Truth, by Omission Read online

  Anna returns a few minutes later with a policeman. “Alfred, we’re going to get a counsel room. Come on.” She leads the way out and down the hall; she’s been here before and knows her way around. She takes us to a room with a table and four chairs, and no cameras in it. She’s all business and sits across the table from me. I’d like to have her right beside me, but somehow it’s comforting to have her sitting across the table, taking charge. The situation feels a little more under control.

  “Okay, Freddie,” she begins. “They can’t hear what we are saying in here. But here’s the first thing, we shouldn’t even be in here. The police don’t realize what’s going on. They’re treating you like this is a state extradition warrant, but it’s federal so you essentially don’t have any rights, no Miranda rights, no indictment hearing, technically not even a right to counsel. Basically you lose all your constitutional rights once the State Department has signed the extradition warrant. But since they haven’t given any details yet this is probably a provisional arrest. We’ve got to keep our fingers crossed and hope that this is just a major screwup by some bureaucrat.

  “Once these cops here clue in, it’s possible they’ll throw us out of this room. They won’t have to give me access to you.

  “Steve’s going to contact the US Attorney’s Office directly. He’s coming down here but he’s going to try to find out what’s going on first. If he can reach them, he might be able to work something out.”

  I’m only half listening to what she says. I cover my face with my hands and shake my head from side to side. “I’m so sorry, Anna.”

  “Don’t be sorry, Alfred. This is just some kind of major screwup. Steve will sort it out. It’s around four o’clock right now. I just hope he can get in touch with the office before the end of the day. He said he’d be here within thirty minutes, so it shouldn’t be long. Now, while we wait, tell me what happened at the clinic. How did the arrest go down?”

  I tell her exactly what I can remember, but already it seems fuzzy, like a dream. And then I ask her, “Anna, what if it’s not a screwup?”

  “That’s impossible. Of course it’s a screwup.”

  “But what if it’s not?”

  Anna narrows her eyes and looks hard at me. “Then it means you’re a criminal felon in a foreign country.” She goes on to add, “But that’s not possible. You haven’t even been out of the United States since you got citizenship. That was more than ten years ago.” She stops to think for a moment. “It’d have to be something from France, or maybe Tanzania.”

  I just sit there dumbly, letting her puzzle over it all, adding nothing to help her connect the dots which I’ve already connected in my own mind.

  There’s a knock at the door and it opens. Steve May enters as both Anna and I stand up. He gives Anna a hug, and she thanks him for coming down so fast. Steve reaches over the table to shake my hand, but pauses and walks around the table, grabbing my hand and pulling me in for a hug. “Alfred,” is all he says. I can tell he’s at a bit of a loss, wavering between professionalism and informality. Professionalism wins out; he returns to the other side of the table and we all take seats.

  “I spoke with Larry Jamieson on my way over here,” Steve says. Jamieson is the US Attorney in Colorado. He’s well known in the area and I’ve seen him at social events but never actually met him. “He’s confirmed that this is a provisional arrest ordered through the US Department of State, but he doesn’t know any more than that. He does say that they’ll have to get you in front of a magistrate within twenty-four hours. Larry’s promised to assign it to Laura Abroud. That’s a big favor to us. She’ll be reasonable at least, and Anna and I both have a good relationship with her. Larry said he’d have Laura get the indictments to us as soon as they have them. Let’s see if we can figure out what’s going on here. What can you tell me, Alfred?”

  I shrug my shoulders.

  Anna speaks up, trying to sound hopeful. “It’s all got to be some mistake, Steve.”

  He looks at her and then back to me. His eyes narrow ever so slightly as he focuses in on me. I know he is preparing to read whatever body language and facial cues I might send out. He’s an experienced lawyer, a good one. He’s also a friend, but he’s still much more objective than Anna could ever be.

  “Okay.” Steve starts over. “We know it’s a federal extradition warrant. That means it’s got to be a serious felony. Countries don’t deal with each other over shoplifting infractions. And because they’ve ordered the provisional arrest without all the documentation in hand, it probably means they consider you a flight risk if you got wind of an arrest. Did you have any idea this was coming?” he asks.

  I am truly perplexed and just shake my head.

  “Have you any idea, any idea at all, what it could be about?”

  I answer him honestly. “It’s got to be Africa.”

  “What about France? Were you ever in any trouble there? Anything?”

  “No, nothing. Nothing I can think of.”

  “What other countries have you been to?”

  “Just France and the US. And Africa.”

  “Not Mexico? What about Canada? Ever vacation there?”

  I shake my head.

  “What about in Europe? Did you ever travel outside France?”

  Again I shake my head. Steve is making notes, but I can’t tell if they are about my answers or about me.

  “All right. Could be France. But you think Africa. Where have you been in Africa? Which countries?”

  “Tanzania—”

  “When?”

  “I left in 1998.”

  “Never been back?”

  “No. Never. I’ve never been back to Africa since I left.”

  “Any other places in Africa? Any other countries?”

  “Yes. Rwanda. Zaire, but it’s the Congo now. Maybe Uganda.”

  “When?”

  “Before Tanzania. Before 1994,” I say.

