Chapter 25
“He who allows oppression shares the crime.”
After loading the safe into the Ryder rental truck, the federal agents turned to Chuck.
“Mr. Dixon, turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
Christy began screaming at the agents. “What are you doing? Leave him alone! Why did you destroy our home? Leave him alone!”
“Ma’am, we are just taking your husband for questioning. You need to relax and settle down,” retorted an agent.
“Honey, I’ll be okay. Go to your mom’s.” Chuck couldn’t think of anything else to say to his wife. All of this was happening in front of Colton, who was crying.
The agents shoved Chuck into a windowless blue van with metal benches in the back and iron shackles already welded to them. He was secured at the ankles, even though he was already handcuffed. Two agents jumped into the van as another agent outside closed both cargo doors.
“What are you doing with my wife and son?” Chuck demanded.
“We’re not interested in them. They’ll be released,” said a tanned, muscled agent who looked out of place in his neatly pressed button-down shirt and black silk tie.
“Where is your warrant? What am I being arrested for?”
“We’ve already had that discussion, Mr. Dixon, yet here you are. I suggest you think seriously about cooperating with the agents who are going to question you on your anti-American activities.”
“Are you kidding?” Chuck had never thought of himself as crazy, though these events might induce insanity in some people. “You think the Tea Party is anti-American?”
“Any group that produced Rash Sally surely isn’t patriotic.”
“I’ve never met the man in my life.”
“It doesn’t matter,” the agent said, leaning back against the van interior. “ You’re part of a larger conspiracy.”
“What?” Chuck squirmed around, trying to get comfortable in chains without much success. “Conspiracy to do what?”
“Dixon, you won’t be asking the questions; we will. Now shut up and enjoy the ride.”
“Go screw yourself.”
The agent smiled grimly. “I’d say you’re the one who is screwed right now.”
Forty-five minutes later, the van pulled into Ellington Air Force Base just outside Houston and was directed by an armed guard into a large empty hangar. The giant doors closed as the van stopped inside. Someone from outside opened the cargo doors. Chuck was unshackled, and then he was hauled bodily from the van and portable leg shackles were placed around his ankles.
He noticed there were more than a dozen unmarked cars with U.S. government license plates in the hangar, as well as several marked Homeland Security.
He was manhandled into a small group of offices on the south side of the hangar. The offices were stark, empty except for metal chairs and tables.
The agents brought their prisoner to an empty room with a bare metal table and a metal chair. One agent led Chuck to the front of the chair, then shoved him down onto the seat. His hands were uncuffed and then recuffed in front of him so they could be attached to a hook fastened to the table, and his shackled legs were clamped to the chair.
For an hour and half, Chuck sat there alone, his ears trying to pick up sounds from outside the room. But he heard nothing at all, and guessed the room was soundproof.
Three men in dark suits burst into the room, accompanied by two uniformed ATF agents and several other men with audio and video recording devices. The technicians set up the video and voice recorders.
“Mr. Dixon, we are going to conduct an interview, so please hang with us for a few minutes,” one of the suited men told him.
“I want to know why I am being held.”
“Mr. Dixon, this will go a lot faster if you allow us to ask the questions.”
“Bullshit. I want an attorney, and I want one now,” Chuck said.
“Mr. Dixon, this is a matter of national security. As an enemy combatant, you are not entitled to rights you see on TV.”
“Enemy combatant? Wow! You guys are something.”
“Joe, is everything ready?” The suit in charge directed his question to the man operating the video equipment.
“Yes, ready when you are,” Joe said.
The agent pulled a chair up and sat across from Chuck. “Mr. Dixon, my name is Agent Jackson with the FBI. We are here to ask you questions relating to your membership and activities of the Tea Party group you organized and helped found.”
“Okay, let’s get this over with. Then we can talk about how you are going repair my home,” answered Chuck.
“Mr. Dixon, who are the other founding members of your Tea Party organization?”
“I don’t have to answer that or any other questions without an attorney.”
“Mr. Dixon, I’ll ask you once more, and for the last time. Who helped you found your Tea Party organization?”
“I don’t remember,” Chuck said.
“Mr. Dixon,” Jackson said in a clipped tone, “this will go a lot faster if you cooperate and your cooperation could help you if you are indicted or prosecuted.”
“Prosecuted for what?” Chuck snorted.
“We will get to that. For now, I need those names.”
“Not a chance.”
“Mr. Dixon, have you ever traveled to the Dallas area and met with other Tea Party organizers and members from the North Richland Hills Tea Party? The Lone Star Tea Party Chapter? The Fort Worth Tea Party Patriots? The Dallas Tea Party Coalition? What about the Denton Tea Party Patriots?”
“Agent Jackson, is it? Yes, I have met some of them, but not all. Why?”
“Tell me when you first met them.”
“Look,” Chuck said, settling back as far as he could in the chair. “I’m not telling you anything more without an attorney present.”
“Mr. Dixon, where are your membership files? Are they on your computer?” Jackson asked.
“No.”
“Then where are they?”
“I want an attorney.”
Agent Jackson was nothing if not persistent. “Mr. Dixon, who had access to your membership files?”
“I want an attorney.” Chuck was adamant.
“Mr. Dixon, do you realize that, as an enemy combatant, we can hold you indefinitely. Are you familiar with contrition?”
“You bet I am, and it’s unconstitutional.”
One of the agents in the room who had remained silent until now looked at Chuck in a disgusted manner and said, “Save that for your Teabagger friends.”
Jackson shot the guy a “don’t interrupt me again” look. “Well, Mr. Dixon, you could experience that firsthand if you don’t cooperate. It may be a very long time before you see your wife and your son.”
“Screw you.”
“How many times did you travel to Dallas to meet with these other groups?” Jackson said.
