The FBI agent shoved Shane into a seat in the interrogation room and glared at him. It was the same agent that Shane had thrown during his arrest, though there was hardly any chance of history repeating itself with his hands shackled at his waist.
Shane was confused at being pulled from his cell. This could not be a meeting with Mickey; he had made it clear that they would wait until Monday before figuring out anything further. Roman or Abe would have come to the cell; they had both been by earlier to check on him, but he had not wanted to talk as he dwelled on Kim's visit. And it was night already. Shane knew that because it had been dark outside the windows as he was led through the station and he had been brought a sandwich for dinner at least an hour earlier. So why was he here?
His answer came a few minutes later when the door to the interrogation room opened.
"Tarrington?" Shane was surprised to see his boss - well, his former boss - standing in the doorway.
"Leave us," Tarrington ordered as he stepped inside. The FBI agent complied, closing the door behind him.
Shane watched as Tarrington crossed the room to a corner away from the table and Shane's seat. "I didn't expect you here," Shane said. "I mean . . . I knew you were in Salem, but I figured you'd want to stay as far away from scandal as possible."
"But there is no scandal, Shane," Tarrington replied. "The agency is covered. We did a great deal in the past few days after Devereaux contacted us for comment."
Shane shook his head. "A great deal for the ISA, but you couldn't even warn me? Or let me turn myself in? Instead, I had to be bloody well blindsided in front of my son."
"That was . . . unfortunate," Tarrington said. "But we could not appear to go lightly on you."
"No, I guess not."
Tarrington glanced at the door, as if making sure it was closed. "The Egyptian government is in an uproar; they're threatening to pull out of the coalition in Iraq. And that means-"
"My head on a silver platter." Shane knew exactly what it meant. He stood up, a bit awkwardly because his hands were locked in front of him, and began to pace. "So the AUSA is going to throw the kitchen sink into the indictment. What happened to the ISA lawyers thinking this was all a 'stretch'? Wasn't that what you told me?"
With a shrug, Tarrington answered, "You knew the risks, Shane."
Yes, I did. He could not deny that. He had taken the mission with his eyes open, and there was nothing he could do about it now.
"So what happens next?" he asked.
"Next?" Tarrington raised an eyebrow. "You go to prison, old chap."
Shane fully expected that answer, but maybe not voiced as directly. He still felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. Deep inside, not even really consciously, he had held onto some hope that Tarrington would toss him a lifeline. Shane leaned against the wall and stared up at the ceiling.
"Shane. . . ." He looked back at Tarrington, who was eyeing him closely. "Don't try to fight the charges. You won't win. The documents the government's 'unearthed' are quite damning. And you have no witnesses to help your case. Nobody will believe Johnson once we're done with him, and don't think the members of the ODA are going to come to your side. They'd be risking 10 to 20 years in prison if they did." Tarrington shook his head. "Besides . . . we'll guarantee the judge and jury."
"What?" Shane stared at Tarrington in disbelief. "Why? At least give me a fighting chance in a courtroom."
"I'm sorry, Shane, but that's not possible." Tarrington did not look at all disturbed. "The political risks are far too great. So I'm here to tell you. Don't fight this. If you do, you'll spend the rest of your life in prison."
Shane tried to raise his hands, but they caught on the chain latching the cuffs to his waist. He began to pace, trying to think. He had given the ISA more than 15 years of his life and they were not only going to leave him to fend for himself - which he could accept - but they were going to do everything in their power to ensure his conviction. Don't fight this. That was the message. Shane stopped pacing, realizing there was more to Tarrington's choice of words. "And if I don't fight . . . . There's a deal on the table?"
Tarrington smiled. "You always were a smart chap. We've spoken to the Department of Justice and they've agreed to a possible outcome that will appease our Egyptian allies and . . . well, let's just say . . . gives you a more palatable option."
"And what's that?" Shane felt nauseated at the thought, but he needed to know what a plea agreement might be like.
"You plead guilty - to treason so the government can show that it will not brook any actions that could hurt our effort in Iraq. And to one or more of the lesser charges. Most likely expedition against a friendly nation." Tarrington paused. "You'll be sentenced to five years, placed in administrative segregation at a federal penitentiary - we can arrange for it to be one near Salem so your son can visit - and, with good behavior, you'll be released in about three years."
Three years in prison. That was better than life, but still hard to swallow. It also meant he would have to admit to treason. Could he do that? He leaned back against the wall again. "I'll have to think about it."
Tarrington frowned. "There is one other condition to pleading guilty."
Just from Tarrington's tone, Shane knew he was not going to like this. Like I'm supposed to have liked anything he's said so far? he thought, bitterly.
"You're not an American citizen, Shane."
No, Shane thought. He knew what was coming even before Tarrington said it.
"After you serve your sentence, you'll forfeit your residency and be deported immediately to the United Kingdom."
Shane shook his head. "You can't do that," he insisted. "Andrew's here. You're saying I'd have to give up my son."
"Nonsense. You won't have to give him up, Shane." Tarrington looked at him like he failed to understand something obvious. "The boy could still visit you. It would just have to be outside the United States."
His mind reeling, Shane tried to process that. What would it mean? He would miss seeing his son grow up. How could he calm his son after a bad dream or give him advice on women - or just teach him what he needed to become a man - if Shane was stuck across the Atlantic? Even when Andrew was in California the year before, it was just a matter of catching a flight to go visit. And what if something happened to Andrew? If he got hurt. . . . There would be nothing Shane could do to help.
"Deportation is not negotiable, Shane," Tarrington said. "The United States cannot allow a foreigner convicted of treason to remain within its borders."
Shane turned away, still unable to believe this was happening. All I did was try to save Steve. Yes, Shane had been told the risks, but they had been distant and theoretical. This reality was not anything he could have imagined. He took a couple of deep breaths.
"I have to think about this, Tarrington."
"Shane-"
Shane cut him off, sharply. "I said I have to think about it!"
"Very well." Tarrington nodded and started toward the door. "But in case you need a little more impetus to take our quite-generous offer, let me add that . . . as soon as you agree to plead guilty, I will restore the ISA security at your house."
What? That couldn't mean what Shane thought it meant."You didn't," he said, angrily stepping forward. "You pulled the guards? But Kim and Andrew-"
"Are no longer the ISA's concern," Tarrington said.
"Dammit, Tarrington!" Shane was shouting again. "Alfred Jericho could be out there! Or Alamain! You can't just leave them unprotected."
"We can and we have." Tarrington reached the door. "But I assure you that agents will return to the house. All you have to do is agree to plead guilty."
Shane glared at him. You're lucky my hands are cuffed, he thought. I'd rip you in two if I could.
Tarrington knocked on the door and waited for the FBI agent to open it from the other side. Once it opened, Tarrington said, "We're done here." Then, from inside the doorway, he turned back to Shane. "Think about my offer, Shane. And then think about Kimberly and your son. I would hate for anything to happen to them."
"You bloody bastard," Shane said.
"You knew the potential consequences when you chose to put Steve Johnson's life above your own. It's a shame. You were an excellent agent, Shane, but you never learned the most important lesson in our line of work. . . . Anyone is expendable." Tarrington shrugged. "Even you."