The End of Slavery

by Craig Maciolek

Chapter Four

  The makeshift FBI offices were in the parking lot of the bombed Federal Building. Two double- wide trailers parked end to end on the furthest most edge of the lot from the mangled building. There was an argument to put the temporary facilities out at the old airport, but the decision to keep it there was made for psychological purposes; keep everyone in town, and let them be reminded of the stakes every time they open their eyes. More permanent offices were being arranged just a few buildings away, but would not be ready for another day.

  As Agents Spencer and Gonzales drove towards the trailers, with Michael in the back seat, everything buzzed with activity. People came and went from of the trailers, and folding tables were set up in the parking lot where meetings were being held outdoors. They could see their boss, Director Peirce, pacing back and forth in front of one of the trailers, talking into the thin air, and periodically checking papers spread out on the trunk of a car parked at the end of his pacing route. As Agent Gonzales parked a considerable distance from the center of the action, Agent Spencer watched as Director Peirce came back to the car trunk, wrote something down, and then slammed his fist into the trunk in anger and talked firmly to the rear windshield of the car. Everyone in a fifty foot radius stopped what they were doing to watch respectfully. She couldn't help but wonder if he was really that angry or if he was trying to inspire the team; like a basketball coach getting himself ejected from the game. But, as soon as she thought of the question she knew what the answer was. It was both. He was angry and was choosing to let it out publicly to inspire the team.

  The agents asked Michael to wait in the car while they went to see what was next. However, they were about half way to the trailers when Director Peirce saw them and made it very clear without using a single word that he wanted to talk to him. Without speaking Agent Gonzales signaled to Agent Spencer that he would go back and get Michael and that she should continue on and get the lay of the land. Agent Spencer passively agreed, giving a little back to her partner, and continued forward and followed where the Director had disappeared into one of the trailers.

  She was surprised to find that the trailers were almost completely occupied by the bustle of the secretaries. She knew that it was silly to be surprised by that. It should be perfectly clear to anyone who had spent five minutes working for a large institution, the people who did the least pleasant, but most necessary, work were always in charge; whether people openly acknowledged that or not. Director Peirce even once commented on the fact that nothing had more influence in bringing the end to monarchies and the feudal era than bureaucracy. “How impotent a king is when he doesn't know or have control of how his orders are disseminated.” It was the secretaries who controlled the flow of information; it was the secretaries who were in charge. There was, however, one small room in the back corner reserved for private meetings. That was where Director Peirce led Agent Spencer.

  They entered the room and Director Peirce went to look out the window in what seemed to be a peaceful moment.

  “This isn't terrorism,” he said. “Terrorism involves a direct relationship between the terrorist's act and his stated goals. This is quite clearly manipulation using terror and fear as leverage. In Game Theory terrorism is a direct competition. What we have here is one side playing a different game than the other. And what makes it so insidious,... is that they are using our own bureaucracy against us.” He turned towards Agent Spencer, “We are being told not to pursue any money trail. Ninenty-nine point nine percent of all crime, of all wars, of all fights and battles that have taken place in the history of life on planet Earth are about money and resources... Evolution is about the fight to acquire resources, for crying out loud!! And we are being ordered to ignore the flow of money and resources.” He looked to the ground, then turned to look back out the window. After a while he said, “There is as much truth, if not more truth, in the flow of information than there is in the information itself, and this investigation is going to force us to make some serious choices about who we are and where we stand within that flow.”

  Agent Spencer stood quietly, knowing that this was one of those moments that she was being told something that could not be stated outright. In the silence she wondered if it was something she was being told or something she was being asked. They stood for a while without speaking. The truth of the matter, from the perspective of Director Peirce, was that he liked that Agent Spencer was thinking about what he said and didn't just react with a standard line, or dismiss it and start talking about something else. Either way, it was only a minute or two of silence before Agent Gonzales was standing in the door, knocking a couple of times lightly on the wall. In that moment everything changed and they all slipped into the usual roles that were to be played.

  “Michael James,” opened Agent Spencer, “this is Director Peirce. He is our boss.”

  Director Peirce extended his hand and said, “Mr. James...” and Michael meekly took it, giving the clear impression that he was eager to give it back. “Have a seat.”

  The only furniture in the room were three desk chairs. Not comfortable desk chairs, more like the kind of metal and plastic chairs that would be found in a school or public facility. Agent Spencer and Michael sat in two of them next to one another facing towards the window while Director Peirce took the third and sat directly and aggressively in front of Michael; almost knee to knee. Michael recoiled inward, his head dropped down and to the right, and his hands started to kneed in his lap. Agent Spencer was about to say something when Director Peirce noticed himself.

