by Linda Hawley
We turned to each other and had a quick hug. “Good to see you again, Ann,” Joe said in my ear.
“You too,” I said as we stood facing one another. “Thanks for coming to do this.”
He looked grim. “Tonight will be my pleasure, Ann. Let’s get all we can from this scumbag,” he said with disgust.
“That sounds like a plan to me,” I said, moving over to the sofa, with Lulu following.
Joe sat down in the chair facing me and dove right into the topic. “During the interrogation, I’ll be using intravenous barbiturates, coupled with brain mapping. Of course before that, you’ll sedate him.”
I imagined that was going to be my part. “How?”
“Using this,” Joe said, reaching into his bag and pulling out something in a flat paper wrapper not more than a half-inch square. “Ever seen one?”
“What is it?”
He opened the wrapper, and inside laid something that looked like a tiny Band-Aid, not much bigger than a large freckle.
“It’s a transdermal patch that contains Scopolamine, a powerful sedative at this dose. With this new generation of patches, the drug is contained within microscopic droplets that are smaller than bacteria, so it penetrates rapidly through the skin. We can either use this or the method used in nineteenth-century India, where they rubbed chilies in their subjects’ eyes,” he said with a wink.
“Ooh!” I said reflexively.
“Even though I know you’d enjoy the chili method, I think we’ll stick with the 2015 technology,” Joe said sarcastically.
I smiled at him, thinking, I do kinda like the chili method for Paul.
“So I need to get this patch on him?”
“Yes. What do you think of giving him a hug?”
“A hug…well…where am I supposed to put it?” I asked, confused.
“His neck. If you hug him, do you think you can get it on his neck?”
“Yeah, I think that’ll work,” I said, considering.
“It’s very important that you wash your hands with a solution I brought just before you put the dot on your finger. Sticking it on the subject anywhere on his neck is a good place; it’s so small he won’t even feel it. Immediately after you apply it, wash your hands again with the solution. The last thing I want is for you to be sedated.”
“Okay, got it. Anything else I should know?”
“Get him onto the sofa; he’ll be easier to handle there.”
“Okay.”
“Once he’s unconscious, I’ll insert the IV line, then get him set up for the brain mapping.”
“I want to hear more about that. How do you do it?”
“With this,” he said, pulling a high-tech helmet-like device from his bag.
The helmet was molded to the shape of a human head.
Lulu barked at it.
“It’s okay girl, it’s not a head,” I told her, smiling.
After Joe let her sniff it, she was satisfied and lay down.
It contained hardware on the inside and what must have been hundreds of node sensors on the outside. It was matt black and was made from some type of hard material.
“I assume it’s going to do the brain mapping; but what is it? I’ve never even heard of anything like this.”
“You probably never will. It’s called the Human Brain Map 12, or HBM-12. It was researched and developed in Japan by a private corporation only two years ago, and a GOG operative smuggled it out of there for our organization’s use. It was just delivered to me through a GOG courier this morning, along with a little training session. This baby packs a punch.”
“How’s it work?” I asked, intensely curious.
“Obviously, it fits on the subject’s head. I’ll adjust it at these points,” he said, pointing to the top and back of the helmet. “These fiber optics and electrodes from within the helmet will send light through laser diodes into Paul’s brain…”
“Wait a minute. How do you shine lasers into a person’s brain without burning tissue?”
“They’re non-invasive optical lasers, not surgical lasers. As the light separates, caused by movement through brain tissue, it’ll be measured by hundreds of sensors on the way out of his brain. The unique properties of the exit lights will give us information about specific activity in his brain,” he said, pausing to ensure I understood.
I nodded, fascinated by this technology I’d never seen.
“We’ll be able to tell, for example, if he’s lying about something.”
“Oh my goodness, it’s a lie-detector helmet.”
Joe smiled at my joke.
“How can you tell if he lies?”
“To put it simply, deceptive processes by the subject will activate the limbic system, which is part of the brain’s frontal lobe. This involves the recognition of future consequences from current actions, making choices, suppressing inappropriate social responses, that sort of thing. When the sensors read the exit lights, we’ll know if his limbic system’s been activated when answering a question. If so, we’ll immediately know he’s lied.”
“Unbelievable. It’s like high-tech bio-feedback for lying.”
“It is. It just may be the coolest technology I’ve ever seen for interrogations. It used to be when I would conduct interrogations that every answer from the subject was suspect until it was either confirmed or denied. Follow up took a long time, and we frequently never learned the truth about some things. With the HBM-12, we’ll immediately know whether each of Paul’s answers is a lie or the truth…”
“That’ll give us a chance to immediately ask follow-up questions,” I said excitedly.
“Yes. Exactly. Under the influence of the barbiturates I give him intravenously, he’ll talk with little prompting, saying anything that’s on his mind, having lost his inhibitions. But the drugs can’t prevent him from lying; he’s just as likely to lie with barbiturates in his veins, as he is when he’s not drugged. But the brain mapping will help us navigate the questions, to determine the truth. Output from the sensors is sent wirelessly to my laptop here, and the software program gives me an immediate answer.”
