Chapter One
It was a cold December day when I pulled into CIA
headquarters’ parking lot in Langley, Virginia. I’ve worked for the CIA for
almost twenty five years as an interrogator. In all that time, I’d never seen a
suspect like the one sitting in that interrogation room.
At first I couldn't believe it. My boss handed me
his file before we went into the observation room on the other side of what
everyone knows to be one-way glass. Sitting in that quiet room is a fifteen
year old boy. I look to the man who handed me the file for some indication that
this is a joke. I’ve made a living being able to read people, and this is
apparently no joke. Reading over the file, not only is this not a joke, this is
one of the most serious cases I’ve ever been a part of.
I skim through the file in disbelief. Theft of
classified information, treason, trespassing, kidnapping, suspected involvement
with terrorists… I haven’t seen a wrap sheet like this since… in my entire
career I haven’t seen a wrap sheet like this.
And I look through the glass and see a fifteen year
old boy. Long, messy red hair, dark eyes, five feet, four inches tall and looks
like he hasn’t had a good meal in a while. I can’t even imagine what this boy’s
story is, but then, that’s what I’m here to find out.
I go over into the next room and sit down across the
table from the boy. He doesn’t even bother to look up as I set the file on the
table and flip it to the first page.
I like spending a minute studying the suspect face
to face before starting an interrogation, just to get a sense of them. The boy
won’t stop tapping the floor with his foot; his hands are visibly shaking on
the table his breath is loud and shaky. He’s nervous, for one thing, but I get
the sense that whatever he really is, a hardened criminal he is not. Maybe
there’s hope for him, and I find myself hoping that when all of this is sorted
out, he could be rehabilitated instead of just carted off to jail. But I have
to set all of that aside for now, because for now he’s a suspect.
I look down at the file and clear my throat before
speaking. “Drake Edward Fletcher,” I begin. I see him cower in a similar way my
children do when I use their full names when they get in trouble. I continue,
but dial down the formalities a bit. “May I call you Drake?”
He bites his lip as he looks down at his hands and
gives the slightest nod of approval. I continue. “Drake, I must say, I find it
hard to believe this file they handed me outside.”
He stays silent and avoids looking at me. I switch
to parent mode and say, “Drake, I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”
Still looking at the table, he responds, “That file
has everything you need to know about all of this. I already confessed to all
the crimes.”
He did confess, I heard the story. He confessed to
all the crimes mentioned in the file, but hadn’t been further questioned since.
Stranger enough was that he turned himself in with three other kids, all of
which deferred to him, and all of which are also held in this facility. When
asked if he wanted to talk to a lawyer, he refused. He’s apparently been here
ever since.
“I know you confessed,” I said, “but that doesn’t
help me make sense of all of this.”
He finally looks me in the eye. His gaze is strong,
his eyes full of anger. “What do you care,” he throws at me.
“I care because it’s my job to care.” I indicate the
file and say, “this is one of the strangest accounts I’ve ever read. It’s my
job to understand these things, and this one makes no sense. I’d expect to read
a file like this on a hardened terrorist, not someone who’s still too young to
drive. You’re no criminal, Drake, and I can tell so don’t try to say you are.
You and your friends got tangled up in something much bigger than yourselves. Your
friends all defer to you, so you’re going to have to be the one who tells me
everything, Drake, because, frankly, if half of what happened in this file is
true, someone’s going to have to go away for life. Personally, I’d hate to
think that a fifteen year old is the fall guy for all of this.”
He looks back down at his hands, which are still
shaking and clammy. Sighing, I add, “I’ll tell you what; I’ll get us some food
if you tell me your story.”
He looks from the floor to the table, obviously
contemplating my offer. After a minute of silence, he speaks. “Fine, I’ll tell
you everything. But first, I want to say that some of this is pretty…
incriminating, especially for our parents. So if I do this, and tell you
everything, I want a few things first.”
I lean back in my seat, and nod for him to continue.
My hunch was turning true. This wasn’t a master mind I was dealing with. It was
a kid who had something on his chest he wanted to get off.
“First,” he begins, “I want everything I’m about to
say to not show up on my record, and the same goes for the records of my
friends.”
“Second,” he continues, “I want all of our parents
absolved of any crimes against the US.”
“Lastly,” he says, “I want the director of the CIA
to kiss my feet and apologize personally for ruining all of our lives.”
“How about just the apology,” I offer.
“Fine,” he agrees, “But as long as I never see
another CIA agent ever again.”
“Well, Drake,” I say, “I can’t promise those things
for sure until after you tell me your story. I can promise that we will talk about
all of that afterwards. For now, how about a pizza and some drinks.”
Once again, he contemplates my offer. My impression
of this boy is anything but a terrorist. He wants to protect the people he
cares about, and he’s going to be careful to do so. “Make it a large pepperoni,
and can you at least tell me one thing before I start?”
“What is it?”
“Can you tell me where my parents are being held?”
That’s exactly what I figured he would ask for. I
know that people are listening in on this, so I call out, “Someone get that
pizza and find out where his parents are.” The room is soundproofed, but I can
see in my mind people running around to get what I’ve asked for. “Do you want
to wait for all of this, or are you up to going ahead and getting started?”
“Then let’s get this started already,” he finally
says. I just sit back and listen as he tells his account.
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