* * *
The guards put the shackles back on, and Mark tried not to let that bother him, especially since they didn’t reapply the goggles. They led him down a long hallway that looked like it could be a courthouse. He squared his shoulders. Maybe he would finally get to plead his case before a judge.
He was led to a small room, over to a table and instructed to sit. Beside him was an empty chair. The guards remained standing behind him. Across from the table where Mark sat, was a longer table. An American flag and a state flag in tall stands, flanked it. Four chairs faced him.
Across a narrow aisle was a table identical to his own, complete with two chairs. Mark glanced at the chair next to him, wondering who it was for.
The only sound in the room was an occasional creak of Mark’s chains and one of the guards coughed a few times. After waiting for several minutes, four military officers entered the room and strode past Mark without a glance in his direction. While watching the officers, Mark almost missed the two men in suits who walked down the aisle and sat at the other small table. Mark tried to get a closer look at them, but the one nearest to him had his back turned, blocking the other man from view.
A rustle at his elbow distracted him. An older man with gray hair slicked over a bald spot slid into the chair next to him. The man leaned over and whispered, “I’m David Cox, your attorney.” and offered his hand.
Seeing the manacles when Mark made no move to return the handshake, Cox fumbled with the catches on his briefcase. “My attorney?” Mark wasn’t aware he’d had one. The guy was sweating bullets and looked as if he had run a marathon before arriving.
“I’ve been working on your behalf for months. I even took your case before the U.S. District court.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his brow. “The government is getting pressured about all this enemy combatant status. Technically, we won our case, but—” Cox broke off and glanced at the guards behind Mark, his expression wary. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions, but I feel we should continue this conversation after the hearing.”
Mark nodded but couldn’t help doubting that he would actually get the chance to discuss it.
Cox withdrew a stack of papers from his briefcase and began sorting through them. “I wasn’t notified of this hearing until about an hour ago and I’m not even sure what it’s about. I’ll try for a continuance if I don’t feel prepared to answer on your behalf.”
He swallowed hard. So, he hadn’t been forgotten. “Thanks.” A voice cut through the room. A voice he recognized and one that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. It came from one of the men at the other table. Jim and Bill...shit. Mark must have made a sound because Jim broke off his conversation, his eyes meeting Mark’s. He nodded, his face impassive.
Mark faced forward with his hands in a white-knuckled clasp on the table. The men in the room busied themselves with settling in. Papers rustled, briefcases clicked, and muted conversations drifted in the heavy silence. A woman entered with a pitcher of water, Mark froze, until she began pouring it into glasses in front of each officer. Everyone had their glass filled. Mark received one too, but he could only look at it. At least he hadn’t been left out. That was something.
His knee began to jerk, the rattling clink of the leg chains loud in the small room. Cox gave him a warning look as the court was called to order.
At the long table—a man who looked vaguely familiar to Mark—addressed Jim. “Officer Sheridan, I received your report and we have discussed it at length. Thank you for clarifying some issues we had. We have come to a decision.” He shifted his focus to Mark. “Mr. Taylor, would you please rise?”
He stole a look at Jim, but the man faced the front. Was he being sentenced now? How could he be sentenced when he hadn’t been tried? Hell, he wasn’t even sure of the charges. His legs felt like jelly. Cox prodded him with an elbow, followed by a grim, “Stand.” Mark wanted to shout at him that he was trying, but instead, he shoved out of the chair and stood. He took a deep breath and raised his chin.
“Mark Taylor, this council has found insufficient evidence that you had any involvement in the events of September 11, 2001. You are to be released from custody immediately.” The man gathered his papers and he and the rest of the tribunal rose, and without so much as a nod in Mark’s direction, left the room.
His legs wobbled, and he sat hard. That was it? He was free? Mark rested his elbows on the table, propping his head in his hands as the realization sunk in. The nightmare was over. He was going home. Emotion welled up and he lowered his head onto his arms, his body shaking as he tried to suppress a sob. His head felt stuffed with cotton, and it took a moment before he heard his lawyer speaking to him. Mark swiped his eyes on his shoulder before he turned his head. “Huh?”
