"Interrogation"

The police station was short of Hades. A mild roar of typewriter and keyboard clicking blended with voices raised to just below screaming. Two prostitutes were engaged in verbal and physical combat as their pimp watch with wide-eyed excitement.

"Stop it." A voice said. Several police officers muscled a man passed us. He looked roughed up and was in, no doubt, a bad mood.

"This way Ms. Bechard." The duty Sergeant said.

I followed him through the array of desks behind the main counter.

"Who is this guy?" He said, slightly rising his voice.

"A point."

"A what?"

"A contact, a point man. I followed him from the airport. He had just flown in from Morocco. And was going to drive up to San Francisco for business." I shut up realizing the duty Sergeant was not the individual I wanted to tell my business to. He seemed like a good-hearted person, and I'm sure he is one of the good guys, but I regretted telling him what I did say. "Sergeant . . ."

He faced his name plate toward me. "Sergeant Davids, Curtis."

"Karen." I said while stretching my hand out.

He took it. "Nice to meet you, sorry about the incident outside."

I waved it on.

"St. John, as you could see is a bit of a rogue. He really is a good officer."

"I understand. In a city like Los Angeles, I'm sure an officer has to develop quick reflexes. I actually didn't help the situation."

He raised an eyebrow, "Come again?"

"As an UN Agent, my powers are supposed to be international. Most countries still don't look at or approve of the United Nations as a legitimate legal enforcer. I usually push my power when I can. We're just now starting to get some respect."

"But I thought you guys were something like INTERPOL."

"In a way. We're a new branch. And it takes time. Sometimes I do have to do 'SPY' work."

We stopped at a door. Davids opened the door and walked in. The room had three chairs and a table. A large mirror was placed on a wall. 'Observation window' I mused.

"I'll be back with your man in a minute." He said closing the door.

"Thank you." I walked over to the window and peered through it. A transparent figure was sitting at a table drinking, maybe, coffee. He reached around and touched a box like object.

"Good day Ms. Bechard." A speaker in the upper right most corner spoke. "And how are you today?"

I continued to look through the glass, trying to get a good look at the person who I was 'speaking' to. "Fine, thank you, however I would be doing better if I knew who I was speaking to."

"Captain Harrison Donalds."

By the sound of his voice and shape of his form, I surmised a middle-aged man, slim, very educated. It looked like he had a mustache. I wasn't certain.

"Nice to meet you, Harrison Donalds. I'm sure you know who I am."

"Yes. Karen Bechard, United Nations Agent, from the Branch ELITE. You carry a Glock 20, like exercising. You're an expert in many military fields, including combat. I had no idea the UN was a very liberal thinker."

"They're not . . ."

"Oh . . ."

"What else do you know about me?"

"You have no citizenship, and have been sainted by the President."

"May I see you after I interrogate Mr. Carter."

"I would be most delighted. It's always good to get a break from this hell hole . . ."

He was interrupted by the door opening up. My prisoner came in, followed by two plain clothed individuals. They walked him over to the table and sat him down. I walked over to a chair opposite him and sat. The two detectives walked out.

I had a better chance to study him. Well built with a dark shadow. Evidently, he couldn't shave. His eyes were dark blue. Kind of eerie.

"Why are you holding me?" He said with a trace accent of French.

I looked up at the speaker and said, "Captain, could you bring me his property please." I looked back at him.

He stared. "I see, I have no rights here."

I leaned back in my chair and waited.

"You're the woman who chased me. Are you FBI? CIA?"

I listened.

"Speak to me!"

Apparently, he wasn't used to being incarcerated. 'Good' I thought. It would make my job easier.

A light sweat broke out on his forehead. He took two deep breathes and sat back in his chair. "So that's the way you want it. I can wait here as long as you can."

We waited one minute, then the door opened. An officer walked in with a large brown envelop. He made eye contact with me.

I nodded. After the door closed I took the envelope, opened it, and dumped the contents onto the table. There was a blue pamphlet with the word 'Triptik' on it, a California map, a map of San Francisco and some brochures, with his wallet.

He looked at the items. "What do you want?"

