VECTOR

Chapter 17 Arrested

Chapter 17

Arrested

Ravi hated the syrupy voice of the GPS system. The woman was more annoying than his wife. Why couldn't he have a male voice, someone with conviction, someone who told him what to do? Instead, this insipid female, just like all the other females he had ever known. Weak, pathetic, the women in his life offered nothing more than cooking and s*x. They weren't even funny. No wonder, they were occupied the background, where they would have no influence. They deserved worse, especially if they sounded like the GPS woman. If she were his wife, he would forbid her to speak unless ordered otherwise. Women were so stupid.

He glanced at the screen and discovered he was still an hour from the cabin. For a moment, he wondered if he could make it. His head felt as if his brain would burst out and run for the nearest pool. Heat radiated from his body, and he knew he was feverish. If he were home, he would be in bed, sweating the poison from his system. He would command Jasmine to bathe his head and feet, to cool him so his mind could work. But he wasn't home. He was in the United States, and while he knew about the country, he did not have someone who would care for him. And he wasn’t about to go to a hospital. His mission had to continue, and it had to be done quickly. Both he and the woman in the trunk needed to finish this.

Why did the sunlight hurt his eyes?

A chill ran through his body, and he shivered. He knew the chills came with a high fever. Just what he didn't need. He was incapacitated enough already. And he was still an hour from the cabin, from resolution. Why had he formulated this plan in the first place? Why hadn't he just killed Jasmine and find himself a new wife, a younger wife, someone without intelligence, a woman who would be grateful for the pain he brought her? Why did he need revenge? Why did he need to murder the man in Paris who had disrespected Ravi's marriage?

Because his brother knew about Jasmine's duplicity, and Ravi could not allow himself to be diminished in his brother's eyes. To live in his country, Ravi needed respect. The sheep were the ones who allowed their wives to do as they wished. Ravi had never been a sheep.

Twisting his head hurt Ravi's neck. At the rate he was deteriorating, he wouldn't last another hour. No, he would make it. The hate still burned, and hate alone would power him through what he had to do. After, after he had secured the information he needed, Ravi would fly away, fly back and plan how he would gain the ultimate revenge.

He looked into the rear view mirror, and his heart leaped into his throat. Behind him blinked the red lights of a police car.

**************************************

Arif automatically glanced at the speedometer. No, he wasn't speeding. And no, his car wasn't in disrepair. He hadn't run a stop sign or light. In fact, he knew of no reason why he was being stopped. Sure, he looked Arabic or Muslim or whatever the police were looking for that day. He had been stopped in the past, and he knew the drill. He pulled to the side and shut off the engine. Putting his hands on the steering wheel, he looked into his mirrors. Two uniformed officers got out of the cruiser, and as he watched, they pulled out their firearms.

The anxiety made Arif swallow hard. While he had been stopped before, he had never seen an officer pull a weapon. Arif's mind immediately leaped to the man he had picked up at the airport. Were the police after him? And if they were, then the man was a very bad man. Yet, Arif could not admit to knowing or picking up the man. That would be suicide, both here and back home. He gripped the wheel hard and steeled his mind. This would not be easy.

“Keep your hands where we can see them,” the policeman said.

“What did I do wrong?” Arif asked.

“Please do not speak.” The other officer stood to Arif's right, and he had a bead through the window.

The first officer reached forward and opened the door. “Get out,” the policeman said. “Slowly.”

Arif knew he could not decline. Sighing, he slipped out of his car.

**************************************

The questions raced through Ravi’s brain.

What had he done?

Had the woman signaled somehow?

Was the car not working properly?

Why was he being stopped?

Should he flee?

Could he flee?

Ravi was certain he could not successfully flee. He didn't know the roads or the car. He had no place to flee to. He pulled to the side and shut off the engine. He watched in his mirrors as the policeman exited the car. As slowly as possible, Ravi slipped his gun under his leg. Then, he put both hands on the wheel and waited.

He didn't wait long. The office stood several feet away from the car, his hand on his firearm.

“Have any idea why I stopped you?” the officer asked.

“No, officer sir. I am new to your country. I arrived yesterday, so I apologize if I have broken any laws.”

“Welcome to America, glad to have you. But in this country you have to wear your seat belt. I'm sure you know that ignorance of our laws is no excuse.”

“Indeed not, sir. It is the same in my country. Again, I am deeply sorry.” While Ravi hated to bow to this non-believer, he knew that this small setback was best handled with polite subservience.

“What kind of documentation do you have?”

“I have a visa and passport and whatever is in the vehicle. I borrowed it from a friend.”

“You have a driver's license?”

“I do in my home country, but alas, I did not bring it with me.”

He nodded. “Passport and visa, please.”

“They are in my coat pocket,” Ravi said. “May I?”

The officer kept his hand on his pistol. “Slowly.”

