Another dramatic pause. More chewing. Darby wanted to hurry the charade along, have Army Boy get to the point. Instead, she kept quiet and waited.
He stopped chewing. Here came the politician's smile.
'I explained to these gentlemen that you're on a lot of pain meds due to your broken ribs. That you were feeling an overwhelming and irrational anxiety brought on by cabin fever, a normal reaction for someone trapped inside a quarantine chamber. I also told them you got your period, you know, mood swings, PMS, all that good stuff.'
'Clever,' she said.
'Thank you. In other words, I convinced them that you weren't in any kind of normal or rational state when you went all Rambo back there. Plus — and this is where you got lucky — I reminded your two victims that they didn't identify themselves as federal agents. If they had, you'd be in deep shit. You're welcome.'
Darby said nothing.
'Your blood work came back,' he said. 'You're in the clear.'
'Good to know, since the two feds who rushed into my room weren't wearing any hazmat gear. What are they doing all the way here from Washington?'
'They came to review a few things about your statement.'
'The feds carrying tranquillizer guns now?'
He shook his head. 'We are. They borrowed them. I'm Billy Fitzgerald, by the way.'
'And what do you do here, Billy?'
'I guess you could say I'm the second-in-command. When Glick isn't around, I run the show. More often than not I'm what you'd call a desk jockey. All I do is shuffle paper, like the ones attached to the clipboard.'
'Can I see some ID?'
'What for?'
'Polite thing to do when you're interrogating someone.'
Billy laughed. 'This isn't an interrogation.'
'Good. So let me speak to Sergeant-Major Glick.'
'He's unavailable.'
'Then make him available.'
He blew out a long stream of air through his mouth.
'Dr McCormick, let me explain the lay of the land to you. You're a civilian now. No Boston PD badge — not that it would make a lick of difference. Badges and fancy Harvard degrees don't hold much with me.'
He picked up the clipboard, removed the stack of paper and flipped through the pages. Then he held up three or four sheets.
'These pages are real important,' he said. 'I'm going to tuck them in the back, save the best for last.'
After he did, he stood and placed the clipboard on her lap.
'I'm going to unbind the cuffs on your right arm,' he said. 'You promise to be a good girl and not try any of that kung fu shit with me?'
She didn't answer.
He undid the cuffs binding her right arm, watching her carefully, then he dropped a pen on her lap and returned to the desk.
'Read and initial each page,' he said, pulling out a chair. 'Sign your name where stated, and after you've finished I'll have someone drive you home. I'd suggest sticking around your place. The feds will still want to talk to you.'
'How goes the investigation up north?'
He smiled. 'That's classified.'
'Because the army is involved.'
'Army, FBI, ATF. It's a joint effort.'
'Have they found Mark Rizzo?'
'Couldn't tell you.'
'Then maybe you can tell me the army's interest in a private biomedical facility?'
'Look, we can keep going like this, you asking me questions I can't answer, and entertaining me with your snappy comebacks. Either way, I'm here until ten. Or you can sign the forms and you'll be on your way.'
Darby stared at the clipboard, thinking back to the day when the Boston FBI office sent two Irish boys to get her statement. They proclaimed ignorance about what was going on up north, so she gave them a vague rehash of what had happened that night and told them that if they wanted to know the particulars, they had better come back with someone who could answer her questions. The same pair returned the following day with no answers for her and took another shot. She ignored them until they finally gave up and left, frustrated.
Now her new friend Billy Fitzgerald had said the feds sent two bigwigs from Washington — the two bozos who had rushed into her quarantine room sans hazmat gear. She had assaulted two federal officers, put both men in the hospital, and instead of being cuffed and hauled away, Army Boy was telling her all she had to do was sign these forms and she would be free to go, no charges filed and no more questions.
Interesting.
Darby shifted in her chair, the other strap digging into her arm.
'What am I signing?'
'Medical release forms and some other things,' he said. 'Go on and give it a read. You're going to love it. It's a real page-turner.'
21
Darby flipped through the stack of sheets with her free hand. Fifty-two pages packed with fine print. She started to read.
The front part, the first fourteen pages, consisted of forms releasing the BU Biomedical lab from any medical liability. After that came page after page of confidentiality agreements that spelled out, in excruciating detail, all the legal ramifications: ten years in prison along with a multitude of fines that, if they were ever enforced, would successfully bankrupt her — if she should ever feel oh so inclined to share any information about what she had seen or heard here during her treatment.
The bulk of the pages, though, concerned the events of that night in New Hampshire. Lots of fine print crammed with that mind-numbing legalese that made her head spin. She kept seeing the phrase 'the USA Patriot Act' in almost every line. The Patriot Act, a law enacted by former president George W. Bush the month after 9/11, gave law enforcement agencies the right to search anyone's telephone, email, financial and medical records — any record, for that matter — without a court order.
She looked up and said, 'A little extreme, don't you think?'
'When it comes to matters of domestic terrorism and national security, you bet we're extreme.'
Especially when you're trying to hide something. Darby didn't need to voice this; it hung in the air between them. She looked at the man's cold gaze and wondered what, exactly, he was so afraid she was going to find.
'I need my lawyer to review this before I sign,' she said. 'There's a lot of legal language in here I don't understand.'
'Really? I think it's pretty straightforward.'
'I'd still like my lawyer to look at it.'
'Sure, we can do that. Might take, oh, a week or two before our guys can get to it. You know how busy lawyers are. While they're working it out, you're going to have to stay here.' He grinned. 'Liability issues.'
'Do I get copies after I sign?'
'We'll forward them to you after we get the appropriate signatures.'
'From whom? I don't see any names listed here except mine.'
'Make sure you read pages fifteen through twenty real carefully, as they spell out in great detail what will
