[EWC] The Painful Truth About... The Truth

The Painful Truth About... The Truth

David Alexander Paxton – or just “Dave” as he and those who knew him referred to him - did not really care that he was currently sitting in the back of a recently landed military transport – his hands bound by plastic cable-tie cuffs and a black hood over his head. These facts were all secondary to the fact that he had won. He had taken the bastards on, head to head, and he had won. Now they could do whatever they wanted to with him... he did not care one iota...

He had won!

Footsteps approached from the distance of the military transport and soon hands were pulling Dave up and pulling him to walk. Blinded by his facial coverings, he only resisted for the slightest of moments and in a purely instinctive way. Soon he found himself walking down a ramp, across pavement and was quickly seated in some sort of a vehicle. From the height of the step he had to take to enter the vehicle and the feel of and shape of the seat – he was fairly sure it was an SUV of some kind. Knowledge, and a lot of movies and TV informed him that he was likely in the back of a black Suburban or Escalade. He pictured it in his mind and wondered if passersby would be able to see him through the window tinting that he was positive was there.

Ultimately he decided that they would not be able to see him. It would not serve the “public interest” for the citizenry of this great nation to see men in black head bags being transported to and fro.

This thought elicited a slight chuckle from Dave. One that none of his traveling companions – three of them was Dave's guess based upon the footsteps he'd heard while walking – seemed to notice or care about. They remained silent. Actually they remained frighteningly silent.

Whatever... Dave silently snarked... I am now, officially, a freaking rock star.

This thought elicited another unanswered chuckle.

Soon the hypnotic qualities of being on the road began to take hold... the highway drone and vibration of the vehicle... driving Dave into a deeper place of reflection. Soon the discomfort of having his hands bound behind him and a bag covering his face melted away. Mindlessly his thoughts drifted into a movie-like reliving of the high points of the past few months of his life...

For years to come experts and laypersons alike would try to analyze and understand just what drove Dave to do what he did. Many theories would be offered... some seemingly rational – others utterly absurd. All more exciting than the reality of it all. The truth is that Dave did what he did because he had a momentary urge to do it. That's all it was – just a whim. No planning, no deep thoughts, no grand scheme. He simply realized it was possible to do it - and he made an impulsive decision to follow through on an idea. That was the long and the short of it.

With a half thought out swipe of an enter key... Dave had changed the world.

After that moment – it had all turned very surreal. Life has a tendency to get that way once you realize that you have just made public not just the biggest secret in the entire world... but quite literally every single big secret that there was to release into the wilds. Or at least enough about them to open the floodgates. The few days following that keystroke were all just a vague blur. Packing bags and trying to buy airline tickets to anywhere that was on the list of “non extradition treaty countries”, that you had been Googling just an hour before – well that is not anything that school or life prepares one for.

Dave's only regret is that he opted to flee to a rat hole and not to somewhere nice. In the end it only took them a couple of weeks to snag him anyway. All things being equal he'd have much rather spent those two weeks in a five star hotel in Paris than the third world nightmare hut that he had opted for.

But, semantics and hindsight.

Besides... He had cemented his place in history and in Heaven. He was a hero of the people and new parents would name their children after him and sing his praises for generations... maybe even centuries from now. Women would write him lengthy and heartfelt love letters. Maybe he'd even get to marry and get visits while in whatever prison he would end up being shipped off to. He was high profile enough, he thought, that some dank secret prison was out of the question. The public would want to know his whereabouts. Right? Surely he was insulated from the worst that they could do to him. Notoriety had it's benefits.

No matter what scenarios Dave let his mind play out ( and even in those that he did not let his mind play out – but which came along to haunt him anyway ) it all ended up aces. Hell, it was not out of the question that, after a few years had gone by, some future Presidential candidate might not come along and win popular support by offering to Pardon Dave. Once the smoke cleared and enough people in power had been crucified because of what Dave had revealed to the world? Anything was possible.

For the first time since he'd been apprehended – roughly 22 hours ago – Dave was glad for the bag over his head. It kept his traveling companions from seeing the full-on smirk that was gracing his face.

