Chapter 8: Threats, Decapitations and Airing Dirty Laundry

Detective Thomas Andrews leaned forward despite everyone else at the table leaning back with their arms crossed, scowling at Josh. The detective glanced towards the door as if expecting someone to sneak up on him in the locked interrogation room. "As you may have noticed, we were ordered to simply hold you. The Feds have specifically asked that we keep no records. That's why we haven't charged, fingerprinted or photographed you."

"So I can leave now?" Josh asked just to be an ass since he knew there was no way they'd ever let him go.

The Detective rolled his eyes but tried hard not to scoff at Josh's attempt at a joke. "Definitely not! The law allows us to hold anyone for up to forty-eight hours on only a suspicion, giving us enough time to investigate. By that time the Feds will have you and you'll never be seen again. It isn't often they ask us to purposely scrub our records clean, so I don't think you're an ordinary case. They've ordered every local police force out to stop cars on all the major roads into and out of town, they assigned US Army brats to watch over us, and they ordered us to ignore established protocols. You can bet they plan much worse things than they normally extend to terrorists. But what I can't figure out is why.

"So, if you don't mind, could you at least put my mind at ease? Why are they so interested in you?"

"I'm sorry, but as I keep telling you, I really don't know," Josh replied, holding his hands palms up to show he wasn't hiding anything. "I was just out—"

"Yes, yes, we know," the Detective answered. "You were out for a drive, then you changed your story to claim you stole someone's car, then you were trying to win a dare, and then it was a college initiation prank. You have no identification, no license, no cards or anything. First you're a college student, then a local student, and then you're from a state college. We know you're hiding something. That much is obvious. But you've got to bear in mind that if you don't speak to us you'll probably never be heard from again. At least if you level with me, I might be able to talk to your family and let them know what happened to you. Frankly, I suspect the Feds will deny ever hearing of you, and your electronic records will be wiped clean. So this may be your last chance to let your loved ones know what's happening."

Detective Andrews's scenario would have been scarier if it wasn't so true. Josh had known right away—even before the police refused to fingerprint him—that they'd turn him over to the black-ops. He also knew that once that happened he'd never see the light of day again. But Josh had been prepared for that eventuality since he'd started this quest, and he knew if he said anything to these policemen his family wouldn't have the opportunity to get out. Even now, they'd most likely be captured and sent to the same secret camp Josh would likely end up in, but at least if he kept his mouth shut they might have a little longer to get away, a bit more of a chance at their freedom.

"Sorry, but I don't know what to say," Josh responded with a simple shrug. "I don't know what any of this is about."

"You don't, huh?" snarled the grisly sergeant, leaning back and staring at him, chewing on a wad of gun. "You head out with no ID, no phone, a few bills but nothing else, and you think we'll buy that you didn't expect anyone to look for you?"

"Forget it, Bill," the detective said, waving the sergeant off. "The kid doesn't realize quite how serious this is yet. He still thinks that this is all a game. By the time he realizes it's for real, it'll be too late."

The detective's demeanor was betrayed, however, when he snuck one last look, just to see whether Josh had taken the bait. When Josh remained impassive and simply shrugged again, he snorted. "Well, don't blame us when you're living in a small windowless cage somewhere, screaming to get out," he suggested, still trying to rattle Josh.

"Hey, if I could tell you, I would," Josh said in his best 'scared straight' impression, "but I don't want to get my family and friends into trouble. Surely, if I'm facing what you're suggesting, then they'd grab them as well as me. After all, if you flaunt the law for one person, requiring dozens of lawmen to ignore their jobs over what's happening, then you won't question burying another dozen people, would you?"

"Forget it then, ki—" he announced when they were disrupted by a knock on the door. Waving Josh off as too insignificant to bother with, he turned to the door. The fact everyone immediately turned warned Josh they'd been anticipating this, dreading it as much as he was, and that they weren't 'surprised' by the interruption. When it opened, a uniformed patrolman entered, leaned over and whispered to him. Glancing up, the detective tried one last time.

"Well kid, this is it. The suits are here. Either you talk to us or you'll never have a chance again. This may be your last chance to talk to anyone who'll ever care about what happens to you."