“I said, ‘congratulations. You’re a free man.” He clapped Mark on the back.
Mark shook his head. “It’s...it’s kind of surreal. Is it true? I’m free? They won’t take me back there?” Please, God, let it be real.
David Cox smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “Yes, it’s true.”
Blinking, he tried to return the smile, but he noticed Jim stuff a large white envelope in his briefcase. What if it was a trick? After over a year in custody, now he was just free to walk out? Just like that? It didn’t make sense, and he didn’t trust them.
One of the guards stepped forward. “Stand please.”
Mark did as ordered, and when the guard removed the shackles, his whole body felt light, as though he might float to the ceiling. He rubbed his wrists and waited, hardly daring to breathe. It could be a trick, give him a taste of freedom in hopes that he’d spill his guts to stay free.
Jim approached the table and handed a stack of papers to Cox. “These need to be signed by your client.”
He made no attempt to acknowledge his former prisoner. The entire proceeding, with two exceptions, had been handled as if Mark hadn’t even been in the room.
“Okay. Give me a couple of minutes to go over these, please.” Cox accepted the packet and turned his attention to Mark. “Well, this was an unexpected turn of events. I have to tell you, I had my doubts that you would be released. The government has been hell-bent on keeping enemy combatants locked up without even a trial.”
He flipped through the papers. “These look like standard documents. There’s one about your personal and business bank accounts. It looks like it might take awhile to unfreeze them.” Cox frowned. “Wait a minute...” He glared up at Jim. “What’s this? You want him to sign a statement waiving his right to pursue a lawsuit against the government?”
A muscle near Jim’s jaw tightened for a second, his mouth set in a hard line as he glanced over to Bill, who nodded in response to some unspoken question. “Apparently so.” His voice was calm.
Cox shook his head in disgust. “Could you give me a moment to confer with my client?” It was not a request.
“Certainly.” Jim moved over near Bill, but continued to observe.
“Think it over, Mark. They’ve taken away more than a year of your life, and I don’t even know what else might have happened in there.”
Jim’s face remained impassive as he waited, but his hand tighten on the handle of his briefcase. If Mark signed, it meant never getting a chance to get justice for what they did to him. Would they send him back to prison if he refused? Could they do that? He glanced over his shoulder. The guards were gone, but they could be lurking out in the hall. It wasn’t much of a choice. In fact, it was no choice at all. His heart hammered and he looked from Jim back to Cox. He couldn’t take a chance when freedom was so close.
“Give me a pen.”
When he finished, he set the pen down and ran a hand through his hair. It was official. Mark let out a shaky breath.
Jim set his briefcase on the table and pulled out a lumpy envelope and extended it towards Mark. “Here.”
Mark flinched, but didn’t take the package. He wanted to ask what was in it, but his throat
spasmed as the possibility that he might truly be free began to sink in.
“Go ahead. It’s just your wallet and personal effects you had when you were taken into custody.”
Mark’s hands shook as he tore the envelope open and flipped it over. His wallet, keys and even some loose change tumbled onto the table, along with a white letter-sized envelope. Thumbing through his wallet, he was surprised to see that there was about eighty dollars in it. He pocketed the billfold, keys and change. He stared at the envelope for a moment before pushing it back towards Jim. “I don’t think this is mine...sir.” What if they had planted some evidence in there? As soon as he touched it, they would say that he claimed it, and must be guilty.
Shoving it back, Jim snapped, “Take it. You’re going to need it.”
“Yes, sir.” Swallowing hard, Mark picked it up.
“I’ll see what it is.” Cox reached over and took it from him and opened it. “There’s a plane ticket to Chicago.” He squinted at the ticket. “The flight leaves in just a few hours.” He pulled out a stack of bills. “And some cash. Eight hundred dollars.”
Mark shot a look at Cox. “That’s not mine.” He rose, backing away with his hands raised, palms outward.
“Listen, it’s just money for food and lodging for a few days until you get settled.” Jim clicked his briefcase closed.
