Chapter Fourteen
The Interrogation
Nathaniel made sure the arrest scene was secure then headed for the federal building. A few minutes after he arrived he was ushered into the room where the young man was being held.
"Take off the handcuffs and the shackles," Nathaniel ordered. "This young fellow and I are going to have a private chat, man to man."
The others looked hesitant but after a moment obeyed and filed out of the room. Nathaniel took a device out of his pocket, turned it on, and sat it on the table. "What's that?" the young man asked.
"It's called a quencher," Nathaniel answered, "it knocks out all electronic equipment within ten feet. If there's a video camera or a microphone in here, it's now non-functional. All they're getting is wiggly lines and squeaks."
The younger man looked puzzled. "Why?" he asked.
"Because there can't be any record of the conversation," Nathaniel answered, "and if you say it took place everyone else will swear it never did."
" I want a lawyer!" the young man snapped, "I won't give you any answers until I get a lawyer."
Nathaniel sat back in his chair. "Let's get one thing straight, mister!" he snapped, "You're not going to have the opportunity to be a martyr. Either you start cooperating here and now, or I order you shipped to Washington with that blonde cutie and somewhere along the way there'll be an accident, and you'll never get to publicize your racist dreams."
The young man looked into Nathaniel's eyes. "You wouldn't just kill us!" he pleaded.
"We wouldn't have a thing to do with it," Nathaniel answered. "You have no conception of the Powers you're messing with, of the forces you're acting against. But those forces can also be very kind if you cooperate. I promise you you'll be well treated. You'll be shipped off as a civilian employee at an overseas military base.
If you like we will send you and Blondie to the same place. As long as you stay there and behave you'll never be bothered again."
The young man looked bewildered. He looked around the room as if searching for someone, then he slumped. He stared down at the table and muttered. "What do you want to know?"
"Sit up!" Nathaniel snapped. "Look at me! We're two men, son, I have nothing against you, if anything I want to help you."
The young man sat up and managed a smile. "It's crazy," he muttered, "but I think you're telling the truth."
Nathaniel nodded. "What do you know about the man you were trying to kill?" he asked.
"That he's the head of an underground organization," the young man answered, "a powerful organization that intends to take over the country, and intends to outlaw all forms of racism, to forbid its teachings and, to encourage white people to marry n------, c----s, and s-----s."
Nathaniel cleared his throat. "Sorry," the young man corrected. "Africans, Asians and Native Americans. That he is the greatest threat that exists to our way of life, and that the government is doing nothing to stop him. That they are even helping him."
"Hardly that!" Nathaniel put in.
"That's all I know," the young man concluded, "that's all my father told me. That was enough.
Listen, we lost contact with two of my brothers. We suspected they may have been picked up. Are they all right?"
Nathaniel reached down, pulled a file from his briefcase, and tossed it on the table. The younger man looked through the pictures, then laid his head down on the table in his arms, and began to sob heavily.
Nathaniel got up and tapped on the door. An agent opened it and Nathaniel ordered him to get a wet washcloth, a towel, coffee, and sandwiches. The agent snapped "Yes sir!" and hurried off.
Nathaniel stepped outside the door and waited. He waited until the cart was brought and the sobbing died down. He hated waits like this. They were the hardest part of his job. He hated them with every fiber of his being.