“Do not think you will necessarily be aware of your own enlightenment.” Dogen WWith Penelope either on her computer or reading and rereading the background information about Walker it had been an early night for Joey. The lack of lively conversation and a shortage of vodka had forced her to turn in before ten. After morning coffee on the deck by the pool and with a promise not to mention anything about what Penelope was up to, Joey headed to her meeting while Penelope got ready to visit the Charleston Consolidated Brig. It was a crisp Chamber of Commerce-pleasing Saturday morning in Charleston, with clear blue skies and a temperature still under seventy degrees at 9 a.m. By noon it would be warm enough to hit the beaches but not too hot for strolling around in the historic district or perusing some outdoor malls. Penelope had to go down several rows in the brig’s parking lot before finding a space for her Prius. She mentally kicked herself for not visualizing a better spot. Inside the clean, modern building she was third in line waiting to speak to the guard at the desk. When it was Penelope’s turn, before she could speak, she heard a deep male voice bark, “Name.” “Michael Walker.” “Your name is Michael Walker?” “No. I want to see Michael Walker. My name is Penelope Spence.” Flipping his clipboard to the second page, he ran his finger down the 22 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin page and checked the “S” section twice. Without looking up he said, “Sorry, you’re not on the list,” while sliding a printed piece of paper in Penelope’s direction as he’d done a thousand times before. Th e second item on the sheet had been highlighted with bright yellow marker. 2. Visitation planning. Visits to prisoners should be coordinated ahead of time by the visitor and the prisoner via mail or phone. This allows the visitor to be approved for a specific day and have their name added to the list for that day. The approved visitor’s name will be added to the list the brig provides to the Perimeter Gate for that day. It is strongly recommend that you not make any air reservations until you are sure visitation for a specific day has been approved and coordinated. Penelope glanced at the sheet. “I’m not a visitor, I’m a reporter.” For the first time, the Chief Petty Officer at the desk glanced up and made eye contact. He was a burly man who looked like he had allowed himself to soften of late, as he approached his thirtieth year in service to his country. With the enthusiasm of a man marking time until retirement, he sized up the woman in front of him, decided he wasn’t impressed, then turned his focus back to his clipboard. “You want to see a detainee?” “Yes.” “Are you his legal representative?” “No.” “Are you his religious advisor?” “No.” “Then you’re a visitor, and your name is not on the list.” The biggest enemies of reporters are gatekeepers. It is the gatekeeper’s job to keep the nosy press out and, since failure to perform their assigned task can result in job termination or worse, some can be quite formidable. “May I speak to your superior offi cer?” “Yes, ma’am,” he said with added emphasis on the “Ma’am”, making it sound like a pejorative. She wondered if he had read Joey’s Southern-to-English dictionary. “Please have a seat over there.” He pointed to a small anteroom with six straight ladder-back chairs aimed towards an offi ce containing a lithe and fit female Commander in a crisp white uniform. Turning his attention back to his list, the guard called, “Next.” Penelope was unsure if she was supposed to take a seat and wait to be 23 The Fourth Awakening acknowledged, or knock on the door. Always one for the direct approach, she tapped lightly on the frame of the open door. Th e offi cer, without looking up from the document she was reading, held up a fi nger to indicate Penelope had made the wrong choice. As the seconds turned into an awkward minute, Penelope finally turned and sat in one of the uncomfortable chairs. The Charleston Brig certainly wasn’t going to win any awards for customer service, but considering the clientele she wasn’t sure she should have expected more. Finally, after reading the document, signing her name to the bottom, and dropping it in her “out” box the officer motioned for Penelope to join her. Before Penelope was situated in one of the two chairs that were of the same vintage and comfort level as the ones in the waiting area, the officer barked crisply, “I’m Commander Durkin, how may I help you?” “I would like to see one of your detainees.” “Your name?” “Penelope Spence.” The Commander scanned a piece of paper that appeared to be the identical twin of the one at the front desk and said. “I’m sorry, but you’re not on the list.” She reached for a form with “Item 2” highlighted and started to push it toward Penelope.” Penelope held up her hand. “Already have a copy, thank you. I’m a reporter, and I would like to speak to one of your detainees, Michael Walker.” Immediately defensive and guarded, Commander Durkin raised her head and studied Penelope. Her eyes were a fierce blue, almost bird-like. “Reporter, you say?” The Charleston Consolidated Brig, which was used by all branches of the services for petty crimes and misdemeanors, had also held some of the world’s most dangerous terrorists. The brig had a checkered history with the press. They didn’t much like each other and neither side was timid about expressing their reasons. The press thought the brig was covering up some kind of torture chamber and the brig thought the press was jeopardizing national security. Reaching for a different list, Durkin scanned it twice. “What news organization do you represent?” “I’m freelance.” “I see.” The Commander became less and less impressed with each passing moment. “Unless you are a detainee’s lawyer or religious advisor, 24 Rod Pennington & Jeffery A. Martin you must be approved in advance…” “I’ve read Item 2,” Penelope said curtly, wishing she could tell the Commander she was working on a story for The Washington Post, but the satisfaction she might receive didn’t justify jeopardizing Mark’s career. “What exactly do I need to do get my name on the list?” “You’re wasting your time, ma’am.” “And why is that?” Commander Durkin checked the sheet of paper in front of her again. This was neither the time nor the place to make a mistake. “We don’t have a Michael Walker currently residing in our facility.” “Would he be on your list if he arrived late last night?” “This list was updated at 6 a.m. this morning.” “And it includes all of the detainees, including those in the high security wing?” With the mention of the high security area, Commander Durkin’s internal warning mechanism clicked from ‘Yellow’ to ‘Red’. “Th is list includes all current detainees as of 6 a.m.” “Would you be willing to verify that for me?” “Ma’am. This list is less than four hours old and it is current. There is no Michael Walker in the Charleston Consolidated Brig.” Penelope had played chicken with gatekeepers many times before. She felt a rush that had been missing from her life for entirely too long, and decided to drop the bomb no gatekeeper ever wanted to hear. “You’re willing to stake your entire military career over a single phone call?” A thick silence settled over the room. The Commander’s first job was to protect the gate. The second was to protect herself. Commander Durkin blinked. She reached for her phone and dialed an extension. She turned away and spoke too softly for Penelope to hear. Returning the phone to its cradle she said, “There is no Michael Walker in the Charleston Consolidated Brig.” Penelope studied Commander Durkin for several seconds to see if her body language gave any clues as to the veracity of her comment. Th e Commander was one tough cookie; Penelope knew what it was like to compete in what was usually considered a man’s world. She could envision her with stars on her shoulders one day. “May I speak to your superior, please?” 25 The Fourth Awakening “Captain Fredrick does not work on Saturdays, but I’m sure you can make an appointment on Monday to see him, ma’am.” Penelope knew when she was beaten and rose to her feet. “Th ank you very much. I won’t take up any more of your time.” Back outside, as Penelope pulled her keys out of her purse and headed back to her car she kept working the possibilities over in her mind. Th ere were a limited number of options. Walker either was or wasn’t in the brig. If he was there, then either Commander Durkin was lying or someone was lying to her. Either seemed plausible. If the government was holding Walker incommunicado, then his name would likely be omitted from anything put in writing. On the other hand, if he wasn’t there, then Mark’s great tip from his all-powerful source was a dud. She was so immersed in thought as she drove out of the brig’s parking lot that she failed to notice the black Suburban with dark tinted windows pulling out behind her.