Dave my man – his mind silently reflected – You, Sir, are the man.

The remainder of the drive was uneventful. Dave relaxed into something of a hypnotic near sleep and drifted into mindless thought. At some point ( Dave was fairly sure it was not too much later on ) the vehicle stopped and the hands were, once again, pulling at and tugging on Dave. He complied and was walked into a building, down a hall, onto an elevator, down another hall – and finally into a room.

Suddenly the hood was removed from his head and the florescent lighting was like a billion needles in Dave's eyes. He could barely make out the shape of the obviously suited individual who had pulled his hood off as that person turned and exited the room, closing the door behind him.

After several uncomfortable moments Dave's eyes began to adjust. He had been seated on a cement bench, facing a cement table in a very non-descript and plain room. A room that reeked of Government blandness. Overhead rows of florescent lights buzzed away, washing the room in way too much sickly light. The walls were off white and unremarkable. It was all unremarkable. It was a cold room being used by a cold power for cold purposes... and it fit that bill exquisitely.

Dave was positive that he would be facing hours and hours of solitude in this room. He was fully aware that this tactic was one of their tactics. They would isolate people in rooms like this, let them become hungry, thirsty, sleep deprived... they'd let their bladders fill to bursting. Then, and only then, would they come storming in, rapid firing questions and accusations... demanding answers NOW! This was phase one of American interrogation. The truth is that less than half of those subjected to his simple torture ever made it to phase two. Most dug their own graves simply from thirst and a need to pee. As it happens – Dave never even made it to phase one.

The door opened within a few short minutes and two men entered. Both wearing suits and sunglasses and looking painfully like the “Agents” from the Matrix films that Dave had always so enjoyed. Secret Service? DoD? NSA? FBI? Dave wondered for a fleeting second before accepting that it really didn't matter what agency they were from – or even if it was an agency he was aware of at all... They were the enemy and that is all that mattered.

An enemy that he, by his simple keystroke, had inflamed, harmed and totally burned to the ground. An enemy who was out for blood and probably in a very unfriendly mood.

One of the men stopped next to the door and stood, staring straight ahead in a military “at ease” pose while the other man approached and then sat at the other side of the cement table. Over his shoulder, a briefcase bag – the type which files or a laptop computer might be stored – in his hands two bottles of water. The man sat down, placed his bag on the bench, next to himself, then placed the two waters down, one in front of himself – the other in front of Dave.

The man then had a lost look of confusion for a fleeting moment while looking at Dave – finally saying “Oh, they didn't undo your restraints? Agent Tyler, would you please release Mr Paxton's hands?”

The standing man did as he was asked. Crossing the room he produced something that looked like a small razor knife and gingerly cut the cable tie from off Dave's hands. He then immediately and wordlessly returned to his position by the door and fell back into his rest posture.

If you have never had your hands bound for any length of time then you probably do not know just how odd a feeling it is to have them unbound. Pain from blocked circulation fades away rather quickly and stays mostly gone – while the restraints are on.... but the second they are removed it's like a trillion nerve endings all wake up at once. Calling it “pain” wouldn't be quite accurate – as it honestly does not hurt. It's more of a sensory overload to the nth degree thing. It is such an odd feeling that it tends to totally overpower ones mind for a few moments – the same way that getting burned tends to. There is a brief moment where shaking ones hands and being filled with a general panic is all anyone can accomplish. Dave was no exception... so, for a passing moment that is what he did... shook his hands violently without a single clear thought or sense of self awareness.

The sitting man politely watched and waited for Dave to regain his composure. His demeanor was very welcoming and passive. If Dave had not been busy shaking his hands in the air like an insane person he might have connected the dots and realized that the sitting man had the same air as many psychiatrists tend to exude... that subtle and calm aura that lulls us into wanting to talk to them... wanting to feel comfortable.

As it is... Dave never really had time to connect those dots. He never had a chance. He was toast before he even got off of the plane. Before he even got on the plane... Heck, maybe even before that.

