Chapter 3: Interrogation

September 12, 2001, Chicago, Illinois

🎤 Steve

The Khans quickly gathered their things, and I walked across the street with them.

“My advice is to leave your front door open,” I said. “The last thing you want is the police breaking down your door.”

“Would they do that?” Yousef asked.

“I have no idea what’s going to happen, but it’s better to anticipate the worst and to be prepared for it. Remember, say nothing except your name, ages, and relationships until Patricia arrives, and then only answer questions she says you should answer.”

“But they can search the house?”

“Yes, and there is nothing that we can do to prevent that if they have a proper warrant, which I’m sure they will.”

They went into the house and I contemplated what to do. In the end, I decided it would be best to simply sit on the steps and wait for the federales to arrive. I sat down on the top step and pulled out my mobile phone. I had three choices of lawyers to call, and decided on Patricia. She was ten minutes away, and I decided to keep her on the phone just in case. My caution was warranted when about five minutes later, two CPD squad cars turned onto Woodlawn Avenue.

“CPD is here,” I said into the phone. “I’m guessing the party starts in about two minutes.”

“I’m just turning onto Hyde Park Avenue,” Patricia said. “You won’t be able to stall them, so just say that I’m a few minutes away. Are the Khans home?”

“Yes. All settled inside. I’m on the stoop.”

“I know you’ll know the answer to this question - where does that word come from?”

“Dutch. It means ‘step’ and it’s pronounced the same way in Dutch. And the feds are here; four unmarked black Fords and two more CPD squad cars.”

“Be smart, Steve. Hang up the phone and put it on the step next to you. Don’t let them see you put it in your pocket. That will make them VERY nervous.”

“Got it.”

“See you in two minutes.”

I snapped the phone shut and did as she instructed, just as six FBI agents and two Deputy US Marshals, neither of whom was Pete Carston, got out of their cars, guns drawn. The eight CPD officers did the same, and fanned out around the house.

“Federal agents! We have a search warrant,” one FBI agent yelled out, as if I could have missed the six-inch-tall yellow letters stenciled on the front of his windbreaker, or the fifteen-inch yellow letters stenciled on the back.

“Steve Adams. I live across the street. The Khans are inside and their attorney will be here in two minutes.”

“We don’t have to wait,” he declared, signaling to two agents and two Deputy Marshals to go into the house, all of whom were male. “Stand up, slowly.”

“Agent...?” I asked, carefully standing up and leaving my phone on the step.

“Flanagan. I need to frisk you. Do you have any weapons on your person?”

I raised my arms, and said “No weapons. Do you know anything about Wahhabism or Salafism?”

“Let me frisk you first.”

“You want to send your partner inside,” I continued, ignoring him. “The Khans are devout, conservative, law-abiding people who are Muslim. That means Mrs. Khan can’t be in the same room with a man to whom she’s not related without her husband present. And she certainly can’t speak to a man to whom she’s not related.”

“That’s not my concern,” he said, starting to frisk me. “What’s in your pocket?”

“My wallet.”

He finished frisking me.

“Remove your wallet, slowly, and show me your ID, please.

I did as requested.

“A concealed carry permit?” he asked, noticing it in the window pocket next to my driving license.

“I’m not carrying, obviously. I figured that would be a supremely bad idea.”

“Correct. How do you know Amir Khan?”

“I think I’ll wait for my attorney before I answer any further questions, but you do need to send your female partner inside while you call in to check on me.”

“Why do I feel as if I’m missing something.”

I chuckled, “When you ask for my file, tell them they’ll need a hand truck. We’ll have a nice long talk once my attorney gets here.”

“You seem to have known we were coming.”

“Lawyer,” I replied with a smile.

“You aren’t under arrest.”

“I know. But my attorney will be here inside of fifteen minutes and I’ve probably said too much as it is.”

“Jim?” an FBI Agent called from the front door.

“Yes?” Agent Flanagan replied.

“We have a problem.”

I was sure I knew what it was.

“I warned you, Agent Flanagan.”

“Warned him about what?” the other agent asked.

“Agent?”

“Riviera.”

