GREGORY PUT ON WHAT HE COULD AND WASHED HIS FACE WITH COLD WATER, IN AN ATTEMPT TO EASE THE SORE SLEEP HE FELT. Before leaving, he took another painkiller and put the bottle in his pocket.
He might need it...
He was soon at the police station, looking for those people. When he arrived, he immediately saw the huge herd of journalists surrounding the building, hungry for some scoop. As he passed through that crowd, he found some agents from the bureau and also the local police officers. With his credentials in hand, he was allowed access to the place where the interrogation was taking place.
The team in charge did not let him in, so he decided to just watch what was being said. Only Fadiq Al Faruj's family was there; his friend's relatives had already been released.
The parents were already of a certain age, a man with thinning hair and a stocky body and a thin woman with a long, sharp nose, who protected herself behind her burqa from the strangers. There was also the boy's younger brother, who must have been only nine years old.
Greg was outraged to see a child being exposed to such a situation, but he refrained from saying anything. The three of them were showing great distress, and it was no wonder, because even if they were complacent with radical ideals, seeing their son die must not have been so easy. And now they were under such public pressure.
The woman insisted on speaking Persian, crying and praying. The boy did not say a word, he just looked on without understanding what was happening around him. Only the father communicated, in poor English and with few words, with the agents.
He repeated:
— Innocent! That's it! Don't you understand? I wouldn't do that! Scapegoat!
There was no Persian translator on site, which made communicating with the woman very difficult.
Greg observed the situation for a few minutes. He was anxious about the difficult development that everything had taken, until one of the agents responsible for the work managed to get some information out of the man:
— Let's calm down, just answer my questions. — said the agent.
— Yes, yes. That's what I'm saying! — replied the old man, confused. — Expiatory!
— How long have you been living here? Speak slowly.
— Five years, sir...
— Why did you decide to come to the country?
— So... the... children... can study — said the old man, clearly nervous.
— Just stay calm, okay?
— No! I'm not calm about this! They want to incriminate...
— So, you said you came here because of studies?
— Yes, for the children to study.
— The agent didn't seem to take the old Muslim's answers very seriously.
— Are you Islamic?
— Yes, we are, but we were never radical. Far from us, far from us....
— Your son, Fadiq, never showed any sign that he had become radicalized?
— No, he never talked about doing such a thing.
— Do you attend a mosque?
— Yes, we always went to the masjid, back home too.
As the agent prepared to continue questioning, another, probably his superior, came up to him and said:
— You can release them. There's no point in continuing this here.
Greg was paying full attention to the two of them and saw the look of relief on the interrogator's face when he heard that. After that, the two exchanged some information in whispers and he returned, releasing the family:
— We're releasing you for now, but stay in the city, preferably at your home, and be sure to show up if you're called again.
Shaking his head, the Iranian man quickly pulled his wife and son and left, head down, through the police station door, being pressed by the angry crowd of photographers and journalists.
When he passed Gregory Evans, it was possible to notice an apparent effort on the old man's face. He blinked excessively and his facial muscles seemed to contort, as if he were holding back tears. An FBI car took them away. Greg found the way the interrogation was conducted strange, and even more so, how it ended. It was all very superficial, especially considering the enormity of the case.
The Iranian man, however, intrigued him. He had already seen other cases of young people who had died for the terrorist cause, which allowed him to identify certain patterns in his memory. One of them was family acceptance. The parents of deceased suicide bombers never showed sadness for the deaths of their children, they were proud of their deeds and usually answered questions by mentioning the rewards that the young people would receive in eternity. Not this father...
Unhappy with the outcome of his trip and regretting wasting time with that, he returned home discouraged to try to rest a little more.
AFTER SWALLOWING ANOTHER PILL for a headache, he lay down numb and fell asleep.