“I want an attorney.” Chuck had settled into defiance.
“Mr. Dixon, we have already looked at the two laptops we recovered from your house and your emails are erased. Why did you delete your entire email history?”
“I want an attorney.”
“Does someone not guilty of anything typically erase his entire email history, Mr. Dixon?” Jackson persisted.
“Like I said, I want an attorney.”
“Mr. Dixon, do you want to see your wife and son anytime soon?” Jackson got up and leaned on the table with both hands.
“Are you holding them, too?”
“No, we are not at this time,” Jackson said. “How this all breaks down and moves forward, however, is up to you.”
“Look,” Chuck told him, “my organization is peaceful. There’s no conspiracy in our group or the other Tea Party groups whatsoever. You’re way off.”
“Mr. Dixon, have you ever met Rash Sally?”
“The would-be assassin?” Chuck laughed. “Are you serious? Never.”
“Did Mr. Sally ever contact you?”
“Holy shit, no.”
“Could it be you forgot, Mr. Dixon? Could it be he attended one of your events or meetings?”
Chuck leaned forward again. “Some of our meetings had hundreds of people attend. Some of our large events had thousands. One of them in Houston alone was attended by over ten thousand people at Sam Houston Raceway. It’s possible,” he said emphatically, “but I never met him, nor do I know anyone who did.”
“What about your compatriots in the Dallas area?” Jackson asked. “Did anyone ever speak of him when you met with or did joint meetings with those groups?”
“The first time I ever heard of that joker was on the news. I don’t recall anyone mentioning him—ever.”
Jackson slid into his chair again. “Would it surprise you that he was very active with numerous Tea Party groups?”
“Yes, it would. But you guys are the experts.” Chuck made no attempt to hide his sarcasm. “Frankly, I’ll be shocked if you find any true connection whatsoever. No real Tea Party group would ever advocate shooting a sitting president. None of us has ever advocated shooting anyone.”
“Mr. Dixon,” Jackson said, “we’ve already found connections.”
“I doubt very seriously you found any legitimate Tea Party organization with conspiracy ideas.”
“Yet you made sure your laptop was erased.” Jackson looked like the cat that ate the canary.
“I never said the Tea Party wasn’t suspicious of the federal government,” Chuck exclaimed. “Look what you did to my house and how you terrorized my family.”
“So I’ll ask you again, Mr. Dixon, where are your membership files?”
“And I’ll answer you again, Jackson. I want an attorney and I want to know exactly why you are holding me. What crime have I committed?”
“You are being held for investigation of conspiracy to murder the president of the United States.”
Chuck looked at Jackson in disbelief. “And what evidence do you have that I have anything to do with a conspiracy like that?”
“We’ll see once the forensics folks recover your email files from your computer,” said Jackson, getting up and turning his back to Chuck. He stared down at the concrete floor, rubbing his chin. Chuck decided the agent was contemplating his next move.
After a few long minutes, Jackson turned around and stared at Chuck. “Is there anything you want to tell us before those files are recovered? If you cooperate now, it may help you later regarding an indictment. This is your last chance,” he said calmly.
“Yes, there is.”
Jackson and the others in the room adjusted their body language as if they believed they’d just broken their suspect. They looked at him expectantly. “Well,” Jackson said, “what do you want to tell us?”
“Is your video recorder still on?” Chuck asked.
“Yes, it is,” Jackson said, after he got a thumbs up from Joe. “Well, Mr. Dixon?”
Chuck leaned toward the microphone and spoke slowly and distinctly. “First, you invaded my home and damaged it without a search warrant. Second, you detained me and my family unlawfully. I was never read my Miranda rights. Third, I have not been granted access to an attorney. Now I want to know where my wife and son are and that they are okay.”
Jackson looked like he was on the verge of an outburst, but he managed to get his emotions under control before he spoke again. “Mr. Dixon, that’s cute, but I already told you that, as an enemy combatant under the National Defense Authorization Act, a suspected terrorist does not have those rights.”
“Suspected terrorist?” Chuck mocked. “You guys are Keystone Cops!”
Jackson sighed and started over again. He tried for two more hours to get Chuck to say anything that would lead the agents to other Tea Party members, information about how they were organized, where they met and more questions about Rash Sally.
At a break in the intense interrogation, Jackson told his prisoner, “You’re lucky. Your buddy Stan Mumford stupidly went for his sidearm, and we were forced to shoot him.”
Chuck was incredulous. “You what? Stan would never try to shoot a bunch of your armed thugs. Where is he?”
Jackson had the good sense to at least look remorseful. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Mr. Mumford was shot dead.”
“Agent Jackson, I don’t think you have a clue what that’s going to cost you,” Chuck said angrily.
“Is that a threat, Mr. Dixon?”
“Call it what you will,” Chuck retorted. “Just remember you’re in Texas.”
Deep down, Chuck felt the whole series of events was surreal. How could this be happening in the United States of America?
Finally, weary of not getting anywhere, the agents moved Chuck to an adjoining room that had a small bathroom with a toilet, sink and small military-style bunk.
An agent brought in a bottle of water and gave it to Chuck. Before he pulled the door shut, the agent said, “Today was the easy day. I’m sure you’ve read what we do to terrorists in our interrogations in other countries.” He laughed. “And we can’t wait to see what was on your laptop. Believe me, your computer is being hacked, and these guys are good. They’ll find everything you erased.”
Chuck saw two more agents on either side of the door before it slammed shut. He heard the door being locked. He drank the small bottle of water, then went over and sat on the bed. Are they serious? he wondered. I guess I’m going to be water boarded tomorrow. I can’t believe this crap is happening to me.
Chuck finally fell asleep about 2:00 a.m., with his last thoughts about where his wife and son were and if they were okay. Did they go home? Were they with relatives? Were they safe?