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Authors: Lloyd Johnson
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longer than twenty-four hours. We’ve got to let him go. We know how to reach him if needed.”
“I’d like to meet him. That would help in my report to FBI headquarters. Impressions can be valuable.”
“No problem. I’ll take you back.”
“Oh, one more thing,” Gordon added. “I could recommend to FBI headquarters that they contact the State Department to put a hold on Najid’s passport for sixty days if he’s at risk to flee the country. But assuming he’s innocent, it could trigger airport security computers long into the future.”
Richard bit his lower lip, shaking his head. “He’s here on a Fulbright Scholarship in graduate school at the University of Washington. We can check on him periodically. I think he’s clean and I would rather not do that to him. Let’s go.” They walked to the hallway and the holding cells.
Najid lay on his bunk, staring at the ceiling. His arms were folded over his chest. Time passed so slowly. He had nothing to read, no radio, no contact with the outside world. He wondered what it wouldbe like to remain in jail for months, or years. Several of his West Bank friends had spent years in “administrative detention” just for throwing a stone at an Israeli army tank. Now what would they do with him as a foreigner? His eyes closed. Then he heard footsteps. Najid rose on seeing two men opening his cell door.
“Najid, I’m sorry. I didn’t introduce myself when we first met. I’m Richard Hunt, Seattle Police Detective, and this is Gordon Appleby, with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
Najid extended both hands to shake with each man, bowed slightly, and said nothing. His hands clammy with cold sweat embarrassed him.
Had they found something to make them charge him with the crime?
“I’m pleased to meet you, Najid.” Gordon Appleby smiled. He towered over Najid’s six-foot frame. “I hope you understand that we in the United States have experienced another terrorist attack and are quickly investigating every possible lead to find who did it.”
“I understand, sir.” He looked the FBI agent in the eye and shook his head. “But I didn’t do it.”
“I sympathize with you. It must seem very unfair to you to be singled out for incarceration when you are a guest in our country and a Fulbright Scholar. I would like to hear a bit of your story, how you happened to come to America, and what you are doing at the university. Please, sit down.”
Najid wondered what they were trying to get out of him. But his best defense seemed to be the truth. So he began his story, including how he came to be standing in front of the synagogue when the bomb went off. He told of his friendship with Ashley. And he detailed everything he remembered about what he’d seen and heard before the explosion, which wasn’t much. He desperately wanted to help them find whoever hurt Ashley. He shook his head and grimaced. “I wish I had been paying more attention.”
The FBI agent then had a few questions. After several minutes he seemed to be satisfied and Najid began to relax.
“Well, Najid, we appreciate your being forthright with us.”
“Forthright? I don’t know that word.”
“Honest,” Richard spoke up. “You have cooperated fully with us, and now we have some good news for you. We have found nothingto incriminate you and are not bringing any charges. You are free to leave, and I will drive you home.”
Najid sighed, his shoulders and head dropped. He closed his eyes to blink back the tears, shook hands with both men, and walked out to the car into freedom.
Chapter 17
Robert had rarely used the room he still leased in a small Victorian home on Capitol Hill. He decided to move back to his room quietly and gradually. None of the brothers, including Ali, knew the address. The large bedroom up the narrow stairs served as a studio apartment. It looked and smelled old, with faded floral wallpaper. But it would do to keep him out of view. He would show up at the
“I’d like to meet him. That would help in my report to FBI headquarters. Impressions can be valuable.”
“No problem. I’ll take you back.”
“Oh, one more thing,” Gordon added. “I could recommend to FBI headquarters that they contact the State Department to put a hold on Najid’s passport for sixty days if he’s at risk to flee the country. But assuming he’s innocent, it could trigger airport security computers long into the future.”
Richard bit his lower lip, shaking his head. “He’s here on a Fulbright Scholarship in graduate school at the University of Washington. We can check on him periodically. I think he’s clean and I would rather not do that to him. Let’s go.” They walked to the hallway and the holding cells.
Najid lay on his bunk, staring at the ceiling. His arms were folded over his chest. Time passed so slowly. He had nothing to read, no radio, no contact with the outside world. He wondered what it wouldbe like to remain in jail for months, or years. Several of his West Bank friends had spent years in “administrative detention” just for throwing a stone at an Israeli army tank. Now what would they do with him as a foreigner? His eyes closed. Then he heard footsteps. Najid rose on seeing two men opening his cell door.
“Najid, I’m sorry. I didn’t introduce myself when we first met. I’m Richard Hunt, Seattle Police Detective, and this is Gordon Appleby, with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
Najid extended both hands to shake with each man, bowed slightly, and said nothing. His hands clammy with cold sweat embarrassed him.
Had they found something to make them charge him with the crime?
“I’m pleased to meet you, Najid.” Gordon Appleby smiled. He towered over Najid’s six-foot frame. “I hope you understand that we in the United States have experienced another terrorist attack and are quickly investigating every possible lead to find who did it.”
“I understand, sir.” He looked the FBI agent in the eye and shook his head. “But I didn’t do it.”
“I sympathize with you. It must seem very unfair to you to be singled out for incarceration when you are a guest in our country and a Fulbright Scholar. I would like to hear a bit of your story, how you happened to come to America, and what you are doing at the university. Please, sit down.”
Najid wondered what they were trying to get out of him. But his best defense seemed to be the truth. So he began his story, including how he came to be standing in front of the synagogue when the bomb went off. He told of his friendship with Ashley. And he detailed everything he remembered about what he’d seen and heard before the explosion, which wasn’t much. He desperately wanted to help them find whoever hurt Ashley. He shook his head and grimaced. “I wish I had been paying more attention.”
The FBI agent then had a few questions. After several minutes he seemed to be satisfied and Najid began to relax.
“Well, Najid, we appreciate your being forthright with us.”
“Forthright? I don’t know that word.”
“Honest,” Richard spoke up. “You have cooperated fully with us, and now we have some good news for you. We have found nothingto incriminate you and are not bringing any charges. You are free to leave, and I will drive you home.”
Najid sighed, his shoulders and head dropped. He closed his eyes to blink back the tears, shook hands with both men, and walked out to the car into freedom.
Chapter 17
Robert had rarely used the room he still leased in a small Victorian home on Capitol Hill. He decided to move back to his room quietly and gradually. None of the brothers, including Ali, knew the address. The large bedroom up the narrow stairs served as a studio apartment. It looked and smelled old, with faded floral wallpaper. But it would do to keep him out of view. He would show up at the
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