I took a deep breath and collected myself. “What do I need to do?”
“First off, you need to understand how the game is played,” Uncle Rob explained. “One of the fundamental techniques is ‘good cop, bad cop.’
“Yes, Mr. Burke, Dad’s lawyer, he explained all that to me. But shouldn’t I just refuse to say anything?” I asked.
“Normally, yes. But, these guys are playing hardball. If they think you know anything, you’ll vanish. They will question you under torture, and you’ll end up like your folks. I called Bill Burke,” Uncle Rob explained. “He agreed you should be available for questioning. He’ll be here in the morning to bail you out. You should insist that he be present for your questioning. The feds won’t like that. The feds will be pushing the sheriff to just turn you over so they can rough you up as much as they like. The sheriff may be a pain, but at least he plays by the rules, and he’s not about to let you get taken out somewhere to be tortured and killed by these guys. He may even call in your Uncle Larry to push the political angle on your behalf and try to get them to stand down.”
“So, what should I say when I’m questioned?” I asked.
“When in doubt, your best bet is to play Sergeant Schultz with them.” Uncle Rob explained cryptically. I didn’t know who this Schultz was, so Uncle Rob clarified: “You saw nothing; you heard nothing; you know nothing.”
“I can answer ‘I don’t know’ to all their questions,” I said confidently.
“It’s not going to be that easy,” Uncle Rob said. “They’re going to want you to talk about what you do know. You have to give them innocuous answers to throw them off the track. Don’t start rambling. Provide short, direct answers to their questions and then shut up. Make ‘em dig for it. They’ll latch onto every strand of your description and start pulling at it. They’ll lie and make you think they know everything and all you have to do is confirm what they already know and the unpleasantness will be all over. They’ll bluster and threaten you with years in prison, throwing you in to be gang raped by a pack of feral inmates. They will scare the living daylights out of you. You will have to let them see your fear and believe you are thoroughly broken and disclosing everything while maintaining a wall against them.
“I don’t know about these feds or whatever they are. Maybe they aren’t used to interrogations without shooting their suspects in the knee first. That could be an advantage. The sheriff, on the other hand, is a steely-eyed lawman who can smell a lie. Whether he’s in on the interrogation or not, you need to tell the truth, but you need to tell it in a way that diverts the attention from you and focuses it on Mr. Burleson and your father.”
“Aren’t they going to be after you, too?” I asked him.
“They appear to have figured out that Jim Burleson was the central figure in all this,” Uncle Rob said.
I opened my mouth to object, but Uncle Rob cut me off with a stern stare and finger over his mouth, gesturing for silence. Was Uncle Rob concerned someone was listening?
“Jim’s obsession with Oliver Heaviside was the root cause of all this trouble,” Uncle Rob insisted. “They’re saying he may have murdered a girl in Houston. I know Jim well enough to know that’s nonsense, but he may have gotten mixed up with the girl, somehow.”
I kept my mouth shut and took in Uncle Rob’s creative reconfiguration of the facts.
“The feds think maybe your father might have known something about it,” Uncle Rob explained. “Since you lived with him, they want to talk with you, too. They haven’t expressed an interest in taking it any further than that. Apparently Kira and I are both in the clear, for now at least.”
“They’re calling it cyber-terror,” Uncle Rob explained. “How those old books Mr. Burleson was interested in could be mixed up in this cyber-terror business is beyond me.”
“I certainly have no clue,” I assured him.
“It’s a shame you’re getting dragged into all this,” Uncle Rob opined. “You were distant from your dad, almost estranged. Not to speak ill of my brother, but he worked all the time. You hardly ever saw him. You met your dad’s friend, Mr. Burleson, a time or two, and you knew he had this silly obsession with Oliver Heaviside. Wanted you to read some books about him. You looked at them, sure, but they were boring. The math went over your head. And, you didn’t have time. Your dad was paying you to work for him, to study for your physics class, and do your debate research. That’s what kept you busy this past summer. They’ll have gone through your online search history, so be ready to tie most anything they come up with back to your alternative energy research.”