  Steve retrieves a paper from his briefcase and looks down it.

  “The United States doesn’t have extradition treaties with either Uganda or Rwanda, so it’s got to be either the Congo or Tanzania. Or France, especially if it’s some mistake.”

  “It’s got to be France then,” Anna interjects. “There’s been a mistake in France.” Anna is still clinging to a hope that I know is useless.

  The three of us look at each other. There is no sense in holding back any longer. They must surely be able to read the guilt on my face.

  “It’s Africa,” I state.

  “How can you be sure?” Steve asks.

  “Because things happened in Africa. It’s Africa.”

  Anna recesses in thought. Steve looks at me as if trying to read more from my face. I want more words to come out. I want to explain more, but I am so ashamed I can’t say them. I put my elbows on the table and sink my face into my hands. I don’t want to look at them; I don’t want to see their reactions to what I’ve just told them, especially Anna’s. I don’t want to look at her.

  Steve is very logical, professional. “Alfred,” he says. “How old were you when you left Africa?” His voice is steady, giving off no sign of judgment.

  I don’t even lift my face from my hands. “Twenty.”

  “Twenty when you left Tanzania?”

  I nod a bit into my hands.

  “How old when you entered Tanzania?”

  “Almost sixteen.”

  Anna is a lawyer; she understands where Steve is going with this, but I haven’t even tried to figure it out. She stands up and leans forward on the table. “That’s right, Steve. He was a minor. He was a minor in Africa. The US won’t extradite a minor.”

  “We won’t extradite a minor, but I’ll have to do some research on whether we can extradite for crimes committed as a minor,” he says. “And again, it might depend on which country.”
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br />   I’m not really paying a lot of attention to their exchange. I hear it, but don’t want to think about it. I’ve started to drift back to events that I’ve spent two decades trying to erase, scrubbing hard over the years to expunge all memory. There’s a battle going on in my mind as people and places begin to flash before me while I struggle to not see them, to continue to push them from my reality.

  Steve asks another question, which jars me back to the present. “Alfred, who is Azikiwe? Who is Azikiwe Olyontombo?”

  Anna hasn’t seen the arrest warrant yet, so she is confused by the question and looks to Steve. “Who?”

  He replies to her by reading directly from a copy of the arrest warrant. “Azikiwe Olyontombo. That’s who’s named here. It says ‘Alfred’ is an alias.”

  “Freddie?” Her look at me pleads for an explanation.

  “I am Azikiwe,” I say. “I was Azikiwe … once. I was born Azikiwe Olyontombo.”

  A slight lift of eyebrows asks me for more information.

  “I changed my name to Alfred when I went to Tanzania.”

  “Why?” Anna asks.

  “To escape.”

  Steve interjects. “To escape? The law?”

  “No,” I say. “To escape Azikiwe.”

  Anna is lost for words. Perhaps she is also lost for thoughts. I am sure Steve has more questions, but he must also be able to read the turmoil in me and perhaps the tension that is starting to build between Anna and me. “Look,” he says. “It’s almost five o’clock, that’s the middle of the night in Africa. If the State Department doesn’t have the full indictment by now they’re not going to get it until tomorrow. I’ll go do a little research. Anna, if we leave Alfred, they’re probably going to put him in a lockup. You might want to stay here with him for a while. I’ll have some food sent in. As long as he’s with a lawyer they won’t put him in a cell.”

  “What about bail?” Anna asks. “Can we get a hearing first thing in the morning?”

  “I’m going to reach out to Laura Abroud and see what she might do. But technically there is no bail for federal extraditions.”

  “Shit,” Anna says. “How long can all this take? How long can they keep him here?”

  Steve shrugs. “Depends on the country and the treaties. Sometimes these things happen very fast. Could be right away or could be months.” He stands and puts his notes into his briefcase. “Unfortunately, it isn’t looking like much can happen before tomorrow. But if Laura has anything I’ll get right back to you.”

  He extends his hand across the table, and I stand to shake it, still shamed, not wanting to look him in the eye. “Thanks, Steve,” I mumble. “I’m sorry about this, Steve. I’m sorry, Anna.” I reach out and pull her close, burying my face in her hair. My embrace of her is desperate, hers in return is soothing, comforting. Steve lays a hand on Anna’s shoulder, giving her a firm squeeze and a nod before leaving.

  It’s awkward, alone here now with Anna. I am trying to think back, over the entire time of our knowing each other, to when such an awkwardness might have taken place between us. There hasn’t been one, not for any reason, in the whole seventeen years. There have been times when Africa came up, but they were only moments, explained away by my careful sidestepping of the issue, telling only part of the story, conveniently leaving out those memories that I fought so hard to dismiss. I’d become somewhat expert at avoiding the past, burying it, omitting it, almost completely, by telling the truth but not the whole truth and justifying it all by never quite lying. My deceits have only been possible because of the pure virtue of Anna. She’s known all along that I am hiding and avoiding the terrible things in my past. I think that her nature is too trusting to know how much I practice my avoidance of the whole truth. She believes me; she doesn’t think I would lie to her. And I haven’t. But she knows there are things I don’t talk about, and she has never pushed me, never made them an issue. Now they have become an issue.