Ravi opened his coat and pulled out his passport holder with two fingers. He held it out the window. The officer stepped forward, took the holder, and stepped back. Ravi returned his hands to the steering wheel, so the officer would feel safe. He watched as the officer unzipped the bag and pulled out the passport and visa.

“Ravi. Is that right?”

“Yes, sir,” Ravi answered.

“You recognize that you have broken the law, correct?”

“Yes, officer.”

“In that case, I'm going to welcome you to this country and let this pass—provided you wear your seat belt from now on. Is that fair?”

“More than fair,” Ravi answered.

The officer took one step forward.

And the woman in the trunk screamed.

**************************************

Arif was confused. He had expected to be taken to the police station and questioned in of their tiny interrogation rooms. It had happened once before, after a stupid jihadi had robbed a bank and shot the bank guard. The authorities had rounded up a number of bearded young men who attended a certain mosque. Arif had given up on the mosque long before the robbery, but that made no difference. A few uncomfortable hours later, Arif was back on the street. Inconvenient but understandable. This, this was something far different.

He was in a hospital. More, he was locked in a room with no windows or doors. It held a steel bed with no mattress and a steel chair and nothing more. It looked as sterile as an operating room, no more sterile. What were they going to do to him? It was crazy. They were treating him like some kind of pariah. He sat on the steel chair which was exceedingly uncomfortable and waited.

The door opened, and a person in a space suit entered. No, Arif was wrong. It wasn't a space suit, it was some kind of hazardous material suit, something straight out of some movie. Arif was totally at sea now. Why was this person prepared for world war Z? It was crazy.

The person tossed a surgical mask to Arif.

“Put it on,” the man said. Arif could tell from the voice that the person in the suit was a man.

“Why?” Arif asked.

“Because if you don't, I'll be forced to have several very large, very strong men come in and put it on you. They might hurt your arms in the process, and you won't like that.”

Arif thought a moment and decided cooperation was probably the best thing to do. He put on the mask and tied it behind his head.

“What is this all about?” Arif asked.

“Thank you,” the man said. “I appreciate your cooperation. Now, a nurse is coming in to take a blood sample. If you do not continue your cooperation, those large men will enter and force the issue. Your arms will be in jeopardy.”

“Why do you want my blood?”

“I'll be honest with you. The man you picked up at the airport yesterday may be infected with a very contagious and lethal disease. If so, then you may have already contracted the disease. A blood test is necessary to determine that. Now, do I need to call in the large men?”

“I wasn't near the airport yesterday. I picked up no one.”

The man in the suit had no face, which bothered Arif. And he was not going to admit anything no matter how they threatened him.

“My name is Matt,” the man in the suit said. “I work for the FBI. Now, we are on a tight timeline. If you have the disease, we have a limited window for treatment. Without treatment, your chances of survival become exceedingly small. So, what will it be? Straight arms and a chance for survival or maybe crooked arms and a smaller chance? Because if you don't cooperate, then I'm not bound to treat you even if you're really sick.”

Arif looked at the man in the suit and thought the FBI had devised a really cool way to get information. No hot lights, no grilling, no tag teams of interrogators. Just a sterile room, a threat of some incurable disease, and let the suspect sweat bullets. Arif had to admit that the hazard suit was a nice touch, and everything looked totally real. He bet that if he let them, a nurse in a dangerous hazard getup would walk in and take his blood, more proof of his “disease”. It was a ploy, a stratagem, a tactic, and Arif had to admit it was straight out of some movie. What suspect wouldn't roll over after that?

Arif smiled. “I picked up no one.”

“Are you certain?”

“And I want an attorney.”

“I was afraid of that. You do understand that under the current laws covering terrorism, we are allowed to take extraordinary measures. In other words, we will get your blood whether you cooperate or not. And, as in most terrorism cases, the suspect has no right to an attorney. Still saying no?”

“I want an attorney.”

The man in the suit waved his left hand. The door opened, and two more men, big men, entered the room. They wore hazard suits like the man Arif was speaking with. Behind the men came a nurse, also in a hazard suit. They didn't speak. They had no faces, no names. They were as eerie and frightening as creatures from some other planet.

“Wait,” Arif said. “Wait. You can't do this.”

The men were indeed very strong as they grabbed his arms, lifted him off the chair, and slammed him on the bed. One wrenched Arif's arm behind his back while the other stretched Arif's other arm straight out.

“I suggest you not struggle,” the first man said. “While our nurse is very skilled, the needle may slip if you put up a fight. You won't like that.”

Arif yelped as his arm felt as if it would leave his shoulder.

“OK, OK,” Arif hissed. “You can have your blood.”

They relaxed slightly, and the nurse swabbed his bare arm with an alcohol pad.

“You're going to be slapped with one helluva law suit,” Arif said. “This is worth millions.”

“Dead men don't spend millions,” the first man answered.

Arif wondered how long this charade was going to last. At least as long as it took to take blood. The needle sliding into his vein proved that.