Some moments later, after Dave had stopped shaking his hands and had gotten into the merely rubbing them and staring at them with a strange look stage... the sitting man spoke.

“Mr Paxton, my name is Agent Holly. I've been assigned to your case. I am sure that you have many questions but I would ask that you hold them for now. Later I will try to answer all that I can. What I can tell, up front, is that you are not under arrest but you are being detained as a National Security concern. This means that any legal rights you would customarily be entitled to do not apply to you currently. You will not have any access to counsel. You will not be allowed any phone calls or contact with anyone not authorized to be in the same room with you. You have very limited legal protections at this point in time. That situation may evolve or change, but – for now – that is the reality we are dealing with. Do you understand?”

Dave in fact did understand. His time as a Government contractor had exposed him to certain things and he had been previously aware of the legal black hole that “enemies of the state” fell into once they were arrested. He had considered this deeply during his days on the run. He had been haunted by it enough to have played out all possible scenarios. What else was there to do in a mud and grass hut in the third world anyway? Dave felt that this was one of his advantages... they couldn't shock him or scare him with these revelations... he had already gone through this fear on his own terms and in his own way.

Dave spoke for the first time since being detained; “Agent......”

“Holly.” the sitting man interjected.

”...Agent Holly. I do fully understand what you have said. Thank you. Before we begin, would it be OK for me to open this bottle of water? I have not had anything to drink in quite awhile.”

Dave half expected the sitting man to smile and say “No. – denying Dave the comfort that was inches from him and forcing him a bit further into desperation. But the sitting man merely nodded his approval – his facial expression conveying an affirmative response - motioning his head in such a way as to say “Yes, yes, of course. By all means, go ahead.”.

The bottle was quickly opened and Dave drank greedily from the liquid within. Later it would occur to Dave that this could have been a huge mistake and that the water could have contained any number of drugs or poisons ( though, in the end, it had only been pure and real water ), but for now all that mattered was quenching the thirst that Dave had only just now realized was so powerful and in need of sating. By the time the bottle left his lips nearly half of the liquid was gone. Dave breathed deeply and felt a wash of comfort come over him.

The sitting man simply waited patiently and still projecting the overly friendly aura.

“Mr Paxton. In your capacity as a contractor for the Government you had signed a non-disclosure agreement. Do you recall doing so Sir?”

“Yes, of course I do.” Dave replied, steadying and steeling himself, knowing that now the game was afoot.

“And you are aware that a very sensitive classified document was downloaded to a computer that was located in your office by a person using your login and with a password from your random password encryption device?”

Again Dave replied in the affirmative. However this time he did so silently, only nodding his head.... his eyes betraying the defensive hostility that was welling up within him.

“According to the information from our computer experts, this classified document was then uploaded to a hidden web page on a private server through a backdoor. A web page that was later accessed from an IP that traces to your smart phone. Is this correct Mr Paxton?”

This time Dave's head nod was barely perceptible. His eyes seethed. If the sitting man was bothered by this, or even aware of it at all, his expression and reactions did not indicate. He merely kept talking in the same metered, friendly, and deliberate manner that he had possessed since he walked into the room.

“From that same smart phone, your smart phone, this classified document was then uploaded to the Digi-Leaks Swedish web server. A message to the same organization was also sent, twelve minutes later, also from your smart phone, addressed to Sven Kallstrom, the body of which included a statement that the sender was a Government contractor and that the information had been procured from a very specific mainframe in Langley, Virginia. Does this also sound correct Mr Paxton?”

This was the point where time began to stretch out, maybe even stand still for Dave. He knew that this was the snare... the trap. Up until now he'd only admitted being aware of something that, in all likelihood, every single person with Internet access or a TV would be aware of. Just general information that would surely have come out in the initial wave of reporting. But this last question was more direct, more on point. This was the moment of truth. Dave pondered deeply – seeking the exact words he wished to speak. What he said now might well dictate how the remainder of his life would go. This was the moment of truth.