“It really is fantastic. Can we run through the process, so I get it all clear in my mind?”
“Sure. What time is Paul arriving here?”
“Seven.”
“So we have a few hours. That’s good. I already know that Chow and Edwin are conducting outer surveillance. Before Paul arrives, we’ll have Sinéad lock the door from the house to the garage, so there’s no way Paul can open it. I’ll be in the garage, so he won’t know I’m here. When you hear Paul’s car arrive, wash your hands with this…” he held out a small squeeze bottle filled with a solution “…and then put the transdermal freckle on your finger. When he gets to the front door, make sure you immediately close it before you lean in to give Paul a hug. After the hug, lead him to the living room and sit on the sofa. Have you thought about what to say to him?”
“Yeah. I think I’ll try to get him to tell me about Bennett’s death while the drug takes effect. That’ll keep the conversation away from him asking questions about me.”
“That’s a good idea, Ann. I was sorry to hear about Bennett; he’s been financially supporting our cause for a long time.”
“Yeah, I just learned that. I never knew. I thought he was hitting on me, when really he was protecting me for the last three years,” I said with remorse. “With his death and Bob’s, I fear the cost is high in our fight for freedom from the government.”
“It’s a price many of us have and will pay, Ann. Is it a fight you want to continue?” he asked me bluntly.
“I check myself regularly with that very question. For me, the answer’s a resounding yes. How about you?”
“I honestly ask myself that question too. My answer is always yes.”
“What brought you to the organization?” I asked him.
“My sister was serving in Afghanistan—she was career Army and was married to a civilian in the states. No children. He lost his
job in middle management while she was there. Because he was over the age of 50, he had a difficult time getting reemployed. He had earned twice as much as my sister, so when he lost his job and couldn’t get reemployed, he couldn’t make ends meet. He finally got to the point where he was making the car payment instead of the mortgage payment; he figured he needed a car to search for a job. He was using her Army income to pay as much as he could; they just had too many payments to make. He never told her, knowing it would stress her while she was fighting in Afghanistan. When my sister came home on leave after being gone for a twelve-month deployment, he had lost the house to foreclosure. Then he killed himself.”
“Oh my goodness,” I said, gasping.
“You know, Ann, some buffoon once asked me why my brother-in-law didn’t just file bankruptcy—to save the house. I was so angry at his uninformed question that I remained silent. I didn’t think I could keep my cool as I explained to him the new bankruptcy law that prevented him from going bankrupt because his wife still worked.”
“It still shocks me how many people don’t know anything about how government or the law really works. It’s too bad GOG can’t take out a Public Service Announcement,” I added.
“People are afraid; there are consequences for opposition.”
“Yes, there are,” I nodded in agreement.
“So that’s why I initially joined GOG—because of two lives ruined. What about you? Why did you join the cause?” he asked, focusing on me.
I told Joe about my last remote view, the SEAL’s blood on my arm as he was executed, and the Pentagon’s role in my viewing the event. He was stoic when I explained that I was actually present during the event—not just viewing it from a distance.
“That’s why I left the CIA, but what made me join GOG was more…”
“How so?” he tilted his head.
“After leaving the agency, I became a news junkie. I went back to school and became a journalist, and I started to make connections about where people’s suffering was coming from. After studying the constitution, I realized that America had strayed far from what our forefather’s intended.”
“And that’s when you joined GOG?” Joe asked.
“Not yet. Not long after this, Armond and I went sailing in the San Juan Islands. A friend, named Reed Burke, loaned us his twenty-six-foot Ranger—similar to the Ranger we ended up buying many years later—while Reed was doing a test sail of a thirty-eight-foot Catalina sailboat. We didn’t own any of our own equipment back then, so we used what was on Reed’s boat. It was the first time Armond and I had sailed the Ranger alone, and since it wasn’t rigged for single handling, it took both of us to sail her.”
“What season was it?” Joe asked.
“It was autumn. The winds were a fresh breeze at twenty knots, creating some chop, which were perfect conditions for sailing the Ranger. We were about five boat lengths ahead of Reed, moving between seven-point-six and eight knots. The winds started gusting at a near gale; we needed to reef our mainsail. I was at the tiller, and Armond had moved forward to reef the sail. I was holding her steady when we had a gust of 28 knots, and we heeled over with rails in the water. The sudden movement threw me sideways, and when I looked up a few seconds after the adjustment, Armond was no longer on the sailboat…”
Joe’s face went grim. Anyone living in the Pacific Northwest knew that the water temperature in the San Juan’s was about forty-five degrees.
I swallowed, remembering my fear when I saw Armond in the water.
“I immediately moved the tiller to luff up into the wind to slow the boat, and I saw him overboard. Wedging the tiller between my legs, I threw the Lifesling over the transom, followed by the man-overboard marker, so I could find him again in the water. I also radioed to Reed that Armond was overboard and to look for the flag bobbing five feet over the water. This was before the days GPS was available, so I couldn’t simply hit a man-overboard mark on a GPS to find him again. I was really concerned about finding Armond again…”
“Because of the swells,” Joe said, oddly flat.
