Realization Page 5

  The infiltrator was so engrossed in looking at the locator on its wrist that it didn't see the two natives who were rapidly approaching. One was shorter than the other, and as they passed by, the shorter one bumped against it, distorting its projection field slightly. The being gave no indication that it saw the humanoid image quiver with the impact. "Sorry, mister," it said.

  The infiltrator, surprised at the interaction, attempted an impromptu guess at an appropriate response and moved its mandibles apart as it had seen others do.

  The smaller being recoiled and began making sounds that indicated great distress. It was obvious that it had interpreted the expression in a way other than had been intended.

  "Oh my god! He said he was sorry! You don't need to scare him!" The female native said as the other screamed in fright at the infiltrator's impossibly wide, rictus smirk. The projector hadn’t been programmed to completely disguise the black tongue, purple gums and ragged rows of sharp, dirty teeth.

  "You need to see a dentist!" the female added as she and the smaller being quickly moved away.

  The infiltrator had understood enough of the language to know that its physical appearance had been incomplete. It adjusted its shape projector to include the interior of its mouth and made a mental note to master a few more facial expressions before attempting to use them.

  It decided to resume movement at its slow pace, hoping it would be able to observe, and thus absorb more of the local language and customs. The locator that it wore still indicated nothing. If the next several planetary rotations also proved to be fruitless, it would have to report that the Abomination had either died or was out of the range of its instruments. It was bad news either way.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The Interview

  THE FBI HAD set up a command center mid-town in the Green Banks Motel, a modest three-story building near the waterfront. It was a short ride down the hill from Marvin’s place, and as soon they arrived, JB was led into the building. Agent Fenneman opened the door to a small conference room on the first floor and instructed him to take a seat at the long, polished mahogany table. She and agent Cole stood behind him as another door on the far side of the room opened. A tall, handsome, black man who looked to be in his mid-forties or later, entered and approached the table. His bearing conveyed his authority, though he looked just as fatigued as the two agents who had brought in JB. He nodded to them in acknowledgment as he took a chair directly opposite JB and silently leafed through a file folder that he had brought with him. After a few minutes, he closed it and looked up at Cole and Fenneman who both remained standing. “What do we have here?” he asked. His voice was as deep as it was weary.

  Cole cleared his throat and said, “This is Mr. Tucker… He’s admitted that he’s Terrence Tucker’s cousin.” He laid JB’s license down on the table in front of the older man. “We believe that he has information about the whereabouts of his cousin.” Cole turned and made sure JB could see the look of contempt on his face before he continued. “Also, he initially lied to us about being present at the event. It is apparent that he knows more than he is willing to say.”

  “Is that so?” remarked the older man. The thick, black-framed glasses he wore didn’t completely cover the dark bags under the eyes he locked onto JB’s. He waited a moment to ensure he had JB’s full attention before he spoke. “Young man, I’m agent Benjamin Wilson, in charge of this investigation. I want to caution you right now that lying further to us will result in federal charges being brought against you for withholding evidence, or perhaps even obstruction of justice. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, sir. Y’all are very clear,” said JB respectfully.

  “Good. I want to make sure we understand each other and that you understand the seriousness of the situation.” He paused to study JB’s license before he asked, "So, Mr. Tucker where are you from?” His brown eyes remained fixed on JB, studying him carefully, as he waited for JB to reply.

  JB was sure that they could quickly verify the answers to most of their preliminary questions, so he had to tread carefully. He would have been extremely nervous under ordinary circumstances, except his Sawbonites were keeping his blood chemistry balanced, which made it possible for him to reply without a trace of anxiety in his voice.

  “I’m from Porter, North Carolina. I came down here day before yesterday to see my Cousin Terry and to spend some time with my uncle, Marvin.”

  “You don’t look anything like the picture on your driver’s license,” Wilson observed.

  JB had been prepared for that since the same question had come up before. He replied, “I was in a car wreck, an’ they fixed up my face.”

