Even though semi-gray reflections continuously appeared and disappeared like mystical shadows along the narrow passageways the authorities were forcing Chad and Jose to pass through on what seemed to be a never-ending journey into the innermost depths of the Miami International Airport, Chad appeared unperturbed.
Jose, on the other hand, was pale and one of his hands started to twitch.
“There is nothing to be nervous about,” Chad said, turning toward his brother as the two of them continued to follow the set of dark-uniformed Custom officers three feet in front of them, while an identical set of officers followed closely behind. “They’re not going to find anything illegal.”
Jose glanced in Chad’s direction and a diminutive smile showed, reflecting his insecurity.
Several minutes later, upon reaching a twelve-by-fourteen glass-enclosed office, Chad noticed that a small black-and-white sign hanging above its door stated the same thing the Customs agent Joe promptly announced the moment they arrived. They had finally reached the Interrogation Room.
“Joe to Captain Richard. Do you read me?” he said into the mic of his two-way as Mark punched a four-digit passcode into a nearby keypad.
“I got you, Joe. Are you and Mark ready?”
“Yes, sir. Mark’s leading them in as we speak.”
“Good. Please ask them to take a seat while we finish getting our equipment ready. It should only take a couple more minutes.”
“10 – 4, Captain.” Joe then turned to face the boys. “This way gentlemen if you don’t mind.”
“Okay. If you insist,” Chad replied, even though he realized it really didn’t matter if he and Jose minded or not. They still would have to enter.
In passing through the painted metallic-framed doorway, the first thing both Chad and Jose noticed was an eight-foot, rectangle-shaped, walnut-topped table someone strategically placed in the center of the room.
To its left, three tan plastic chairs sat in front of a room-length, smoke-colored window, on its right, sat a single, black-cushioned rocker.
Considering the plain-Jane office style of the chairs surrounding it, it seemed extremely out-of-place.
The officer who is going to do the questioning must have a bad back, Chad mentally noted while carefully taking a seat.
“Hey, Bro,” Jose said, pointing to a couple of unusually-shaped devices hanging from the southeast and southwest corners of the ceiling. “Are those some special type of video cameras? I don’t recall ever coming across any others exactly like it. They seem to be high tech or something.”
Mark looked to see what the younger boy was referencing, then spoke before Chad could reply. “Those are extra high-resolution video cams. We use them to record all interrogation sessions performed here.”
“Oh? Why would you need to do that?”
“For security reasons,” Joe answered while slipping into a seat next to Mark’s. “Did you also notice the large one-way window directly behind you?”
Jose rotated his chair and gazed at it for a second before nodding. “I have now. What about it?”
“Behind it is a computerized face and voice analyzer,” Joe stated, using a tone he thought would make him sound familiar which such devices. “We use it to determine if someone is telling the truth or just trying to feed us a line.”
Chad’s face involuntarily whitened. “A computerized face and voice analyzer? Oh. Wow. I knew that type of technology existed, but I had never seen it before.”
Joe chuckled. “I’m afraid it’s become a daily necessity since so many who we deal with prefer to be dishonest.”
“Really?” Chad mouthed, and took a second glance.
“Are you sure you’re not just trying to scare us?” he asked an instant later as his lips transformed into a small frown. “Those video cams do seem somewhat similar to the ones at my mother’s bank – and they’re not anything special.”
Joe grinned as the sound of muffled laughter unexpectedly entered the room from behind the oversize window – and upon hearing it, both Chad and Jose turned in its direction.
“While in a few ways they may appear to look alike and some of their basic functions could be similar, I can assure you, these are quite different,” Joe remarked as his grin widened.
“Oh? How?” Chad replied. “The video lens appears to be almost identical.”
Joe laughed. “Can the cameras at your mother’s bank not only record video, but tell you if a person’s blood pressure is rising or not, or if they’re telling the truth or not? ... These can. In fact, they even tell us if you start to sweat. Not to mention, can the ones at your mother’s bank do a live, on the spot, X-ray?”
Chad shook his head and not long afterward, a stout, dark-haired man passed through the Interrogation Room’s doorway.
“Gentlemen,” he said, making his way around the end of the table before taking a seat inside the black, cushioned rocker. “I’m Captain Richardson. But you can call me, Tom, if you prefer,” he added, stretching his arm so he could shake each of their hands.
“Tom,” Chad repeated, while a small quirk developed in a corner of his lips. It prominently revealed that he wasn’t overly impressed.
“Now I know the two of you, instead of being here, would rather be heading toward your school’s dorms at the Miami International University, correct?” the captain began, deliberately ignoring Chad’s puzzled expression.
“Yes,” Chad said, affirmatively nodding. “But how did you know?”
“We have ways. But instead of talking about that, we need to discuss what we’ve come across that could easily develop into a potentially serious problem. One, which could cause both of you to be either fined, placed in prison, or possibly deported – if not a combination of all three.”
Chad gazed at the overhead cams and turned so he could face Captain Richardson directly. “Really?” he said, using an extremely serious tone. “Do you actually think that after going through all the time, trouble, and effort it took to acquire a U.S. Student Visa, we’d throw it all away by doing something foolish?