Ruby came out of the elevator onto the fourteenth floor into a hallway that smelled like weed and furniture polish. As the elevator door rolled closed behind her, she took out her phone. She checked the room number on the text Wheldon had sent her against the plastic plaque on the wall. Then she made a left down the dark-walled hallway.
She’d just been dropped off by Eric’s friend Rebecca. She’d crashed at Rebecca’s apartment in Inwood the night before, and her hostess had explained that she had worked with Eric in the CIA when she was younger.
Since then, she’d put up several of Eric’s whistle-blowers as they came into town. There were more and more these days, she’d said.
Ruby counted the doors. Making a turn at the far corner of the narrow corridor, she suddenly heard the pornographic sound of a woman coming from somewhere.
She shook her head as she zipped her fleece hoodie up to her chin. She still wasn’t sure about any of this. About being up in New York. About going underground like some kind of anti-government nut.
Under normal circumstances, she liked to consider herself a good citizen. She always honestly paid her taxes, always voted, always went to jury duty whenever she was called.
She would have gladly turned herself in to the FBI to work this all out, she thought as she came to the end of the sleazy hall, if it weren’t for the fact that it seemed to be the FBI itself that was the problem.
14H was the very last door of all. It opened as she was about to ring its doorbell.
“If it isn’t Mrs. Smith,” Wheldon said. “Entrez-vous?”
The room inside was large but drab. Besides the bed and desk, there were two chairs, one just beside the door and another at the foot of the bed facing the desk. On the desk, there was a smartphone in a little tripod with its camera pointed at the bed.
“I thought you said you weren’t going to film me,” Ruby said, looking warily at the phone as Wheldon locked the door.
“Don’t worry. I’m not. Cross my heart,” Eric said. “You’re going to sit here by the door. I’m going to sit in the chair in front of the bed with the camera taping just me the whole time. I promise.”
Wheldon thumbed at an almost-closed door on the room’s left-hand wall.
“Now if I could direct your attention, Mrs. Smith. Like I texted you, there’s a man in the sitting room who’s also going to be part of this conversation. We’ll call him Mr. Smith. Say hello, Mr. Smith.”
“Hello,” said a man’s voice through the crack in the door.
“This is weird,” Ruby said, wincing at the almost-closed door. “Honestly, I don’t know, Eric. I don’t even know if I should do this.”
“I know. You’re right,” Wheldon said. “All of this is an incredibly silly way to do anything. Unfortunately, these are some desperate times we’re living in, aren’t they? And if we want to get back to a semblance of sanity and normalcy and justice for our families and kids, it’s up to regular people like us to do the job.
“Because the FBI apparently isn’t in the fidelity and bravery and integrity business anymore, is it? Or even the mainstream media when you consider how they’re covering everything up. I think it’s important that more and more people know that. But with that said, I can’t and won’t force you. You’re free to go whenever you want.”
Ruby sighed.
“You’ll disguise my voice like you said?” Ruby said.
“Of course,” Wheldon said. “Your own mother won’t know it’s you once I get done editing.”
“Okay, fine,” Ruby said, finally sitting in the chair by the door.
Wheldon took his seat.
“We’re going to keep it casual and just talk like we’ve been doing,” Wheldon said. “Nothing fancy. I’ll ask you guys questions and you answer them to the best of your ability, okay? I just need to set up my laptop, and we’ll be ready. Sound good? We’re all on the same page?”
“Okay,” said Ruby.
“Okay,” said Mr. Smith through the crack in the door.