Chapter 8 – Impossible is What We Do
It was a hastily arranged conference room. A series of three by six foot tables were lined up end-to-end in a three-sided square 'U' configuration, with chairs lining the outer edge. Another straight line of tables spanned along one the long side of the large room. A large plate of muffins, donuts, coffee, and tea rested at one end of this long string of tables. There were at least twenty people seated along the sides of the U shaped table configuration, and Joel alone sat at the head of the U shaped setting.
Joel had no clue where he was, except for being within a forty-five minute drive from SEATAC airport. He was transported in the relative comfort in the back of a black van with no windows. He was not handcuffed. The van unloaded Joel into an underground parking lot, and from there the two US Marshal special agents escorted Joel to a check-in room. There Joel was handed off to US Air Force personnel, Sergeants Collins and Lahey who led him through what seemed like a mile of corridors.
Sergeant Collins asked Joel if he needed anything, and Joel said he had to use the washroom. This was an anticipated request, and the two sergeants escorted Joel to the bathroom. One stayed outside the door while the other came in and stood guard just inside the door. Once they returned him to the large room, Joel asked for a coffee and muffin, and Sergeant Lahey brought a muffin and coffee to him with double cream and double sugar.
The large meeting room had two doors, one at either end of the long wall, across from the coffee and muffins table. Two more US Air Force personnel guarded each door outside in the hall. Joel was not certain if these guards were to prevent him from escaping, or preventing unauthorized people from entering. Perhaps both. He had been treated professionally and courteously, although so far there was no evidence he was free to go anywhere. He had not been arrested, nor had Joel been Mirandized. His purpose and fate in this room remained a mystery to him.
"Okay," an older man in service uniform of a full colonel at the near corner of the U-shaped table called out, "let's get started." He was seated to the left of Joel. He was black, broad shouldered, and tall. He had a thin dark moustache that blended with his dark skin. He spoke with the confidence and conviction of someone who knows he is correct most of the time. A permanent growl in his throat made him sound angry.
The general hubbub of the room died instantly with military precision. "Mr. Winkman," the colonel explained, "I want to first thank you for joining us here, although it may appear to you that it was not by choice." There were no snickers or sidebar comments. The tone was serious and professional. "I want to point out that you are not under arrest, you have not been read your rights, and whatever you say in here will not be used against you in a court of law. Have I made myself clear?"
"Who are you?" Joel asked.
"We'll get to that in a moment," the colonel evaded his question, "but for now I want you to acknowledge that you understand you are not being held for the purposes of a criminal investigation. Nothing you say here will be used against you in a court of law."
"Okay," Joel nodded.
"For reasons of national security and jurisprudence, we are not at liberty to identify ourselves."
"I'm not comfortable with that," Joel said.
"Nor are we, I can assure you, Mr. Winkman," the colonel said gravely. "All I can tell you, this is the only way we can conduct this meeting without arresting you."
"Are there any CIA members in the room?" Joel asked.
"Why do you ask?"
"You know why I am asking. Are there any CIA members in the room?" Joel repeated.
"Yes, but in an observation capacity only," the colonel offered. "Does that satisfy your concern, Mr. Winkman?"
"None of my concerns are satisfied," Joel replied curtly.
"That is understandable, Mr. Winkman," the colonel spoke understandingly, but not sympathetically. "Let me get right to the point, then. The purpose of this meeting is to determine if you are one of us, or one of them."
A cold shiver ran up his spine. Joel didn't like the sound of that. "Can you be more specific?" he asked.
"Mr. Winkman," the colonel continued, "you are a member of a select group of people endowed with a certain psycho-manipulation capability. We are trying to determine whether you are using that capability for good use, or improper use."
Joel just realized there were no women in the room. "And why should I cooperate with your illegal hearing?" Joel asked.
"You raise an excellent point, Mr. Winkman," the colonel did not attempt to evade Joel's accusation. "And that is the crux of everything, as I am sure you already know. This hearing, and your detention, is not legal only because what you can do is not illegal. I am sure you know law enforcement agencies exist to investigate and apprehend people who break the law. There is no US government agency authorized to intervene in your affairs, Mr. Winkman, because there are no laws governing what you do."
"We are all breaking new ground here, Mr. Winkman, you included," the colonel continued. "This hearing is an imperfect solution to an impossible situation. Maybe nothing you do is illegal, yet you and your cohorts represent a serious threat to national security."
"Us or them," Joel understood.
"That's right, Mr. Winkman."
"You've left out just 'me'," Joel argued. "Mister private citizen with the freedom to go his own way protected by his constitutional rights."
"That's where I agree with you, Mr. Winkman." Again, the colonel did not evade Joel's point. "We all come unstuck there. I have to tell you that, if you were talking to only the FBI right now, you would be under arrest, and they would seek prosecution to incarcerate you for the rest of your life."
"They would fail," Joel projected a confidence he didn't own, "because as you have already pointed out, I have done nothing illegal."
"Maybe yes, maybe no," the colonel conceded, "but we're not here to argue semantics. We are all here to understand who you are."
"So I want to make sure I understand my position," Joel said. "I am being held against my will by a collusion of government agencies in an illegal, unconstitutional interrogation, and the outcome of this meeting will determine my fate and possibly my life."
"No," he answered. "Your life is not in jeopardy, but I would say your fate, as you say, does hinge somewhat on the outcome of this meeting."
"And what if I refuse to cooperate?" Joel asked.
"That, of course, is an option open to you," the colonel conceded. "We will not torture you, and we will not use drugs or other unsuitable methods to extract information from you. Your participation is voluntary, but I remind you, the outcome of this meeting will dictate your scope of freedom from this point on, whether you cooperate or not."
"Are you interrogating all the catnap passengers?" Joel asked.
"We decline to answer that," the colonel said neutrally.
"What do you want to know?" Joel finally asked.
"What are your intentions, Mr. Winkman?"
"I'm sorry?" Joel asked with surprise.
"Mr. Winkman," the colonel indicted, "you have a surveillance team that has developed elaborate and extensive profiles on every catnap passenger, as well as hundreds, perhaps thousands of other people. That surveillance capability includes sophisticated cyber monitoring and attack tools. You have conducted a clandestine operation in which you have fabricated evidence to cause an American citizen to be arrested, and almost certainly convicted for a crime he did not commit, and you did this in a way that can never be traced back to you in a court of law. You have infiltrated a secure government computer facility and tampered with confidential records. You have possibly endless financing. Your research team is right now, as we speak, amassing extensive files surrounding a murder/suicide in Dallas, Texas, and we assume you are planning another clandestine attack against another American citizen. Quite simply, Mr. Winkman, you operate an illegal, covert agency that cannot be traced to you, while your investment company lets you travel anywhere without suspicion. You have an alternate identify, which by the way, the FBI can nail you for. You can force any woman to do your bidding and never be held accountable for it. Mr. Winkman, believe me when I tell you, we need to know your intentions."
"To punish the assholes that abuse this power," Joel said.
"And?"
"And what?" Joel said.
"How many women have you bedded with this power?" the colonel accused through his question. "How much wealth have you amassed? Your intentions are not all noble, are they Mr. Winkman?"