“They’re devout Muslims, Agent Riviera. And that means you being in the same room with Mrs. Khan is extremely offensive. You need a female agent to question them, preferably a Muslim one. But also, they won’t speak to you without an attorney present.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because that’s what I advised them right before you showed up. Amir Khan is no terrorist; he’s a mathematics professor at UofC, Agent Riviera.”

“How do you know him?”

“We’re waiting for my attorney. But send the female agent and keep the male agents out.”

“Don’t tell us how to do our business,” Agent Flanagan said.

“You might want to listen to him,” Patricia declared, coming up the walk.

“Who are you?”

“Patricia Fitzpatrick, American Civil Liberties Union. I’m representing the Khans, and I understand they’ve refused to speak to you without an attorney present.”

“Shit,” Agent Riviera muttered.

“I need to see the warrant, please,” Patricia said.

Agent Flanagan removed a tri-fold paper from inside his windbreaker and handed it to Patricia.

“Thank you. I’m going inside to speak to my clients.”

She went into the house, and thankfully, the female agent followed her inside.

“Jim, the Boston Field Office wants a full interview with Mr. Adams,” Agent Riviera reminded Agent Flanagan.

“OK,” Agent Flanagan replied. “Mr. Adams, let’s go to your house.”

“The porch, but no further. Given my history with the FBI, you may not enter my home for any purpose without a warrant.”

“What history?”

“Starting with harassing me because I was romantically involved with a Soviet citizen when I was a college Freshman in 1981 and ending with the fiasco with Agents Stone and O’Toole.”

“Shit,” Agent Riviera muttered.

“Let’s wait for Melanie Spencer,” I said with a friendly smile.

Agent Riviera groaned and shook his head. Liz actually arrived first, beating Melanie by ten minutes, but I insisted with the agents that we wait for Melanie because Liz wasn’t a specialist criminal defense attorney. Once Melanie arrived, Agents Flanagan and Riviera accompanied me and my two attorneys to my front porch where I sat on the swing between my two attorneys and the two agents pulled chairs over from the other side of the porch and sat down.

“OK, Mr. Adams, how do you know Mr. Khan?”

“Mel?”

“Answer unless Liz or I say otherwise,” Melanie said.

“My girlfriend is a colleague of Amir Khan. She’s a professor of chemistry at University of Chicago, and is Assistant Department chair.”

I had to refer to Kara as my girlfriend because I was talking to the FBI, and saying she was my wife could be considered giving false information, which was a felony.

“When did you first meet him?”

“It was November of last year. He arrived to teach in August, my girlfriend met him on campus, found out they lived across the street, and we invited them for dinner.”

“Why?”

“Seriously?” I asked, my voice showing my incredulity. “I grew up in a small town and when new people moved into the area, their neighbors went to meet them. My girlfriend grew up in the same area. We’ve both retained our small-town values. In addition, I’ve seen how difficult it is for devout Muslims to make friends and be accepted in the community.”

“How is that?”

“From three employees, especially one in California, who were harassed after the first bombing attempt at the World Trade Center.”

“Does Amir Khan have a pilot’s license?”

He did, and I realized that was very likely the reason he’d been detained in Boston.

“I believe so, though we’ve never discussed it. He knows my son flies, but he’s never discussed flying with him, either, and neither has Yousef, Amir’s son.”

“How well do you know them?”

“I’d say about as well as anyone who hasn’t recited the Shahadah could.”

“You’ve lost me,” Agent Flanagan said.

“Irish Catholic, right?”

“Yes.”

“Consider it the relative equivalent of the Apostle’s Creed. Basically, there are limits to how close a Muslim can be to a non-Muslim. We’ve had dinner at their house and they’ve had dinner at ours, which is basic hospitality taught by all three Abrahamic religions. Beyond that, it’s difficult. My daughter and my girlfriend have spent some time with Nada and Fatimah, but as I said before, there are limits to interactions between Muslim women and any unrelated men.”

“How would you classify their religious activity?”

“Devout, in the way my grandfather was a devout Catholic - strictly following the precepts and teachings of their faith and attending religious services regularly. But that doesn’t make Amir a terrorist any more than it made my grandfather an IRA member because he went to church every morning.”

“Have they made any threats or disparaged the US government or the US?”

“WAY less than I have!” I chuckled.

“Steve...” Melanie warned.

