Chapter Six: The Finer Points of Interrogation
Williams, Harris, and I have intercepted a single rebel's cellphone call to a group of rebels, the rest of the crew of her ship. It appears that they are in the first stages of trying to arrange a meeting with a potential rebel. Through either a lucky break on my part or carelessness on the rebels, I am able to intercept the cellphone communication and manage to learn that the potential rebel's handle is 'Jkr3x7'. He or she had been somewhat active in hacking communities, but had also been visiting matrix sites and chatrooms since around May. Not posting much of anything, though, and as a result staying just below the parameters required for us to be alerted.
I start a search running in the afternoon for internet users in the bay area acting under that name, and come up with a few ISP numbers.
I then hand the numbers over to Harris, whose responsibilities tend towards coordinating with human institutions—the police, the government, the media. And internet service providers. A scan through their databases, crosschecked with the activities on the internet that Jkr3x7 had been involved in, and we had an address. Along a name. Sean Levan, a freshman student at San Jose University who still lived at home with his parents.
With that information, I prepare a folder on Mr. Levan's dodgier activities on the internet. Harris makes up a warrant so we have a superficial reason to collect Mr. Levan for questioning. This is all given to Williams, who has been reviewing logs of our target's activities on and off the computer as an aid in questioning.
Seven in the evening and the three of us were back in the Lincoln, driving south into San Jose. We didn't have any problems with the traffic, due to some subtle programming in our cars that caused alteration of the traffic flow patterns to always give Harris the right of way. As he also didn't have to worry about the speed limit, we travel south much faster than would have been possible otherwise.
Why don't we just transfer to near the location? It would save time. I ask Williams, though I suspect I know the answer. Sometimes it is better to hear things out loud, or at least over my earpiece, than it is to sift through my files and bring up the answer myself. Also, I was getting bored just sitting here. Though not precisely bored, since the drive would have been classified as hair-raising had I not had an agent's reactions.
It would save time, yes, but then we would be stuck using whatever car we could find, and this one has much more authority when picking up movie fans. And he is a fan, right, Lee?
Yes. He is exhibiting patterns consistent with a fan of the movies. Will he be offered a release to Zion?
He is borderline for the release program, but I think it unlikely. The sum of his activities indicates a strong attachment to this world.
If he is borderline, then seeing us may tip him over the edge, says Harris.
It may. But remember his contact with the rebels renders him ineligible for the release program, says Williams, Once he is tagged and released, it will be up to him to either lead us to the rebels or go back to his normal life.
Harris slows the car as he drives down the ramp off the highway and onto the surface streets. It is just starting to get dark, the sun going behind the clouds near the western horizon. He drives quicker than the human traffic on surface streets, too. The lights all turn green right when he needs them to, and we never gets stuck behind anybody. I do notice him cutting off all the SUVs that he can, with a bit of an evil thrill coming over our earpiece connection. Everyone has a hobby, I guess.
And then we are there. A small and unassuming house in a decent neighborhood that by my Tucson real estate sensibilities would probably sell for a ridiculous amount of money. As Harris pulls to a stop in front of the house I notice a face appear in a second-story window. Behind him on the wall of his room is a poster for The Matrix, and I see the edge of a glowing computer screen. It is him. Mr. Levan. Our target. I recall all the awful Matrix fanfiction that I have read, or at least skimmed, that had a situation like this. Mwa ha ha.
Williams picks up the warrant and file. Ready? Harris and I send him our assent, and we step out of the car in unison. The face disappears from the window for a moment, and then one eye reappears at the edge of the glass. I feel disturbance indicators coming from his over my link to the agency. His computer screen has gone black, with green text popping up. The rebels know we're here, and are trying to warn him. Too late. He knows, or at least guesses what we are, and he is scared and not believing what his gut is telling him, which is that there are indeed three agents walking up to his front door. Like I was, a few short days ago.
At the door, Harris steps up and rings the doorbell, then moves back to his place to the left of Williams. After a moment the porch light comes on and the door opens. A balding, middle-aged man that has software programmer written all over him opens the door. Sean Levan's father.
