“Our records don’t go back that far,” Matthews retorted to the great amusement of his cohorts.
“What’s the point of this ridiculous show and tell?” I demanded. “I’m obviously no terrorist. Take me back to the airport so I can catch my next flight.”
“So sorry, Mr. Kennedy, but we’re going to hold you for a few days while we assess whether you actually are an ongoing threat to the national security of the United States of America.”
“Are you out of your mind? I only play the quarter slots. I’m not going to clean out the Las Vegas casinos.”
“I’m afraid that you won’t be doing any gambling in your immediately foreseeable future. If you keep your mouth shut and mind your own business, then we’ll permit you to catch your return flight to Syracuse on Saturday.”
“Are you authorized to inform me as to the purpose of my incarceration or would that be above your pay grade?” I asked insolently.
“I’m sorry, but that’s a matter of national security. Be assured that you will be very well treated.”
To accentuate the total bullshit Matthews was feeding me, no sooner had he uttered that promise of me being well looked after, when the other two agents stood up and approached me.
I’m about six feet tall but with a slender build and I don’t work out, ever.
The first bloke grabbed me in a vice-like grip while the other gentleman put tape over my mouth and placed a hood over my head. Then I felt handcuffs being secured on my wrists. As the Borg used to say on Star Trek, “RESISTANCE IS FUTILE,” so I knew enough to behave since I was helpless to defend myself.
“No harm will come to you,” one of the men snarled. “These precautions are merely to ensure that you can’t escape and don’t know where we’re taking you. It’s simply part of our reluctant witness protocol.”
I was led blind out into the hallway and down an elevator.
Once outside, they gently eased me into the back seat of a vehicle and off we drove. I recalled that the SUV which brought me here had heavily tinted windows so I knew there was no chance of any passersby spotting that a hooded person was inside.
This wasn’t turning out to be the carefree vacation I had been expecting.
CHAPTER 14 (A Luxury Prison)
We must have driven for at least an hour. The only words spoken were by Matthews giving instructions to the driver. At first I assumed we were on some freeway and then it appeared that we had entered a large metropolitan area, probably the city of Washington itself. I knew from maps that the Washington Dulles International Airport was quite a distance west of the city.
Eventually we encountered stop and go traffic. Horns were blaring all around us which indicated that rush hour had begun.
After perhaps thirty minutes in the city, the SUV stopped and I was guided gently out of the vehicle and into a building of some sort. After another ride in an elevator, I was led down what seemed to be a long carpeted hallway and through a doorway.
The hood was removed from my head and I found myself standing in a very plush hotel room.
The handcuffs were removed as was the tape over my mouth.
The two men in the room with me were the same fellows from Matthews’ office. The Special Agent himself wasn’t present.
What could I possibly have done to warrant such extensive attention?
Edward Snowden had grossly underestimated the surveillance capabilities of the American government agencies. Somehow they had perfected technology which allowed them to monitor conversations in our own homes. Even more sinister, they had developed a system of retrieving whatever they wanted with just the touch of a few buttons on a computer.
That realization didn’t make me feel one bit safer. Instead it felt as if the inmates had completely taken over the asylum. Big Brother had arrived with a vengeance and he was pumped up with nosy steroids.
The three of us stood in silence for a few minutes until there was a knock on the door.
The door was opened and an older man entered with Matthews. The two agents saluted the newcomer.
“You may take your places outside the room,” the new chap stated to my two escorts. His whole demeanor exuded authority.
The agents saluted again and immediately exited the hotel room.
“Mr. Kennedy, this will be your home until Saturday. At that time you will be permitted to fly to Syracuse where you may retrieve your vehicle and return to Canada.”
“What about my reservation at the hotel in Las Vegas?”
“It has already been cancelled and the complete cost of your vacation has been credited to your VISA account. You won’t be out of pocket one red cent.”
“This is a very nice room but I don’t see any slot machines. How am I supposed to amuse myself stuck in here until Saturday?”
“You have all the stations you could possibly imagine on the TV. The telephone has been turned off because it has been deemed important that you not be able to contact anyone during your stay here. You can use the phone to request anything from room service or housekeeping, but it will be one of our agents who will answer the call and relay your instructions. Whatever you choose to order will not cost you a cent.”
“Why exactly am I here? It’s most bizarre. Agent Matthews tried to impress me by demonstrating that my calls and conversations have been monitored for quite some time. All it succeeded in doing was to convince me that American intelligence has gone berserk.”
“Your precise reason for being here is not information you need to know now or in the future. Take my word for it that your presence here is essential in relation to larger matters. Good night, Mr. Kennedy. Try to enjoy this unexpected glitch in your travel plans.”
His supercilious military attitude really irked me and I tried to concoct some way to irritate him right back.
“Wait a minute,” I barked as I marched over to the room’s small bar fridge and threw the door open. The thing was filled with various designer liqueurs and foreign beer, each one sporting an outrageous price tag.