“Come on, Mel, they’ll read my file and quickly discover my extreme dislike of the FBI and government in general, your husband the Deputy Marshal and our Navy friends being the exceptions.”

“You’re married to a Deputy Marshal, Ms. Spencer?” Agent Flanagan asked.

“Pete Carston,” she replied. “But that’s not a topic for discussion here.”

“Going back to your interactions with them, is there anything at all which would make you suspicious?”

“No,” I said firmly. “Amir teaches at the university, was lecturing at MIT last week, and his family has always been polite and respectful.”

“Do you mind if we speak with your girlfriend and your daughter?”

“That’s up to them, not me.”

“And other family members? You mentioned a son.”

“A son and three daughters, my wife, my girlfriend, and my mistress.”

“Excuse me?” Agent Flanagan asked in disbelief.

“Just what I said. It’s more complicated than that, but given the law, there is no other way to refer to them.”

“Ms. Spencer, you might want to instruct Mr. Adams to not play games.”

“He’s not, Agent Flanagan,” Melanie said firmly. “What he just said is entirely accurate from a legal point of view.”

“Uhm, err, OK. Are they all home?”

“My wife, Jessica, is a trauma surgeon at UofC Hospital and she’s at work for another few hours. My girlfriend, Kara, and my mistress, Suzanne, are home, as are four of my seven kids. Only those four live with me.”

Agent Riviera shook his head, “And I thought I’d seen everything!”

“That’s the same thing a Boston cop said to me when I was recruiting his wife to work for my company. He’s a Cook County Sheriff’s Detective.”

“How old are your children?” Agent Flanagan asked.

“Birgit is thirteen, Albert is twelve, Stephie is eleven, and Ashley is ten.”

“And the kids who don’t live with you?”

“Jesse is fifteen, Matthew is fourteen, and Michael is twelve. And, to answer your next question, Jesse is my son together with a High School sweetheart who is lesbian, and he lives with his two moms. Matthew and Michael are sons with a High School sweetheart and they live with their mom and her boyfriend in the burbs. Birgit and Stephie are children by my girlfriend, Kara. Albert and Ashley are children by my wife, Jessica.”

“I need a scorecard,” Agent Riviera said sotto voce.

I chuckled, “Most people do. Anyway, Agent Flanagan, you’re welcome to ask Albert, Birgit, Ashley, and Stephie if they want to speak to you. If they do, Melanie will act as their counsel. If they don’t, I won’t make them. I do think you’ll find them even more suspicious of you than I am.”

“Will you allow us inside to speak to them?”

I shook my head, “No law enforcement officers are permitted in the house without a warrant for any reason, with the exception of my friend from High School, Deputy Marshal Pete Carston. I think if you read my file you’ll understand why.”

“Steve?” Patricia called out from the bottom of the steps.

“What’s up?”

“I need to speak to you privately for a moment.”

“OK with you, Agent Flanagan?” I asked. “Ms. Carullo can bring Kara, Suzanne, and the kids out to speak to you.”

“Go ahead.”

I stood up, went down the steps, and Patricia and I moved far enough away so we couldn’t be heard.

“Nada is, as I’m sure you know, refusing to allow any male FBI agents into the room where she and Fatimah are sitting. The female agent is with her, but they only do interviews in teams.”

“What about Yousef?”

“They have him separated. I’ve been with him and the two male agents.”

“So why not him?”

“The FBI wants to speak to each of them separately.”

“Then they’ll need another female agent if they want to do it in pairs.”

“There isn’t one available for several hours at least.”

“What about a Deputy Marshal or a CPD officer?”

Patricia shook her head, “FBI procedures.”

“Then I’m not sure what to do.”

“I spoke with Nada and based on what Amir has said in the past, you’re his brother, at least for this purpose.”

“I’m no expert in Islamic law, but I don’t think it works that way!” I protested.

“I called the imam at the mosque in Bridgeview on Nada’s behalf and he gave his blessing, despite it being, if you’ll pardon the phrase, unorthodox. His goal, obviously, is to not attract any additional attention, especially from law enforcement. He’s worried, too, because there are rumors of planned anti-Arab and anti-Islamic marches.”

“Of course there are,” I replied, shaking my head. “I’ll do it, if the FBI will allow it.”