"Mr. Levan?" says Williams, "We are from the Federal Bureau of Investigations." He holds up the warrant. "We need to speak with your son and take him in for questioning."
"What, Sean? What's he done?" The older Mr. Levan is obviously confused, but unable to disobey the conditioning of years of living in an authority-respecting society and the tags on an agents' program that makes humans fully hooked up to the system tend to obey them.
"Yes, Sean. He is running a network used to distribute music and software files illegally. Among other things." This was even true. But then, nearly everyone targeted by rebels had at least a few downloaded mp3s. The agency even works to perpetuate music downloading, as it is quite handy as a trumped-up charge.
"Uh, just a minute," says Mr. Levan, "Come in, why don't you." He opens the door all the way, and we file in, Williams leading. Harris' and my main job right now is to be silent and slightly menacing figures in dark sunglasses, and to grab the kid if he tries to run for it.
"I'll send him right down." The older Mr. Levan disappears up the stairs. I hear the conversation between him and his son quite clearly as he tries to get Sean to open the door and come down, but then due to their volume I probably would have even if I didn't have the superior hearing that I do now.
Eventually a door opens and our target appears at the top of the stairs, his father close behind. He has a look on his face that is somewhere between sullen and nervous. He is wearing jeans and a faded black t-shirt from some band's tour. He swallows, taking in our greenish-brown suits and ties and our angular sunglasses. Goaded by his father, he walks down the stairs, taking extra time and gripping the handrail. He is sweating, confused by the message that just showed up on his computer and our appearance.
"Sean Levan?" says Williams. The boy nods. "You will need to come with us for questioning on your illegal music file trading." The boy reaches the bottom of the stairs.
Harris and I move forward to stand to either side of him, faces impassive. He flinches as I handcuff him and put a hand on his shoulder to walk him towards the door. The boy's father starts to speak and then stops as Williams shoots him a look and follows us out the door, closing it behind him. The sun has just set, and it seems in the flat light that all color has leached out of the world.
Mr. Levan does not resist as I push him down into the back seat of the car. No one talks, at least out loud, as we drive back towards the agency with Mr. Levan.
It appears the rebels managed to contact him, I say through my earpiece, I noticed green text show up on his computer screen as we drove up.
Yes, says Williams, But other than that it went well. He is confused, and unsure as to what is really happening. That may work to our advantage.
A relatively short time later we pull up at the agency headquarters. Night has fully fallen, and as Mr. Levan surely notices, we are still wearing our sunglasses. And we don't look stupid, which is hard (at least for humans) to pull off when wearing sunglasses at night. This time we park in the underground garage at a spot right next to the elevator, for easier transport of Mr. Levan. I notice one of the other agency Lincolns is gone. A quick check and I find the other two teams are out; one with the car checking a possible glitch near Santa Cruz (quite a hotspot for glitches) and the other on the trail of a dangerous exile in Sacramento.
Harris and I manhandle Mr. Levan out of the car and into the elevator, going down a few levels to the interrogation rooms. We put him in room number one and leave, locking the door. It is always best to leave someone alone with their thoughts for some time before interrogating them. Lets them get good and nervous. And for potential rebels that are movie fans, lets them notice how the room they are sitting in is identical to the one in the film, and think about what we look like compared to the movie.
Harris and I wait by the elevator for Williams. He did not come down the first time with us so as to put a little more distance and fear into Mr. Levan when he is interrogated. Again, like in the movie, Williams will do the talking and we will stand around and look menacing. And physically restrain him when it is time for him to be bugged. And he will be bugged, no matter what he says or does under interrogation.
The first movie was incredibly accurate on its own as to what goes on in an interrogation, and after it came out agents were ordered to follow it as exactly as possible, so as to create the maximum amount of mental dissonance in interrogation subjects who know The Matrix, if not the matrix.
Once a few minutes have passed, we enter the room. Williams leads, carrying the file on Mr. Levan, and Harris comes in last. Mr. Levan is sitting in his chair, hands gripping the armrests so tightly that his knuckles are white. Harris and I move to stand in the corners of the room, blocking Mr. Levan from the door. Williams places the file on the metal table and sits down in the other chair. He very carefully and deliberately opens the file and flips through the pages inside.
