Ch.12

New York City, New York

December 12, 1945

Release Frederick Anton Reiker

An innocent man gunned down last fall is alive and well. He is in the hands of the beloved United States Government who puts others on trial for their war crimes yet will never receive scrutiny for its own actions. Reiker is being held against his will in a sewer below New York City. Sources say that he is being tortured for not having information about supposed German Technology that was stolen for the U.S. Government by John Walker. Walker was betrayed by his own country after discovering the "secret" plans that the government has for the technology. FBI is involved in cover-up, and the country puts its faith in criminal activity to catch criminals. Infiltrated or stupid?

Mr. Pierce has gone pale.

"Now, you will help us release him or be at risk of being in there with him," Charlene says, "Which do you choose?"

He shakes his head in disbelief. "We'll all be thrown in there with him if you print that."

"One phone call, and this is printed everywhere in the goddam country. You will work with us because you put him in there. Now, tell us where he is."

I've never heard Charlene use this voice before. It's deathly calm yet threatening.

"Below Times Square."

Charlene narrows her eyes at him. "That's the truth?"

He nods. "I'll get him out."

"Why?" I interject. "Why help us out?"

Mr. Pierce is quiet but with regret on his face. "Because you're right. I put him there. There's no evidence against him. The war's over."

"You're the one in charge of torturing Anton, Mr. Pierce. Why did you do it?"

"Because when a 12 year old girl is the one separating yourself between recognition and being just another man in a top hat, you begin questioning your power. Doing this gave me power. However, I did not want to torture him. I wanted to detain him at most. But then he irritated me." He sighs. "I'm the one who led you here. Did you really think all this happened by coincidence? The first tablets maybe. But do you really think that Charles would have sent you to that asylum had I not left an anonymous tip? You think this is all dumb luck? I wanted you here."

We're all stunned. Charles looks to me to Charlene to Mr. Pierce. No one speaks. The only sound is of the cars going by outside. The cars going by outside.

"Anton's not below Times Square, is he, Mr. Pierce?"

A sick smile spreads across his face as he pulls his gun out. "Now the lovers can die together."

"Anton's here," I whisper.

Then, Charles pulls out a gun. "The FBI is surrounding this place as we speak. You might want to drop your weapon before you get shot in the goddam head, you sick bastard. Now, where is he?"

Mr. Pierce seems shocked. "You, FBI?"

Charlene and I are looking at him in the same way. Charles seems to have suddenly grown a very strong Texan accent. Now. I've never been to Texas, but I reckon that's what a Texan would sound like.

"No, I'm something a lot worse than that, and you've made my country look bad. I don't take too kindly to people going on power trips and kidnapping free men. Reiker served his time and was supposed to be released when the war was officially over. He was supposed to be comfortably assisting in the infirmary of a POW camp. But, no. He 'died' from blood loss from a bullet that clipped his arm. A bullet that shouldn't have even been fired at all. They took your badge, but you thought you would redeem yourself by catching the lost German spy. Now where is he? And this is the last time I'm gonna ask."

Somebody fires a shot, and Mr. Pierce makes a run for it. Charles just watches as he opens the front door. I'm wondering why he doesn't do something when what sounds like a million shots ring out, and we all hit the floor. Mr. Pierce, however, is the last to hit the floor, blood seeping from dozens of gunshot holes.

The FBI enter the house, guns raised and checking the place out. In several places throughout the house we hear "Clear."

"Chief you might wanna take a look at this," one says after opening what appeared to be a closet door. Several men file down the stair just beyond the door.

"It's him," the Chief says. "I need a stretcher. Oh, and uh get those two women out of here."

"But I wanna see Anton!" I protest.

Charlene and I get into Charles's car. We watch as Chief Charles apparently directs the situation. An ambulance pulls up, and a stretcher is wheeled out of the house. I jump out of the car.

"Patty!" Charlene calls.

Several FBI men step between me and the stretcher. "You can see him at the hospital," someone tells me as I watch the ambulance take Anton away once more.

I hurriedly hop back into Charles's car and yell for Charlene to drive which she happily obliges.

"Patty," Charlene says as she drives manically behind the ambulance, "What in the world just happened?"

"I'm not entirely sure," I reply.

Somehow, there are already FBI at the hospital when we arrive.

"I just wanna see Anton!" I sob when the hospital staff tells me he's resting.

After the shock of the situation wears off, the only thing in the world I have is waiting. I wait while the doctors and nurses go in and out of his room. I wait while the FBI goes in and out of his room. I wait and wait and wait. I give the FBI my statement, and they even make me wait for that.

While I wait, I begin to ponder over everything wondering how I didn't see it. How Charles had such easy access to Mr. Pierce in the first place is a red flag. Everything that seemed circumstantial is now clearly a part of an elaborate plot. It had been Charles's idea to go back to the house. Everything had been Charles. My internship, going to New York City, the nice hotel…

Speaking of Charles, Charlene seems pretty pissed. She sits beside me with her arms crossed not speaking to anyone. She even refused to give a statement at first. I wonder how they will get on after this. They seemed so perfect for each other.

Finally, a nurse comes into the waiting area stopping in front of me, "He's asking for you."

"Well it's about time," Is all I can say and follow her.

I take a deep breath before entering the room.

Anton. But not the Anton I remember. His hair is long, about shoulder length, and he's got a beard. And one of his eyes is black. His wrists have rope burn, and I don't even know if I want to see the rest. I hold my feelings of nausea and the desperation for a trashcan.

"P.B." he says trying to smile.

"Yes, it's me," I whisper.

The nurse takes my elbow and guides me into the chair next to the bed. I hear her say something about me looking pale.

"I'm a free man," Anton whispers.