Episode #6.5
Captured
Knock!! Knock!! Knock!! “Come in,” a rough voice said as the door opened to reveal a man standing at an oak desk looking through a manila envelope. He looked up and then back down as if the person that entered the room was not even worth his gaze. “Yes Mr. Weatherspoon,” he said in such a lazy uninteresting tone. Mr. Weatherspoon was a short squat man and had a very round face. He tried to smile as if not to show his offense by his boss’s lack of interest. “Mr. Freeman you told me to let you know the moment I knew when we caught Abel and Sean Gatewood.” Mr. Freeman’s eyes had now come to attention. His slicked back gray hair lay flat on his onion like head. The wrinkles in his face turned what Mr. Weatherspoon always hoped was a smile. “Good news I trust,” Mr. Weatherspoon returned the questionable smile, “we have one of them in the interrogation room now.”
“Wonderful,” cried Mr. Freeman slamming down the manila folder like its contents were mere bronze compared to gold. Mr. Freeman walked around the desk almost hitting over his desk tag which read, Mikov Freeman, Director of District 3 Security and Welfare. He rang his hands in happiness as Mr. Weatherspoon escorted Mr. Freeman down a busy hallway. Phones were ringing, people were running around fulfilling the many jobs of the district.
“What have the boys said Weatherspoon,” Weatherspoon was much shorter than Mr. Freeman and had to take two steps to compensate for his massive stride. “Nothing sir, he said that he wanted to see a lawyer,” Mr. Freeman laughed which was more like a bark from an old dog. “They are terrorists, traitors to their own country, and . . . well you know the law.” Mr. Freeman walked with a certain demeanor that one could acquire with too much power. Mr. Weatherspoon felt almost mouse like compared to him, “I do sir,” Mr. Weatherspoon gave a boisterous, “thank god for the Freedom Act.”
Mr. Freeman and Mr. Weatherspoon entered an elevator as Mr. Weatherspoon clicked the button to the second floor of the basement. “So you said him? Where is the other one?” Mr. Freeman’s piercing glare sent a huge lump down to his stomach. Mr. Freeman was the type of man that didn’t tolerate disappointment. “Well sir, I . . .” “Stop your sniveling,” barked Mr. Freeman. “Just answer my question,” Mr. Freeman’s happiness was fading. “Well, he got away,” Mr. Freeman rolled his eyes, “but we are looking for him! He won’t get far I can assure that.” The elevator opened, and Mr. Freeman had become silent as he walked down a long hallway that was aligned with windows. There in the middle of the room stood several men dressed in black suits wearing sunglasses. “Deputy Director” called out Mr. Freeman, a smile returning to his face.
Mr. Weatherspoon walked out of the elevator and followed Mr. Freeman at his heels like a dog would follow his master. “How are doing Deputy Director Rover,” he smiled a set of yellowing teeth at him, “please I told you call me George.” His hair was graying and he had a face that looked like it was sculpted by an artist. He was almost too perfect of a person, his silky red tie, was almost too much from this man. “Has he said anything,” asked Mr. Freeman, whose smile fell at George’s soft, “no, he is not being very cooperative.” George looked through the glass eyeing Abel sitting at a silver table, “well we will just have to MAKE him cooperative.” He smiled back at Mr. Freeman, “thank god for the Freedom Act” George said loudly. Finally taking notice of Mr. Weatherspoon George said “why don’t you go in and interview him? Take my guards with you.” Mr. Weatherspoon now sounded more like a mouse then a man, “what if he won’t tell me anything”? George smiled widely, “that is why they are coming with you.”
Mr. Weatherspoon nodded obediently as he walked past Mr. Rover not daring to look up at him. The Secret Service followed him in leaving one agent behind to guard the Deputy Director and Head Director. “Hello,” said Mr. Weatherspoon, who tried to sound friendly. Abel watched as Mr. Weatherspoon came over to him and sat down in a chair opposite him. The two Secret Service men edged along the wall not taking their eyes off of Abel. “So . . . you have been a very busy person haven’t you Mr. Abel Gatewood?” Abel shrugged saying “I don’t know but my lawyer could tell you.” Abel crossed his arms, and stared back into the brown eyes of Mr. Weatherspoon.