The sitting man broke the silence – thus invalidating Dave's entire train of thought;

“Please understand Mr Paxton. We do not require an admission of guilt or confession from you at this point. We have enough evidence to conclude that you are guilty of treason by military standards. In fact Mr Paxton, I could order the man standing behind me to place you upon the ground, unholster his side arm and summarily execute you right here and right now. I would be fully within my authority to do this. I have no desire or intention to do so Mr Paxton. I merely wish for you to understand the seriousness of the situation you are in. You have upset people at the highest level of power. Levels of power that I truly do not think you are even aware of. Very few people are.”

The thoughts all drained from Dave's mind even as the anger and defensiveness also drained from his eyes. Now it was all blank. Weeks of playing out every possible scenario imaginable and he had never even come close to envisioning this.

Acknowledging the slacking of Dave's facial expression the sitting man continued:

“Ah... Mr Paxton, I see you are finally with me. Now we can begin.”

With that the sitting man picked up the shoulder bag he had entered the room with, placing it upon the table and opening it. From the bag he pulled two files and a slimline laptop device. The computer was opened, turned on, and placed immediately in front of the sitting man, facing away from Dave. The two files were placed very carefully and particularly next to the laptop... placed with the kind of care that an obsessive mind places upon items, slavishly adhering to spatial patterns and general neatness... all straight lines parallel and adjacent.

All of this Dave watched with a lost stare and a sense that time had somehow altered or slowed. A surreal feeling of detachment slowly filling him... something that was beginning to taste a bit like dread. It was the dread that pushed Dave over the edge and triggered his instinctive need to act.

“Look. I don't care what you do to me at this point. Let me tell you that right off the bat. Did I leak that document? You bet I did. I did it and I'd do it again – a thousand out of a thousand times. The things I read in that document were so profoundly disgusting and troubling that to not have leaked them would been to have condemned my soul... to have hated myself forever. How dare you people think you have the right? Man, torture me, jail me, kill me... none of that matters. I did what was right and the world knows it. I'm beyond your reach now Mr agent man. I've transcended your understanding and am free in a way that you will never be. How's that for a confession? Is that what you needed to hear?”

With that Dave defiantly stared into the sitting mans eyes... into Agent Holly's eyes ( if that was even his real name ). Sure he had been nice enough of a guy... but Dave knew where this was headed... the only place it could be headed and, in all truth, he would rather it get there sooner rather than later. It was time to cut the crap and get down to business. It was time to stop playing games. All of this and more shone through Dave's angry stare.

“Mr Paxton, I must admit, I find myself a bit confused by your behavior this evening. In trying to figure it all out... to put the pieces together I find myself curious. Did you have access to media during the time it took us to track you down? Newspapers? Television? Anything?

Dave almost had enough time to let it all register. No, he had not accessed any media during his days on the lamb. Nothing major at least. The last time he had been anywhere near civilization or exposed to media had been when he landed at the second rate airport in the third world Hell he'd chosen to hide in. Even there he had only seen one very old and small old style “tube” television playing – and it had been playing what looked like a soap opera or bad movie. Not that it mattered as Dave could not speak the native tongue anyway – so it could have been the greatest show in history and he would have been none the wiser about it. Other than that, and passing a small newsstand on his way to the taxi? That had been it. From there it had been a drive to a very small and isolated village. Once there he only remained outside long enough for the English speaking taxi driver to help him solicit a local for board. Five hundred dollars was enough to secure a months lodging and food – and inside Dave had gone.... fully aware that he probably could have gotten the dirt floor and rice and beans based accommodations for far, far less than five hundred bucks... but these were minor concerns when compared to his other problems.

It bears noting... at least Dave would have liked to have known... that neither the cab driver nor any of the villagers ultimately turned him in. His passing theory on the matter was that the Government likely offered an obscene reward for his capture, broadcast that offer worldwide, and one of the few people he'd encountered surely was sucked in by it all. He couldn't blame them. Even what an American might consider a modest reward for a high profile criminal would be an unfathomable fortune to the people in that country.