Cox snorted. “Oh, I’m sure that’ll cover all his expenses. You know he’s going to need more than that.”
Jim shrugged. “It’s better than nothing.”
Stepping forward, Mark took the envelope. Despite the limited amount, he realized he would need it. “Thank you.” The words lodged in his throat.
Nodding, Jim drummed his fingers on top of his briefcase and looked at Mark as if he had something he wanted to say, but instead, he swung the briefcase off the table and put his hand out. “You’re welcome.”
Confused, Mark looked at the hand, then up at Jim. He couldn’t do it. Even if they put him back in prison. “I...ah—”
“Never mind.” Jim dropped his hand and strode to the back of the room, disappearing out the door.
In the sudden silence, Mark tried to focus, but his mind was whirling, and he remembered Cox had said something about his assets. “My bank accounts?”
“Yes, they were immediately frozen when you were designated an enemy combatant. I wish I could tell you when it’ll be all cleared up, but I can’t say for sure.”
The eight hundred dollars didn’t seem so generous now. What would he do until his accounts were available? Mark pushed it from his mind. He could deal with that back in Chicago. Right now, he just needed to get out of here.
Fifteen
At the airport an hour later, Mark approached the security checkpoint. People were taking off their shoes, and some were pulled out of line for no reason that Mark could tell. His hands began to sweat, and he swiped them on his thighs. He didn’t want to take his shoes off. Glancing at the man behind him, he started to ask what was going on, but that man had a cell phone to his ear, and just glared at him.
Mark’s mouth went dry as his turn approached, then a security guard tapped him on the shoulder. “Step to the side please.”
He hesitated. Freedom was so close. “Is...is something wrong?”
“No, sir. I just need to ask you a few questions.”
The phrase sent a chill through him. Jim and Bill said they were just going to ask a few questions. It was stupid to be worried. He had nothing to hide and others had been questioned. “Okay.”
It took only a few moments even though it felt like much longer, but in the end, they let him pass through. He tugged his shirt away from his body, feeling like he had just run a few sprints. With no bags, check in went quickly. Mark sank onto a chair and ran a hand through his hair. He tried to relax as he waited for the flight to be called, but he couldn’t keep still. His leg bounced and when he noticed, he stopped, but then began drumming his fingers on the armrests.
A harried looking woman approached. With one hand, she dragged a small suitcase on wheels, and a huge purse hung off her shoulder. Her other hand clutched the hand of a little girl.. The child poked a finger in her mouth and stared at him with wide brown eyes. “Sit in the chair, Olivia.” The child didn’t budge, just kept her gaze on him. Mark squirmed.
“It’s okay, honey.” She lifted the girl and set her in the chair. Mark gave her an encouraging smile. He’d always been good with the children that came to have their portraits taken. The girl scooted as far from Mark as she could. The woman stood beside the chair and looked at her watch before tugging on the straps of her purse. It looked heavy.
He saw that all the other chairs were taken. The woman should sit beside her child. He stood, waving towards the chair. “Here, you can have my seat, ma’am.” Mark shoved his hands in his pockets as he stepped away. His heart raced, and he tried to shake off his nerves. It was just a mom and her kid. Nothing scary about that. Except that he had only spoken to a handful of people in the last year, and most of them had been interrogating him.
“Oh no, that’s all right. I don’t mind standing.” She plunged her hand into the depths of her purse, but one strap came off her arm, upending the bag. The contents tumbled out onto the floor. “Shoot!” Mark gaped at the pile of miscellaneous items. He was sure that MacGyver could build a whole car with the contents of that purse. Bending to pick up the items, the flustered woman knocked the handle of her suitcase, and it tipped, resulting in more angry words from the mother. The little girl began to cry. “Olivia, hon, it’s fine. Don’t cry.” Her voice shook.
Mark bent, retrieving a lipstick, a medication bottle, and some change that had rolled under the chair. He then righted the suitcase. “Here.” He handed over the items. “Please. Take my seat. It’s okay.”