“How about if you just tell me a little about yourself . . . make this a little less formal, alright?” Abel’s face didn’t change as his arms remained crossed replying “lawyer.” Mr. Weatherspoon started to look a little confused but Abel began to smile, “is this your first interrogation?” Mr. Weatherspoon crossed his hands, “no, I have done this before . . . look you can just tell me a little about yourself . . . I am trying to be nice here. After all I don’t have to ask you anything, I have your file from your Conscription”. Abel uncrossed his arms, and began to wave his hand telling Mr. Weatherspoon to come in closer. He eyed him suspiciously, “come here.” Mr. Weatherspoon gave a quick look to the Secret Service agents as they continued their military stare. The Secret Service agents began to shift in their spots as Mr. Weatherspoon leaned in closer to him. “Lawyer,” he said in such a faint whisper that it was barely audible.
Meanwhile outside the room, Mr. Freeman and George Rover were listening, “this kid isn’t going to give us anything.” Mr. Freeman nodded in agreement, “Maybe I should go in and try”? George nodded his head, “Get him out of there.” Mr. Freeman smiled his approval and walked to the door, he entered the room waving out Mr. Weatherspoon. Mr. Weatherspoon walked out of his head low with failure. George sent him upstairs and grudgingly he followed the order.
George heard his phone go off and the Secret Service Agent picked up, “hello?” His voice sounded as tough as he did. “Deputy,” he handed the phone to George who mouthed, “Who is it”? “Dr. Boddale,” George took the phone and gulped slightly, “Yes, what is it Dr. Boddale?” Mr. Weatherspoon was now dragging his feet to the elevator but the Doctor’s voice was loud “Phoenix is ready for testing”. Mr. Weatherspoon got onto the elevator, the last thing he heard before the doors shut was an odd comment indeed. “When will you be ready for human trials,” the doors closed and a shout pierced through the wall, “ten years, the whole state could be gone by then! What do you mean if you had more walkers then the research could go faster”?
However the shouting and anger of George Rover could not be heard in the opposite room. Mr. Freeman was now looking through Mr. Weatherspoons’s manila folder in silence. Abel was confused, “Are going to try and question me too, because I know my rights, and I want a lawyer.” Mr. Freeman raised his head and eyed Abel. They stared at each other like two dogs would when establishing dominance. Abel knew that this was not a man that he should be trying to intimidate. Abel continued to stare. His stomach was growing uneasy as the terror was filling him up. He was not sure if he could hide the goose bumps that were now forming over his arms. The man looked coldly at him as if daring him to continue to test him. The tension was building inside Abel as he felt it would soak out of his body like sweat on a hot day.
Finally, Mr. Freeman gave a snide, “you’re as stupid as you look with your shaved head . . .” He leaned in closer, “makes your head look like a golf ball”. He closed the manila folder and continued, “Your bravery is very noble, but I am afraid that it is foolish.” Abel thought he could see Mr. Freeman’s nose give a little twitch as if he could smell the fear from him. “I am not going to play games with you, so I am going to be very direct.” Abel smiled trying to show more courage then he had, “Lawyer.” His voice broke as the word seemed to be flicked out of the air like a mosquito. Mr. Freeman turned and slammed his hand on the table, “stop with the lawyer!” Abel couldn’t lie any more. The fear was now showing within his eyes, it had too. Abel felt cold and clammy, “I have the right to a lawyer still. I mean this country still believes in its founding ideals.” “Founding ideals,” Mr. Freeman snapped spitting the words out like specks of hair. “You don’t even know ideals, do you boy? You think because you served all those years in the Border Patrol you know everything”. Abel scoffed which sounded more like a wheezy cough, “the right to a speedy trial, and the right to defend myself . . . those ideals you should be most interested in.”
