Chapter 7 - The Interrogation
The interior of the CID command van was narrow, sterile, and smelled of ozone and hot electronics. Eleanor sat on an aluminum bench bolted to the chassis, her hands cuffed in front of her now, wrapped around a paper cup of water she had refused to drink. Her makeup had smeared under her left eye, and the diamond choker at her throat looked absurdly ostentatious against the tactical interior.
When the magnetic door seal hissed open and Ethan and I stepped inside, her sneer returned.
"Did you come to gloat, Natalie?" she hissed, leaning forward. "Did you bring your military friends to intimidate me some more? Wait until the morning press hears how a widow was dragged out of her daughter’s engagement by armed thugs."
Agent Harris looked up from his workstation, nodding to Ethan and me before quietly stepping out into the cool evening air, sealing the hatch behind him.
"You have thirty-one minutes, Eleanor," I said, remaining standing. I did not sit. I did not soften.
Eleanor gave a brittle laugh. "Thirty-one minutes until what? Until my attorney arrives? I’ve already called Julian Vance’s firm. By breakfast, Marcus Sterling will be answering congressional inquiries about civil rights violations."
"Julian Vance's firm dropped you twelve minutes ago when they saw the federal magistrate's preliminary wire fraud affidavit," Ethan said coldly, resting one hand on the edge of the aluminum table. "And thirty-one minutes isn't an attorney's deadline. It's the countdown on the payload you queued to Vanguard Press."
Eleanor’s smirk faltered, just for a fraction of a second, before her jaw set in spiteful defiance.
"So Fort Meade caught the ping," she said, leaning back against the steel paneling. "I'm not stupid, Natalie. I lived with Robert for thirty-two years. I know how the Army works. I knew you’d find a way to cut off Chloe’s money. I knew you’d use Robert’s old cronies to box me out. So I took an insurance policy."
"An insurance policy?" Ethan repeated, his voice dangerously low. "You stole top-secret operational logs containing the names of foreign nationals who risked their lives to assist American intelligence."
"They were Robert’s papers!" Eleanor shrieked, banging her cuffed wrists onto the metal table. "They were in his study! In our home! The government gave me a silver pin and a folded flag while they paid his pension out in dribbles! That European broker offered me three million dollars for those journals six months ago. Three million! Enough to clear Chloe’s slate, buy her a townhouse, and ensure I was never subjected to the humiliating pittance of an Army widow’s stipend again!"
"You're not an Army widow anymore, Eleanor," I said, stepping closer until I was looking down directly into her eyes. "The second you uploaded that file to a foreign broker, your status changed. You are an unindicted co-conspirator under the Espionage Act. Do you understand what that means?"
Eleanor scoffed, though her fingers trembled against the paper cup. "Don't lecture me on the law. I'm sixty-one years old. No judge in Virginia will put Robert Carter’s widow in a cage."
"General Sterling already contacted the Deputy Secretary of Defense," Ethan said. "The federal warrant currently being signed by a FISA judge doesn't send you to a minimum-security camp in Danbury. It remands you to the custody of the United States Marshal Service for transport to ADX Florence pending trial for capital treason."
The color drained from Eleanor’s face, leaving her skin ash-gray. "Treason? That's ridiculous. Robert was the soldier, not me! I’m a civilian!"
"You compromised national security assets in a designated combat theater," I said. "Every source named in those journals will be hunted down by Syrian military intelligence before dawn if that data transfers. Their blood will be on your hands. And every penny you thought you were securing for Chloe will be seized under federal forfeiture statutes. She won't have a townhouse, Mom. She won't have a car. She'll spend the next decade in federal prison paying off restitution for wire fraud while you rot in solitary."
"No..." Eleanor stammered, her gaze darting frantically between me and Ethan. "No, you're bluffing. You wouldn't let them do that to Chloe. She's your sister!"
"Chloe made her choice when she forged my signature while I was deployed," I replied. "And you made yours when you sold Dad's honor for offshore gambling money."
The timer on Ethan’s phone beeped softly. *00:24:10.*
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"Give us the decryption passphrase and the server kill-token, Eleanor," I said. "Now. Or you spend the rest of your life answering to a military tribunal."
***