“Yes, the swells were big that day—I didn’t want to lose him. Normally you’re not supposed to drop your sails when rescuing a man overboard, but I thought I had to in the weather conditions we were in. It took me several minutes to drop the 80 square feet of sails from the tall rigged ship—the mast was forty-five feet high—start the motor, and steer back to pick him up. I knew he only had minutes before hypothermia would set in.
“I was searching for the man-overboard marker amid the swells, when I finally spotted the flag. I steered toward it, hoping to find my husband. I had the boat hook out to catch the lifeline that I hoped he was on the other end of. I was able to catch the lifeline with the boat hook, but Armond wasn’t floating on the end of the Lifesling. When I spotted him bobbing in the water, I was elated. I was assuming he also saw me, but he didn’t raise his hand to signal me, so I knew he was in a hypothermic state. He was floating on the life jacket he was wearing, and he had the flag in the crook of his arm, with his arms folded across his chest. He must have grabbed it knowing it was his only chance of being found in the swells. Since he was at least a boat length away from where the life preserver I had thrown was floating, I couldn’t correct the position of the Ranger in time to get close enough to him.”
I looked down at my hands, remembering what I learned in sailing class: If you don’t get a man overboard on the first pass, you don’t have enough time to circle again for a second try—if you want your man alive.
“I knew that I had just signed my husband’s death warrant,” I said, reaching for a box of tissues, remembering my thoughts from that day so long ago. I blew my nose, then continued, as Joe listened attentively.
“‘I’ll come back around!’ I screamed to Armond to reassure him. I turned as fast as I could, holding onto a sliver of hope that I could reach him in time. But I also knew that if I could reach him, it was going to be nearly impossible for me to pull him aboard alone, considering that he would be fully waterlogged and hypothermic, unable to move his limbs to help me. He was six feet tall and two hundred pounds of muscle, plus wet clothes. As I turned the Ranger, I spotted Reed’s Catalina out of the corner of my eye. That drew my attention away from my hyperfocus. There were two men with Reed on the Catalina. They had nearly reached Armond, and I could see two men on the port side and the other at the helm. One of the men hooked Armond’s life jacket with the boat hook and pulled him to the Catalina, while the man at the helm slowed the engine; they had him. It took all three of them struggling to get Armond aboard.”
“You must have been so relieved, Ann.”
“You just cannot imagine it. They got him on deck, while I continued to motor toward them. One of the men got in their dinghy and quickly reached me. We swapped so that I could be with Armond. All I was told was that he was hypothermic, but conscious. Armond survived, with the help of other vessels who had seen the commotion and came to our aid. Sailors are a resourceful bunch, and most offshore sailors know extensive first aid. It was the group who saved him.”
Joe nodded.
I took a breath.
“As I sat beside Armond in the hospital room, we talked about the accident. He told me that as he bobbed in the water, a peace overcame him. He had only felt that peace once before—when he was backpacking in the Brazilian mountains, just before we met. He said that he knew not only that he would survive, but that both of us would have a part in changing the world to make it better. As Armond explained it, he said that it was more a knowing in his soul than anything else. Right there in the hospital room, he told me that he thought to join GOG was our destiny. I could not deny the power of his experience, and I agreed to commit to join the organization. In that near-tragedy, our life-cause was born.”
“That’s an incredible story, Ann,” Joe said, wide-eyed.
“I know. Looking back now, it was a bit of a premonition about what was to come—that Armond would later die in an accident.”
“Does it feel random to you…his death I mean?”
“That’s the strangest part. No. I mean it was extremely difficult to grieve. But it has never felt out of place; it’s always felt to me like things are exactly as they should be. Isn’t that odd?”
“Destiny.”
“Yes, destiny. I believe you’re right, Joe. Things are as they should be, even when there is danger involved.”
“There are many who will lay down their life to keep you safe, Ann.”
“I know that, and I’m grateful for it.”
We were silent for the space of many minutes.
“How about some herbal mint tea?” I changed the subject, chasing away the memories we were both watching in our minds, the ones that nipped at our heels when we were miserable; I could see in his eyes that he was haunted too.
“That’s a good idea, Ann.”
We walked over to the kitchen and made tea together, and I tossed Lulu a dog treat. Moving back to the sofa table, we continued discussing the interrogation.
“It’ll only take about five minutes before the subject will start feeling the dose. He may start acting a little odd—loose around the edges—and he might get a little frisky…”
“Oh, that’s okay. My knee is in perfect working order,” I said, flexing my leg with a wicked smile.
Joe laughed sincerely. “He certainly deserves it. How are you doing emotionally with all of this?” he pressed.
“You’re the first person to ask me that.”
“I live with a bunch of women, Ann. My wife and four daughters—I’m very familiar with feelings,” he said, smiling.
I laughed out loud.
“Well, Joe, since you’re familiar with feelings, I’ll tell you that I’ve cried at least a full bucket of tears. It’s not that I loved him; I didn’t. But I did trust him, and I feel grossly betrayed. I’ve come to the conclusion that anything that happens to him tonight, he deserves. I don’t need revenge, but there is karma in play here…”
