[Mark Taylor 01.0] No Good Deed

by M. P. McDonald

  “Yes, I guess so...or if we look at it another way, it could be seen as the subject simply has no information.” Jim gathered up the photos and returned them to the files.

  “It could be seen that way.” Bill folded his hands on the table and turned his head, his expression serious. “Is that how you’re seeing the situation?”

  Jim lifted the folders and tapped them against the tabletop to align the contents. “I think I do.” The moment he said it aloud, a weight seemed to lift from his shoulders.

  “So, at the next meeting with the council, you’ll state that you think Taylor is innocent?”

  “I’ll state the truth, that after close to a year of intense questioning, no team has gathered any actionable intelligence. In light of that, and my opinion that Taylor is no threat to this country, that I recommend his release as soon as it can be arranged.”

  Bill sighed. “I can’t argue with that. I guess I’ll go along with you.” He ran a hand over his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “You realize that the next meeting isn’t scheduled until after the holidays, don’t you?”

  “Yes. I’ll send some memos urging an emergency meeting.” It felt wrong that Taylor would remain in custody due to something as simple as the schedule of a meeting. “I’m not sure it’ll make a difference though. They might not even take our recommendations.” He stood and pushed in his chair.

  “Then why did they have us do the questioning? It wouldn’t look good to ignore us. You think the other agencies will go along with it? What about law enforcement?” Bill rose and walked alongside Jim as they exited the room.

  “I believe they will. If they have info that they’re withholding, they’ll have to show it, or give a damn good reason to keep Taylor in custody.” Jim strode down the hall, hoping like hell he wouldn’t ever have to return to that room.

  They reached Bill’s office first, and Jim leaned against the door frame after Bill entered. “We have to make this happen ASAP, Bill.” Jim tapped the files against his thigh. “I don’t know how long Taylor will hang on. He’s spiraling down.”

  Bill plopped onto his chair. “Yeah, I noticed.” He leaned back. “In the meantime, we can try and lighten things up a little.”

  “Will the protocol allow that? We’re supposed to follow the same guidelines as the other place.”

  “Screw the protocol.” Bill grimaced.

  Jim smiled. “See what you can do in that regard. I’ll get on the horn and start making calls, see if I can expedite the matter.”

  In the weeks since he and Bill had made their suggestion for an emergency meeting, nothing had happened. Someone always had a reason they couldn’t attend. The fact that a man languished behind bars didn’t seem to add any urgency in the other council members’ minds.

  Bill’s attempts to lighten things had only gone as far as halting further interrogations. The security at the prison had enforced their own measures after Taylor’s outburst of throwing food around his cell. Now, he was confined to his cell at all times, except for showers.

  Jim opened Taylor’s file to add another email to the list he’d begun after the decision to make their recommendation to free Taylor. He hadn’t realized what a tricky and protracted task it would be to convince the people with authority that Taylor was not a security threat to the United States. If nothing else, Taylor should get an official hearing. The fact that one hadn’t taken place yet rankled Jim. It wasn’t the American way.

  Two hours later, he printed out his advisement that in light of no new information, and the questionable sources for the Afghanistan claim, it was his opinion there was no merit for keeping Taylor in detention. Bill had completed his own recommendations that he held doubt about the man’s guilt.

  He stretched, grimacing at a twinge of stiffness in his back. He’d been sitting so long, his back creaked when he stood and crossed to the window. Would the powers that be follow their recommendations? If they did, how long would it take? The wheels of government spun at a snail’s pace, but maybe since there had never been formal charges, it wouldn’t take much longer to straighten the mess out and free Taylor.

  Mark stopped mid push-up when the slot on his door opened. It was too soon for the next meal. The command to present his hands and feet for shackles came over the speaker.

  Since his outburst a few months ago, his outdoor excursions had been curtailed. Since he had showered yesterday, that could mean only one thing. Interrogation.

  He pushed back to a kneeling position, unable to force himself to stand right away. Since the last interrogation, his thoughts had touched on finding a way to end it all. In his whole life, he had never felt that way, but there was no end in sight here. He didn’t want to die, but he didn’t want to live like this.

  So far, whenever the despair hit and his mind flashed to suicide, he had been able to shove the thought out of his head. If he underwent another brutal questioning, he wasn’t sure he would be strong enough to quell those demons.

  The command came over the speaker a second time and Mark stood, swiping his head on his shoulder as sweat dripped. His feet felt encased in cement as he approached the door.

  He tried not to react when in addition to the usual shackles, they used the blackout goggles and the earphones. Did that mean he was going somewhere besides the interrogation room? Swallowing hard, he couldn’t help balking at the application of the goggles.

  Interrogation was bad, but at least he knew what to expect. What if they had something worse in store? Mark couldn’t imagine anything worse, but he was sure that they could.

  Lost in a vacuum of sensory deprivation, Mark stumbled along, sitting when pushed down, standing when pulled up and walking when tugged forward. He felt vibrations under his feet, and knew he was in a vehicle, but time blurred and he had no way to judge the distance he’d been driven.

  After leaving the car, he was walked another distance before they stopped him and hands worked at the goggles and earphones, removing them. Mark blinked in the bright lights and squinted at his surroundings. A locker room? What the hell was he doing here? The guards removed his shackles and instructed him to strip. Mark hesitated as fear boiled within him. An image of the Nazi death camps and the gas chambers shot through his mind and he shook it off. That was crazy. He removed his clothes, hoping that his shaking wasn’t apparent. One guard pointed behind Mark. “Okay, let’s go. There’s a shower back there. Supposed to be everything you need to get cleaned up.”

  A shower? They did all this for him to take a shower? Confused, Mark followed the guard, alert for any tricks. Not that he could do anything to protect himself even if there were.

  To his amazement, there was a shower stall. Several in fact, but the one they directed him to had a bottle of shampoo and a bar of soap—brand new—sitting on a metal shelf. He needed no further prodding.

  The soap smelled clean and fresh, not the antiseptic smelling stuff he normally had to use. He raised the bar to his nose, closing his eyes as he breathed deeply. Images of sand and surf and lazy summer days lying on the beach swirled through his mind. The scent filled the stall as the hot water beat on his back. He wanted to stay in that stall and never come out. In here, he could push aside the worry of what was coming next. He could stay in the present. Forever.

  When he finished, he was given a razor and shaving cream, and the guards didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get the blade back. They led him to a locker that held a clean set of clothes, and told him to get dressed. Mark clasped the white button-down shirt, looking from it to a pair of dark dress pants. Where was the orange prison suit? He squashed his fears and decided to just enjoy each little luxury instead of ruining it with worry. If they were getting ready to take him to the gas chamber, at least he would be wearing real clothes and he’d be clean.

  Sitting on the bench, he pulled on black socks and shoes. The shoes were the biggest surprise. He hadn’t worn any for so long, and he wiggled his toes as he admired the shiny leather. They felt good. Real good. Standing,
he looked down at himself and took a deep shaky breath. He felt human for the first time in over a year.

  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.”