Uncle Rob continued prepping me, running me through my story again and again, coaching me on details to add on successive passes through various descriptions. He told me to tune out the increasing noise and chaos, but it was hard to do. The hum of activity through the door became steadily louder and more chaotic, almost panicky at times. I heard them activating all the volunteer firefighters in the county. I caught a “send more units,” and something about a “fourth alarm” and engines being dispatched from Knoxville and neighboring counties. The feds must have let the house fire get out of control. I hoped the neighbors were all right and none of the local and county firemen were injured. But, in a way, I also felt a deep satisfaction that in burning me out of my home, the feds were bringing more trouble down on their own heads. I pushed aside the chaos and the aching emptiness of my loss and continued to focus on Uncle Rob’s prepping.
After the better part of an hour, Uncle Rob pronounced himself satisfied. “I’m going to ask them to take you back to your cell so you can try to get some sleep. No sense giving the feds the hint that we got our story straight.”
Uncle Rob called the deputy, who escorted me back to the holding cell. It had all been too much for me. I felt overwhelmed by the stress and by my loss. I had gotten my parents killed. And Mr. Burleson. And Nicole. And her boss, whose name I didn’t even remember. That only seemed to compound my guilt, that I got someone killed and didn’t even remember his name. My mind whirled. There must have been a better way. Why couldn’t I have avoided all this? Exhausted by my ordeal and spinning around in my futile recriminations, I finally fell asleep.
* * *
I was in the middle of the worst nightmare of my life. I dreamed my parents were dead and I was running through steam tunnels lined with dark and shadowy bookshelves. Demons reached through the shelves to grab at me.
“Did I hear you say you won’t give us the boy?” croaked one demon to another. Now they were arguing over who was going to eat me. I woke up, heart pounding, with a burst of adrenaline. Only the nightmare was real.
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t. I said I cain’t.” Sheriff Gunn was arguing with Mr. Wilson and another EVIL fed. “I got him booked for disturbing the peace and the judge’ll be seeing him later this morning. It’s just like I said to your boys last night – I can hold him for 24 hours. I can speak to the judge and try to get him locked up longer. But, I cain’t just turn him over to you without the judge’s say so.”
I felt exhausted as the adrenaline wore off. I just wanted to go back to sleep – to slip into oblivion and escape from it all. I was in danger, though. I forced myself to focus on what they were saying.
“It’s been a long night, sheriff,” the other EVIL fed observed. “Can you hold him until tomorrow so we can interrogate him then?”
“Why, ordinarily, sure,” the sheriff seemed to be trying to oblige them. “All I’d have to do is convince the judge the punk needed to cool his heels a few days to learn his lesson. But, this here delinquent is an orphan now and you boys just burned him out of house and home.”
“That’s not our fault, sheriff,” Wilson said hotly. “The suspect had a lot of electrical equipment, and the fire…”
“Don’t matter whose fault.” The sheriff cut him off. “What matters is the judge is a sucker for a hard-luck story. I bring in an orphan just lost his folks and his home burned down last night, and I try to hold him
on a half-assed misdemeanor charge, the judge is going to release him to his kin. Probably won’t even charge bail. Might even dismiss the case outright, no matter what I say. It’s that simple. Ain’t nothin’ I can do about it.”
“No reason why we can’t pick him up as soon as you cut him loose, is there?” Wilson asked ominously.
“I think y’all don’t appreciate the trouble you’ve caused hereabouts,” the sheriff explained patiently. “I just got off the horn with the governor. He’s had an earful from the state troopers ‘bout you musclin’ them off the scene of that DUI with the kid’s parents last night, not to mention the fire. The governor can be a mite pissy when he gets awakened early on a Sunday morning with bad news. He reamed me up and down about why the remains of the boy’s parents hadn’t been released to the county coroner, and why all hell is breaking loose in my county. And, somehow, he heard about the punk and wanted to know why I had the juvie locked up in my office. He was mighty displeased with me when I explained I was doing a favor for you boys. ‘Who’s runnin’ your county, sheriff, you or the feds?,’ he says to me. I turn over the punk to you, and he’s going to hold me responsible. No, sir.”