  He got up and moved his chair back and to the side a little, “I sorry Mr. James, things have been tense around here and I wasn't thinking in terms of respectful communication.” Michael didn't answer, he just remained unmoved. Director Peirce made a show of serious effort to relax and Agents Spencer and Gonzales, who had settled with leaning against the wall to the side, followed suit. A minute or two passed while Michael slowly loosened up. Finally he reached into his pocket and pulled out his grandfather's watch chain and started working it through his hands.

  “That looks like an old chain.” Director Peirce broke the silence.

  “It was my grandfather's, from a pocket watch he gave me.” Michael paused for a moment, “The watch stopped working, so I made the chain into a loop. I find it helps me focus my mind at times.”

  “I doodle.” Director Peirce said warmly. “And I am fairly certain I wouldn't be able to add two and two together if I didn't have a pen to draw silly little pictures with.”

  Michael smiled and looked up at Director Peirce, “If people only understood that it is all just a function of scale.” At this Director Peirce got that distant look of someone who just experienced a moment of clarity. Moments later, when Director Peirce's attention returned, he found Michael looking at him with a broad warm smile.

  “Mr. James, I am not going to lie to you. You are the only witness to a horrendous crime and the criminals are aware of your identity and position. As you have noticed, they want you dead.” Michael listened and nodded an affirmation to this last point. “Now, we are going to do our best to help you, but I need you to understand that sometimes things just happen, sometimes we just find ourselves in a bad situation and the only thing we can do is roll up our sleeves and fight our way out.”

  Director Peirce went ahead and started questioning Michael about all that had happened over the past day, starting with getting the full story as to what happened that morning. Then, he moved to the day before with a precision that impressed everyone in the room, including himself. He exhaustively confirmed that Michael's story was not only complete, but perfectly consistent. Throughout the three hours of questioning no one moved all that much, except for Agent Gonzales who occasionally shifted from one foot to the other. Michael eerily maintained the same position and posture the entire time. While he stared at the ground and his posture was still a little submissive, the tone of his voice and the manner of his speech revealed no lack of confidence or maturi
ty. Agent Spencer spent a large amount of this time wondering if he was focused on remembering, or if he was focused on speaking. Was his apparent physical detachment the result of the effort to remember or the effort to speak well, or both. She decided that it was the effort to speak well because she didn't get the impression that memory was an issue for him. What she didn't account for, and what Michael would point out as being a problem of arrogance with people's perception, was that he was empathic and what he was actually focused on was aligning himself with the energy of Director Spencer.

  During the debriefing, Michael's entire focus was on his own interaction with Director Peirce. He was actually very excited to have the opportunity. Most of the time he simply witnessed the interaction between other people, as a passive observer. Not many people have ever tried to engage him respectfully and with such serious intent. So, to him, this was a chance to test out theories and perspectives to see if they had any value at all.

  One of the fist things Michael realized was that the easiest thing to do was match Director Peirce's emotional state. Easy, but not very effective as far as communication was concerned. He found that his answers ended up being too short, too defensive, and there was an intense urge to allow empty spaces remain empty. He presumed this was because Director Peirce already had an idea that he did not want to alter. He decided instead, to let himself play with rhythms and responses. He began intuitively. In his mind it was like how jazz musicians communicated on stage through their improvised music; it was fluid, leading each other forward into new ground. After about an hour or so of this improvisation Michael decided to try and formulate small little interactions. Certain emotional phrases seemed to invoke consistent responses. Thus, if he could string several of these together he might be able to direct the conversation, or at least influence it a bit.

  As the debriefing came to a close, both Agent Spencer and Gonzales felt a bit elated that they had just learned a thing or two about how to interrogate a witness. Director Peirce was elated that at last something he did produced some results; making him feel a whole lot better about all the stone walls he had run into over the past twenty-four hours. And, Michael was elated to have gained some experience in his own understanding and abilities.

  Director Peirce stood up, “Thank you Mr. James. I don't think I have ever interviewed someone so cooperative and thorough as you.” Michael simply smiled and nodded. “There is a restroom around the corner, but I am afraid I am going to have to ask you to stay here. Do you understand?” Michael nodded again. “I am going to borrow the agents for a while, so we can figure out what to do next. I will have someone come right away and take your order for lunch. Is there anything else we can do for you?”

