Inside Out wm-1

by John Ramsey Miller

  The boys stood there above an ocean of armed adults, blinking like owls, covered with black smut like coal miners.

  Cheers mixed with the spatter of applause carried across the field. Winter thought of Rush, and the birthday he hoped he could still get home for.

  43

  Archer led the two boys back to the command tent, where emergency medical technicians cleaned them up, checking them over for injuries, treating their scratches, and finally pronouncing them sound.

  The Cole County deputies, emergency workers, and firemen began to cluster, talking among themselves, some smoking cigarettes. Finch ordered them to disperse. In the debris field, stooped technicians remained on task, oblivious to anything beyond the tape barrier.

  While an FBI agent lowered the canvas walls of the tent, Winter saw the sheriff approach Archer and whisper something in his ear. He heard Archer reply that absolutely no members of the press would be allowed on the base under any conditions, due to national security. The sheriff left in his cruiser. Then they went to the tent.

  Director Shapiro stood behind Archer. Winter stood alone near the side wall, to Archer's left. Across the table from Archer, the two boys sat side by side.

  A technician placed a cassette recorder on the table in front of the boys. Archer pressed the record button. He said, “FBI Supervising Case Agent Fred Archer conducting a field interview of two minor subjects found at Ward Field, Virginia.” He added the date and glanced down at a slip of paper. “The subjects being interviewed are Matthew Barnwell and George Williams, both twelve years of age and residents of Raiford, Virginia. The subjects are aware I am recording this interview.”

  Archer folded his hands on the table and smiled at the boys. “Man,” he said expansively, “we sure are glad you two are all right. You gave us all quite a scare, I can tell you. The agent who found you said you fellows had a clubhouse all set up in the tower. You come here a lot?”

  The heavier boy watched Archer. The other boy stared down at his lap. He hadn't looked up since the agents and marshals entered.

  “Okay, so, George and Matt, which one of you boys is Matt?”

  The plump boy held up his hand.

  From behind the boys, Finch said, “Speak up and answer either yes or no when Agent Archer asks you a question for the recorder. Is that clear?”

  Both boys nodded.

  “Affirmative nods,” Finch announced, for the benefit of the tape. “Again, please answer the questions yes or no.”

  “I just need to ask you a few questions,” Archer said. Over his insincere smile, his eyes were decidedly predatory. To Winter he looked like a union official at the negotiating table with a Louisville Slugger concealed in his lap in case his sugary words failed.

  “Okay,” Matt said. “Yeah.”

  “Last night there was a big explosion here.”

  Matt showed Archer a look of surprised disbelief. “Huh?” George merely shrugged.

  “You saw it?” Archer asked.

  Matt shook his head. “Uh-uh.”

  “Yes or no,” Finch insisted.

  “Nah,” Matt said emphatically. “We weren't here.”

  The scene took Winter back to his years as a teacher. He studied the boys carefully.

  “I suspect you're not telling me the truth,” Archer said softly. “You're both blackened from the blast.”

  “We were,” George said to his lap. “We…”

  Winter clearly saw Matt kick George's ankle under the table.

  “We were just walking in and it knocked us down. We were scared and we hid,” Matt explained. “We didn't want to get in trouble for being here.”

  “Boys,” Archer said sternly. “Think about this very, very carefully before you answer. Before the explosion, did you see anything? Any people coming or going? Any vehicles leaving the area?”

  “Nah.” Matt crossed his arms across his chest. “We didn't see nothing but that explosion, then police cars and fire trucks.”

  George put his finger in his right ear and shook it, glaring at Matt. Winter knew Matt was lying. Why couldn't Archer see that, he thought.

  “So you hid in the tower because?”

  “We didn't want to get blamed for it,” Matt blurted out. “We didn't see nothing, did we, George?” Matt pressed the sole of his sneaker against George's ankle. George shook his head. Winter looked around and realized that he alone had a view of what was going on under the table.

  “No,” George agreed after a few long seconds.

  “Are you both absolutely sure?” Archer asked.

  Now, Winter thought. This is where Archer starts poking and prodding.

  Archer's pager went off, interrupting. He read the number and frowned.

  Archer looked back at the boys, smiling at them.

  “And, I think we all know the rest,” Archer said, putting his notebook away, turning off the recorder and standing.

  “Great. If you two young men remember anything later, you get your parents to call the FBI, okay? Do that for us? Let's get their parents out here and reunite them.” Archer's interview completed, he walked out.

  Winter couldn't believe what he'd just seen. The interrogation was done? What the hell was wrong with Archer?

  Finch cut the recorder off and told Matt, “Your days of trespassing here are over. They'll fix that fence, bulldoze the tower.”

  “We have permission,” George said softly. Winter didn't hear it, he read the boy's lips.

  Winter left the hut and went after Archer.

  “That's it?” Winter demanded.

  Archer snapped his cell phone open and, looking at his pager's display for the number, began punching it into the keypad. “Is what it, Deputy Massey?”

  “The interview… it's over? Those kids are hiding something. They're lying to you.”

  “I doubt it,” Archer said. “If you'll excuse me, I-”

  Winter snatched Archer's phone away and closed it. The agent's expression was one of shock and outrage.