“How’d the governor hear about the kid?” Wilson asked him.
“I have me a theory about that,” the sheriff explained. “You heard of the Tollivers, right? Well this kid is kin to Laurence Tolliver his self. Some kind of nephew or somethin’. And, I already got me a call from Mr. Tolliver this morning, wantin’ to know why I was holding his nephew. Now the governor and I have an understandin’. This county backed him by a comfortable margin in the last election, and he lets me run things as I see fit. But, if I piss off the Tollivers, and if the governor loses confidence in me, well, I’m out of a job come Election Day, guaranteed. I’m telling you, there’s too much heat on the kid right now for me to just let you have him.” The sheriff paused.
“And why’re you so interested in a two-bit punk like him anyway?”
“His father may have been involved in this cyber-terror incident,” Wilson explained. “We need to see if the kid is involved.”
“That punk? Some kind of cyber-terrorist?” The sheriff snorted incredulously. “He’s just a dumb juvie. He’s undisciplined, emotional, impulsive, and cain’t so much as steal a smoke without screwing it up and gettin’ caught.”
“We have to interrogate him to be sure,” Wilson said. “We’ll do it now, if you can’t hold on to him, Sheriff. You don’t have to be there if you don’t have the stomach for it.”
“You boys ain’t listenin’ to me,” Sheriff Gunn was insistent. “The spotlight is on the kid. I got to do everythin’ all nice and legal-like. And, he’s got him a hot-shot lawyer on his way here from Knoxville.”
I heard an expletive from one of the feds. “How the hell’d that happen?” Wilson said angrily.
“Probably the Tollivers again,” the sheriff said. “I’m sure Mr. Tolliver has lots of lawyers among his Civic Circle friends. Everything’s…”
“He’s Civic Circle?” Wilson interrupted him. “The kid’s uncle is Civic Circle?”
“That’s what I’m tryin’ to tell you,” the sheriff reiterated. “Everything’s got to be on the up and up because we’re all of us under scrutiny. Go get yourselves coffee and a bite to eat, and come on back here at 8 am. I can give you an hour, ninety minutes, maybe, but then I got to take the kid to the judge.”
* * *
A deputy escorted me to an interrogation room and brought me a cup of coffee and a breakfast biscuit. I ate the biscuit and sipped the coffee, wondering who might be watching me from the other side of the one-way mirror. The coffee made me feel a bit better. But I still felt numb. My thoughts were stuffed in cotton and it took effort to concentrate on the simplest things. I worked to remain calm. I focused on the confrontation to come. I ran through what Uncle Rob had told me last night. I needed to be the sheriff’s dumb juvie. Miserable as my night had been, I at least got a few hours of sleep. That was probably more than either the sheriff or the EVIL feds could say. Every little advantage would help. The coffee and the food filled me with energy. I was ready. Just before 8 am, the deputy escorted Mr. Burke to the room.
“I’m very sorry about your parents,” he began. “I didn’t know your mother well, but I did know your father. He was a good man. He’ll surely be missed.”
“Thank you, sir.” I replied.
He got down to business. “We don’t have much time. I understand you want to talk?”
Was he hinting about Uncle Rob’s visit and concerned someone was listening? “Yes,” I answered.
“Good,” he said with a warm smile. “You don’t have to answer any questions,” he advised. “It would not be surprising for you to be over-wrought with emotion at the death of your parents.” He seemed to be hinting he’d back that excuse if I wanted to make it. “We can postpone this.”
“Might be better to…” I tried to think how to phrase my thoughts for the benefit of any eavesdroppers, “…clear the air? Get it over with?” I needed to dispel any suspicions and get them off the case. If the EVIL feds didn’t get a shot at me now, they’d come after me later under conditions of their choosing. This was my best chance of facing them in a fair fight.
