Controlling the Room

[SEP2012]

In Spanish, the word "Socorro" means "help" or "aid". This place was named Socorro by the Spaniards who, after a treacherous journey through the New Mexico desert, came upon the Piro Indians of this area who gave them food and water. But for me, that day, there was no help in finding anything remotely man-made, save the VLA dishes in the distance. No right angles, no symmetrical mounds or painted shards. Just course alluvial sand and pale green sage brush.

As I set my tools in my belt and wiped the dust from my face, I heard a crescendo of sliced air from behind — I spun around to see a chopper headed right toward me. The sand spit into my face as it came to a halt and tightly circled me.

"Place your hands on your head and get on your knees now!" A commanding static-steeped voice shouted to me. The dirt blurred my sight and I hesitated, "On your knees now!" he repeated. I dropped, closed my eyes and covered my ears with my forearms.

Within minutes three State Trooper 4x4s raced across the brush and skidded to stops 20 meters away. Another loudspeaker assault urged me not to move and to remain calm — I could only comply with the former.

In an instant I felt a sharp knee between my shoulder blades hurling me face down into the alluvial grains of the Socorro desert. I drew a breath to voice my protest but took in a throat full of dirt, coughing uncontrollably as I was hoisted by my elbows and hurled into the backseat of one of the vehicles. I watched the chopper bank and roll back to where it came from as my cheek slammed against the window with every mound the 4x4 crushed. Jumping back onto Highway 60, the truck squealed and I could see sirens and uniforms near the VLA dishes around my vehicle.

"What's going on?" I finally had the strength to say to the officers in front.

"Shut the fuck up!" They shouted almost in unison. Then the passenger officer grabbed the radio, blurted out some code numbers and said, "We got him! We're on our way!"

"Copy that Unit two. 10-4."

The officers looked at each other smirking. This must have been a proud moment for them but I couldn't appreciate it.

Three hours later I was sitting in a cold, stark room with a table, two chairs and a microphone aimed at me. Anyone who's ever watched a crime show knows this setting. Classic interrogation room complete with two-way mirror and corner ceiling surveillance camera. Unlike the slick, well-lit stages though, this place had an acrid metal smell and the warped, water-stained ceiling told the story of an under-funded department. After a few minutes a thin, virtually nondescript man in a charcoal suit and a badge around his neck burst in. I didn't immediately recognize the seal on his badge but it was Homeland Security.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Archer, I'm officer Clarke of Homeland Secur..." He began but I interrupted.

"It's Doctor Archer and what the hell is going on here?" I said calmly, attempting to gain control of the conversation.

There's something about this setting—a detainee unable to leave of his own free will and being surveilled by unknown entities—that actually works against its intended purpose. Homo sapien is the only genus species that conveys power and superiority in a position of repose. Most predatory animals will increase their body image; make loud noises and/or rear up to appear bigger than their opponent. Not man. Whether it's rooted in archetypal throne mysticism or simply expressed unconscious psychology, it is the seated king, the judge behind his bench or the Godfather behind a desk that conveys power and authority. The more relaxed one appears, especially seated, the more in control. So in this setting, where officers come in and out of a room in order to intimidate a sitting man into confessions, goes against our most basic instinct of power play but it is effective if the detainee isn't consciously aware of this disconnect.

"Sorry." he said flatly, "Doctor Archer. Of course." As he shifted to pull his briefcase onto the table the massive gun in his shoulder strap was revealed. Probably on purpose to make it clear who really had control of this room. He placed a form in front of me and did me the kindness of clicking open his pen as he handed it to me. "Take a moment to read this, sign and date at the bottom if you would, Dr. Archer?"

I glanced at the body of text until I understood that this was a waiver of my rights to an attorney.

"I will not. I know my rights enough not to waive them, Officer. Why have I been arrested?" I said glaring into his left eye — not shifting to his right eye, ever. This is a tactic I learned years ago for controlling an exchange. The human eyes naturally bounce back and forth focusing and refocusing on an object to gauge three dimensional size and distance. A necessary evolutionary trait for predatory animals like ourselves. By fixing my gaze on just one of his pupils, he'd get a subconscious, uneasy feeling as his eyes focus on a static stare — it's subtle and subliminal but at that moment my self-preservation tactics were on high alert and every weapon in my psychological arsenal, no matter how subtle, was being called to the front.