“Oh, bless you.” The woman gave in and dropped onto the chair. “You have no idea what a bad day this has been.” She fanned her face and chuckled. “No, make that a bad week. Our flights have been canceled and delayed due to bad weather.”
Mark nodded. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ve had some rough days recently. It’s no fun. I hope things go better for you.” His stomach rumbled and he wished he would have thought to buy some food before checking in. There was no time now. Oh, well. He would live.
The woman grinned at him. “You hungry?”
He cleared his throat, embarrassed that she’d heard. “Uh, just a little.”
Reaching into another pocket of the purse, she pulled out a chocolate bar. “Here. I know it’s not much, but take it.”
Mark hesitated, and she leaned forward, pressing it into his hand. “I’m not supposed to eat the stuff and I have another for Olivia.”
“Thank you. I appreciate this.” He brought the bar up to his nose, even through the wrapper, he could smell the aroma. Heaven.
The woman raised an eyebrow and Mark couldn’t help letting a small smile quirk his mouth. “It’s the first one I’ve had in a really long time.”
She waved to him, then sighed when the flight was called. “Have a good day.”
The plane circled O’Hare for thirty minutes in a holding pattern due to rain and sleet. Traffic on the highways below crawled along, the headlights snaking around the airport and branching in towards the city. Looking south, he saw the Sears Tower, its lights hazy, but reaching high into the twilight sky. His throat tightened. It wasn’t the most beautiful skyscraper in the city, the Hancock was more elegant, but the Sears Tower represented Chicago. It jutted up out of the prairie, bold and broad, soaring head and shoulders above the surrounding buildings. Mark craned his head as the plane banked and he lost sight of the building. How could anyone think to destroy something like that? He sat back with a sigh. How could anyone think that he’d wanted to destroy it?
Mark stood on the moving sidewalk inside the terminal. Normally, he disdained them, preferring to walk, but he was drained. As the belt carried him through the terminal, it suddenly occurred to him that nobody knew he was comin
g home. In Charleston, he hadn’t had time to call his parents, and they lived four hours north of Chicago, just outside of Madison. In this weather, no way would they be able to come down to see him.
He stepped out of the airport, the blast of cold damp air cutting right through the thin shirt he wore. Nobody had thought to provide a coat for him. In the south, it was still warm, but in Chicago, winter was just beginning to flex her muscles.
The cab should be warm enough and when he got home, he could dig out his winter gear. After asking for an address, the cabbie glanced at him in the rear-view mirror. “Dude? You crazy? Where’s your coat?”
Mark shrugged. “I wasn’t thinking when I got on the plane. Forgot it.” He tried to suppress a shiver, but the chill swept his body.
The man shook his head, but he reached down and turned the heat on high.
“Thanks.” Mark hunched into the seat, and soon, the warmth of the cab soaked into him. They got caught in the same traffic that had been visible from the plane, and it wasn’t long before he began blinking, each time, his eyes staying shut longer. He hoped the cabbie was honest, because he was beat. He’d tried to doze on the flight, but was so keyed up, he couldn’t relax.
“Here you go.”
Mark started and sat forward so fast, he bumped his head on the roof of the car. “What?” He rubbed his head and looked out the window. They were in front of his building. He was home.
The cab pulled away, and Mark hurried up the steps to the front door, keys in hand. It was so familiar. Huddled against the cold, he fumbled for the key on his chain, and tried to slip it into the lock, but it wouldn’t fit. That was strange. Was it the wrong key? The one for the storage closet in the basement looked a lot like the door key. He tried the other one. Neither opened the door.
He sat on the brick ledge bordering the entryway. Once a unit had been burglarized and the front lock had been changed. Mark ran his finger down the list of names beside the buzzers. His neighbor would buzz him in if he was home. There were some new names on the list and it took him a moment to realize that one of them was in his apartment. He wiped a drop of water off the name plate. It had to be wrong. That was his apartment. He scanned the other names, found one he recognized, and buzzed it. Nothing. He tried again. And again.
Mark Taylor Omnibus (The Mark Taylor Series) Page 27