“Very well,” he said, “but defer to me. I’ll screen their questions as best I can. And if you start answering something and I don’t like the way things are heading, I’ll say so and stop you. Listen to me, follow my lead, and do what I say.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied.
Sheriff Gunn came in, accompanied by Wilson and his partner.
“Sheriff,” Mr. Burke shook his hand. Apparently, they knew each other. “Bill Burke,” he introduced himself to Wilson and his partner.
“Special Agent Wilson, FBI.” His partner remained silent.
“I understand you have some questions for my client regarding his arrest for – what was it again, disturbing the peace?” Mr. Burke began.
“Yes,” said Wilson. He turned to me. “What do you know about your father’s interest in physics books?”
“Physics books?” Mr. Burke seemed incredulous. “How exactly do you allege my client disturbed the peace with physics books?”
“We are investigating another matter involving your client’s father,” Wilson explained. “We would like to assure ourselves that your client was not involved.”
“You believe my client is a party to some kind of conspiracy?” Mr. Burke seemed genuinely curious. “What overt act do you allege my client committed in furtherance of this conspiracy?”
“No, we believe your client’s father may have been involved in an act of cyber-terrorism,” Wilson explained.
“In what way do you allege my client agreed with his father to commit this act of cyber-terrorism?” Mr. Burke seemed so forthright and sincere, but I got the impression Wilson was annoyed at the need to have to explain and justify his actions.
“No,” Wilson said. “We merely wish your client to answer a few simple questions regarding a potential crime involving his father.”
“Oh,” said Mr. Burke as if that clarified matters. “A potential crime involving his father. I see. You understand my client’s father and mother were both victims of an automobile accident last night. You suspect there is some criminal involvement in the accident?”
Wilson clearly didn’t like where this was going. “No, we have no reason to believe it was anything other than a tragic accident.”
“I understand you took over the investigation from the state troopers. So, you found the driver responsible, and you established that he had no malicious intent?” Mr. Burke asked earnestly.
“No, the other driver is still at large,” Wilson corrected him. Before Mr. Burke could butt in again, Wilson added, “I appreciate your client’s interest in the unfortunate death of his parents. However, the matter we need to discuss with him pertains to some stolen property that may have been in the possession of your client and his father.”
�
�What stolen property?” Mr. Burke asked.
“We believe your client’s father came into possession of this book,” Wilson passed a print out of an eBay listing over to Mr. Burke. He looked at it and passed it on to me. It was the listing for Oliver Lodge’s Modern Views of Electricity from eBay. Amit had persuaded the seller to send a copy of the page with the bouncing waves text.
“The price of this book appears to be listed at $19.95,” Mr. Burke observed. “Is that the price at which it sold? How is an allegedly stolen book with a value of $19.95 a matter for federal jurisdiction? The value doesn’t exceed the threshold for…”
“It crossed interstate lines,” Wilson interrupted haughtily. “By wire. And we have proof your client’s father secured this page.” He passed over a copy of the print out Amit had received from the eBay seller.
“If my client’s father never actually purchased or possessed the book, only this print-out, what crime was committed?” Mr. Burke continued, “People buy things from eBay and other online sources all the time, and it’s hardly a crime to ask a seller for additional information regarding the goods they offer for sale.”
“The eBay seller was not authorized to share this information,” Wilson insisted.
“This book was published when?” Mr. Burke asked.
“What does that matter?” Wilson asked.
Mr. Burke studied the print out. “Looks like 1907. Since it’s published before 1924, it’s in the public domain,” Mr. Burke noted, “so there’s no copyright issue involved. And a single page – that would be fair use, anyway, even if the book were under copyright. Hardly a matter for federal interest. I’m still not clear exactly what crime my client or his father are alleged to have committed.”
The Hidden Truth: A Science Fiction Techno-Thriller Page 24