  Agent Wilson’s expression remained unreadable as he studied the license for a few more seconds. He resisted commenting on the cosmetic surgeon's apparent skill. Instead, he said, “So, Mr. Tucker, let me cut to the chase.” He paused to snap the license back down on the table. “Why did you lie to the agents?”

  "I was scared,” JB said. “I didn’t want no trouble on my cousin’s ‘ccount.”

  “So, you were aware that your cousin was one of the leaders of an extreme, fringe militia group?”

  JB nodded. “Yes sir, I knew Terry and Colin were into their militia thing big time, but I wasn’t a member or nothin’."

  "However, you were at the event, the night before last?"

  "Yes, sir I was. But, I was only there for a visit. I only found out the pig-pull was goin' on when I got there that very morning."

  “And?” Wilson prodded.

  “I thought it would be a good idea to stay for a while. I figured I’d be safe with all them folks havin' guns an' all.”

  “Safe? Please explain.” Wilson said. His brows narrowed, and his stare grew more intense.

  “I’d rather not say if y’all don’t mind.”

  "I do mind, Mr. Tucker. Why were you concerned about your safety?" Wilson demanded.

  JB exhaled in mock resignation, hoping it would sell the lie he was about to tell. He said, "I owe some folks money, from back home. I was thinking they'd leave me be if I was hanging out with Terry and Colin's bunch." He hoped that admitting he had a purpose for being there would help make him credible. Ironically, it was also close to the truth.

  Wilson didn't say anything for a few moments as if he were deciding whether JB's answer was sufficient. Finally, he said, “We’ll come back to that in a moment.”

  Though it was hard to tell from Wilson's expression or his tone of voice, JB thought it obvious that the man was not completely satisfied with his explanation. There was more silence before the agent spoke again.

  “Now, Mr. Tucker… Were you there when the firefight broke out?”

  “Yes, sir, I was there,” JB admitted.

  “Did you see what happened?”

  JB took a deep breath before he replied. “Yes, sir. I did.“

  "And?" Wilson prompted with more patience than he was feeling.

  “Well, all I can tell y'all is when the shooting started, I got out of there as fast as I could.”

  “What about your cousin Terry Tucker and Colin Trench?” Wilson asked, his voice growing progressively louder. "What happened to them? Where did they go?“

  “I dunno,” JB said, He channeled the emotions he felt in his narrow escape from death to reinforce the sincerity of his reply. “We all got separated in the confusion. It was horrible! The lights went out, an’ I was alone in the dark… The bullets were flyin' everywhere! There was no way I could tell where they got off to! I’m not sure if they even made outta there alive!”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Cole snapped. He made no attempt to hide his disdain.

  “That’s what happened,” JB retorted. “Don’t care if y’all don’t believe me. I got no idea ‘bout what happened to either o’ them.” As the words came out of his mouth, he realized that was the truth. He didn’t know where they were headed, and so he couldn’t resist adding, “An’ I swear t’ it on a stack o’ bibles!”

 
; Agent Cole rolled his eyes and barely suppressed a snicker but neither agent Wilson nor agent Fenneman reacted. Perturbed with his response, Wilson directed a sharp look at Cole and said curtly, "Agent Cole, I think it best if Agent Fenneman and I continue the interview. Get some rest.” He waited for Cole to leave the room, ignoring the man’s frustrated expression.

  After the door closed, agent Wilson clasped his hands together on the table in front of him. His eyes remained fixed on JB, but the look on his face remained unreadable. JB had hoped his steadfast denial would end the interview. But Wilson opened the file in front of him and leafed through it during several more minutes of uncomfortable silence before he closed it and looked up at JB.

  “Okay, Mr. Tucker,” Wilson began, “So you claim to have no idea of what happened to Terrence Tucker or Colin Trench…” He paused before he added tersely, “But yet, you managed to escape? Without a scratch?”

  “I guess I was one of the lucky ones,” he replied lamely.