It just happens that things did not work out that way at all. No such advertisements were made. Anywhere. At all.

But, as I said... Dave almost had enough time for it all to register. Almost...

“By the look on your face, I am going to assume that you did not have access to media. This is highly unexpected. Wow... Well Mr Paxton – then I have a lot to discuss with you. I am not even sure where to begin....”

This was when that small, still voice hidden deep within Dave's mind began to realize that things were very, very, very wrong.

“My guess is that you are assuming you have been headline news the whole world over for at least the past week or two? the sitting man queried.

Dave's silent and blank stare unintentionally betrayed his unspoken reply.

“Hrm... Mr Paxton, what would you say if I were to tell you that the only two media mentions published about you in the past two weeks were stories about you being a missing person – stories which ran in the local newspaper in your parents hometown of Clearwater, Florida? I ask this question because it is the absolute truth. In fact I have both of those newspaper articles in this file if you'd like to read them. Your parents really are quite worried about you and they are afraid that you might have met with foul play of some kind. If memory serves they said that you've lived a somewhat sheltered life and might not know how dangerous people can be if given the chance to hurt you. They really do seem like nice people and they are very much blaming themselves. It's all rather tragic if you ask me.”

Dave's blank stare persisted. His mind was both totally empty yet simultaneously overburdened with more thoughts than he could comprehend. It was a tornado of thought – woven so tightly and violently that it all just canceled itself out.

“In one manner of speaking Mr Paxton you are very fortunate. You happen to be in a position very few people find themselves in – a position where I am actually free to divulge information and offer explanations. This might not seem like much to you right now and it may be a small comfort in the end. But I assure you, Mr Paxton, in Guantanamo Bay and a few other places, over the past 13 years, I have watched others beg to the very end for such things. So take it for what it is worth. For example I can tell you that Digi-Leaks is, in reality, a honeypot run by a secret unit of the Armies CyberCommand. It has been from day one. I can also inform you that Sven Kallstrom, the very public figurehead of Digi-Leaks is an asset of the Central Intelligence Agency. Everything about him is a lie. He's a creation. Nothing that you think you know about him is true. It's all fabricated for mass consumption Mr Paxton. His name isn't even really Sven Kallstrom. I do not know his true identity but it would not surprise me one bit if the truth was that he was a homeless beach bum in Santa Monica ten years ago. Are you following me Mr Paxton? You sent classified and potentially damaging information to a CIA asset and an organization that was being run by the very people you were seeking to hurt...”

This was the moment Dave totally shut down. This was the end. Sure the body and the reflexes would continue going past this point. But the part of Dave that was “Dave” died right here. All that remained beyond this point was a shell... a shadow... a ghost. From this point forward Dave was broken.

Sensing this, the sitting man adjusted himself and began exuding that friendly and altruistic air once again. He cleared his throat and asked Dave if he wanted anything more than just the half bottle of water sitting on the table. In response Dave half shook his head “No” - still possessed of the blank and empty stare. In spite of Daves negative response the sitting man instructed his standing associate to stick his head out of the door and ask that a meal and a carbonated beverage be brought in for the prisoner.

This all transpired without Dave even realizing or registering it.

It may have been a minute or it may have been a month... Dave could not tell nor did he even bother to care to – but he finally began to perceive his surroundings once again. From the haze he realized that a cheeseburger and fries were sitting on the table in front of him. There was an unopened can of Diet Pepsi beside it. The sitting man must have recognized Dave's reconnecting with the world because he promptly stated that he could exchange the diet soda for a regular one if Dave wished, but that they had brought diet because Dave would not answer them about a preference and that it was prudent to err on the side of caution.

Purely out of animal drive Dave mindlessly picked up the burger and took a bite. He might not have cared that it had been half a month since he'd eaten meat and nearly two days since he had eaten at all, but his body certainly did. Dave mechanically chewed and swallowed, shock still rendering him unable to even feel the chemical cascade of satisfaction that his mind was exploding with as a reward for the food his body so sorely desired.

