08-15-2016, 05:15 PM
Even before Beto stepped off the plane onto the jetway, he could feel the difference in the air. The plane's air conditioning had kept things a constant 72, which was good enough for him. But once the doors were opened and the air of New Mexico began to fill the cabin, he felt warm. His collar already began to dampen with perspiration and the dry air seemed to assault his nose. He could feel his nasal passages seem to shrivel and open up.
It would be wrong to judge a place from what he'd seen from 40,000 feet in the air, but the reality was not much better. And he was not impressed. Not that he expected to be. There was history here, to be sure, but that never interested him, except where it intersected with his work. The legal maneuvers the Federal Government had used in their dealings with the various tribes; the treaties with their varied requirements and concessions; the abrogation of those treaties by the very same Federal Government. It was a work in progress, but it had gotten better over time. But that didn't mean he had to be impressed by the native artwork and architecture, either. Any more so than he was impressed by those of his native New York or in Washington. Buildings meant little to Beto.
No. He was here now because this was the beginning of a new world- a world in which things had changed. And that meant that he had to understand that change. He had to know what it meant for him and for society. The feel of chaos and lack of structure bothered him like the tag on the back of a shirt, irritating him with its constant presence until he could make it fit somewhere. And now it felt like someone was moving around behind his back, doing things. It bothered him.
As a Federal Prosecutor with the requisite seniority and clout, he had made it clear to the AG that this case- involving individuals from multiple indigenous tribes and on Federally protected land- and the newly revealed power- could not be shunted off to a subordinate. The ramifications with the various Native Tribes and their increasing political presence were far too large. Of course he did not add that he had a personal interest in this case. The curiosity seemed to burn in him. Of what he didn't know. He only knew that the itch was back and he had to be here and see where things were going.
He was shown to his room at whatever hotel it was that Justice had arranged for him. He knew the name if he really cared to, but such things weren't important until they became important. And after a shower and a change of clothing, he was sitting in a car, reviewing the facts of the case as was currently known. The BIA representative was with him, claiming jurisdiction of this or that facet, or knowledge of this or that feature but Beto ignored him. He'd listened to the man once, noted his information, and dismissed him from his mind, certainly not interested in placating the man or mollifying his feelings.
After a time walking through one doorway and gateway after another in the Albuquerque prison- and sweating into another collar and t-shirt- he was finally outside the room where Ms. Makawee was currently being kept. Interrogation. Special Agent Sheridon was there, along with a few of his junior agents, as well as a couple of MP guards called up from whatever National Guard was on duty this week, with rifles across their chests. Beto smiled inwardly at the ineffectiveness of it all. If Ms. Makawee could do even remotely what Nikolai Brandon, a man who claimed the mantle of godhood, could do, there was little here that could stop her. Through the mirror he watched her, sitting at the table in the stoic way that betrayed that she was scared and uncertain. He wondered if the temperature was increased in that room.
One person he did not see was he representative. "Where is Ms. Makawee's counsel?"
to no one in particular.
A few puzzled looks and then Sheridon answered. "We have not allowed her counsel in. Given the special nature..." his words trailed off at Beto's blank stare. He did not use it often- certainly not with winning a jury over- but in cutting through bureaucratic red tape, he wielded it like a hammer. Cases had to be airtight from the beginning. There could be no opportunity for the defense to have any testimony thrown out because of procedural error.
"Ms. Makawee is entitled to counsel, gentlemen. You may not appreciate the protections the constitutions affords us until you need them yourself. But should you do, you would do well to hope that the prosecution is as meticulous as I am. Now please escort her counsel in so they may confer in private. Then we will get started."
The Agent looked at him as if challenging and Beto merely stared at him dispassionately until he looked away. He whispered to one of the other agents and the man left the room. Beto dismissed them from his mind. Instead, he studied the girl through the glass, trying to fit her into his world. The curiosity was there again, waiting. Would god finally reveal himself to him? After all this time of hiding, had he decided to show himself to Beto?
Edited by Beto, Aug 15 2016, 05:15 PM.
It would be wrong to judge a place from what he'd seen from 40,000 feet in the air, but the reality was not much better. And he was not impressed. Not that he expected to be. There was history here, to be sure, but that never interested him, except where it intersected with his work. The legal maneuvers the Federal Government had used in their dealings with the various tribes; the treaties with their varied requirements and concessions; the abrogation of those treaties by the very same Federal Government. It was a work in progress, but it had gotten better over time. But that didn't mean he had to be impressed by the native artwork and architecture, either. Any more so than he was impressed by those of his native New York or in Washington. Buildings meant little to Beto.
No. He was here now because this was the beginning of a new world- a world in which things had changed. And that meant that he had to understand that change. He had to know what it meant for him and for society. The feel of chaos and lack of structure bothered him like the tag on the back of a shirt, irritating him with its constant presence until he could make it fit somewhere. And now it felt like someone was moving around behind his back, doing things. It bothered him.
As a Federal Prosecutor with the requisite seniority and clout, he had made it clear to the AG that this case- involving individuals from multiple indigenous tribes and on Federally protected land- and the newly revealed power- could not be shunted off to a subordinate. The ramifications with the various Native Tribes and their increasing political presence were far too large. Of course he did not add that he had a personal interest in this case. The curiosity seemed to burn in him. Of what he didn't know. He only knew that the itch was back and he had to be here and see where things were going.
He was shown to his room at whatever hotel it was that Justice had arranged for him. He knew the name if he really cared to, but such things weren't important until they became important. And after a shower and a change of clothing, he was sitting in a car, reviewing the facts of the case as was currently known. The BIA representative was with him, claiming jurisdiction of this or that facet, or knowledge of this or that feature but Beto ignored him. He'd listened to the man once, noted his information, and dismissed him from his mind, certainly not interested in placating the man or mollifying his feelings.
After a time walking through one doorway and gateway after another in the Albuquerque prison- and sweating into another collar and t-shirt- he was finally outside the room where Ms. Makawee was currently being kept. Interrogation. Special Agent Sheridon was there, along with a few of his junior agents, as well as a couple of MP guards called up from whatever National Guard was on duty this week, with rifles across their chests. Beto smiled inwardly at the ineffectiveness of it all. If Ms. Makawee could do even remotely what Nikolai Brandon, a man who claimed the mantle of godhood, could do, there was little here that could stop her. Through the mirror he watched her, sitting at the table in the stoic way that betrayed that she was scared and uncertain. He wondered if the temperature was increased in that room.
One person he did not see was he representative. "Where is Ms. Makawee's counsel?"
to no one in particular.
A few puzzled looks and then Sheridon answered. "We have not allowed her counsel in. Given the special nature..." his words trailed off at Beto's blank stare. He did not use it often- certainly not with winning a jury over- but in cutting through bureaucratic red tape, he wielded it like a hammer. Cases had to be airtight from the beginning. There could be no opportunity for the defense to have any testimony thrown out because of procedural error.
"Ms. Makawee is entitled to counsel, gentlemen. You may not appreciate the protections the constitutions affords us until you need them yourself. But should you do, you would do well to hope that the prosecution is as meticulous as I am. Now please escort her counsel in so they may confer in private. Then we will get started."
The Agent looked at him as if challenging and Beto merely stared at him dispassionately until he looked away. He whispered to one of the other agents and the man left the room. Beto dismissed them from his mind. Instead, he studied the girl through the glass, trying to fit her into his world. The curiosity was there again, waiting. Would god finally reveal himself to him? After all this time of hiding, had he decided to show himself to Beto?
Edited by Beto, Aug 15 2016, 05:15 PM.