  “Lucky is the word,” Wilson kept looking straight at him. “Only a few got away, and those who managed to survive weren’t able to tell much of a coherent story. So, I’d like to hear your version of how it all went down… Again”

  JB repeated his story and stuck to it. There was no other option. He wasn't going to start talking about alien assassins with off-world weaponry. Not with these folks. “Yes, sir. Like I said before, I ran right out of there when them FBI folks showed up an’ all the shooting’ started.”

  “So you got past all of the agents and ran the entire four miles back to your uncle Marvin’s house?” injected Fenneman.

  “Yes, ma’am, I couldn’t get to my pickup on account I parked a distance aways… Like you said, the cops were all over the place so I couldn’t go back that way. I headed into the trees an’ ran cross-country over to my uncle Marvin’s place.”

  Wilson turned to Fenneman. “Did we find a truck?” he asked her.

  “Yes, sir," she replied. "There was an old pickup truck parked off the road a half-mile away.”

  JB said, “That’s my truck, Ol’ Blue. Got a big ol’ front bumper.”

  Fenneman gave him another hard stare, and he sheepishly added, “It's like I said, I got out of there, first thing.”

  “Really?” She sounded mad, as though she somehow knew he was lying. At some other time he might have admired her instincts, but now he was focused entirely on shaping his story into something that was believable.

  “Yes, ma’am. Right then, I was in a total panic! I didn’t think I could get back to my truck without gettin’ caught, so I jus’ took off, fast as I could.”

  “So you maintain that you were able to slip away without being apprehended by the task force? And, that you have no idea what happened to your cousin or Colin Trench?” Wilson demanded.

  “Yes, sir,” JB replied, although he could see from both their expressions they weren't convinced.

  “That is total bullshit!” she interjected indignantly. “What really hap…”

  Wilson, cut her off mid-sentence, “Mr. Tucker, you can understand our skepticism. You and a couple of others appear to be the only survivors, assuming of course, that your cousin and his partner didn’t escape the explosion." He paused briefly to give JB another hard stare. "What about that? Where were you when the explosives detonated?”

  JB considered the timeline before he replied. At that moment he was more than a mile away, in a network of ancient underground tunnels, outracing cave-ins. He said, “I was better than a mile away.” He met Wilson’s glare and added, “I’m sorry I lied to y'all earlier, ‘bout not bein’ there n’ all, but I didn't no trouble with y’all.” He tried his best to look sheepish, adding, "I was freaked out! I ain't never been a part of nothin’ like that in my whole life."

  Wilson exhaled in frustration and said, “Was that all you were lying about, Mr. Tucker? How do I know that you're telling us the entire truth now?”

  JB kept a completely straight face and looked Wilson directly in the eye as he lied, “I swear, I have told y’all everything… Everything.”

  Fenneman and Wilson shared a sideways glance. Then Fenneman shook her head in disgust. Wilson looked back at JB and said wearily, “I should arrest you right now.”

  “Well, then, I know my rights,” JB protested, “I want me a lawyer before I answer any more questions!” He thought now they would lock him up for sure. He had no more cards to play.

  Wilson didn’t reply. He stared down at the closed file folder in front of him and tapped it with his fingers as if he was deliberating as to what to do next. Finally, he seemed to have reached a conclusion. He looked up and said, “Mr. Tucker… I’m not inclined to believe you. I agree with agent Fenneman. We both think you know more than you’re willing to tell.”

  JB expected that in next few minutes he was going to be handcuffed and led away. However, Wilson made no move, except to resume drumming his fingers on the file folder. At last, he spoke again. “Since we're still investigating, I’ll give you the rest of the day to reconsider your answers. We’ve locked down the island until further notice, so if you were thinking about taking off, you can forget it. Tomorrow, I’ll expect the whole truth from you. If I don’t get it, or if you try anything sketchy, I’ll bounce you around so fast, and so far it will take a whole team of attorneys a year and a day to even find you. Do you understand? Tomorrow, at noon, you'll be back here, and you will tell me everything.” He gave JB a long hard look before he repeated, “Everything!” he punctuated the word with a loud rap on the table.