"Sorry, I would if I could," Josh offered helplessly, playing the role of scared kid perfectly as his teeth chattered and he continued to sweat in the warm room. After all, it's not as if he wasn't terrified, but he'd already prepared himself for what he was facing, and he realized the risk more than this uninformed local detective.

"All right, I'm washing my hands of you then," Detective Andrews said, scraping his chair against the floor as he stood up, brushing his hands on his pant legs as if symbolically drying them. He left with the man who had brought him the message, while the three other policemen watched him as impatiently and as distrustful as ever.

After the steel door slammed shut, Josh tried to swallow another dry mouthful of nervous spit. He knew this was when the proverbial crap hit the fan, and as a cattle farmer that little saying had a bit more of an impact than it had on most people. The detective was right. Once he was out of the law's hands, out of sight of anyone who monitored the law, there would be no way out for him. He'd be frogmarched to an unlabeled black vehicle to be whisked off to some hidden location for the rest of his very short life. Because once he told them what little he knew, there would be no reason for them to keep him alive any longer. But if he talked, then everyone would face the same dismal future he did. No, he couldn't reveal anything. That certainly was the only thing that kept him going. Anything he said meant those he loved would suffer as much as he did. He very much expected them to kill his family before his eyes, hoping to convince him to talk, but he also knew from the start that they'd die anyway, and so would anyone else he turned in. There'd be no negotiating with these people. They'd promise him anything, but chances were they wouldn't even bother with that, assuming they'd get the information faster with either a blow torch or a pair of pliers to his fingernails. Josh felt himself shuddering at the thought. But that involuntary motion caused the sergeant facing him to smile a crooked grin, enjoying the little satisfaction Josh granted him.

The door opened again and a man with a short haircut, a crisp gray suit and a couple of day's beard strolled in. His hair was longer than a GI's but shorter than anyone else's. It just screamed CIA. He stopped to light a cigarette, taking only a moment to shoot Josh an inquisitive look, before he motioned to the others to leave. Without as much as a moment's hesitation the remaining policeman took off, and Josh cast a baleful glance at the one-way mirror, realizing that anyone observing what happened here with him was now gone as well. The only other person present was the junior level military man who'd been assigned to watch over the cops, but both Josh and the new man knew he was ultimately insignificant. In fact, Josh idly wondered whether he'd be allowed to live, or whether he already knew enough to share Josh's fate.

"I suppose you already know who I represent?" the man asked as he took a deep drag on his cigarette, blowing it out ignoring the many signposts throughout the station warning it was a 'no-smoking facility'.

"I do," Josh replied, steadying himself. Since they'd never bothered to handcuff him he sat with his arms in front of him, leaning over resting his weight on his forearms. However, out of the corner of his eyes he glimpsed a flashing purple light. It was hidden beneath his shirt, but Josh could see it through the gap in his shirt's button up sleeve. Rolling both arms over so his palms were face down, he tried to ignore the hope that bubbled up in him. He had no idea what it may signify, and had no reason to believe it meant what he hoped, but any hope, no matter how remote, was better than what he currently faced.

"You're clearly with the Federal Government," Josh began. "I'm assuming some 'black ops' elements, probably CIA, though I'm guessing some division without even a name—or at least one I'd recognize."

The man smiled. "You're cute. But yeah, you're correct. For now, we'll just assume I have no name, and that I work for a nonexistent group for a nonexistent area of the government."

"So I should also assume you report to no one in particular, and no one has any knowledge of what you're doing?"

"Correct," he replied with a smug smile, enjoying this game very much.

"However, someone had to order you presence here, along with the blackout of the media and for the police to stand down. That kind of thing doesn't happen without a lot of political clout. You may have a lot of influence, but it would be unlikely to convince a small time local police captain."

"You know more than a country kid like you should," the man smiled, exhaling another cloud of smoke.

"I like to consider things like this," Josh smiled, relaxing as he too enjoyed this game as it took his mind off what he was facing. "So who do you suspect is acting on your behalf? It might be the Governor, but I doubt they'd want to involve him since he has too many people attached to him whom may talk. The president would be a good guess, but he wouldn't want his name associated with this, so I'm guessing it would be someone associated with him, someone who could use the president's name without implicating him."

