26. Chapter 26
Chapter twenty-six
Pony
Nine days after we return from Venezuela, our commander calls us into our team room.
When we arrive, he’s already standing at the front of the room, holding the remote. After we take our seats, he tells us, “I’m warning you, this is tough to watch.”
“What is it?” Warlock asks.
“The Remington James debrief. The FBI interviewed her a couple of days ago.”
Because of my intense attraction to her, just hearing her name causes a physical reaction. Even still, a sense of foreboding crawls over my skin with our commander’s ominous warning.
The video starts, showing a standard interrogation room with a table and three chairs.
Remi’s alone in the room, sitting on one side with the camera facing her.
A paper cup of coffee sits in front of her.
She’s dressed comfortably in jeans and a pale lavender button-down.
Her arm is still in the sling. The bruising on her face and throat stands out against her pale skin, exploding in a kaleidoscope of blues and purples, yellows and greens.
Both eyes are blackened, though most of the swelling is gone, and her left is open now.
The cut across the bridge of her nose is visible but healing, and she still has stitches on her forehead.
Two FBI agents enter and, in similar synchronization, unbutton their jackets and take their seats across from her.
The first—who’s big and broad with a flat nose that looks permanently broken—introduces himself as agent Ed Bergen. The other, tall and rail thin, identifies himself as agent Tim Mullins.
Mullins flips through the file in front of him. “How are you holding up?”
“It’s been difficult, and I have a long road in front of me. But I, uh…I’m alive.”
“Well, we thank you for sitting down with us, Ms. James,” Bergen tells her. “Let’s begin with how you happened to be in Venezuela.”
Remi nods. “I’m a photographer. I was asked by an investigative reporter going on assignment to tag along and take pictures.”
“Danny Hennessy,” Bergen verifies.
“That’s right.”
She recounts how they traveled through multiple countries following the reporter’s leads before arriving in Venezuela.
“What did you take pictures of?” Bergen wants to know.
She pauses, momentarily staring off into space as if she’s considering what to tell them. “There were a lot of villages, ships, and ports. Stuff like that.”
“Can you tell us about the night you were taken?” Mullins asks.
She clears her throat, her voice becoming void of all emotion. “In the middle of the night, four men broke in and ambushed us. They dragged us out of bed, demanding my camera. Even after I gave it to them, they shot Danny in the head.
“One of them was huge. When I realized they were going to take me, I started fighting. He picked me up and threw me onto the coffee table. That’s how I broke my arm.”
I remember that big bastard from the firefight. I flinch, visualizing it, understanding how painful and terrifying that must have been for her. I’d like to bring that fucker back to life and kill him all over again.
Her unfocused eyes shift around the room. She absently runs her fingertips along her cast. It’s clear she’s mentally checked out of the conversation.
“Do you need a break, Ms. James?” Bergen asks.
She blinks, sits up straighter, and shakes her head. “No. I’m alright. I just want to get through this and be done with it.”
“What happened after you were taken?” Mullins asks.
“I woke up in a cell. It wasn’t long until they came for me.” She draws in a deep breath and lets it out hard. “They started asking me who I was, who I was working for, and who sent me.”
“Who did send you?” Bergen snaps. The question is suspicious, and his tone pisses me off.
Remi seems to notice too. She makes eye contact with him, her voice defensive. “No one sent me. Danny was chasing a story. We’ve worked together before. He asked me to take pictures, and I said yes.”
They stare at each other until Mullins breaks the tension, his question much gentler, “What was the story?”
“I don’t know the details. I wasn’t involved in that. I was only there to take pictures.”
“Come now, Ms. James. After all those weeks together, you must’ve had some idea,” Bergen presses.
She drops her gaze to the table. “You should talk to Danny’s editor. I’m sure they know more than I do.”
I can tell something isn’t right. Some of her answers are too vague. She’s holding back.
“Mr. Hennessy must’ve had a computer or tablet with him. I’m sure he took notes. Where are they?” Mullins wants to know.
“I don’t understand,” Bergen interrupts before she can answer. “You said they took your camera. Where are the pictures?”
What the fuck is this guy’s problem? Remi’s the victim here. Is he trying to bully her? Make her uncomfortable? Why is he interrogating her like she’s a suspect?
She releases a heavy sigh. “Everything we had was left behind when I was kidnapped.” Her response sounds practiced. “Danny was dead. They didn’t exactly give me time to pack before they put a hood over my head, zip tied my wrists together, and whisked me away.”
Ignoring her obvious distress, Mullins starts tapping his pen on the table excitedly. “So, you don’t think they found the pictures?”
“Considering how often they asked for them? No. I told them if they weren’t at the apartment, I didn’t know where they were or what happened to them.”
The two agents share an excited look.
What did she capture on film that everyone wants so badly?
“I need to take a break,” Mullins announces. He hurries out without a backward glance.
Once he’s gone, Bergen stares at Remi. Silent and intimidating.
Remi doesn’t flinch. She stares back at him defiantly until he breaks eye contact.
I watch while she waits for Mullins to return. She looks tired, and a sadness that wasn’t there before has settled in her brown eyes. She sips her coffee, grimaces, and pushes it away.
Mullins returns a few minutes later, whispers something to Bergen, and they pick up like nothing happened.
“Sorry for the interruption. You were telling us what happened after you were taken.”
Her voice returns to that same unemotional monotone. “They held me hostage. Interrogated me. Every time I gave them an answer they didn’t like, they hit me. Or blasted me with a firehose. Or waterboarded me with rum.
“There were times while they beat me that the only way I knew I was still alive was because every inch of me hurt.”
She’s so damn courageous. I know how hard it is, not only to live through a traumatic event, but to detail it. We’re trained to endure being captured and tortured. She hasn’t been. At least I don’t think so. It’s impossible to ignore her incredible strength of character.