  Shapiro appeared beside them. “What in heaven's name is going on?” he demanded.

  Handing back Archer's cell phone, Winter spoke softly but forcefully, “The special agent in charge of this investigation just turned his back on what could very well be key evidence!”

  “That's enough, Deputy,” Archer demanded, turning his eyes on the people crowding behind Shapiro. “Doesn't everyone have something to do?” he called out. The agents began moving slowly away, with the reluctance of kids forced to abandon a school-yard fistfight.

  “What evidence?” Shapiro asked Winter.

  “Archer-”

  “Special Agent in Charge Archer,” Shapiro snapped at Winter.

  “Those boys lied. They know something. They saw something. They were here all night after the explosion. Maybe they were here earlier and saw the plane land. Maybe they are afraid.”

  “We put them at ease,” Archer said.

  “Look, maybe they were threatened by someone.”

  “Nonsense,” Archer said. “Finch, do you agree with Deputy Massey?”

  “Totally absurd. They're just children who obviously didn't see anything useful.”

  “So this evidence would be what, Massey?” Archer asked sarcastically.

  “Whenever George tried to expand an answer or volunteer anything other than what Matt said, Matt kicked him under the table. Just after you left, when Finch said they would never be allowed back, George said, ‘We have permission.' Present tense. From whom? Their parents reported them missing so who gave them permission to stay? Finch, you were standing close enough to George that you must have heard it.”

  “I didn't hear any such thing,” Finch protested.

  “But you heard it?” Shapiro asked Winter.

  “I read his lips. They were here when the plane exploded. Maybe they were here before that. I know they saw a lot more than they've admitted to.”

  “You read lips? You see underneath tables?” Archer asked.

  “You have a cry
stal ball, too?” Finch mocked.

  “Did you see the boys kicking each other?” Archer asked Shapiro.

  “No,” Shapiro said. “But if Deputy Massey says he did, I believe him.”

  “You'll excuse me if I say that I hardly see Massey as impartial here. Understandably, he is in shock, if not temporarily mentally unbalanced by grief and the deadly combat he went through. So, I'll let it go… this time.”

  “Perhaps,” Shapiro insisted, “this is something we could discuss privately.”

  “I've got work to do,” Archer said,

  Shapiro added. “If the interview with those boys was a little more superficial than it could have been, there's no good reason it can't continue-”

  “I disagree,” Archer interrupted. “And let me remind you that I'm calling the shots. If Deputy Massey can't control himself, if he ever lays a hand on me again or creates a scene, I'll have him in a psychiatric facility undergoing evaluation.”

  “Agent Archer,” Winter said, with a calm he didn't feel, “I'm sorry. I'm not myself. People I cared about have been murdered. My best friend is scattered across the landscape. Last night I killed four men. What you said about my state of mind is true. Even so, I taught boys that age. I have a son that age. I know how boys that age act and think when they're hiding something.”

  Archer glared at Winter. “That about it?”

  “Just separate the boys. Talk to them individually. Don't close the door because of your ego, or what you already believe is true. If they saw anyone-”

  “Listen to me, you-” Archer hissed.

  Shapiro interrupted. “Let's drop this for now, Deputy Massey.”

  “Massey,” Archer said hotly. “I want those murdering bastards caught every bit as badly as you do. I don't believe those kids saw anything, because if they had, there's no reason on earth for them not to tell us.”

  Winter fought to keep the desperation he felt from showing through. “Sir, just let me talk to George Williams. He's the weak link. If I'm right and he knows anything, I'm sure he'll tell me.”

  “You are?”

  “What do you have to lose?”

  Archer frowned as he weighed the request. “I don't want it said later that I wasn't open to all possible avenues. And, seeing his background, I suppose it's possible that Deputy Massey may know ways to elicit information from children.”

  Shapiro nodded solemnly.

  “Intuition is a valuable tool.”

  “Nobody can say that you weren't ready to explore every possible angle, sir,” Finch agreed.

  “Very well, Massey. But I won't stand for any rough stuff. You got that?”

  44

  A female FBI agent took Matt Barnwell to the ambulance under the pretext of a hearing examination. George Williams stood out beside the command tent gazing at the airplanes. Winter walked over to him. If they were going to find the bastards who were responsible for murdering Greg and the others, he had to make a start there and then.

  “You like airplanes, George?”

  The boy looked up at Winter. “Sure. I guess.”

  “Which is your favorite?”

  George shrugged. “Fighters.”

  “You hungry?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Let's get a sandwich and I'll show you around the planes.”

  George wolfed down the sandwich as though he'd been starved for days.

  “Let's go look at those planes,” Winter said when he'd finished.

  “You FBI?” George asked as they walked.

  “U.S. marshal.”

  “Are you a whipstick marshal?”

  Winter felt his heartbeat quicken. “You mean WITSEC, George?”

  “Yeah, what's that mean?”

  “WITSEC stands for witness security. WITSEC deputies protect men who are testifying against bad men in court. They make sure the witnesses get safely to court. Where did you hear about WITSEC?” he asked.