"You know I can't answer that, don't you?" the man asked, leaning back in his chair, holding his cigarette in his right hand away from him.

"Ah, why worry," Josh asked, leaning back himself, imitating the man, waving his hand dismissively. "You know there's no one listening, and that neither I nor this little man beside us will ever speak of it again," Josh replied with his own little smile. The man in the nondescript military uniform suddenly jerked to life, looking doubtfully at the new figure.

"No, you're right," he admitted with an even bigger smile, showing he enjoyed terrifying people—even his own people. "But it's a force of habit you get into in my position. You learn to never admit anything which might eventually bite you in the ass later. So why even ask if you know what you're intimating?"

"Just curious, I guess," Josh said, eyeing the man just as warily as he was being eyed. "I've never been faced by someone who could answer these types of questions before. Tell me, do you represent the same people that operate Area 51, or a separate group that'll create your own name, independently operated?"

"It doesn't much matter what unnamed group I operate under, as you'll never be able to report to anyone about it."

"No, and neither will our friend here," Josh replied, indicating the junior officer, "but still, it doesn't hurt to ask, since no one will ever be able to either confirm or deny it."

"No, they won't," the older man replied with a sinister half smile, not even bothering to glance at the nervous man by his side. "There's no reason to even answer, but I've never been to the fictionalized area in Nevada. But still, it is eerily similar to this region, isn't it. They're both quaint little desert communities that no one has ever heard of and that they'll never pay much attention to."

"Except when all those police you pulled in start gossiping," Josh reminded him. "Eventually the news will leak out, and there will be yet another community that everyone acknowledges is hiding something."

"And which no one will ever be able to prove," the man replied, taking another drag.

The other man—who'd been present when Josh was first been brought in for questioning, and who'd supposedly been present at the roadblock as well—never said anything, but was now fidgeting nervously in his seat. Chances are he'd never been told anything, but likely had little family to question where he was or what he was assigned to, so chances are he was even now questioning whether anyone would wonder where he might disappear.

"OK, so there hasn't been another case like this since the one in area 51, which was what ... say 1949?" Josh teased.

"Actually, the supposed Roswell incident occurred in 1947. But there's a lot going on at area 51 beside alien abductions," the man teased back. "There's the OXCART programs, the various spy plane development projects. Just because the government keeps secrets doesn't mean it's ominous."

"But in this case there is something to it. And since you aren't associated with anything more recent, I'm guessing there hasn't been another since then," Josh surmised.

"You can assume whatever you want," he answered with an ominous smile, biting the end off of his unfiltered cigarette just to spit it out on the table. "That doesn't make it right. But no, I wasn't affiliated with the Roswell incident, which occurred long before I was even born."

"So what is it your friend and I have to look forward to?" Josh asked, again not looking at the younger man. At this, the nameless man's smile positively lit up, though the malicious gleam in his eyes still simmered just below the surface.

"I can't speak for him, but you will never be heard from again," he answered in a low voice, speaking slowly so Josh had to wait for each word to slowly form, even as he imagined where the words were leading. "Your friends, your family, your associates will never hear from you again and your body will never be found. Any life insurance won't be paid since there's no proof of your death, and no one can claim it until seven years after they report you missing, but frankly, they'd be better off simply not reporting it in the first place."

"You're trying to scare the wrong man," Josh replied, matching the man's evil smile with his own crooked grin, although his companion looked more nervous all the time. "I know what I'm facing, so telling me about it won't accomplish much."

"No?" he asked, sitting back and shrugging, tapping his spare ashes onto the floor. "How do you think your family and friends will respond to it then?"

"That's only if you identify them, and no one will notice them disappearing," Josh pointed out, trying to pretend he had something to bluff with.

"It's only a matter of time until we identify you. We didn't want the police to do it only because we didn't want them asking questions, and the fact you haven't told them just makes our job that much easier. But even if you tell us nothing, we'll have the DNA results in a few hours' time. When you have our resources, you can get things done pretty damn quickly."