D Carpenter - Infertile Grounds

His days as a SEAL taught him many things – he could, and had, killed people in any number of ways and he was an expert in both explosives and covert ops but most importantly, he had learned the true meaning of “I got your back”. His team members had been what it was all about – the ability to trust someone beyond any doubt, to trust them with your life. This was a concept that most people would claim to understand but they didn’t. Not unless they had a friend – a guy whose kids and wife you knew, who you drank with, who you sweated in the muck and shit of the jungle with – take a fatal one for you. Go through that and you learn about loyalty, honor and trust.

He placed his briefcase on a chair outside the room, opened it up, and pulled out his case file. Then he sat down, crossed his legs and relaxed as he flipped through the report and waited for the Doctor.

“Maurice Andleman, the retired professor in New Hampshire, died this morning,” Carl said.

Arthur nodded. “That’s too bad.”

“It certainly is. We don’t know if he told Pell anything or not.”

“We’re going to find out soon enough,” Arthur said. “I still don’t understand why you talked to those doctors, Carl.”

“They had already heard some of it with their own ears.”

“That doesn’t matter. It’s still a clear breach of protocol. You know what type of trouble there could be if word of this got out. We could have pandemonium in the streets.”

“I thought that if they completely understood the urgency of the situation, they’d brush their Hippocratic Oath under the carpet for a bit and help us.”

“It still wasn’t a good idea,” Arthur said. “There’re always other ways. Less dangerous ways.”

Carl nodded as the two doctors appeared at the nurse’s desk then approached them.

“Gentlemen,” the older one said as he walked confidently up to Arthur and held out his hand, ignoring Carl.

“Doctor Epstein?” Arthur said standing up. “I’m Arthur Kent, Assistant Director for Criminal Investigations. I believe you’re already acquainted with my colleague SAC Moscovitz.”

“Yes, we’ve met. This is Lasu Mogisha,” Dr. Epstein said pointing to a wide-eyed Indian intern.

“Nice to meet you,” Lasu managed to say through chattering teeth as he feebly shook Arthur’s hand.

“You know why I’m here,” Arthur said as he stepped closer to Dr. Epstein. Arthur was one of those men whose very presence demanded attention and he found that being in someone’s personal space always got it. It’s all a game – people are, for the most part, all the same. The outliers, the unpredictable nonconformists were the ones that worried him. Dr. Epstein didn’t appear to be one of them.

“We need to urgently debrief our Agent and I understand he will only talk to me,” he said as he shot Carl a quick, disapproving glance before continuing. “And I also understand that Carl has told you what he might know.”

Carl opened his mouth to say something but Arthur shook his head softly indicating the floor was his. Lasu and the doctor both nodded. Lasu’s thick dark hair, cut in a Larry Fine, framed his dark skinned face that had a glistening oily sheen. His dark eyes were surrounded by even larger darker circles. He needed a shower and some sack time.

“Actually, before you answer, step in here please,” Arthur said as he walked into Pell’s room. Once everyone was inside Arthur motioned to Agent Strange to close the door.

“We understand the situation,” Dr. Epstein said. His voice was polished, as were his shoes and his Rolex. Hell, from what Arthur could see the guy could be made of plastic. He looked like a goddamn Dr. Ken doll. “And we’ll help you out as much as possible. But in a case like his, twenty-four hours can be the difference between life and death.”

“I appreciate that and respect your dedication,” Arthur said.

“Thank you,” the doctor replied. “I think that Agent Pelletier is out of the woods now. Yesterday was a different story, though. We put him in a medically induced coma to help him recover but, given the extenuating circumstances and that he told my nurse that he wanted to speak to you no matter what, I’m prepared to bring him out of it.”

“Good,” Arthur said. “Your loyalty to the patient is admirable, doctors.”

Lasu went over to a cabinet and removed a vial. Then he filled a hypodermic needle with the contents, flicked the air bubbles out and then injected it into one of Pell’s IV lines. Then he checked Pell’s vitals on one of the machines.

“That should bring him around,” the doctor said.

“Good,” Arthur said. “How long will it take?”

“No more than fifteen minutes,” the doctor replied.

“Excellent, we’ll take it from here,” Carl said.

“After what happened yesterday, we’ll wait here with you,” doctor Epstein said. “And, when you do speak with him, you will treat him with respect. I won’t have any brutal interrogations here, and if for one minute I think that you—”

“Yesterday was unfortunate. It was the heat of the moment but I understand and appreciate your request. I will be the only one speaking with agent Pelletier and I won’t touch him. You have my word,” Arthur said. “But I do want to be alone with him when he comes around.”

“Okay. But we’ll stay until he is almost awake,” the doctor said.

All of them turned their attention to their mobile devices to relieve the awkwardness. Arthur was skimming his emails but his mind was clearly here, in the present and preparing for the conversation with Pell.

Lasu was diligently monitoring the equipment and he called the doctor over after ten minutes or so and the two men had a brief, quiet conversation.

“He’s coming around,” the doctor said.

“Excellent,” replied Arthur as he pocketed his phone. “I’ll take it from here.”

“Remember what I said about your interrogation technique,” the doctor said. Arthur looked at the man for a long moment and then nodded.

All the men started to leave except Carl.

“One more thing, doctors,” Arthur said.

“What?” Dr. Epstein replied.

“You wouldn’t tell anyone about what he might know, right?”

Both men shook their heads. Lasu couldn’t make eye contact – a bad sign.

“Good,” Arthur said, excusing them with a wave of his hand.

Doctor Epstein strode off down the corridor, white jacket flying out behind him and intern trotting to keep up. Carl was left standing alone next to Arthur.

“You can go, Carl,” Arthur said. He was like an annoying, clinging puppy dog sometimes.

Carl shifted on his feet looking uncomfortable. “Are you sure? It might—”

“I’m all set.”

“If you need anything,” Carl said as he left the room.

Arthur sat down again in the chair. He had become a master of interrogation over the years. The secret to successful questioning lay in how the questions were presented. Sometimes you just had to beat it out of people. All of that liberal spew about torture being ineffective was wrong. It worked on the vast majority of people, but most of the time, if you fully and honestly apprised them of their options and asked them courteous and, most importantly, direct questions, you’d get what you wanted. It was like playing chess. Timing and thinking ahead three or four or thirty questions. And, of course, there was always the presentation factor – that was half the battle. Some people needed your false friendship – be their buddy. Others needed the drill sergeant approach. Some just needed repetition – after the twenty seventh ‘Did you do it?’ you’d get a ‘Yes.’

He pulled his chair up to the bed and sat, straightening his tie and running his fingers through his hair. At first he had been upset about having to come up here on such short notice, but now he was actually glad to get away from all of the nonsense that he had to deal with on a daily basis. This was what he really loved – field work.