The sitting mans tone altered and was now utterly sympathetic and filled with a sort of pleasant pity as he spoke again;

“I am sorry Dave...” using the Christian name for the first and only time in their talk “I know it is a lot to digest. I truly am sorry for that. Unfortunately there is more that we need to discuss. You see the fact that you tried to leak classified information and then ran puts us in a very awkward situation. If we would have been able to apprehend you in those first few days this all could have and probably would have played out very differently. We could have publicly arrested you, informed the media that you tried to leak some unspecified classified information and then put on quite a compelling drama for the masses. We could have used you to build up the illusion of Digi-Leaks. You could have been an asset to our operations if an unwitting and unwilling one. We could have issued an arrest warrant for Sven Kallstrom and kept the entire world fixate and hypnotized for weeks... maybe even months... filling the news with stories of him bouncing from nation to nation, seeking asylum... with the evil Government always one step behind and one dollar short. That was our intention you see. This is how it was planned out when you were all but force fed the information you came across. I'll be honest with you Mr Paxton... I don't even know if the information you accessed was true or not. It might well have been fabricated, based upon your psych profile, to tempt you over the edge. I wish I knew more about that aspect of things – but I simply don't. I am sure that you were chosen for a reason so it follows that you might have been fed exactly what was needed to manipulate you. But things fell apart I am afraid. What we didn't predict is that you would manage to really and truly fall off of the grid. We didn't plan on you leaving the reservation and leaving our sphere of control. Even this would not have been a problem... had an unexpected wrinkle not developed. You see Mr Paxton, eight days ago a Private in the Navy leaked very sensitive documents tying the Government to the pharmaceutical industry. A document showing that the people are being subjected to behavior modification through prescription drugs. Quite the damning bit of information. This Private, Mr Paxton, went a step further than you did, I am afraid. He not only sent this document to Digi-Leaks... he also sent it to several news agencies, globally, and posted it online to several forums. He let the cat so far out of the bag that we could not contain it. His actions made you, well, they made you obsolete Mr Paxton. He made you into a very messy loose end.”

The sitting man stopped here, for a minute, to let Dave digest what he'd said. Sadly Dave was all but done digesting things on any level, as the half chewed clump of cheeseburger sitting in his now stationary mouth attested to. The best laid plans of mice and men... that was the only thought Dave was capable of presently – and even it was abstract and vague as it danced around... just a blur in his broken mind... The best laid plans of mice and men...

Agent Holly, as he called himself, was actually known to society as Brian Lewson. He was a husband, a father of three, a little league baseball coach, an usher at his local church, and treasurer of his local PTA. His wife believed, for their entire long and happy marriage that her husband was a logistics manager for a rather large international Corporation that happened to have a number of military contracts.

The conversation between Dave and the man called Agent Holly went on for awhile past the point where we stop watching. None of what comes after is important or relevant however. Just awkward banter, mostly one sided... an attempt by Agent Holly to clear his conscience and wash his hands of what he knew would be happening in the hours following his departure from this room.

It bears noting that some years later, as he lay dying in a hospice – the man Dave knew as Agent Holly did think of Dave Paxton several times. Not many things from his career entered his thoughts as he lay upon his death bed. Dave did. That counts for something, right? Dave would have probably agreed... Brian Lewson desperately needed to believe it so.

Forty-three hours after the sitting man and the standing man walked out of that small room... the one that was overly lit, filled with cement furnishings, and inhabited by the closest thing to a real zombie that either of them would ever see – an article ran in the Clearwater, Florida Sentinel. A small but well written piece on page three...

Today Mr and Mrs Paxton of Clearwater, along with our entire community mourns the loss of their son, David Paxton – a computer systems analyst who worked for Pantheon-Parker Industries. His body was found yesterday in a small village in South America. The local coroner listed “heart failure due to stress” as the cause of death. Sadly the family cannot verify this result as reports indicate that a subsequent paperwork error led to his body being prematurely cremated.

edit on 7/7/13 by Hefficide because: (no reason given)