I said nothing, picked up a brochure. On its cover was printed, ' Ripley's Believe it or Not! ALL NEW' I watched him, he didn't look up. I placed the brochure aside and picked up the next one. It was red. He held his breath. I placed it over to a clean spot on the table. The next brochure had 'The BLUE LINE' printed on it. He cleared his throat in short, quick grunts. I placed it with the red brochure. A blue brochure with 'San Francisco Sight Seeing' on it was picked up. He started breathing again. I placed it with the first brochure. There were two left. One for 'Olympic RENT-A-CAR' the other about PIER 39. Both of them went to that clean spot. His eyes shifted randomly.

"U'mmmm, I . . ." He stopped and cleared his throat again.

I stared at him, hoping to get eye contact. There was none. "I'm through . . ."

"Wait!" He almost shouted. "Don't you want some information . . ."

I got up, placed the brochures and wallet into my purse and walked to the door. "Now what makes you think you have information I want?"

"Why am I here?" His eyes were swollen and red.

"Because I want you in here."

"Bitch! You can't do that, I have rights."

I turned around and walked up to him. "You have rights?! Did you make a phone call?"

He shook his head.

"Did you see a lawyer? How long have you been here."

"Ah . . ."

"You have no rights!" I got up into his face. "Understand me. You're under International Law, and as a Representative of International Law, I decide if you have rights!"

"No, you're wrong!"

"Then you may sit here for a long while deciding when you might see DAYLIGHT!" I walked to the door and opened it. He ran for it and was caught by the back of my hand. It stopped him cold. A police officer stepped up to him and pushed him back into the room. He collapsed into the chair and screamed, 'Bitch' as I walked out. I closed the door and said, 'Thank you.' to the officer who helped me. He nodded.

"Could you take me to Captain Donalds, please."

"Okay, Ms. Bechard. Follow me."

He took me to a door that I presumed to be the door for the backroom, and opened it.

"Hello, Ms. Bechard." Donalds said as he stuck his hand out.

I took it. He was about what I expected. He looked around 40, I would have guessed 43. His salt and peppered hair was short and close cropped. He did have a mustache and it to was salt and peppered. He was slim and dressed in an upscale casual. He had a nice brown complexion.

"Nice to see you face to face, Captain."

He offered me a seat.

"Pretty interesting type of interrogation. Do you do it often?"

"No, not much. It's harder to do it in America because of legal ramifications. I suppose when he is released he'll try and sue . . ."

Donalds said, "I don't think he could. We have him on several moving violations, gun violations, and a few more. And since you ARE an international officer AND your request of not letting him use the telephone BECAUSE of the sensitivity of the case HAS allowed us to deny him his rights in this country."

I smiled and looked out the window. Mr. Carter was sitting in his chair sobbing.

"How long will you leave him like that?"

"A few more minutes. I want him to chew my words carefully."

I looked at him. A broken soul. I don't like the things I do, but I understand I have to. Somebody has to throw their weight around. And to get results I have to throw hard. Mr. Carter continued to sob, He kept repeating 'why me?' I got up and said, "Time for stage two." I walked to the other room. Mr. Carter looked up. Tears had been rolling down his eyes.

"What do you want?" He softly said.

"I want the truth. If I get the truth your life will go a lot smoother."

He nodded and recomposed himself.

"Now," I said sitting back into my chair. "Who were you going meet?"

He looked away.

I got up and started for the door. At the door I stopped and turned around. "I have all the information I need to do what must be done. I'm asking you to make it easier. If you can, then we may work something out."

He looked up.

"I'm asking you for the final time. Who were you going to meet?"

"Go to hell."

"Fine then, I will." I opened the door and told the officer there, "Put him back into his cell, he makes no phone calls, or sees any visitors."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Wait!"

I turned around, "It's too late. You were about to make a deal with slave traders. I hate slavery. You did not take me up on my deal. You lost."

"I don't know who I was going to meet. I-I."

"Yes . . ."

"I was going to be approached."

"Thank you Mr. Carter." I turned to the officer. "Lock him up."

"But, we had a deal . . ."

I said, "You blew it!" and walked away.

"You stupid bitch, you don't know what you are doing. It's established already. No one can stop it . . ." His voice faded as he was taken away.