  Michael shifted his eyes for a moment, as though he was trying to find a place to look, then ended up looking directly at Director Peirce, “My cards please... and pen and paper.”

  Director Peirce looked inquisitively at the agents, first Agent Spencer, then Gonzales. Agent Gonzales snapped out of silence first, “They're in the car. I can go get them right now.”

  “If you would please.” And then turned his gaze to Agent Spencer, “And maybe Agent Spencer can scare up a table.”

  “I will.”

  “Good. Get that done and then come find me. We have things to discuss.” With this Michael was left alone in the little room for a moment before one of the secretaries came in and asked what he would like for lunch.

  -----

  Out in the parking lot, next to the car with the new dent in the trunk, Director Peirce was explaining to the Agents why he had to have a psych evaluation done on Mr. James. It wasn't his choice, it was simply protocol. Agent Gonzales was apathetic and wanted to get back to actually doing something that felt productive. Agent Spencer was a little defensive, but she didn't really know why. She knew it was not only right, and going to happen no matter what she thought or felt, however, there was still a little scratching sound deep inside. The evaluation was imperative to what would happen next. The question was about what to do with Michael James, and why. Director Peirce was talking to himself out loud to the agents. Telling them all the millions of different ways the determined mental health of Mr. James affected the direction and outcome of their investigation, and there was simply no point in doing much planning until that was completed.

  -----

  Michael sat in the small room in the trailer in front of an eight foot folding table. He finished his lunch consisting of a BLT with french fries and two pickles, and threw the trash away in the can out by the secretaries. All that remained was the large cup of watered down warm flat soda that sat at the end of the table in a ring of its own sweat. The rest of the table was covered in cards.

  Michael was happy. An eight foot table was much larger than he was used to, and it almost filled the little room completely. Normally he would have been on the floor to get this kind of space. He had, several times in the past, moved furniture around in his little apartment to get more space on the floor when he needed it, and suffered the crick in his back, neck and legs in order to work through the thoughts in his head. Michael let out a little snicker at the memory of what was so important to him at those times – usually, some little argument with his mother, or people picking on him. While he knew that all things progressed, and he wouldn't be where he was if he never went to where he had been before, there was no escaping how trivial those past issues seemed to him. He worked feverishly as so much seemed to be coming together as a result of his experiences over the past thirty-six hours. He worked feverishly until his attention was disturbed by the feel of someone standing at the door watching him.

  Michael let him stand there for a moment or two. The man was a psychologist; he knew the feel well enough. It was a feeling of intent that was different than what he got from Director Peirce during the debriefing. Director Peirce was intent on what Michael knew, this man was intent on Michael. Michael knew that the man was going to take the opportunity to observe him without him noticing, but what the psychologist didn't know was that Michael was also observing him. Michael was paying attention to what this stranger was feeling as he did different things. Michael moved certain cards around and made a note on the paper. The man in turn made a note on his paper.

  Michael decided to show the man a certain emotion – frustration – to see how he responded to it. Of course Michael didn't feel frustration, but that was not important. Most people don't consciously go by feel, they go by display and appearance. So, Michael faked a little frustration by acting like he just realized something was obviously wrong with his card layout that he should have known; a display of self reproach. He looked at a part of the table with mock disdain and quietly chastised himself as he picked up a whole section of his card layout. He took the cards and mixed them up a little bit and started, with frustration, laying them back down thoughtfully; trusting that the psychologist would not be paying enough attention to see that he was putting them back in the same arrangement. The psychologist watched quietly and when Michael was done, he quietly made a note on his pad of paper. Michael got the image that the stranger was a good observer. The man did not give off any emotional reaction to Michael's display. Unfortunately, Michael had much experience with psychologist's who were emotionally involved with what they did; desperate to prove that they were right or that they understood everything. Those psychologists often gave off the energy of a young student eagerly raising their hand to answer questions only to show off to the rest of the class. Worse still, were the ones who would ask loaded questions only to show off what they knew. Those were the ones, from his experience, who would bias their approach so a certain outcome would be displayed – ensuring that they would be seen as right. Pleased with what he perceived of the psychologist, Michael lifted his head and pretended to be surprised by his visitor.

  “Hello.. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.” The man approached and extended his hand, “My name is Dr. Turnable.” Michael stood and gave his hand, but did not m
ake eye contact. He still had to abide by some things that he could not control. “Mr. James, I am a psychologist and I have been asked to evaluate you. It seems that the situation that you find yourself in makes it necessary to have a better idea of who you are,.. both for their understanding and for your safety.” Dr. Turnable read the look of Michael's body language, “I'm sorry, did they not tell you I was coming? I asked them to be sure you were aware.”