“Nada was adamant that she would not accept any other solution, and the FBI would prefer not to have a fight over religion with the ACLU.”

“Then, let’s go.”

🎤 Birgit

“Birgit?” Liz called out. “I need to speak with you.”

I got up and followed her to my dad’s study.

“The FBI wants to talk to you,” Liz said.

“What do they want?” I asked, putting my hands on my hips.

“To ask you questions about the Khans.”

“Oh, please! Like Fatimah and her family are terrorists? All the guys who did the attacks yesterday are DEAD!”

“Yes, they are, but someone planned it, and that’s what the FBI is trying to discover.”

I rolled my eyes, “I don’t like how the Khans live, but they aren’t terrorists! Jesse and Matthew and their friends are more likely to blow up a government building than the Khans!”

“I wouldn’t say that to the FBI,” Liz said, but she was laughing.

“Duh. I’m not stupid! But the FBI sure is if they think Mr. Khan was involved. I don’t like how he treats his wife and Fatimah, but that’s a very different thing from flying a fucking airplane into a building!”

“Your dad said it’s totally up to you if you want to talk to them. They can’t make you talk to them without a court order, and they can’t even talk to you without your dad’s permission because you’re only thirteen.”

“I thought nobody had to talk to the police no matter what!” I protested.

“It’s not quite that simple. You’re allowed to refuse to answer questions that might incriminate you. You know what that means, right?”

“Yes. Tell them something they could use in court against me.”

“But as a witness, you can be forced by a court to testify, under threat of being held in contempt, which would let the judge put you in jail until you agreed to answer the questions.”

“That doesn’t seem right!” I protested.

“I think you and your dad agree on that, but the government, and especially the courts, do not. So, are you willing to talk to them?”

“What do you think I should do?”

“I think that so long as you’re polite, it would help the Khans. Melanie is here, and she’ll be with you when you talk to them. Patricia is here as well; she’s at the Khans’ house with your dad right now. Your mom is talking to the FBI, so you would be next, then Albert.”

“He’ll talk. He’s such a Boy Scout!”

Liz laughed, “He wants to go to the Naval Academy, so he has to conform to how the Navy thinks we should behave. And he actually IS a Boy Scout!”

“I am SO glad Dad didn’t join the Navy!”

Liz laughed again, “And I’m sure the Navy is just as glad that he didn’t!”

I laughed because she was absolutely right about that, as all my dad’s friends in the Navy had said things like that in the past.

“When?”

“Once your mom and Suzanne are done. Let me go talk to Albert now, please.”

We left my dad’s study and I went back to the sunroom.

🎤 Steve

“Mr. Adams, I’m agent Shannon Quigley,” the female agent said. “This is somewhat irregular, but at her request, we’ll allow you to sit in the room while we question Mrs. Khan. You need to stay completely quiet. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I’m completely familiar with the Khans’ firmly held spiritual beliefs. If you separate Mrs. Khan from Fatimah, you’ll need either another female agent or you’ll have to stay with her while your male counterparts question Mrs. Khan. Or you could leave Fatimah alone, or with Yousef, or with one of the female attorneys. But no men.”

“Procedures don’t allow that, and I want to question Mrs. Khan.”

“I think your procedures need to be updated to accommodate Islamic practice,” I replied.

“We can force the issue.”

I nodded, “Yes, you can. And you’ll get no cooperation if you do. Do you really want to arrest two innocent Muslim women because you can’t be bothered to respect their views on modesty?”

“Steve...” Patricia cautioned.

“We’re in the US,” Agent Quigley said, “and they need to conform to OUR standards for law enforcement.”

“I’m an American and I object to your standards. They’ve compromised by allowing me to act on behalf of Amir because of our relationship. That seventeen-year-old girl is no terrorist, and there is NO risk of leaving her with a female attorney. You searched the house, right? Did you find ANYTHING incriminating?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

I chuckled, “I’ll take that as a firm ‘no’. Let me go get Liz to sit with Fatimah, and then I’ll join you in the sitting room so you can question Nada.”

Agent Quigley grudgingly agreed and I left the Khans’ house to get Liz. I walked past Kara who was speaking to the two agents on the porch, and went into the house where Liz was speaking with Albert. I beckoned Liz to walk with me across the street.