s no mistake pal, you’re being arrested and you’re gonna be found guilty and go to jail for the rest of your fuckin’ life.”

  Mihai glanced at the man, and then away when he saw the rage. He didn’t notice the agent across from him give the black agent a stern look.

  “Please, tell Mihai vie Secret Police here. Mihai can help?”

  “Mihai Antonescu, at this point you are being arrested for violation of 18 USC 1030: computer hacking. There may be additional charges filed at a later date regarding some other offenses. Do you understand what computer hacking is?”

  Mihai’s eyes dropped to the man’s chest and he nodded. “Yes, but Mihai never do. Mihai stop people hackink.”

  The next question caught him off guard. “Do you understand what child pornography is?”

  It took a second for the question to register. When it did, he looked at the floor and his shoulders slumped.

  Mihai didn’t realize that the agents took the gesture as a physical admission of guilt. Mihai knew all too well what child pornography was from his adolescence. Many children from his native Romania were sold into that insidious lifestyle, and some of the lucky ones had found their way to the orphanage. Mihai knew better than most what child pornography was and had seen its shattered aftermath. “Yes, Mihai know dis.”

  “And you know it is illegal to possess images of minors who are naked or engaged in sexual acts?”

  “Yes.” Antonescu tried to smile at the agent. He needed the agent to believe he wanted to help. He had helped people his whole life, and now more than ever he wanted to have someone believe it. His disfigurements made his attempt at a smile looked more like a grimace.

  “Are you okay,” asked the agent in front of him.

  Mihai eagerly nodded again and looked down, “Mihai know vhat bad photographs of childs is. They very bad, horrible.” He sat silent for a moment. “How Mihai help vit bad photographs?”

  “That’s good, we’re making progress. Before you can help us, there are things we need to clear up. First, you have to admit you have done something wrong. We want a confession from you about the photographs. Then we can work on a cooperation deal. Are you willing to do that?”

  “Vhat Mihai need to say to you?”

  “Lionel, can you get me a pen and some paper?”

  The black agent glared at Mihai as he walked away. Again, Antonescu was surprised, and scared. It took him a second to realize the agent in front of him was talking again.

  “Mr. Antonescu, to start we want you to tell us about the photographs and then you’ll need to write everything down and sign it. Are you ready to do that?”

  “Mihai do vhat you vant.” He looked back up to Morley. “Many bad photographs come my country of Romania. Mihai sad for dat. You vant know about the bad photographs?”

  “Yes.”

  “Vhat you vant Mihai tell you?”
>
  “To start, are all of the computers in this house yours?”

  “No.”

  Mihai noticed that the agent in front of him seemed a little annoyed, before asking, “Does anyone else live here with you?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, come with me.” The agent grabbed him roughly by the upper shoulder and forced him to his feet. Antonescu was hurriedly led into the bedroom where an agent was busy working on the home PC. Another agent had Mihai’s work laptop. There were bad pictures of young girls and men having sex on the screen. His eyes opened wide in shock before he looked away.

  The agent that seemed to be in charge asked him, “Which computers are yours?”

  Mihai pointed to the desktop with his cuffed hands.

  “Then who do these machines belong to?” asked the agent pointing to other computers, including the one with the child pornography.

  “Dat vork laptop. Belong to State of New York.”

  The agent sighed heavily. “Okay, who uses that machine?”

  “Mihai.”

  “Does anyone else use the computer besides you?”

  “No, only Mihai.”

  “Now that we have that little misunderstanding straightened out…” the agent said, almost to himself. He pointed to the work laptop. “That machine had the bad pictures on it, and you say only you use it. We want you to tell us about the bad pictures. We need you to admit they are yours, and then you can tell us where you got them.”

  Antonescu furrowed his brow as he tried to comprehend what was happening. For the first time since he was put in handcuffs, he didn’t immediately respond and try to explain. He thought about what had happened. In a few seconds he finally realized. The agents thought he had put the disgusting pictures on his computer. The confusion in the room had crested and was about to head down the other side.