  Michael was not only pleased, he liked the man. He didn't seem to be emotionally involved and it was easy to tell when he was lying. He was straight forward about who he was and why he was there, but lied about asking that they tell him he was coming. This was a small standard lie from Michael's perspective and he let it go by. “That's alright Dr. Turnable,” he said as he sat back down. “Would you like me to clear you some space on the table?”

  “Just a little if you don't mind,.. so I have somewhere to write.”

  “No problem at all.”

  Dr. Turnable was an experienced man in his early sixties whose appearance and demeanor was of a person fully committed to the role of psychologist. While Michael collected up the cards on the far side of the table, Dr. Turnable went through the process of putting things down and unpacking things, pulled up a chair and got settled. “I have to admit, I am very interested in what you are doing here... Are these Tarot cards?”

  “Some of them are, or I guess all of them are, maybe. I started with the regular deck of Tarot cards but quickly found them to be insufficient.”

  “Insufficient how?” Michael was clearly at a loss to answer that question simply. “Maybe you could tell me how you use them. I don't get the sense that you are trying to predict the future, are you?”

  Pleased at the easy nature of Dr. Turnable, “No, no, no... I have learned that I think in pictures,.. emotional pictures... and this is how I process my thoughts.”

  “Like a mathematician might use numbers on a chalkboard...”

  Michael picked up his head and looked him right in the eye, “Exactly!”

  Dr Turnable smiled back, “But why Tarot cards?”

  “That is a good question. It is something that I had to wrestle with for a while before I was able to let go and simply do what I am doing.” Dr. Turnable sat quietly with his pen in hand, and waited for Michael to continue, as it was clear that he was about to.

  “Well, it started with the fact that the pictures on the cards simply appealed to me... something of an emotional connection. Then, when I examined them more closely I noticed that there was a story involved with the pictures.” As he spoke, Michael pulled cards of the same suit, Wands, from his arrangement and put them in order in his hand. Then he reached over and placed them one by one in front of Dr. Turnable. “Each card tells a story, and each suit tells a bigger story. Can you see the story in this suit of Wands?” Dr. Turnable leaned forward to examine the cards. “Oh, I'm sorry... it might help if I tell you the Wand in these images represents industry, or a project that we might engage in and try to grow.”

  Michael waited for a little bit and became a little impatient. “The first card is having an idea of an industry or project. The second is thinking it through and planning it out.”

  “Oh, I see... First you have an idea, then plan it out,” He pointed to each card as he went along, “wait for the right moment to act, celebrate a small success, and then greater success is revered,.. defend ourselves from copycats, but our opponents learn to work together against us, we suffer the inevitable defeat, and then learn to accept it all as part of a greater enterprise that we play an important role in.” Dr. Turnable looked up at Michael pleased with himself.

  Michael was beside himself, “So, with the four suits in the basic deck, four different stories, I started playing with the stories, and with the single elements of the stories, and found that interacted with each other. I was then able to use them to think through things more easily.”

  Dr. Turnable leaned over to look at the box of cards, “and how many suits do you have now?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “You made twelve suits by yourself?” He said Somewhat amused.

  “Yes.” Michael tried to measure if he needed to explain further, but then decided to anyway. “At first I found a few processes of our modern life that are only referred to in the original suits. Our modern understanding has become more aware of certain things than the people of centuries ago.” Michael searched for a card and found it, “For example, I made the suit of Candles to tell the story of our process of developing awareness of our own health and wellness. According to the traditional Tarot card people, the original suit of Pentacles represents wealth, and they simply folded health into that. But I think our modern understanding of health and awareness of health is far more advanced than it was, and thus must be seen as a separate process. Becoming aware of, and maintaining, our health and learning to acquire and use wealth are two different things.” He put the card back down, “The rest simply came about as solutions to the gaps I found in my effort to express my thoughts. Even now I am working on building three more suits; mirrors, waves, and trees.”

  “What do the mirrors represent?”

  “Our perception of self... the suit is the story of the process of building an understanding of our self.”

  Dr. Turnable was a little surprised, “So, there is no mysticism involved at all?”

  Getting more engaged, “No, and that was the hard part. I had to develop an understanding of what these cards were and where they came from that allowed me to use them the way I wanted to. Otherwise, every time I picked them up I would get sidetracked by the need to hide away or defend myself against the idea that they were supposed to be used for something else. Like a child trying to draw something with a pencil, but keeps getting admonished by their mother for not writing properly.”