“Can you tell us anything about the people who held you captive?”
“They kept me blindfolded most of the time, so I didn’t see all of them. Like I said, one was exceptionally big. One was short and pudgy with two gold teeth. There were others. A lot of others. Venezuelan nationals, I assume.”
Bergen narrows his eyes at her. “No one else?”
Apprehension flickers across Remi’s face, there and gone in an instant. She shakes her head. “No. No one else.”
“Are your photos the only thing they wanted?” Mullins asks. “What else did they question you about?”
“They said they saw me with a man and wanted to know about him.”
“Because they were following you and Mr. Hennessy prior to you leaving the States.” Bergen throws it out as a statement, not a question.
What the hell? She was being followed prior to leaving the States? And who the fuck are “they?”
Remi’s surprised by the statement. I see the slight widening of her eyes and the small intake of breath before she recovers. “My captors thought the man I was with was my boyfriend. I made it clear I didn’t have a boyfriend.”
“And they believed you?”
She shakes her head. “No. They said they knew I was lying because someone saw me kissing him. I told them they were mistaken. Every time I denied it, they hit me.
“It wasn’t until one of them mentioned I was seen kissing him outside a hotel in Coronado that I realized they were talking about the man I spent my last night in the States with, not Danny.”
My body goes stiff.
We’ve all been watching in silence until that bombshell hits.
Warlock turns toward me. “Is she talking about you, Pony?”
“Who the hell was following them? And why?” Nitro snaps.
“What the fuck did the two of them stumble onto?” Hawk isn’t alone in his questions or his anger.
“I don’t know. But I’m as curious about that as you are.”
“Do you think her kidnappers know who…what you are?” Warlock asks.
“I have no idea.”
Onscreen, Bergen leans back in his chair, clasps his hands, and taps his index fingers together. “This man. You were kissing him, but he isn’t your boyfriend?”
“That’s right.”
Mullins jumps in eagerly. “We’d like to talk to him. What’s his name?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “He said his name was Bob.”
Mullins scribbles in his notebook.
“You told her your name was Bob?” Doc bristles.
I frown and shake my head. “No.”
“Do you think this Bob fellow is a regular at McQueen’s?” Bergen asks.
All of us shift in our seats, our attention snapping. She never mentioned we met at McQueen’s. Having noticed that slip too, Remi narrows her eyes.
Something’s very wrong here.
“What the fuck? Why is she lying to them?” Warlock mutters. “And how the hell do they know about McQueen’s?”
Mullin’s pen hovers above his notebook. “Bob what?”
Remi shrugs. “I don’t know. He didn’t say.”
“You don’t know his name?” Bergen sounds accusatory again. “No phone number? No address or contact information?”
“That’s correct.”
Another lie.
Bergen pushes harder. “Then how do you know him?”
She lets out an annoyed sigh. “I don’t know him. Not really. I met him that night at a bar.”
The two agents stare at her.
Remi leans back, resting her good hand on her cast, and glares across the table at them.
“For federal agents, you’re pretty dense.
If you need it spelled out for you, fine, here it is.
I met him at a bar, we had a few drinks, went back to my hotel room, and spent the night together. I left with Danny the next morning.”
“You had sex with him?”
Anger surges through me, but for the first time, the slightest hint of a smile tips the corners of Remi’s mouth. “Yes. I had sex with him.”
I don’t like this line of questioning.
Remi’s smile grows. “What? You think men are the only ones who have one-night stands? Who do you think those guys are sleeping with?”
Bergen looks away from her steely gaze and clears his throat. “When you realized who your captors meant, what did you tell them?”
“I said I didn’t have a boyfriend and didn’t know who they were talking about.”
“Even though you knew they’d continue to torture you?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand. You have no connection to this man.” Mullins glances down at his notes. “Bob. Why not tell them the truth and end it?”
She releases a weary sigh and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Well, it wouldn’t have changed anything for me, would it?”
Bergen rests his forearms on the table and leans forward. “What do you mean?”
“If I lied, they’d kill me. If I told the truth, they’d kill me. But if I told them what they wanted to know, they might go after…” She hesitates for a split second. “Bob.
“I had no way to warn him. I knew I was dead either way, but if I kept my mouth shut, then they wouldn’t be able to find Bob and hurt him. They killed Danny. They tortured me. I didn’t want to put him in danger. He didn’t deserve that just because he spent the night with me.”
Bergen and Mullins stare at her. My teammates shift in their seats and mutter curses. The only one who doesn’t react is Remington.
“Jesus. They tortured her for protecting me,” I mumble. My gut roils and I feel a combination of disbelief, guilt, and shame.
Warlock gives my shoulder a firm squeeze in commiseration.
“That was very brave of you,” Mullins remarks once he finds his voice again.
She shrugs. “In hindsight, it seems like a toss-up between bravery and stupidity.”
“How so?” Mullins asks.
Her unseeing eyes drift across the room. “If I’d told them, they would’ve killed me, and the torture would’ve ended.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “At that point, I just wanted it to be over.”
I can’t believe she wanted to die. My guilt over what she went through, partly because of me, chews me up from the inside out.
The two agents wrap up the interview by once more asking about the pictures and the reporter’s computer. She repeats everything was left in the Venezuelan apartment. They thank her for coming in, and the screen fades to black.
“Is it me, or was everything about that interview strange?” Warlock asks the room.
Doc fields the question. “Nope, not just you, boss. Something’s very wrong.”
“Are we sure those two are really FBI?” Nitro wonders.
That’s an excellent question.
Remi’s words ring in my ears. She endured hell to protect me. And like a jackass, I repaid her by giving up on her.