Dead Man's Land by Jack Patterson (digital e reader .txt) 📕

there to corroborate how he perceived he was being treated.

He was all alone. No Cal Murphy. No witnesses. Just a slew of questions.

“I don’t understand,” Prado said. “Someone attacked me. I didn’t do anything. Why are you questioning me?”

“Get out of the car,” Waller said.

Prado obeyed Waller’s instructions, pleading his innocence the entire time. “I don’t understand. I was on a bus with my team when two men stopped us and tried to climb aboard and kill me. I didn’t do anything. I just play baseball.”

Waller took a deep breath and glared at Prado.

“I understand that you just play baseball, Mr. Prado. But it’s come to the FBI’s attention that you’ve seen something—something that has attracted the attention of the Cuban government, so much so that they would send someone here to kidnap you and take you back to Havana.”

“I swear I saw nothing.”

Hampton grabbed Prado’s arm and slapped a handcuff on him. He grabbed the other arm and tightened the handcuff onto him.

“What are you doing?” Prado asked. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I doubt you have,” Waller said. “But until you tell us what you saw that necessitated your former country’s government sending two men to brazenly attack your team bus in the middle of the night to capture you, you’re not going anywhere.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Waller shoved Prado against his car and leaned in close. “Don’t play dumb with me. I know you’re smarter than that. We can play this game all day—me asking questions and you playing dumb. But I will grow tired of it, and I’ll take you back to headquarters. And I can promise you that it will be far less pleasant there than here.”

“I’m not lying,” Prado said. “I didn’t see anything. I don’t know why those men are after me.”

“Who are they?”

Prado shrugged, his voice rising an octave after each question. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen them before in my life.”

“Is that so?”

Prado nodded. “I just came here to play baseball—that’s all. I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

Hampton put his hand on Waller’s chest. “Hey, lighten up, Waller. Let me ask him a few questions.”

Waller put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “See what you can do. I’m getting nowhere with him.”

Hampton looked at Prado and furrowed his brow sympathetically. Prado dropped his guard for a moment.

“Never mind, Waller,” Hampton said. “He’s a little grumpy when he doesn’t get a good night’s rest.”

Prado nodded.

“So, tell me. Are you sure you don’t know the men who stopped your team bus in the middle of the night?”

Prado nodded again and artfully dodged the question. “It was dark. I couldn’t see their faces.”

“Okay. Now, according to reports we got, you jumped out of the window almost the minute they came on board. Why did you do that, especially if you didn’t know who they were?”

Prado shrugged. “Instinct, perhaps. Have you ever lived in Cuba?”

Hampton shook his head. “It’s not on my bucket list, though I do like Cuban cigars.”

Prado forced a smile. “They’re the best.”

“What kind of things did you endure in Cuba that would make you have the instinct to leap off a bus the second it was boarded?”

“I’ve seen people arrested for nothing,” Prado said. “When you grow up in a place like that, it makes you nervous, maybe even act crazy at times.”

“But why would you think they would even be after you?”

Prado sighed. “Like I said, instinct. When you see people snatched from their lives due to the whims of the government, you become a little suspect of people. Maybe even distrusting.”

“Yet you don’t trust us?” Hampton asked.

“I don’t know you, although the only interaction I’ve had with American police officers has been friendly.”

“We’re not police officers,” Waller corrected. “We’re special agents with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

Prado put his hands in the air. “I did not mean to offend you. I am still just learning my way around this country and what different things mean.”

Waller tugged on Hampton’s shirt and pulled him aside. Prado watched their intense deliberations and held his breath, hoping they were about to tell him that they would take him to Boise to join his team.

No such luck.

“I know this might seem like an inconvenience to you, but we need you back with your teammates,” Waller said. “It’s the best environment for you—and a place where you can thrive.” A long pause. “But before we do that, we need to get just a few quick questions answered, questions that aren’t getting answered out here.”

Prado’s shoulders slumped. Nothing helped him cope with the intense rigors of trying to succeed in the most competitive baseball system in the world like being with people who understood his plight. Whether he knew it or not, thrusting him into the FBI’s judicial system was a quick—and sure—way for him to ultimately fail in his quest to achieve big league stardom.

He climbed back into the car, his arms still locked behind his back. “Can someone undo these handcuffs? I’m not going to run.”

Waller nodded toward Hampton, who unlocked Prado’s cuffs. Prado rubbed his wrists and grimaced. “This is not the America that I heard about.”

Waller chuckled as he turned the ignition and the engine roared to life. “No place is perfect—not even America.” He paused and looked into the backseat at Prado. “But we’re not trying to arrest you—we just want to know the truth.”

“I’m telling you the truth,” Prado said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Waller turned his attention back to the front of the car. Before he had a chance to move, a black Hummer roared up on their position, parking right in front of them so they couldn’t move forward.

Two men jumped out of their vehicle and raced toward Waller and Hampton’s car.

“Out of the car now!” screamed one of the men.

Waller slowly got out with his hands in the air. Hampton followed likewise.

Meanwhile, Prado threw his hands behind his back and laid down in the seat, hoping the men wouldn’t see him.

His