"You've not been formally arrested, Dr. Archer, you're here for questioning." He said as if it would come as a relief to me.

"I was kicked to the ground, forcefully cuffed, thrown into a truck and driven three hours here so you could ask me some fucking questions?! I have a cell phone officer!" Even in my rage I almost chuckled at the absurdity of my statement. He was not amused. "What am I to have done? I have a permit for exploratory surveying of that area and I collected absolutely nothing from the site."

"That's not why you're here. Well, the fact that you were there is, but not for trespassing or illegal excavation. I first need to know where you were last Monday night."

"Monday?" I traced the calendar in my head but I wasn't even sure at the moment what day this was. "Labor Day...Zozobra! I was in Santa Fe filming a piece for my show. Santa Fe, why?"

"And after the event. Did you go anywhere?"

"Yes. To the Governor's Mansion for a party. He's a friend of mine" I added trying to name drop for more control. My eyes still fixed on his left.

"And what time did you leave this party?"

"I don't know exactly. A couple hours or so later? All I know is I was home in time to see my son off to school."

"And your home is..." he scanned his notes "...Black Forest, Colorado, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And from Santa Fe, how long a trip is that?"

"Five or six hours..." then, with a look of epiphany I continued, "My god...is this about Angelica...the First Lady? I heard the report that she was missing is she still missing?" I said.

"No, Dr. Archer, she has been found" he said with a steely glare.

"Thank god. Thank god for that. So what is this about then? Get to it, man." I demanded.

"Well doctor, the First Lady, Angelica Esperanza..." he said as if reciting her name for the record and the camera in the corner, "...has been found, but found dead. Shot in the head."

"Oh Jesus...the Governor...how's the Governor?" My tactical glare let go and my eyes closed imagining what the Governor could have been feeling right then. He adored her despite her self-obsession. He was the biggest trophy in the state but she treated her artifacts with more respect than she ever did him. Still, he loved her tremendously.

None of this display of shock had any effect on the interrogating officer as he coldly continued with his line of questioning, "So after you left the event at the Governor's Mansion you drove straight home. Can you give me as close an estimate as possible as to what time you arrived home?"

I opened my eyes and looked toward the camera blinking in the corner, "I don't know...three a.m. maybe...look, I understand the need to talk to everyone who was there, but I would have come in on my own had I known, why the hostile custody process here? The Esperanzas are dear friends of mine and when all this blows over I'm sure the Governor will be unhappy about the way this went down today."

"I'm not so sure, doctor. My C.O. just spoke to the Governor and he considers you the prime suspect." My jaw dropped. He had to be lying to me to try to get me to change my story. This had to be a tactic. "You see, the First Lady's body was found this morning." He paused as if for effect, "Not five miles south of where we picked you up. So you can see why the Troopers were so zealous about your capture when we matched your plates to you and discovered that you were among the last people to see her alive. The circumstances warranted their method."

He stood and closed his briefcase. "I'll be back to talk further. Please consider any of the information you've given me here and we'll try again. I urge you Dr. Archer, for your son's sake to cooperate to the fullest."

"Wait, my son? What do you mean? If I'm not under arrest I demand to be let out of here. I need to get home to him."

"Get comfortable doctor, we've got you for at least twenty four hours. We've contacted a..." again looking at his notes, "...Dr. Sarah Kamen. She will pick your son up from school and care for him until we know more." The door buzzed and kicked itself open. As he left the room it slammed shut. The two-way window shuttered. It shuttered again a moment later which meant the officer must have entered the observation room to discuss me with whoever else was behind there.

For the first time in four hours there was silence except for the low rumble from the vents, the whirring of the camera lens widening and tightening and the thumping of my heart in my ears. I rubbed the raw skin around my wrists and swept the remaining sand from my beard.

I spent the next half hour alone with my thoughts and traced every detail of the events from Angelica's embrace at the Governor's Mansion to the thud of the Trooper's knee in my back. The luminarias, that red dress, the freshly unpacked sculpture, the crate.

"The crate!" I said out loud. "Of course." The whir of the camera's lens tightening on my face was audible. I envisioned the logo with two feathers on the crate in Angelica's museum hall. I knew that symbol. I'd seen it before on envelopes in our French production offices, on boxes in Baaleth's house soon after the Nicaea investigation. It was one of those clues I chose not to notice at the time.