  Dr. Turnable nodded and took notes.

  “After doing a little research, I developed this story... That these cards were originally nothing more than a textbook – a way to teach basic principles to illiterate people. No different than how cave paintings or other pictographs were used, but more closely related to the stained glass windows of a church, or early Bibles, which were all pictures that told an educational story.” Michael paused and let Dr. Turnable catch up with his writing. “I think the mystery around them comes from the fact that they were seen as a threat a long time ago. The Catholic church was trying to convert people to it's perspective using picture stories to teach people how to live with the institution of the church at the center of their lives. And then there was this other perspective being passed around that was just as effective at teaching people, but did not put the church at the center. The reader of the cards is at the center of the story.” He paused again, “As I was working on this perspective I happened to read a book, just a fictional story, that centered on the mystery of the Cathar religion; a religion that the Catholic church worked so hard to eliminate. Apparently, right before the last stronghold of the Cathar's was destroyed, something important was removed and hidden away. With some further research I learned that the last two people executed by the Catholic church for practicing the Cathar religion were in the same region in Italy where Tarot cards where first recorded being used about a century later.”

  “Weren't they first used as a game?”

  “That is the first recorded use of them, but I think that when we are bored we all will make games out of the things lying around. Imagine some kids going through their great grandfather's things found in the attic and coming across these cards. They would have had no idea what they were or how they were to be used, but they were drawn to them as I was...” He paused for a little while, then he felt the need to placate Dr. Turnable's sense of skepticism, “Again, I am aware that it is just a story, but it is the story that gets me past the mysticism so that I can simply use them to develop my thoughts.”

  Dr. Turnable asked while writing, “That is an interesting story. But, how do you think the mysticism fits in for
other people?”

  “Well, I think it is pretty simple. No different than those children who found them in the first place... only the game that the mystics and psychics have created involves a little more understanding. It is like astrology. From my perspective, astrology is simply the study of natural patterns in our lives. Some of those patterns occur in large periods of time and all of them overlap with one another. The easiest way to remember and teach these patterns is by associating them to the motion of the planets. Over time, some people became detached from the original intent and gave the planets power over us. The stories in these cards are also patterns, but not natural patterns like in astrology... They are patterns of will – patterns we create when we pursue something. And, people who know these patterns appear to be enlightened compared to others who do not know these patterns. No different than if you were a caveman and the only one in your tribe to know how to make fire. You would be seen as a god. In the end, over time, as with all politics of power, people work to deceive by creating all sorts of stories designed to acquire authority and protect their station in the community. So, the stories end up becoming more and more fantastic”

  “So, your saying that psychics are all fakes?”

  Michael got the sense that he was purposely trying to lead the discussion, “No, not at all. Everyone does according to their abilities. But, I do think that people who call themselves psychic limit their development because they buy too much into the story of mysticism and don't understand the process of communication all that well.”

  “And, what is that process?”

  “It is my opinion that people who are 'psychic' are empathic, simply communicating on an emotional level. However, in language terms, it is all still very rudimentary. They are only able to hear grunts and are not able to control their expression at all... They only know a couple of words and are not able to put complex sentences together or building logical structures. I think they get blinded by the experience of feeling the energy, hearing a single word, and then build mythologies around the experience, and build religions around the single word that they felt. Never realizing that there is whole new form of communication available to them. It is like if a mathematician were to discover a single theorem and then simply stopped looking for anything else; assuming that they had discovered everything. They would build a story of how everything was solved by that one theorem. A story driven by ego and politics that put them in the center of it all.” Something crossed Michael's mind and he demurred a little, “But, I must say that this perspective of mine is biased as I am empathic. Since my experience is through my own empathic nature. My understanding of everything around me is through that experience. Whether it is true or not, I have no idea.”

  “And that is alright for you?.. Not knowing if it is true, that is.”

  “Perception is nine-tenths of reality,.. and the most fundamental responsibility that comes with consciousness is choosing what is real.” Michael said without really paying attention to what he was saying.

  Dr. Turnable's was nodding and writing, amazed that Michael just said what he was thinking, when his cellphone cut into the conversation like a knife. Dr. Turnable leaned over slowly to get the ringing phone out of his pocket and looked at the screen to see who was calling. He put down his pad of paper as he got up and said, “I very sorry Mr. James. I hate these things and really don't like how they interrupt everything, but I really need to take this call.”

  Michael nodded and smiled as Dr. Turnable left the room, knowing that he was telling the truth.

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