Mr. Freeman sneered down at Abel like nothing more than a steak to a hungry dog, “what you don’t understand is the Freedom Act and the benefits that it provides.” “Freedom Act,” muttered Abel trying not to sound afraid of it, “yeah . . . that is for terrorists.” Mr. Freeman smiled devilishly at him, “and what do you think you are?” Shaking his head Abel replied, “No, I am a District 3 citizen and your goons slaughtered my parents, your lucky I don’t come over there and . . .” Mr. Freeman actually chuckled, “and do what exactly?” Abel sat there and stared at the two Secret Service agents, “yeah hide behind your thugs.”
“You killed three Security Troopers,” “Lobsters,” whispered Abel looking down at the floor. He looked up and realized that he had something wrong, “what?” Mr. Freeman just smiled at him, and picked up the manila folder, “Tell us all about Project Anarchy?” Mr. Freeman tossed some papers in front of Abel, who eyed them curiously. “So what, they are phone conversations,” “All made from cloaked numbers.” Abel shrugged his shoulders, “tell me about Project Anarchy,” Mr. Freeman repeated. “Lawyer,” Abel said softly, but this time Mr. Freeman was mad. He threw the manila folder at him, “You’re not getting a lawyer because you’re no longer a citizen . . . you’re a terrorist!” Abel was not sure how loud his voice got but it the Secret Service agents shifted in their spots. Mr. Freeman leaned closer to him as Abel said “I am a legal Federal District 3 citizen. I went to District Two State University. I was born in this District legally. I have papers . . . I have never known a terrorist.” Mr. Freeman screamed loudly, “Your record is a forgery. You weren’t born in any of the Federal Districts’ hospitals. You use terrorist lingo . . . right in front of me!” Abel began thinking tracing his thoughts like footsteps in the dirt. Slang, what could he have said that was terrorist slang, “Lobster”? He said loudly, and Mr. Freeman pretended not to hear him, “where is your brother Sean”? Abel lifted his head a little higher, “you think I’m crazy . . . I’ll never give you my brother . . . I’ll never talk, you stupid, old pig.”
Abel expected an outrage. He expected Mr. Freeman to grab his neck and start to choke him. However the storm didn’t come, neither did one from the Secret Service agents. Nothing came except a smile from Mr. Freeman, “It seems to me that you and your resistance don’t know the finer points of the Act . . . resistance fighters don’t have the patience to read through the many articles.” He chuckled a little to himself looking through the mirror. “You aren’t going to want to talk, you’re going to want to sing when I am done with you,” and once again those hungry eyes stared down at him like piece of meat to a starving dog. The Secret Service walked closer to him, and the door opened with another agent carrying a couple of handcuffs. “What’s going on,” Abel asked now starting to feel helpless. “You’re going to be a true patriot for the Federal Districts,” muttered Mr. Freeman serenely smiling at Abel’s look of sheer terror as the Secret Service made a grab for him.
“Get off of me,” Abel yelled as the agents grabbed at him. Abel threw one of them off in his struggle but the other reached around grabbing his throat. “What the hell are you doing,” Mr. Freeman stood up as the other agent regained his balance and descended upon Abel. They overpowered him and soon were strapping him down to the chair. “You bastards, cowards, government stooges,” Abel’s words were drowned by the agents withdrawing smiling at their handy work. Abel’s hands were handcuffed to each arm, “what the hell is this, you can’t do this”! Mr. Freeman had not moved from his seat during the scuffle. He straightened out his suit as he stood up, “You see the great thing about the Freedom Act is that . . . we can”. He straightened his cuffs as he began to walk around the table. “You are a terrorist and nothing more . . . and as a terrorist you forfeit all your rights”. Shaking his head, “so now Abel Gatewood you are going to tell us everything you know of the resistance and Project Anarchy”. Abel spit at Mr. Freeman, who just smiled as he wiped it off like specks of dirt. “I will never tell you anything.” He gave a little chortle, “eventually you will tell us everything, after all whose going to come for a terrorist”?
(To Be Continued in Second Mini-Series)