It would be another half hour before Officer Clarke came back into the room. I supposed they were studying my body language. Perhaps there is a pattern of behavior guilty people perform when left alone for long periods of time but I kept my mind fixed on one name the whole time, "Siméon Baaleth".

Finally the two-way glass shimmied, the camera lens widened and the metal door buzzed and unbolted. Officer Clarke placed an open laptop on the table toward me.

"I need you to look at the photos from the party at the Governor's mansion. Their staff photographer has turned over his disc from that night." There were at least 300 shots on the photo wall. "Take your time and tell me if you see anyone or anything that we should look at more closely."

I scanned each frame carefully. I recognized many of the people, some friends, some casual acquaintances and some just familiar faces from past events. When I knew their names I pointed them out as he took down the shot numbers and any details I offered up.

The photos were in chronological order and it wasn't until the 236th photo that I showed up. "That's me coming in...there's Angelica greeting me...the formal photo of me and the Governor..." A few more minutes of scanning then there they were. The photos I was looking for; one of Baaleth in the background as I'm sure he was trying to avoid being photographed by Seth and another of Angelica next to her prized new statue of Emperor Charles V still in his crate and the crate's origin logo in plain sight. The two feathers of Siméon's black market exporter.

"I don't believe it!" I said incredulously.

"What is it Dr. Archer?"

"That's Siméon Baaleth back there. I knew I heard him at the party but he left before I could get to him." The officer scanned his list of guests.

"There's no Baaleth listed." He said.

"Oh, he wouldn't be on any guest list unless the party was thrown by INTERPOL." I said glaring at the photo of the face of the man who tried to have me killed over the Morion of Cortés. "Check your databases, this was my producer. He went missing after trying to have me killed. He's been a fugitive ever since...an INTERPOL Red Notice, in fact."

"Excuse me doctor, keep scanning those for anything else and I'll be right back." He left the room in a hurry this time not bolting the door behind him.

I glanced over the rest looking only for Baaleth and better shots of the crate but found only the two photos. Officer Clarke came back in after a few minutes with a fist full of papers.

"Here's the INTERPOL red notice and background of the case. The team is combing through it all now. With the flurry of activity in the past 48 hours and long list of guests, I'm sure you can understand how this slipped through," he said almost apologetically. Finally, I controlled the room.

"Yes, yes, I understand completely." I said still scanning the screen. "I don't know if this means anything but..." I pointed to the photo of Angelica with her sculpture and highlighted the logo on the crate. "This symbol, the two feathers, I've seen it before on envelopes and packages sent to Baaleth at our production offices overseas and at his residence."

Officer Clarke expanded the photo and enhanced the pixels of the symbol. "This one here?"

"Yes. It's definitely connected to Baaleth some way but I just don't know how. I'm not sure you're aware of this yet, but that statue still sitting in that crate, Angelica told me it arrived that day and it's an extremely valuable piece — priceless really. One of only two busts of Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, by Leone Leoni sculpted in the 1500s. It's gotta have National Treasure status in Spain. The fact that she has it is remarkable unless..." 

"Unless?" The officer said with new found interest in my knowledge.

"Well, when you look deeper into Baaleth's past you'll see that he was a prime suspect in an INTERPOL investigation a few years prior regarding a missing artifact in Turkey, Nicaea to be exact. It was dropped when the artifact was later found behind a case in a different hall but I always wondered. He knew some of the world's leading artifact forgers who moonlighted as expert authenticators. I don't know. It's all so arcane. But the circumstances are too, well, intriguing." I sat back in my chair with a disturbed look on my face and stared down to my right. I decided not to tell them that I heard Angelica and Baaleth arguing because they would have wondered why I didn't report seeing him that night. They were not very discreet and someone else must have heard them and would corroborate the tension between them.

"If you don't mind Doctor, I'd love to have you stay with us today and perhaps tomorrow. We'll put you up here in town of course. We'd like to get all of your ideas and send any leads to our team in Washington." Suddenly I was an honored guest. I knew I had the right to refuse until subpoenaed but this is exactly what I needed to do.

"Sure, sure I'll help in any way I can. I'd like to call my son though right now and make sure he's okay and not scared."

"Of course, Doctor." he said handing me his cell phone.