“I’m not drinking this overpriced cat-piss. Have Matthews go fetch me a twelve-pack of Old Milwaukee and some greasy salted peanuts. And I can’t wear this same outfit all damn week. I want my luggage back.”
The military guy glanced over at Matthews who nodded. It surprised me that Matthews was in command rather than this fellow.
At least I got the desired reaction. Both the General, as I decided to call him, and Matthews tensed up at the derisive tone of my voice but the General answered through gritted teeth, “I’ll see to your requests, Mr. Kennedy.”
Both chaps spun around and left the room.
I heard the General command one of the agents guarding my door to go out and get the beer and peanuts immediately. Then I listened at the door while he phoned someone and gave the order to have my belongings returned to me pronto.
My face was still sore from the tape and I was now exceedingly angry.
I had been my own boss during my entire career. Now here I was being deprived of an enjoyable vacation in Las Vegas by some bullying government agents who had no regard to my rights to privacy or freedom.
I resisted the urge to crack open one of the overpriced drinks from the bar fridge as I turned on the television.
The screen must have been sixty inches wide and I began to console myself with the thought that for once in my life I was being handed the opportunity to live the high life for a few days on someone else’s dime.
I scrolled through the various pay-per-view movies for a few minutes and then picked up the room service menu to check out what I might like for supper.
On the slim chance that my abduction might have hit the news, I switched over to CNN.
Imagine my surprise when the screen suddenly was filled with a picture of the fellow who had sat next to me on the flight today.
I listened intently as the newscaster said, “This breaking news just in. Earlier today Homeland Security arrested Bander Haddad, a high-level official of the Sau
di Arabian government, and they are holding him on suspicion of being a terrorist agent. An unnamed source has provided CNN with excerpts from a taped conversation between Mr. Haddad and an unnamed conspirator.”
The so-called taped evidence was chilling, not because of the content but because the words had been doctored completely out of context.
To assist the viewers, the words from the somewhat crackly recording were written out on the TV screen.
BANDER HADDAD: “I’ve got a bomb hidden in my undergarments.”
UNNAMED CONSPIRATOR: “I’m sure the security bozos would never discover an actual bomb. They’re too busy looking for illegal drugs to detect any real threat.”
BANDER HADDAD: I’m a terrorist working for ISIS.”
UNNAMED CONSPIRATOR: “I smuggled a trunk load of rocket launchers over the border from Canada today.”
The newscaster then continued the story by adding, “Mr. Haddad was not carrying the required official Saudi government documentation at the time of his arrest and Homeland Security is taking the position that he is thereby not entitled to diplomatic immunity. The Saudi Arabian embassy has refused to comment on the matter. CNN will keep its viewers informed as the story develops.”
It was eerie listening to my own voice on CNN, but it was crystal clear to me that I was being used merely as a pawn in some complex government subterfuge.
This whole scenario was like something right out of a movie script. Poor Mr. Haddad was being railroaded on false evidence and I was stuck in this luxury prison for the duration of my vacation.
Contrary to popular belief, lawyers are not always the greedy scum they are made out to be. Our extensive education in fact attunes us quite impressively to comprehend the concepts of right and wrong.
Despite the larger matters mentioned by the General, I had come to learn and believe as a lawyer that the process of justice also had to be fair and transparent. The ends rarely if ever justified using tainted means.
I concluded that it really wasn’t important that my holiday was being fucked up by these government morons. What was crucial was that the evidence being used against Bander Haddad in the media was false. Whether he was guilty or not was a completely different issue, but I suspected that the poor man was being used just like I was.
I decided that it was my responsibility to set the record straight.
How could I accomplish that from inside this opulent prison?
CHAPTER 15 (Planning My Escape)
The cheap beer and peanuts arrived within thirty minutes after Matthews and the General had left my room.
By now it was seven o’clock and I was hungry.
I perused the room service menu and opted for a clubhouse sandwich and fries.
When I picked up the telephone to place the order, a male voice said, “Yes, Mr. Kennedy, what can I do for you?”
I placed my supper order and also requested a copy of today’s local newspaper. When the chap asked me which one, I responded “I’m bored here already so I’d like the latest edition of all of them.”
Ten minutes later there was a knock on my door and one of the guards handed me half a dozen newspapers and I quickly scanned them all.
I must be in Washington as I had suspected since all of the papers were Washington editions.
There was no mention of Mr. Haddad in any of them. Presumably the story was too recent to have made it into the papers.
My supper arrived on a tray wheeled in by the same guard.
My mind was whirring as I ate the food. There must be some way to escape out into the city.
The room was on a high floor and there was no balcony. Also, this was not an interconnecting room with a door leading to an adjoining room. The only exit was through the main door.
When I had finished eating, I flung the room door open.
Both guards immediately sprang up and simultaneously blocked the doorway.
