Against the Clock

by Charlie Moore

  "Yes." Smith's voice was neither hurried nor polite.

  "The arrangements for this evening are in place?"Zelig asked.

  "Yes."

  "Good. I need you to get to Belmont Police Station. Barratt has been apprehended and is being held at the police station. I have sent an official team to collect him. I want you there."

  "You think she will try to assist him?"

  "I'm counting on it."

  "How would you like me to proceed?" Smith asked.

  "Quietly. Just in case she slips past them."

  "Understood. Will your team be aware of a third party?"

  "No, and let's keep it that way," Zelig said. Should things get messy, he didn't need any extra questions asked.

  "Time frame?"

  "Agents should be there within fifteen minutes."

  "I'm forty minutes out," Smith lied. He could be there in six minutes. "Leaving now."

  15:33:21

  Detective Fairley answered his phone in a hurry. It was a call he had been waiting for. He had worked with Matthew Dobbs from the Identifications Office many times over the past two decades, and this time, he hoped his friend would get back to him with something useful before interrogating the man down in the holding cell.

  "What have you got for me, Dobbs?".

  "I got a match on the prints you sent over, still waiting on the DNA. But it's not good. This guy's file is restricted. I can't access it."

  "Shit!"

  "That's what I was thinking," Dobbs mumbled. "He's either a spook, a Fed, or a person of great interest to one of them."

  "Shit!"

  "Yeah…You should know this has definitely been flagged back to people higher up the food chain than you and me by now. Be careful whose toes you step on."

  "Great." Fairley rubbed at the headache pounding behind his eyes. "Thanks for the heads-up."

  Fairley returned the receiver back to its cradle. It was time to inform the captain of the shit storm about to hit his precinct.

  15:39:24

  Barratt sat still, motionless, staring at the two guards outside his cell. One sat opposite him, flicking through a sheaf of papers while constantly checking the time on his watch. The other was busy on the phone attached to the wall. There was no keypad on the phone. A direct line upstairs.

  The larger officer replaced the receiver, pulled his sagging pants up a little, and motioned for the other officer to get up. They exchanged hushed dialogue Barratt could not hear, but he could see them grow noticeably tense.

  The bigger officer approached the Perspex cell, tapped on it with his thick hand, and told Barratt to stand up.

  "Seems you have some important visitors on their way to see you," he said in a flat tone.

  To the side of the access door, the Perspex cell had two holes built into its design. The first was at waist height and just large enough in diameter to allow a man to extend his joined hands up to his forearms. The second was a rectangular window at ankle height. Each opening was secured with a lockable flap, which the officer unlocked and slid back.

  "Step up to the wall, lace your fingers together, and place your hands through the hole," the large officer said with a bellowing voice.

  Barratt did as instructed. The officer placed heavy metal handcuffs around his wrists and secured them tightly.

  "Turn around and back up hard against the screen."

  Again Barratt complied without hesitation and felt the officer fix leg irons around his ankles, their weight already bruising his flesh.

  They were going to move him.

  15:47:03

  Shirin entered the foyer of the Belmont Police Station, passing the throng of reporters, vagrants, and citizens awaiting service and attention from the gruff, overweight desk sergeant.

  She walked with an air of confidence bestowed on those familiar with wielding power. She oozed confidence and importance.

  Her high-heeled boots clunked on the smooth floor, while her business suit swayed with her every stride. Her hair was pulled back sharply into a tight bun. Her bright eyes were dulled by brown contact lenses, and her narrow face plumped with prosthetic in-fills fitted on the inside of her cheeks.

  Partnered with strategically applied makeup, Shirin's disguise was effective. She looked every part the sharp and capable attorney.

  At the front counter, she presented herself as Kristine Yates, attorney for John Black, the man being detained in connection with the Kitchener Park shootings.

  "ID?" he said bluntly.

  Shirin handed a glossy, embossed business card across the stained desk, Williams, Rimmington& Associates clearly emblazoned across the card in gold lettering. Should they verify the numbers and her credentials, the call would be re-routed to Istanbul, where a professional sounding receptionist would confirm her status. It would pass a superficial inquiry. Under the circumstances, it was a gamble she had to take.

  "Wait here."The sergeant spat as he walked away.

  Shirin waited, stood erect, at full attention, and passed a cursory glance, for show, at the expensive Machine watch adorning her left wrist. She met the curious and annoyed looks of people watching her with a menacing glare. She was unflinching, unforgiving. They left her alone, choosing instead to mumble and complain amongst themselves.

  "Ms. Yates."

  Shirin turned to see a middle aged, tired looking man walk toward her.

  "My name is Detective Fairley. I understand you represent an individual we are holding for questioning."

  "Yes, detective."She accepted his outstretched hand, shaking it firmly. "I am here to expedite his release, and ensure that his constitutional rights are maintained."

  "Yes, of course," Fairley said, his tone neutral. "Please, follow me."

  Entering the secured door into the belly of the Belmont Police Headquarters, the thrum of activity was palpable.

  She followed Fairley through the maze of cubicles to a side nook that revealed an elevator and emergency stairwell. Tucked neatly off to the side, beside the elevator panel, it was noticeably quieter.

