The Kraken Project

50

Ford could see the sheriff’s small eye squinting as it sighted down the barrel, the big man ready to shoot him with the.45.

A sudden pounding on the door at the end of the hall resounded through the interrogation rooms. The sheriff hesitated at the trigger.

More pounding and a muffled shouting.

“Go see who that is,” the sheriff said to the guard, taking a step back, keeping the gun trained on Ford.

The guard exited the interrogation room.

Ford couldn’t see what was going on, but he could hear angry shouting on the other side.

“He says he’s a congressman,” the guard called out. “Congressman Bortay. Says you locked up two friends of his by mistake.”

The sheriff quickly holstered his gun. He gestured to the other guard. “Get that man up and in the chair. Bring the woman in here, too.”

The second guard hauled him up and put him in the chair, and there was a flurry of activity in the interrogation room across the corridor. He could hear Melissa’s voice raised in threats and anger. She was shoved into the room. Her face was cut, one eye smudged.

“Have a seat,” said the sheriff.

“You bastard, you brutal bastard, you’re gonna pay for this.”

“Lock the door,” said the sheriff, an edge of panic in his voice.

More pounding sounded on the door. Through the window, Ford could see several men in suits. The sheriff looked stunned, like a deer in the headlights.

“Shouldn’t we open it?” the guard asked.

“Lemme handle it.” The sheriff went to the door, unlocked it, and cracked it a bit.

“We’re conducting an interrogation,” he said to the people outside. “Standard procedure, no one’s allowed in.”

“I’m a U.S. congressman,” a voice roared out, “and if you don’t open this door immediately, I’ll call in the National Guard and have you arrested!”

“Yes, sir.” The sheriff opened the door. A moment later a large man in an expensive blue suit, with a thick face and a great flap of combed-over hair, pushed past the sheriff in the doorway, several aides crowding in behind him. “Ronald Price?” he boomed out, charging forward, his eyes fixing on Ford, then turning to Melissa. “Are you Mr. and Mrs. Price? My God, what have they done to you?”

“No, sir,” said the sheriff. “He’s a car thief who stole Price’s car.”

“We’ve been brutalized!” Melissa cried. “One of his deputies struck me repeatedly, claiming I was resisting arrest!”

“This is a goddamned outrage,” said the congressman. “Carter, show the sheriff those papers.”

Another suited man next to him stepped forward, much calmer, in complete control. “Sheriff, my name is Carter Bentham, and I’m chief of staff to Congressman Bortay.” He proffered a sheaf of papers. “There’s been a serious mistake. This gentleman and the lady are, in fact, the Prices. No car was stolen — that was an erroneous report. The congressman would like to know exactly what is going on here, why he was denied entry to this area — and, especially, why you have been abusing these law-abiding citizens.”

“They resisted arrest.”

The congressman stepped forward. “Resisted arrest?” he shouted. “That’s a damned lie! We and everyone in this building saw and heard every damn thing you did in here, broadcast over your own CCTV. You were abusing these people with no cause, violating their constitutional right to legal counsel!” He turned to one guard, his face a violent red. “You! Uncuff this man and his wife!”

“But … they stole a car in New Mexico,” said the sheriff weakly.

“Are you an idiot? Didn’t you hear me? These two people were arrested by mistake. All the documentation is right here. My office was contacted, and I’ve come here to straighten it out. This is unbelievable!”

“Sir,” said the sheriff, “they resisted arrest.”

“You damned son of a bitch, I and everyone else saw you beat and Mace this man while he was handcuffed and seated in this chair! I heard you deny him his constitutional right to a lawyer! I saw your men hit and kick Mrs. Price for no reason. I heard every word you said! Broadcast for all to see on those CCTV cameras.”

“But those cameras are out of order.”

“It looks like they got fixed!” the congressman cried. “You, all of you, are in a world of trouble. We’re going to seize those tapes as evidence. You release these people into my custody so I can take them to the hospital. Get me the paperwork on the Prices. You understand? And someone get Mr. Price a wet towel to clean his face! And Mrs. Price, too!”

“Yes, sir.”

