Cataclysm: a novella
By Alex Wilson
Copyright 2012 by Alex Wilson
‘Excuse me, sir. Would you be so kind as to step over here with us for a moment?’
The medium height, clean shaven blond traveler was jarred from his boredom-induced reverie in the slow-moving passport control line at Dulles.
‘Um, sure, but what’s this about?’
‘Nothing to be alarmed about, sir. Just some details we’d like your help with. Won’t take a minute.’ The uniformed Immigration and Naturalization Service officer and another man in a business suit chatted amiably with him as he was smoothly guided away from the line and through a door marked ‘Official Use Only’.
Once through the door, he found he was in a barren, brightly lit, windowless hallway and was steered into a room with a metal table, utilitarian metal chairs and a large mirror on the wall. He had seen enough police procedural shows on TV to know that this was an interrogation room. He balked at the doorway, but was urged forward expertly by the two men.
‘Wait a minute. What’s this about? I know an interrogation room when I see it. Do I need a lawyer or something?’
The men smiled and clucked and said, ‘Oh, nothing like that, sir. We just need to clear up a few questions. Please, have a seat and we’ll have you on your way. You don’t mind helping us, do you?’