  "If you don't mind me asking," Fairley started, "how did you become aware of your client being detained?"While his tone was soft and disarming, he looked Shirin squarely in the eyes. "As I understand it, he has not requested to make any phone calls."

  "Outside of professional courtesy, detective, I am not required to explain my appointment to this case. You, however, are required to allow my client access to legal counsel. I am his legal counsel. Shall we proceed?"

  Fairley didn't flinch at her aggressive stance, nor did he choose to match her intensity.

  There was something about him Shirin liked. His face was hard, his eyes sad. It was a sentiment she felt close to.

  "Very well," he said finally. He pushed the down button for the elevator and continued talking without looking at her. "He is being transferred now to an interview room. Agents from the Federal Police are here and requested a closed interview."

  "Excuse me?" Shirin started, clearly caught off guard.

  "They arrived a few minutes before you and determined, considering the gravity of violence he is suspected of, that it would be too dangerous for an open interview."

  Shirin was about to interrupt with heated rejection, when Fairley raised his hand to pause her long enough to finish his sentence.

  "You will be able to monitor the interview from an adjoining room via video and audio link to ascertain that his rights are indeed maintained. At such a time that it is deemed safe for you to join him, we will make every effort to get you into the room with him."

  "This is ridiculous, detective!"

  Fairley shrugged his shoulders slightly.

  "It is what it is, Ms. Yates. It is out of my control."

  The elevator doors opened, and he stepped inside. Holding the doors for her, he said, "You can have a different determination granted by a judge, but you and I know that could take awhile…"

  Shirin stepped into the elevator. The concentration on her face could eas
ily have been translated into anger, but her mind raced for answers. The federal agents must have been sent by Zelig, which meant they weren't really federal agents. She had to do something, and fast.

  15:51:37

  Dressed in a full constable uniform, hat included, Smith positioned himself outside the police station. The dead owner of the uniform lay concealed in the trunk of his car.

  The courtyard leading to the government building was wide and spread out. Benches and walkways entertained light pedestrian traffic and spoke volumes of local government's efforts to increase the city's sense of culture and target domestic tourism.

  The events at Kitchener Park hadn't helped that plight, Smith thought offhandedly as he continued to survey the area while munching on a bread roll and feeding the odd bird with leftover crumbs. The fake moustache glued to his upper lip itched a little with each bite, but he ignored it and focused on the landscape ahead of him.

  He was at the far end of the expansive block. He had seen an attractive woman enter several minutes earlier. Without binoculars, he couldn't be sure, but he felt confident she was Shirin Reyes.

  He had seen two agents enter minutes before her. There was no mistaking who they were. They were Zelig's men.

  Now he waited for the rest of the team Zelig had deployed. It was a functional plan, tried and tested. Wait for the mark to attempt a rescue, then hit them. If the mark was already inside, wait for them to exit. Either way, it worked.

  Gaining a good sense of the layout, Smith quickly determined three possible locations that offered a clear line of sight, quick access, and quick exit.

  15:52:14

  The elevator arrived on Level B, the entire floor dedicated to the detention, processing and questioning of high-risk individuals. Shirin noted the electronic scanning bar on the inside of the elevator doors and the PIN code panel. Without an ID and code, she knew the lift would not function.

  As the doors hissed open, Shirin followed Detective Fairley into the brightly lit, air-conditioned hallway. To her left, the red emergency stairwell door stood out as a beacon of color surrounded by white walls and pale beige floor. She noted the same card detector and keypad beside the emergency door. A discreet security camera perched at the top of the doorframe, she presumed to allow staff to verify and override the security protocols, given a genuine emergency evacuation.

  Shirin followed Fairley around the corner of the corridor into a small junction room. The scanning booth and lockers to the side were self-explanatory of the process she would have to undergo. An electronically locked door stood at the end of the machine.

  "A recent addition to the precinct," Fairley said, motioning toward the metal detector scanning booth. "If you would, please remove any metal items, anything sharp… I'm sure you've done this before."

  "Yes, detective. At airports, rarely at a police station."

  "Also, no phones. The officer here will provide you with a locker where you can keep your valuables." Fairley removed the gun and holster from his belt, his phone and keys, and placed them into a locker.

  Shirin quickly followed suit and motioned Fairley to pass through the scanner first. She was growing impatient. Barratt was alone with Zelig's federal agents. She didn't have time for this.

  "Can we move this along, Detective Fairley? I'd hate to think what your federal agents are doing with my client without legal counsel."

  Passing through the metal detector, a green light blinked on. She was clear to proceed. She turned to see the operator push a button at his workstation, and then heard the door ahead of her click open.

  She looked at the door as she passed through.

  "No handles," Fairley said. "It can only be opened from the outside. In case of an escape."

  "And how does the guard know when to open it?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

  "The security camera above the door."He pointed at the small black dome above the doorway while they walked along the corridor.

  Ahead, Shirin could see several doors on her right, and she noted that the far end of the corridor opened up to a wider space with more rooms. What could be beyond that, it was impossible to know.

