Lawyer time? No, not yet. There’s still a chance. Play dumb and don’t give him anything, not a single microexpression out of line.
“I can’t predict earthquakes,” Arnesto said.
“You can’t… anymore? But you could before?”
“I’ve never been able to predict earthquakes.” Arnesto was grateful to be able to say that truthfully.
“A computer program then? Some advanced tectonic plate simulator? I’ve never heard of a simulator that good, though. No? What about a weapon? You have some sort of sonic weapon that can perform extraterrestrial shockwave lithotripsy? I hope not, you might decide to hit us with one right now, heh!”
What is he doing, putting on a show for his superiors? This is a big deal, he must be one of their best. You don’t get to be top dog by showing off, so that’s not it. Is he building to something?
“Did God come to you? Tell you when these earthquakes were going to happen?” Whiteside asked.
This question didn’t seem to be rhetorical, so Arnesto said, “God has never spoken to me.”
“Come on, Arnesto, work with me. We know you’re the source. You’re the guy who gave the list of earthquakes to Father Martin. You did the right thing. You’ve saved countless lives. We want to work with you on this, we really do. But you understand, that kind of power is too much for one person. Can you imagine what would have happened to you if some other country got to you first?”
So I am still in America.
“I know who Father Martin is from the news. But I’ve never met him. I’ve never spoken to him or had contact with him in any way,” Arnesto said.
“Alright,” Whiteside said. Without taking his eyes of Arnesto, he signaled somebody behind the mirror.
A moment later, an agent walked into the room carrying a briefcase, which he then opened and began removing its contents, placing them on the table in front of Arnesto. Whiteside studied Arnesto as this was happening. The other agent then closed the empty briefcase and set it down next to the table before walking out of the room.
Don’t look at the items, maintain eye contact. No, wait, an innocent person would naturally look down out of curiosity. Look at them, but do not look surprised. Only look confused if anything, and be consistent.
Arnesto looked down at the items. The first was an old, faded piece of paper. It was one of his flyers warning about rioters should the officers who beat Rodney King be acquitted. The moment he recognized it, it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. He had to focus on his breathing to keep from revealing himself. He was still in control, but just barely.
The second item was a cassette tape. Somebody, not him, had written on it, “David Koresh: Burn the Children.”
The next item was a picture of a crater in front of a destroyed semi.
“I couldn’t find a big enough piece of the Ryder truck. Oh, these go together,” Whiteside said, sliding the next item next to the picture. It was a receipt of the car Arnesto had rented when he had tried to chase down McVeigh.
After that was a heating tile.
“That’s actually from the Space Shuttle Columbia. I’m particularly proud of that item. That was the one piece I thought I would never get. They were reluctant to loan it to me, but under the circumstances… Of course, a threat to national security as big as yourself has to take precedence over leaving some piece of debris in storage.”
Next was a copy of the police report involving a rental truck with a flat tire parked at one end of the Santa Monica Farmers Market.
The next item was a burned logo that said, “Jee.” The letter ‘p’ had been broken off. Arnesto immediately recognized it from the 2005 Glendale train crash.
“Remind me not to ask you for a ride anywhere,” Whiteside said.
Arnesto wanted to scream. Or pass out. Or something, anything. This was all too much. Instead, he looked up at Whiteside, whose eyes betrayed his excitement.
“I want a lawyer,” he said.
“C’mon, Arnesto, I was really hoping we could talk about this. I have so many questions—”
“I know my rights. I’m not saying another word without a lawyer.”
“We analyzed your DNA while you were unconscious. Took a full body scan, too. I know you’re human, so you’re not going to melt my face or explode or anything. You probably would have teleported out of here by now if you could have. Right now, in here, I don’t think you’re dangerous. But out there, on your own, you are a threat to national security. I just don’t know how you do it. How do you do it, Arnesto?”
Arnesto crossed his arms. The two sat there in silence, glaring at each other. Whiteside let out a sigh then stood up. “Well try again soon,” he said, starting toward the door.
Two agents came into the room to escort Arnesto out.
Arnesto jumped up out of fear. “What are you doing?! I’m an American citizen, I have the right to legal representation!”
Whiteside spun around and walked up to Arnesto. “In here, you have no rights! What, you think you were brought in for stealing Granny’s purse?! I have you at the scene of every major event since the Kennedy Assassination. And believe me, we double-checked that one, too. Look, like I said, I know you’ve saved lives, though if you had worked with us from the start, we could have saved a lot more. But I can’t let you go out there and risk getting picked up and tortured for information by one of our enemies. Look at these, Arnesto,” he said, motioning toward the items. “I can’t even imagine what we’ve missed, what we don’t know. Good intentions or not, you’ve put this country at risk. If I got you a lawyer, I wouldn’t be able to let him leave, either. We both know that’s not something you’d want.”
Arnesto sized up the man in his face. At five-feet-ten, Whiteside was a couple inches shorter than Arnesto, half a dozen years older, and twenty pounds heavier, all of it muscle. He was fearless, intimidating, and in control, like any good alpha male. Arnesto, the nonviolent omega male, suspected Whiteside was the last guy he would ever want to mess with.
Whiteside nodded to the other agents, who began to move toward Arnesto, but Arnesto walked out on his own. Whiteside then turned to the mirror and said, “He’s going to put up a fight. He’s smart but vulnerable. It will take some time, but I’ll break him.”
Alliances
Pete’s Law Firm
Massachusetts
Monday, April 29, 2013
7:30 a.m.
“Arnesto’s an idiot,” Pete said.
“What makes you say that?” asked Agent Huntley, Pete’s interrogator, a strict-looking woman with all the charisma of a brick wall. She was in her early fifties but had no crow’s feet due to never smiling. “His test scores were great, his GPA was high, he graduated college at nineteen.”
“He couldn’t have done any of those things without his… power,” Pete said.
“And what exactly is his ‘power?’”
Pete looked around the conference room. Besides Huntley and himself, there were two more agents with notepads seated on either side of Huntley, and two larger agents standing by the doorway, preventing anyone from coming in — or going out. At least those two weren’t staring at him like the three across the table. Pete didn’t know any of their names except Huntley’s; their little group didn’t seem too fond of introductions.
“You don’t know?” Pete asked. “I was hoping you could tell me.”
“Mr. Morgan, please. In all the years you’ve been friends, Arnesto never told you how he does it?”