Darren Johnson - Arnesto Modesto - The World's Most Ineffectual Time Traveler

Arnesto opened the magazine and flipped the pages until he reached the half-page article on the shooting. It was news to him. He recalled nothing of the event.

“I know, you can’t stop them all. At least, I don’t think you can. I’m not actually sure. But what I am sure of, is that, sooner or later, there’s going to be an event where people die that you could have prevented. How long — how long is it going to be until that happens?”

Arnesto never made eye contact with Whiteside unless ordered to do so. He believed in giving away as little information as possible. Unnecessary eye contact might not only give something away visually, it could also reveal information by virtue of a simple change in behavior. However, just this once, he couldn’t resist.

He closed the magazine and looked straight into the eyes of his nemesis.

Whiteside stared back.

It was a silent battle, each man trying to find the other’s weakness, and finding none. They tried to imagine what their opponent was thinking, what their motivation was, what their next move would be, and while they both knew they had similar goals, neither had any idea who was winning.

Arnesto was the one who finally blinked and resumed his usual downcast blank stare. To an outsider, it might have appeared as if this had given Whiteside the victory, but this was not the case. Arnesto had simply realized there was nothing more to be gained and ended the epic staredown. Likewise, Whiteside hadn’t been staring in an effort to intimidate or establish dominance. He simply wanted to observe his unyielding captive.

“Get him out of here,” Whiteside said.

Their short, mostly silent meeting had, unlike their other meetings, been ever so slightly productive, for each of them felt like they had barely riled up the other. It was better than nothing.

Location: Unknown

Date: Unknown

Time: Unknown

“Sir, there’s something you need to see,” Stanfield said.

“Yeah, I know, I’m watching it now,” Whiteside said. He restarted the video clip of Father Martin’s latest announcement.

“Hello again, I’m Father Martin. I have received another message from my source, the person who speaks through me. My source is also the one to whom I am now speaking. In your message, you said there was another event approaching, and that if I didn’t hear from you again by today, that I should make this announcement. Wherever you are, I hope you’re safe and will be able to contact me again soon. Thank you and God bless.”

“Sir, we know when Father Martin was contacted. Arnesto was here. Are we sure we have the right guy?”

“Positive. He set this up ahead of time. He saw us coming like he sees everything coming.”

“What do we do now? People are anxious, sir. The stock market’s crashing—”

“You don’t think I know that?” Whiteside asked. “Take him to the board room.”

“Sir, we both know he’s as likely to give us false information—”

“ Any information is more than we’ve got now. If he lies to us, great, at least we’ll have something to rule out.” He looked up at Stanfield, whose stoic expression betrayed a hint of disapproval. “Out with it.”

“Permission to speak freely?” she asked.

“Yes, yes, say it already.”

“He’s not a terrorist, sir. He’s not a spy. Whatever crimes he’s committed, he only did so to try to save people. Is this how we treat one of our own?”

“Anything else, Agent Stanfield?”

She stared at him briefly before replying. “No, sir.”

“Agent Crowl requested a transfer to another department; are you next?”

“No, sir.”

“Good, then take him to the board room. And keep life support standing by. We can’t afford to lose him.”

Less than five minutes later, Stanfield helped secure Arnesto to a gurney, then lowered one end so his head was below his feet. He seemed a little bit tense to her, even though he wore the same lifeless expression to which the staff had all grown accustomed.

She leaned over him. “You know I don’t want to do this,” she said. “Give me something — anything — and this can stop.”

She walked over to the shower overlooking the gurney and placed her hand on the nozzle. She looked at Arnesto, then nodded to another agent who placed a large rag over Arnesto’s face. Then she turned the nozzle to full blast.

Time and again they waterboarded him. He coughed and gagged and sputtered as much as anyone would, but still never talked.

Sometimes Whiteside would be there himself to turn on the water or cover Arnesto’s face or simply observe. Sometimes he was absent. It was his way of keeping Arnesto guessing.

One time, he walked in on the middle of a session. Upon entering the room, he immediately stopped and motioned Stanfield to come and talk to him in the hallway.

“Where’s the clock that was on the wall?” he asked.

“I took it down. I noticed he was using it to time himself,” she said.

“What, like some kind of high score?!” Whiteside put his hand on his head and took a few steps away before walking back. He looked inside at Arnesto. “That guy in there couldn’t beat up my six-year-old niece, yet waterboarding can’t get him to talk?”

“Maybe he feels he has nothing to confess. Sir, we’ve tried everything.”

“Just about. Stanfield, where are we on the questioning?”

“We’ve covered all the major events, but—”

“‘All the major events.’ Great, he’s given us next to nothing, while we’ve told him everything we know about him. He’s playing us — again! You know what, cancel the waterboarding. Take him back to his cell. I have some phone calls to make.”

For the next few days, Arnesto languished in his cell. Other than the on-site doctor monitoring the sinus infection he had acquired from the waterboarding, he had no contact with anyone. His physical energy was slipping, and his mental state wasn’t far behind.

Maybe they were right and he was being selfish. They certainly would have saved more lives if he had worked with them. Maybe. Would they have warned the other countries about the earthquakes, and if they had, what would they have expected in return? How much could he trust them? Right, like the government’s ever been trustworthy… What was Whiteside doing now, collecting wood to burn him at the stake?

He didn’t have to wait much longer to find out.

Arnesto was half-asleep when the sound of his cell door opening gave him a start. Great, if they were paying attention, and they always were, then they noticed his reaction and probably felt they were, at last, starting to get to him.

They led him to the interrogation room, where Whiteside was already seated. Arnesto sat down and tried to brace himself for whatever the agent was going to throw at him next. It was probably some brand new torture designed solely for him and approved by some bought out congressperson.

Alright, Whiteside, hit me with it already. Whatever it is you think you’ve got, I’m ready.

Arnesto was not ready.

Without any emotion, good or bad, with the kind of stoicism only Whiteside could display, he said the two words Arnesto never thought he’d hear.

“You’ve won.”

Location: Unknown

Date: Unknown

Time: Unknown

“You don’t leave the country. Ever,” Whiteside said. “Do you understand me?”

Arnesto was half ignoring him. It made it easier to avoid having any reaction to whatever the agent was saying. Even so, this conversation seemed different. Something had changed.

“Let’s just say certain people have reconsidered your threat level. It seems you are actually more dangerous down here than you are out there. I think they were also impressed with how well you handled yourself under pressure, though they’d never admit it. I would hate to see what it would take to get you to confess anything.