  From what she could see, in the event of an escape attempt, there was nowhere to go.

  15:55:03

  Outside the police station, Smith brushed the last remnants of bread crumbs from his hands and stood. Stretching naturally, he looked like any other police officer returning to the grind of another afternoon shift.

  Two teams had arrived in quick succession, the first in a delivery van, which parked in plain sight opposite a "no standing" zone to the left of the precinct entrance. Smith knew it was the Grab Team. The passenger of the van had quickly exited, walked to the back, and started shifting packages around. The driver remained behind the wheel, engine running. They were ready.

  The second team, the Clean Up Team, parked discreetly at the far end of the outdoor courtyard. Positioned to the right of the building, they had a clear view of the wide entrance. They were well positioned to pick off anyone who got past the first team. Two men exited the van, walked to opposite ends of the courtyard and settled into the scenery like chameleons. The driver and the fourth agent remained in the vehicle.

  In position, Zelig's men played their parts, and waited.

  Smith moved forward. It was time. His heart beat a little happier, his senses sparkled. The hint of a smile crept onto his hard face.

  15:55:43

  The corridor seemed to stretch farther than she had thought. The first set of doors came up on her right, and Shirin noted the label clearly emblazoned across the door: Interview Room 3. The next door was labeled Monitoring Room 3.

  "Your client is in Interview Room 1." Fairley pointed toward the room with his finger. "But as I explained to you, because of security and safety measures, you need to be in the monitoring room. You can see your client via a live video feed, and he can hear you via microphone. That's the best we can do for now. We need to determine who he is and if he is a danger to you or anyone else."

  "I understand, detective, it's a grave injustice I will pursue vigorously in due course. But for now, I need to be in that room!" she said sharply, pointing to the Monitoring Room 1 door.

  "Very well."

  Fairley opened the door and held it open, motioning for Shirin to enter first. She charged in and looked around the small room quickly, orientating herself. She found the monitor with Barratt's image, and then the microphone. There were two other men in the room. She ignored them.

  Diving for the microphone button, she pressed it and spoke loudly, forcefully. "John! Don't say another word! This is Kristine Yates, your attorney. Do not say another word until I verify with you. Do you understand?"

  Shirin glared into the monitor. She could see Barratt's face and upper body. He was chained to the metal table with cuffs. His face had been cleaned of most of the blood from Dornan's brain, but dried stains marred portions of his hairline.

  "Do you understand?" she repeated.

  Barratt looked directly into the camera. Slowly, he nodded his head.

  Shirin replaced the microphone on the counter with a loud slap. Her eyes were on fire as she turned to face the two men who had been in the room.

  "Who authorized the interrogation of my client without his legal counsel present?" she roared.

  "Now hold on, ma'am," said the taller man. "My name is Mark Whitman, I'm a federal agent. We were not aware he had legal counsel. He was offered representation on his arrest and declined."

  "Gentlemen," Fairley interrupted, "this is Ms. Kristine Yates. She represents our mystery man here." He motioned to the monitor. "Ms. Yates, you have met Agent Whitman." Pointing to the other man Fairley continued, "This is Tim Wilcox. He is our technical officer. As he will attest, this interview has been recorded and will be made available to you in its entirety. I'm sure this has only been a misunderstanding."

  Shirin recognized the political dance Fairley was playing. He was smooth and disarming. H
e had an agenda also, she knew, but so did she.

  Looking at Wilcox, Shirin asked, "How long has the interview been going?"

  He looked at the recording timestamp on the computer screen."Two minutes. They only just started."

  "What has my client said?"

  "Nothing, ma'am. Not a word," Agent Whitman offered.

  15:59:36

  The small speakers fixed to each corner of the interview room crackled to life.

  "John, this is Kristine Yates, your legal counsel. I am advising you that you do not need to answer any of the questions these federal agents may ask you. However, in the interest of expediting your release, I would encourage you to cooperate." Shirin's voice over the speaker system was short and clipped. Static on the intercom crackled, then went silent.

  Barratt faced the wall. The temperature in the interrogation room had been turned up even higher, and sweat formed on his forehead.

  He stared to the right of the camera, averting his eyes from the spotlight glaring uncomfortably in his face. Then, after a moment, Shirin's voice came back on over the speakers.

  "Before you answer any of their questions, wait for me to approve each and every one first. Do you understand?"

  Barratt looked directly into the camera again and nodded. In the background, the federal agent paced back and forth. He looked tense. Something about him didn't seem right.

  Shirin's voice again came over the speaker, instructing the agent to commence his questions.

  The agent stated his name as Agent Mike Suleman, the location of the interview, the date, and the time for the official records, then stood directly opposite Barratt, hidden behind the bright light.

  Barratt didn't bother to look at him. His mind was racing. Shirin had gotten into the police department. She was trapped, down in the belly of police custody, just as he was. She wasn't handcuffed to a metal table being interrogated, but she was only a hair's breadth away from the same fate.

  He shook his head and frowned. She was crazy. He hoped she knew what she was doing.

  "Can you state your name for the record?" the federal agent said loudly.