  George stopped and seemed to be studying a King Air. “TV, maybe.”

  “Must have been some explosion,” Winter said easily. “I bet it was loud and bright. George, earlier you said that you have permission to be here.”

  George stared at him silently.

  “We're not here because of the explosion,” Winter continued. “That would require only the ATF bomb squad people out there and a few FBI agents. We're all here because some bad men hijacked an airplane with seven people in it, including a man WITSEC was protecting. Those men flew it here last night and they blew it up with you watching. The reason there are so many cops and FBI agents here is because those seven people were still inside that jet when it exploded.”

  “For real?”

  “Word of honor.”

  George seemed to be thinking it over, so Winter gave him a nudge.

  “I don't know who you guys saw, or what those people said to you, but they are murderers, and we need to find them and make sure they don't kill anybody else. And the truth is that you are the only one who can help us catch these people. I know it's hard for you to tell me about it, but it's really important that you do and I think you want to tell the truth. If anyone threatened to hurt you or your families, we'll make absolutely sure that nobody does.”

  “He said it was just a war game,” George blurted out, his eyes alive with fear and excitement.

  “Who said that?”

  “I thought he was too old to be a real general.”

  George sat silently until Winter started the recorder. Archer and Shapiro were nearby to monitor.

  “First time me and Matt saw the men here was day before yesterday,” the boy started.

  George told Winter how he and Matt were caught by the men and about their leader, who told them he was a general and that the boys had stumbled on a secret war game the general said the men were playing with the WITSEC marshals. He told Winter about the weapons and described the activity in the hangar. The general had promised the boys that if they didn't tell about the activity at the base, the pair could come anytime they liked. He even promised to give them a pass and keys to the gate, and he said a man named Ralph would give them helicopter rides anytime they wanted. George said he didn't like the general or his men-they scared him. The general had made wonderful promises, but he made threats, too, about what could happen if he and Matt betrayed his men, since the boys had been trespassing and would go to jail and their parents would lose their houses and possessions to the government.

  He and Matt had come out again late the previous afternoon to see if the men were still there. He said the general seemed to have been there alone, moving in and out of the hangar. George said the runway lights came on, then a jet landed and taxied into the hangar. The general and some men left in an airplane. After they were sure the plane wasn't coming back, the boys had come onto the base to see if the general's men had left anything worth taking.

  “How many people did you see leave here last night?” Winter asked.

  “Four.”

  “Three and the old general?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who were the others?”

  “I think one was Ralph, the helicopter pilot. They had an army helicopter, the big plane with two propellers and a smaller one they left in.

  “We were watching from outside the fence and it was dark then. We came in here after they were gone. The big explosion knocked us down. My ears didn't work. The fire went way up in the sky and it was so hot you couldn't believe it. I couldn't hear and Matt kept yelling and jumping up and down, then a police helicopter came and we hid up in the tower.”

  “What does the general look like?”

  “He's really old, and his hair is white and dandruff falls out of it on his clothes. He has about a million wrinkles. Oh, and big brown freckles on his hands. And he has a weird blue eye where the little black hole part of it goes down in the blue part so it's like those old door holes you can look in.”

  “What about Ralph?”

  George thought for a moment before repl
ying. “He has muscles like a wrestler, and sunglasses that's got purple glass in them and stuck-up hair that's white and a tattoo of a barbed wire on his wrist. That's all I can think of.”

  “The other men?”

  The boy shrugged. “I didn't really look at them much.”

  “How many were there? Beside Ralph and the general?”

  “A whole lot. Maybe seven or eight. I'm not sure. I know they all had muscles and short hair, too. We didn't talk to them, just to Ralph and the general.” George placed his palms on the table. “I guess that's all I know.”

  “George, could you help an artist draw some pictures of the general and Ralph?” Archer asked.

  “Sure,” he said, then seemed to clam up again. “You don't think he meant what he said-about our parents' houses and jail. Do you?”

  “No. You're safe. You won't be seeing him again, George,” Winter said, patting the boy's shoulder before he left the tent.

  Archer joined him outside. This time his smile looked genuine. “Deputy, I owe you an apology. You read those kids right.”

  “Agent Archer,” Winter said, “we're on the same side. Just find those bastards.”

  “I intend to,” Archer said.

  Winter was relieved that Archer sounded sincere.

  45

  Inside the Gulfstream II, Chief Marshal Richard Shapiro stood up from a gray leather couch, opened a cabinet, and removed a bottle of Oban. He handed Winter a glass with an ounce of the golden liquid in it. Shapiro poured one for himself and reached over to touch his glass to Winter's.

  “You're off duty,” Shapiro said. “Drink up.”

  The scotch ignited a velvet fire that burned the length of Winter's throat.

  “Another?” Shapiro offered.

  “No, thank you, sir.” If I start drinking now, maybe I won't ever stop.

  “The FBI has a good start, thanks to you,” Shapiro said. “The Citation will take you home as soon as you're ready. I want you to take some time off.”

  Winter was relieved-he desperately wanted to go home and resume his life. He looked through the window at the water tank and his mind painted Forsythe standing at the rail, on the island.