"You've been... very busy, Mr. Levan," says Williams, "With all that time you had to run your illegal file server, I would have thought you'd be able to find some time to score higher than a..." Williams glances down at one of the papers in the file, "'D' on that last Economics exam."
Mr. Levan whimpers slightly.
Williams closes the file and stares levelly at the scared young man. "We know you have been contacted by a... certain organization. Specifically, a man called Ajax." He removes his sunglasses, folds them, and places them to one side on the table, keeping eye contact with Mr. Levan. Williams has very intense light blue eyes, like all of us.
"This man is a terrorist, plain and simple," says Williams. The word terrorist has extra meaning now, and we play it to full advantage. "Help us get to him, and these unfortunate charges," he drops his eyes briefly to the file folder, "Will be dealt with. Otherwise..." Williams folds his hands in front of him on the table. "Well?"
I can see Mr. Levan just itching to respond as in the movie, curling his hands into fists. But he stops before going through with it. He is plainly thinking that all this is completely crazy.
"No," he says. "I don't know what's really going on here, but I do know I ain't talking to you. I want a lawyer."
Williams sighs, and slowly puts his sunglasses back on. "I am sorry to hear that, Mr. Levan. But tell me, have you ever heard of the PATRIOT Act? "
Mr. Levan is obviously confused. This isn't how it's supposed to go. He bites his lip, and doesn't say anything.
"No? No matter. What it basically says is that due to your terrorist connection, we can do anything we like with you, and there is nothing you can do about it." Williams raises his eyebrows, and initializes the mouth melting program. A simple and minor manipulation of code. It won't do to have him screaming while he's being bugged, after all, and easier to convince his mind later that it was all a dream, if something so unreal happens.
It takes Mr. Levan a moment to realize what is happening, though he has been waiting for it ever since he was manhandled into the room. He reacts predictably, trying to scream and failing, and scrabbling at the place where his mouth should be. He jumps up out of his chair and into a crouch, totally on the defensive.
Get him, Williams sends over our link. Harris and I move forward. Mr. Levan flails out at us, and I catch one of his fists in my hand, and squeeze. I feel small bones crack beneath my fingers. Oops. We pull him onto the table as he struggles.
Williams appears at our side, taking a small metal case out of his jacket pocket and pulling out a single bug. It is much smaller than the one in the movie, though as he holds it over Mr. Levan it shifts in exactly the right way, into something that looks like a miniature crawfish crossed with a metallic octopus. It serves as a trace and monitoring program within the matrix, and is also packed with a few select programs; to knock him out and interfere with the rebel's trace program should they give him the red pill without removing the bug first.
Williams drops the bug onto Mr. Levan's face. I shift one hand to grip his forehead, holding his head still as the bug crawls right up Mr. Levan's nose, for variety.
His eyes bug out and he spasms as the bug anchors itself in his nasal cavity. Once secure, the bug releases a fast-acting soporific and Mr. Levan passes out, to everyone's relief. His eyes roll back and he relaxes onto the table. Harris and I release our grips on him and straighten up. Agent Williams in turn ends the program keeping his mouth, well, not there. With the reappearance of his mouth Mr. Levan starts to snore.
"That went as expected," says Williams, eyes on the unconscious Mr. Levan.
"Yes," I say. "We'll need to transport him back to his bed. And-"
"His parent's memories wiped of or encounter. Both-" says Harris.
"Simple tasks," says Williams.
And they both are. A minor change to the code of our offices and Mr. Levan's house, and it is done. The older Mr. Levan flips the channel on the television and it stutters over the same program. He doesn't think anything of it. Must have hit the button on the remote wrong. And the young Mr. Levan lies sprawled on his bed, snoring.
The three of us agents move to a conference room and monitor the signals from the bug. We also monitor the signals from Mr. Levan's computer and household telephone, ready to transfer immediately to San Jose should we get a trace on the rebels involved with Mr. Levan.