  I never expected Africa to become a problem like this though, never expected the law to hunt me down and bring me to accounting. I always thought payback would come through karma, like the death of Stephanie, perhaps my failure as a doctor, perhaps the failure of my marriage. I’ve always harbored these fears of the good things in my life going bad. My ultimate payback would be for Anna to leave me. And she most certainly will, now that I have been found out. Even if she doesn’t leave the law is going to separate us—by my incarceration and by the thousands of miles between here and Africa. Maybe even by death. Maybe they still have the death penalty in Africa. Of course they do; why wouldn’t they? If America, the most advanced country on earth, has the death penalty, why wouldn’t African nations? Worse for me than the death penalty would be the pain that this would inflict on Anna. My personal karma is about to be manifest through the pain and suffering of Anna.

  I should have never let myself get involved with her; I am destroying her life. My karma has already taken her baby from her, and now it will take everything else.

  With Steve gone we sit across the table from each other talking out logistics. Anna is hopeful that this mistake can be cleared up before Saturday, before we are due at her parents’ place in Colorado Springs. Choosing to avoid creating more confrontation I don’t bother to tell her that it won’t be. She’ll have to call Mark at the clinic and tell him that there was a huge mistake and that it should be cleared up soon, but I won’t make it into the office tomorrow, Friday, the last day before the Christmas long weekend. She’ll have to ask them if they would please cover my appointments for me. It dawns on me that my cell phone and laptop are still at my office and I meekly ask her if she could pick them up. And, I’ll need clean clothes tomorrow. Anna reassuringly offers to look after everything.

  Anna and I spend this last bit of time together trying to pretend that things are seminormal and we make attempts at small talk, but awkwardness pressurizes the room. We speak no more about the what-ifs of my situation, deciding to wait until we see the actual extradition orders and indictment. We deliberately and conveniently avoid talking about my past. Anna wants out, to go home, think things through on her own. I don’t blame her; in fact I’d almost rather not have to face her anymore tonight. Neither of us eat any of the food that Steve sent in, and she leaves around six, telling me that everything will work out, but there is no certainty in her voice, and in a crazy twisted way I’m not sure that I want things to work out.

  Once Anna’s gone I am escorted to a spotless cell, cleaner than I would have imagined, fresh smelling even. A small stainless steel sink projects from the back wall, a one-piece stainless steel toilet sits beside it, and a molded stainless steel bed frame is anchored to the floor along another wall and topped with a heavy mattress. I lie down on the mattress and look up at the ceiling, contemplating my predicament, and then my marriage, and then my career, and then my life. I do this all night long, over and over again. I only know that the night has passed because at one point the lights dim from full brightness to half strength and then back up to full intensity. I start to hear the comings and goings of daytime but pay them no heed, preferring to burrow in my solitude.

  After a sleepless night I’ve decided what I will do. I will excise Anna from all of this as quickly as I can. I owe it to her. It’ll be difficult for her, I know, but it’ll be the best thing. The sooner she is freed of my burdens the better. I’ll suffer my fate alone, without dragging her in any deeper. Hopefully, she will have determined this same course of action on her own last night and we can get on with it smoothly. If she resists, I’ll tell her the whole story. Surely that will convince her to just leave me to my own deserved fate. I feel good about this decision, owning up to things myself, taking responsibility for my actions the way that I should have years ago. I am energized by the fact that I have a plan.

  My musings are interrupted by a guard. “Your lawyer, Mrs. Fraser, is here for you. Let’s go.”

  I
follow the blue line back to where I came from last evening, entering another counsel room, this one the exact same as yesterday, except the table has a tray of sandwiches and muffins with some fruit and two large paper cups of coffee.

  “I have your clothes in the car,” Anna says, surprisingly perky. “And your phone and laptop. I stopped at the clinic on the way here and picked them up. Steve’s talking to the US Attorney’s Office this morning, and he’s going to call the State Department. He’ll petition the court as soon as it opens for a writ of habeas corpus. That’ll at least get you in front of a judge, and hopefully get you out of here.”

  “I thought there was no bail for these kinds of things?” I say.

  “There is no bail in extradition cases, but they still have to show some cause for holding you. They still have to show an indictment, and they haven’t done that yet. If they don’t by the end of the day, we’ll argue that there is some mistake. Maybe get them to drop the provisional arrest.”

  “Thank you for the food, Anna. I’m starved.” I haven’t eaten since a quick lunch in my office yesterday. Taking the lid off one of the cups of coffee, I inhale the aroma and take a sip.

  “Mark left a dozen messages yesterday,” Anna says. “So, I called him at home last night and told him we think there is a big misunderstanding. I saw him at the clinic this morning, and he said not to worry about your appointments. They’ll take care of them.”

  I nod my head as Anna continues. “He also mentioned that someone from the Sun Valley Herald had already been in this morning to ask them what happened there yesterday.”

  “Nothing goes down in that neighborhood without everyone knowing about it,” I say. “What did he tell them?”

  “Just what I told him last night. That there was a big mistake and it would be taken care of today.”