”
After a moment of contemplation, Payne moved from his four-wheeler to the edge of the swamp. He was tempted to wade out to the sinking truck to search for clues, but the splashing of nearby gators quickly eliminated the thought.
“Think, goddamn it, think! What can I do?”
Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do except watch the vehicle-and his chances of finding Ariane- slowly disappear.
CHAPTER 57
Monday, July 5th
District Office for the FBI
New Orleans, Louisiana
JONATHON
Payne glared at the special agent across the table. He had already answered more questions in the past few hours than he had during his entire time at the Naval Academy, and it was starting to try his patience. He was more than willing to assist the FBI with their investigation, but enough was enough. It was time to speed up the process.
Payne stood from his chair and glanced at the large mirror that dominated the wall in front of him. If he was correct, the people in charge of the investigation were standing behind the glass, watching him give his testimony about the Plantation.
“That’s it,” he announced. “I’ve reached my limit. I’ve done nothing wrong, yet I’m being treated like a criminal. I’m not saying another word until one of you assholes comes into this room and answers a few questions for me. Do you understand? Not another word until I get some answers!”
Payne accented his request by slamming his hand against the two-way glass-his way of driving home the intensity of his message.
His point got through because less than a minute later the door to the conference room opened and the local director of operations walked in.
Chuck Dawson was a distinguished-looking man in his mid-fifties, and the power of his position showed in the confidence of his stride and the wisdom of his weathered face. He greeted Payne with a firm handshake and studied him for a moment before telling the other agent to leave the room. It would be easier to get things done alone.
“How’s the arm feeling, Mr. Payne? Can I get you something for it?”
Payne glanced at his injured biceps and shrugged. It wouldn’t get better without surgery, and he didn’t have time for a trip to the hospital. “A beer would be nice. You know, for the pain.”
Dawson smiled at the comment. “If I had some in my office, I’d offer you a cold one. But I was thinking more along the lines of bandages or a pillow.”
“Nah, your doctors patched me up pretty well when I first came in. I don’t think I’m ready for the golf course yet, but I’ll be okay for our chat.”
“If that changes, be sure to let me know. I don’t want anything to happen to a national hero while you’re under my care.”
Payne raised his eyebrows in surprise. The recent line of questioning suggested that he was more of a suspect than a hero. He had been drilled on everything from the murder of Jamaican Sam to his possible involvement with the Posse, and now he was being praised? “On second thought, I might need a hearing test. I could’ve sworn you just called me a hero.”
“I did,” Dawson asserted. He opened the folder that he had carried into the room and glanced at its information. “From what I can tell, you and David Jones saved the lives of eleven prisoners-actually twelve if you include Tonya Edwards’s baby-while killing more than twenty criminals in the process. At the same time, you managed to prevent the future abduction of countless others by shutting down an organization that we didn’t even know existed until yesterday.”
Dawson spotted Payne trying to read the FBI data and hastily closed the folder.
“That makes you a hero in my book.”
Payne leaned back in his chair. “Well, Chuck, that seems a bit surprising. I don’t feel like a hero. In fact, I feel like a second-class citizen around here. What’s up with all the questions and accusations?”
Dawson smiled, revealing a perfect set of teeth. “Come on, Jon. You’re ex-military. You know the way things work.”
“Yeah, you like to burn up a bunch of manpower by asking tons of worthless questions just so you have something to put in your files.”
The FBI director shrugged. “It’s the government’s way.”
Payne grinned at the comment. “Well, at least you’re willing to admit it’s worthless. That’s more than the last agent was willing to do.”
“Don’t be putting words into my mouth. I never said it was worthless. The questions weren’t worthless. . . . Okay, I admit some of them were a little far-fetched, but they weren’t without worth. We often gather more information from a person’s reaction to a question than we do from their actual answer.”
Payne rolled his eyes. He couldn’t believe his entire morning had been wasted on psychological games. There were so many other things he could have been doing with his time. “And that’s why you’ve been harassing me? To see if my answers and facial expressions were consistent during the baiting process?”
“Something like that. But it isn’t just self-consistency that we look for. We also check your claim against the claims of others.”
“Like D.J.?”
“And Bennie Blount, and the slaves, and anyone else we can dig up. We make sure that everything checks out before we’re willing to accept things at face value. It’s the only way to guarantee in-depth analysis.”
“Well, Chuck, now that I’ve passed your little test, would you please answer some questions for me? I’ve been trying to get some information all morning, but I keep getting shot down by your flunkies.”
Dawson nodded. His men had been instructed to keep Payne in the dark, but now that they were confident in Payne’s innocence, he was willing to open up. “As long as the questions don’t involve confidential data, I’d be happy to fill you in. Fire away!”
It was a poor choice of expressions, but Payne was willing to overlook the faux pas if it meant getting some answers. “You just mentioned Bennie Blount. How’s he doing?”
“Mr. Blount is in serious but stable condition. He lost a lot of blood from the crash and the animal attack, but your buddy did a great job keeping him alive until help arrived.”
“What about his legs? Is he going to be able to walk again?”
Dawson shrugged. “I’m not a doctor, so I don’t know all the facts. From what I was told, he did sustain a spinal cord injury. They don’t think it’s a devastating one, so, God willing, he’ll be as good as new after some rest and rehab.”
Payne closed his eyes in thought. For some reason, Payne was always more devastated by his partners’ injuries than his own. “And what about the twenty-plus prisoners we saved? Are they all right?”
“Maybe I should ask you the same question. Are
all right?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Twenty-plus prisoners? You must have double vision or something. Like I mentioned before, you helped save the lives of eleven captives.”
“Yeah, I heard you. There were eleven people on the island when you showed up and ten on the boat that I set free several hours before. If my math is correct, that would mean over twenty.”