The guards hastily freed Ford from the cuffs and shackles. A warm, wet towel was brought, and Ford mopped his face with it. Bortay came over, sweating and red-faced. “I am so sorry, Mr. Price. These people are going to pay dearly. And Mrs. Price, we need to get you to a hospital.”

Ford went over to Melissa. There was a nasty bruise on her cheekbone and a cut on her forehead. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing,” she said. “Really.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Price,” Bortay went on, “I’m just beside myself with what’s happened here. Let me help you out of here and get you to the hospital.”

The congressman took Melissa’s arm, supporting her and leading her out of the interrogation area. Ford followed down the hall, back up the stairs, and into the holding area of the jail. Ford glanced around. There were CCTV sets on every wall, and they all seemed to be broadcasting a split screen of the two interrogation rooms where he and Melissa had been.

Ford glanced back and saw the sheriff and his deputies, coming along behind them, looking bewildered and terrified.

Ford followed Bortay to the front offices. He heard sirens and cars pulling up. A group of state policemen burst into the front offices.

“They’re down in the basement,” said Bortay. “Be sure to seize those CCTV tapes as evidence. They show everything that was done to these two people. And round up witnesses. Everyone saw it up here—everyone.”

It was chaos. People were scurrying every which way. More and more state police officers were arriving, seizing evidence and taking control.

Ford turned to Bortay. “Thank you very much, Congressman.”

“No problem, no problem. I’m just aghast at what happened and how you were both mistreated.”

“I’d like to ask a favor of you,” Ford said.

“Anything for a constituent and fellow citizen of Arizona! Especially a major supporter and friend like yourself. I am so grateful for your generous support these many years, Mr. Price, and I’m so sorry—”

“Here’s the favor: my wife and I don’t need to go to the hospital.”

“Of course you must! Look at you: your ear is lacerated, and Mrs. Price has a black eye—”

“Here’s why. My mother is dying of cancer in a California hospital. We were on our way there. She has only a few hours left. We need to get there right away. We can get treatment at her hospital — after my mother…” He choked up.

Bortay stared at him, grasped his shoulder in a friendly squeeze. “I get it, I understand. I’m so sorry for your troubles. So very, very sorry. All right, here’s what I’m going to do: I’m going to arrange for an AHP escort for you to the state line. And they will contact the California Highway Patrol to make sure the courtesy is extended across state lines. We will get you to your mother-in-law’s bedside.”

“That would be wonderful. Now, if we could get our car, please?”

The congressman looked around and roared out, to no one in particular. “Mr. Price’s car? Where is it? Bring it around now!”

A burst of activity, and a number of people responded, racing out of the room to do the congressman’s bidding.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Ford sotto voce.

“Absolutely,” said Melissa.

Bortay, with Melissa still on his arm, pushed through the milling crowd, roaring to make way, and a moment later they found themselves at the front of the building, in the parking lot, the night sky overhead. A dozen Arizona Highway Patrol cars, their light bars flashing, surrounded the building. There was a commotion behind them, and Ford saw the sheriff being led out by state police officers, handcuffed.

The congressman corralled a lieutenant and, barking orders, arranged for their escort. A moment later their car arrived, driven by a flustered deputy. He got out, surrendered the keys to Ford.

“Was your back end damaged like that before they towed it?” Bortay asked, pointing.

“We’re not going to worry about that,” said Ford, getting into the car. Melissa got in beside him. The two AHP squad cars started their light bars and led them out of the parking lot, onto the main street.

Ten minutes later they were back on the interstate, being escorted toward the California state line at ninety miles an hour.

“Jesus, that was unbelievable,” said Ford, glancing at Melissa. He was enraged that they had beaten her. It was hard to conceive of something like this happening in the United States. “I can’t believe what those bastards did to you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “It looks a lot worse than it is.” She dabbed at the small cut on her forehead. “Those scumbags did a number on you. Your face looks terrible, your eyes are all bloodshot, and your ear is going to need stitches.”

“As for the ear, it’ll add to my charming appearance.”

She laughed. “Dorothy fixed them good.”

“You really think Dorothy did that?”

“Who else?”