“You can remove the serving cart,” I said politely. “It was very good. Thank you. It’s lonely in here. Are you authorized to come in and keep me company?”
“No, sir; our instructions are to ensure that you remain in the room and to bring you whatever you need. Please refrain from opening the door again. If you require anything, use the telephone to relay your request to the agent manning the line.”
“Sorry, fellows; nobody informed me of those rules.”
From the way the two guards coordinated the removal of the serving tray, it was apparent that I had zero chance to make a run for it. At least I had been able to discover that my room was at the extreme end of the plushy carpeted corridor.
A physical escape was out of the question.
I popped open an Old Milwaukee and sat on the sofa to reassess my situation, and I began reading the various newspapers in more detail.
The idea popped into my head, likely influenced by movies I had seen, that a possible way to get out of this room would be to fake a heart attack.
With that general plan in mind, I began to formulate a detailed course of action.
Although I appeared to be in a hotel room, nothing had been left revealing the name of the establishment. The room service menu’s cover had been removed and the stationery in the desk was generic as was the toiletries in the bathroom and the ice bucket and glasses. It was clear from looking out the windows that I had been plunked right in the downtown area of the city, as there were high-rise buildings everywhere within my view.
I supposed that it was conceivable that I was in fact in some government building, although upon further reflection, I highly doubted that. Even though I had been blindfolded, the entire journey inside this building had been on carpeted hallways. Even the elevator had plush carpet. This must be a commercial hotel. The glimpse I had of the hallway outside the room was of a typical high-end hotel.
For the next couple of hours I scoured the editorial pages of the papers.
One of the guards suddenly entered the room and plunked my sports bag down on the carpet.
“Here are your clothes and personal effects, sir. Your wallet and money will be returned to you at a later time.”
I thanked him as he departed and closed the door.
As I casually unpacked my belongings and put them away on hangers or in drawers, it struck me that the government was almost certainly taping any conversations I had in this room. They had already demonstrated that they had perfected the technology.
Were they also videotaping me?
If that were the case, then a successful escape would be impossible if my actions inside the room didn’t correspond with the medical emergency I was faking.
I tried to examine the room with a view to spotting where a hidden camera might be cleverly concealed, but that task was impossible for an amateur like me with no security training.
The most likely places were behind mirrors or inside air vents.
The concept of writing out the details of my contact with and concerns about Bander Haddad sprung to mind.
Then, when I was examined by a doctor or rushed to the hospital, I could secretly hand the letter off with instructions to deliver it to a newspaper.
The more I thought about it, the more problems came to mind.
For one thing, the doctor would almost certainly be in the employ of the government so he or she would never pass along my letter.
An additional impediment to success would be that I was no actor and had no idea how to realistically fake a heart attack. I could see that little asshole Matthews smirking at me while saying something sarcastic about what a pathetic idiot I was to think I could fool the world’s top security professionals.
Another problem was whether any newspaper would act upon my letter if it was delivered to them.
They likely had layer upon layer of analysis and verification to plow through before any decision could be made.
Almost certainly they would contact Homeland Security before making my story public and I strongly suspected that the government could easily apply eno
rmous pressure on the owner and editor not to run the piece.
The papers on the coffee table were all well established, long-standing publications and a closer inspection revealed that all of them were owned by huge media conglomerates motivated by profit rather than public service.
I picked up the room phone.
The same male voice as before asked me what I wanted.
“I’ve read all these papers and I don’t feel like watching TV. Can you have some grocery store entertainment papers and magazines sent up? I’d especially like some of the racy ones. Oh, and bring up a Sudoku book and perhaps a book of crosswords. I’ll go nuts if I have to sit here watching TV all week. I’m supposed to be on vacation enjoying myself.”
He answered in the affirmative and hung up.
Twenty minutes later my door opened and the guard deposited the requested items on the carpet and closed the door without uttering a word.
Over more beer, I glanced over the selection and discovered that one of the smuttier ones had a Washington office.
I decided that “The Capitol Independent” was the best choice to receive my letter. Besides being printed and based locally, it was also quite irreverent in its slant on the political news.
For the next hour I sat in the bathtub with the shower curtain drawn closed and pretended that I was working on Sudoku and crossword puzzles while taking a leisurely bath.
In fact I was composing my detailed letter explaining exactly what had been done to me and how Mr. Haddad was having purposely false evidence publicly used against him by Homeland Security. The only name I had been able to obtain so far was that of Special Agent Matthews but I was especially precise in chronicling his involvement in this travesty of justice.
I folded the letter into as small a package as possible and wrote out on a scrap of paper the name of the political correspondent from the small independent newspaper and the address of their office. Then I wrapped it in the flimsy plastic which had individually protected a small paper cup in the bathroom. I secured my treasure with a bit of scotch tape I had brought into the bathroom from the desk drawer.
The Wrong Lawyer Page 7