me. Some W4s would have. They would have been intimidated
by the sensitivities involved. Arresting a superior officer
from your own corps is tough duty. But this particular W4 did
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everything right. He heard me say no and nodded to his W3s
and they moved in to pat me down about as fast as if I had said yes, with a nuclear warhead. One of them did the body search
and the other went through my duffel. They were both very
thorough. Took them a good few minutes before they were
satisfied.
‘Do I need to put the cuffs on you?’ the W4 asked.
I shook my head. “Where’s the car?’
He didn’t answer. The W3s formed up one on either side and
slightly behind me. The W4 walked in front. We crossed the
sidewalk and passed by the bay where the buses were waiting
and headed for an official-vehicle-only lane. There was an olive
green sedan parked there. This was their time of maximum
danger. A determined man would be tensing up at that point,
ready to make his break. They knew it, and they formed up a
little tighter. They were a good team. Three against one, they
reduced the odds to maybe fifty-fifty. But I let them put me in
the car. Afterwards, I wondered what would have happened if I
had run for it. Sometimes, I found myself wishing that I had.
The car was a Chevrolet Caprice. It had been white before
the army sprayed it green. I saw the original colour inside the
door frame. It had vinyl seats and manual windows. Civilian
police specification. I slid across the rear bench and settled in
the corner behind the front passenger seat. One of the W3s
crammed in next to me and the other got behind the wheel.
The W4 sat next to him up front. Nobody spoke.
We headed east towards the city on the main highway. I was
probably five minutes behind Joe in his taxi. We turned south
and east and drove through Tysons Corner. At that point I knew
for sure where we were going. A couple of miles later we picked
up signs to Rock Creek. Rock Creek was a small town twenty
some miles due north of Fort Belvoir and forty-some north and
east of the Marine place at Quantico. It was as close as I got to a
permanent duty station. It housed the 110th Special Unit headquarters.
So I knew where we were headed. But I had no idea
why.
110th headquarters was basically an office and supply facility.
There were no cells. No secure holding facilities. They locked
me up in an interview room. Just dumped my bag on the table
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and locked the door and left me there. It was a room I had
locked guys in before. So I knew how it was done. One of the
W3s would be on station in the corridor outside. Maybe both of
them would be. So I just tilted the plain wooden chair back and
put my feet on the table and waited.
I waited an hour. I was uncomfortable and hungry and
dehydrated from the plane. I figured if they knew all of that
they’d have kept me waiting two hours. Or more. As it was
they came back after sixty minutes. The W4 led the way and
gestured with his chin that I should stand up and follow him out
the door. The W3s fell in behind me. They walked me up two
flights of stairs. Led me left and right through plain grey
passageways. At that point I knew for sure where we were
going. We were going to Leon Garber’s office. But I didn’t know
why.
They stopped me outside his door. It had reeded glass with CO painted on it in gold. I had been through it many times.
But never while in custody. The W4 knocked and waited and
opened the door and stepped back to let me walk inside. He
closed the door behind me and stayed on the other side of it,
out in the corridor with his guys.
Behind Garber’s desk was a man I had never seen before. He