  At Wilson’s gesture, agent Fenneman escorted JB from the room and out to the waiting sedan where she was joined by agent Cole. “Get in the back seat, asshole,” he directed.

  JB complied, ignoring the man’s hostile glare. Cole slammed the door shut, but before he could join Fenneman in the car, she said, “I got this, Alex.”

  Cole shot her a questioning glance before shrugging his shoulders. “If you say so, Sam.”

  Fenneman started the engine and looked at JB in her rearview mirror. “Why did you lie?” she asked.

  “I don't know why y’all don't believe me,” he protested lamely.

  “Because what you told us is impossible. Impossible! The whole place was cordoned off before the raid began. There was absolutely no way could you have gotten out of there without being caught. No way!"

  "Well, I did," JB argued.

  Agent Fenneman shook her head in disgust. "I honestly don’t know why agent Wilson didn’t arrest you on the spot. But I'm warning you now… You better take his threat seriously. He will follow through if you don’t tell us the truth.”

  She put the car into gear, and neither of them uttered another word as the sedan headed back up the hill. JB found he was feeling a certain amount of regret about how she regarded him. There was no question that he found her attractive. Beginning with that brief moment when she had first had come to the door at Marvin’s house, and their eyes met. He had sensed that perhaps there was some chemistry between them. Of course, he couldn’t be sure. Maybe, he thought it was only his imagination and nothing more. Feelings like these had rarely happened to him, and he had no clue what to do about them. He concluded that it was just as well. His present circumstances would never allow for any relationship, real or imagined.

  After she dropped JB back at his 'Uncle Marvin's,' agent Fenneman was surprised at her disappointment. It went against all of her training to have any emotional reactions to an interviewee, let along someone who could be a person of interest in one of the worst disasters in the bureau’s history. And, she was shocked and puzzled as to why her boss hadn’t arrested him. On the drive back, she could think of nothing else.

  When she returned to the temporary HQ, at the hotel, she immediately sought out agent Wilson, who was still in the conference room.

  “Why didn’t you lock that guy up?” She blurted out, her frustration was obvious. “He obviously knows more than he’s telling!”

  Wilson shot h
er a thin smile and replied tersely, “I’m sure you’re right. I’m also sure that if we let him go, he’ll lead us to Terrance Tucker and Colin Trench.”

  “How?”

  Agent Wilson didn’t answer right away. When he did, he kept his voice down. He sounded weary, reflecting the strain of the past 48 hours. “I directed Cole to put a tracker on his truck. Tomorrow, you’ll tell him I’ve changed my mind and that he’s free to go. You’ll also give him back his license and make sure that he knows his truck has been released.”

  “Did we get a warrant?” asked Fenneman. Usually, the process took a day or so.

  “In the works. DHS leaves tomorrow, and they’re intent on closing the investigation with or without us. I don’t want to share Mr. Tucker with them until after we locate Trench. They seem to want to keep all of the details to themselves for some reason. I was advised before I began the interview that they had flown out the only other known survivors before we could debrief them further. I don't want to lose another potential witness. Especially if he can lead us to Tucker and Trench.”

  “So we keep this to ourselves?” Fenneman said, almost in a whisper.

  “Yes… We do. I've even squelched an outstanding warrant of his for failing to appear, so that the North Carolina troopers don't interfere."

  "Is this guy worth the trouble?" she asked. "What do you think Tucker and Trench have to do with all of this?"

  Wilson gave her a grim look and said, "Truthfully, I'm not sure. But just so you know, I was able to get a brief look at the crime scene before Homeland locked us out. I served in Afghanistan and Iraq before I joined the bureau and I’ve seen more than my share of carnage and mayhem. The explosion from the militia’s cache of C-4 obliterated almost everything. I saw a few of the bodies that DHS had recovered, and they had injuries that were inconsistent with either explosion or gunfire. There’s a lot more to this than Homeland is sharing with us. A lot more.”