CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Nate
The interview room was mundane with cream walls, and homogeneous commercial blue-grey linoleum floor tiles.
Time passed slowly and to stop my brain spinning off into a maze of unhelpful thoughts I religiously checked my Rolex, watching the small hand as it relentlessly took another inexorable rotation of the dial.
It was just after midday. There was, of course, a security camera in the upper far corner of the room, a small red light blinking to tell me I was under constant observation.
Even though I was an actor and was comfortable being on camera, this one made me twitchy.
The person on the other side of that lens wasn’t on my side, filming my performance.
They were categorizing me, judging me. Would they find me wanting?
Who did they report to? Had I made a huge mistake in coming here?
I should have called Roz back first? She would have found a solution to my problems.
I stood and paced the room for a while then tried some yoga stretches to calm myself.
The door was finally unlocked while I was in a wide-legged forward bend pose, clutching my feet and focusing on my breath.
I opened my eyes and looked up to see a pair of black leather ankle boots standing in front of me.
I eased up and took in a statuesque redheaded woman in a charcoal trouser suit, her arms crossed, and an unimpressed glare in her green eyes.
I was anxious, thirsty and confused, most certainly not in the mood to try the charm offensive, but I offered her my hand, “Nate Linden, and you are?” I said, putting on the fake smile I used for red carpet interviews.
“Special Agent Hadley Porter?” she said, in a tone that told me she believed she’d chosen the short straw by coming to talk to me.
She didn’t shake my hand, but turned and walked around the table, then gestured as she said, “Take a seat Mr. Linden.” Hostility radiated off the woman.
Okaaay! I guess Special Agent Porter wasn’t a fan!
I pulled out a chair and sat. Special Agent Porter didn’t sit.
She glared at me for a long moment, her jaw clenched before she placed her hands on the table and leaned forward.
My hackles rose immediately. In a measured, firm tone she said,
“Mr. Linden we’re a very busy FBI satellite office dealing with real issues of international security. I don’t know if this is a publicity stunt to push your upcoming movie release, but, if you’re taking the FBI for fools, it will not go well for you.”
I was taken aback by the unwarranted aggression.
“Um…thanks for taking the time to speak with me,” I stuttered, and then uncharacteristically, my mouth seemed to have a life of its own.
“Are you usually this obnoxious or is your unnecessary, and frankly, unprofessional attitude reserved just for me?” I snapped.
The agent glared daggers. “I get that you’re busy and you’re not a fan, but I’m an American citizen abroad and I went to the embassy in Pariser Platz because I need help. ”
Was this agent homophobic or just an asshole? Mirroring her combative stance, I folded my arms and scowled at her. “If you don’t want to listen and take me seriously, find someone who does. Tell them that I’m here to talk about Curtis Hale.”
I was kinda shocked I’d been so forthright as I had a lot of respect for law enforcement, but I needed to see if my father’s name rang a bell.
With the hostile introduction, I’d already decided I wouldn’t say anything about the Téng hú chips.
If the FBI agent wasn’t willing to treat me with respect and at least listen to me, I’d keep the existence of the smuggled Chinese tech to myself.
Special Agent Porter’s nostrils flared with thinly veiled fury.
She turned and stalked out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Maybe the agent was having a bad day, or overworked, what with that international security conference going on.
I guessed a lot of high profile American military personnel, government officials, and tech CEOs were in attendance.
Maybe Special Agent Porter was exhausted, or on a power trip or, maybe she was just a bitch?
I didn’t know the woman, but based on her unwarranted hostility, I’d say the latter!
I stared at the blank wall opposite, again wondering if I’d made a terrible mistake by getting into the SUV.
It was like Tank said; my face is on posters all over the city advertising the première, and of course an actor who plays a covert operative suddenly asking to talk to the FBI could look like some kind of ‘outside the box’ publicity stunt.
I understood the suspicion, but not the automatic hostility.
I stared at my Rolex, again lulled by watching the seconds, and minutes pass.
Five minutes later Special Agent Porter returned holding a computer tablet and two bottles of water so cold that they teared with condensation.
I was desperate for a pee and to get my hands on one of those bottles!
This time the agent didn’t clench her jaw and scowl at me as if she was dealing with a troublesome child.
“Mr. Linden. We’re all guests in this country.
Germany isn’t our jurisdiction, and so you must understand that, whatever your problem is, our actions are limited.
But I’ve checked the name you gave me, and I’ll take the time to listen.
You look a little beaten up. Wanna tell me what happened to you and I’ll let you know what the FBI can do to help.
That okay?” Special Agent Porter placed the tablet and the bottles on the table, and then pulled out the chair opposite.
She took a seat, and then pushed one of the frosty bottles across the table to me.
“Can I get a bathroom break first?” I asked sheepishly.
She sighed, stood again, opened the door, and spoke to agent standing sentry outside.
The male agent led me down the hall to the men’s room.
I took care of business, and washed my hands and face as he stared at my back, the agent not letting me out of his sight for one second.
The reflection staring back at me in the mirror did not look like a movie star, he looked washed out, confused and scared.
I was led back to the interview room and discovered there was now another person in the room with Special Agent Porter, a man in his late forties.
The stranger had tanned skin, close cropped brown hair and a short beard.
He stood, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, making his ill-fitting navy suit bunch up around the shoulders.
I retook my seat and clutched the blessedly icy water bottle in my hands to still my trembling nerves.
“Are you ready to proceed?” Special Agent Porter asked. I nodded, but then a wave of paranoia hit again. I checked the lid of the bottle for a needle hole before I opened it and hurriedly and downed half of the contents.
“Who are you?” I asked the newcomer as I replaced the cap on the bottle. The man was observing me with a predatory glare that gave me the creeps. “Special Agent Porter, I won’t say another word until I can identify who I’m talking to,” I said petulantly.
“Kirk Rivera, CIA,” he divulged reluctantly.
“Please continue Mr. Linden. Pretend I’m not here,” the man said, his accent sounding a little Texan.
So, Jack was right, the US embassy did have CIA on staff.
I looked directly at Rivera and my gut feeling was that I should not trust him—no idea why as I didn’t know him, but the only person I could trust here was me!
Why was the CIA interested in what I had to say?
Rivera moved position to the back of the room; as if a standing out of my view was going to reassure me somehow.
I got a bad vibe from the man and wouldn’t forget he was with us, listening to everything I said.
“Would you mind if I recorded our conversation?” Special Agent Porter asked.
I turned my attention away from the strangely intense man who was now an ever-present shadow just out range of my peripheral vision. “Everything I say is strictly confidential, yeah? I don’t want the media to know I’m in Berlin ahead of schedule.”
“Of course, everything you share is need to know.” I cringed inside at hearing the damn idiom that I’m sure was going to haunt me for life. “Aren’t you videoing?” I queried.
“We are, but we’d also like an audio recording, for back up.” The agent pulled up a recorder app on her tablet and then laid the device between us.
“Please state your name for the recording. This interview is between…”
“Nathan Linden, US citizen, actor,” I added on cue.
“And, Special Agent Hadley Porter, FBI. This interview is taking place at the US Embassy annex, Clayalee, Berlin, Germany. The date is July 28-2026; the time is…twelve-forty-nine p.m.” The agent paused for a moment, but Rivera didn’t chip in and state that he was present too.
Special Agent Porter took a breath and moved on, asking,
“Mr. Linden, you reported to a Marine security guard at the US Embassy at Pariser Platz that you needed to speak to the FBI about a matter of international espionage.”
“That’s correct.”
“Okay. I’d say its best that we start at the beginning. Why are you in Berlin?” I knew she would begin with easy questions and then they’d become more challenging.
“I’m an actor. I’m here with my co-star, my friend…British actor, Jack Boyd. We’re taking a city break before the promotion of our romantic thriller movie…the première ‘s this Saturday.”
“When did you arrive in the city?”
“Monday, early morning.”
“Have you visited Berlin before?”
“No, it’s my first time.”
“Where are you staying?”
“The Adler Kandinski, on Pariser Platz. That’s why I went to the Embassy there first. I didn’t know there was an embassy annex somewhere else,” I babbled.
“You said you needed assistance from the FBI, what do you need? What happened to you?”