Though he was smart enough never to admit it out loud, that was Reyland’s favorite part of the job, too.

“Hi, Stephen,” Emerson said as he pulled in his chair. “My name is Agent Emerson. Can I call you Steve?”

“No,” the little diver said, getting huffy straight off. “You can address me as Petty Officer Third Class Stephen Vance.”

Emerson sighed.

“That’s not the way you want to play this. This is no big deal. Just some questions for my report, and we’re done.”

“No big deal?” the diver said. “Why have I been separated from my crew? What the hell do you want from me? I wrote out an incident report of my dive in detail for my commanding officer. Read it. I got nothing more for you or anyone. Bringing me into this disgusting pit. Is this Nazi crap supposed to scare me or something?”

Emerson sighed again.

“All right. Fine,” Emerson said as he stood and gracefully crossed the room.

He even moved like he had money, Reyland thought. Tan in his crisp khakis and polo shirt, he could have been a country-club golf pro.

“Have it your way,” Emerson said as he casually knocked on the cell door.

“What do you mean? You’re acting like I’m not cooperating?” the diver said, getting a little nervous now. “I cooperated. Just read my report.”

“Oh, I’ve read it. Don’t you worry about that,” Emerson said, smiling, as there was a sound of approaching steps out in the hallway.

“Take off your shirt, please,” Emerson said, as there was a loud knock on the door.

“What?” Steve the diver said, screeching back the chair as he stood.

“You heard me. Take off your shirt,” Emerson said, unlocking the door. “For your polygraph.”

Reyland stifled a laugh at the lie. You didn’t have to take off the subject’s shirt. Emerson was just brilliant. He really did love this. It was personal with him. You could tell. You couldn’t fake being this sadistic.

What an asset.

He was a master.

“Sorry, buddy. That’s not happening. I want my CO in here right now,” Vance said.

But he was already sweating. You could see it on his brow. See it shining on his upper lip.

Vance jumped, knocking over the folding chair as the door burst open and Ruiz and Shepard came in with the equipment. Huge Shepard with his ever-present aviator sunglasses was especially intimidating in the tight confines of the concrete room.

“Take off your shirt, please,” Emerson said again. “Or we will do it for you.”

A minute later, the young diver sat shirtless and small on the folding chair. Ruiz put on the blood pressure cuff while Shepard put the two bands called pneumographs around his narrow chest.

Emerson himself attached the galvanometer’s two finger straps to the pointer finger of the diver’s left hand. He stood looming over him, almost on top of him. Like a daddy putting a bandage on his kid’s boo-boo.

“What’s this? Some kind of LGBT thing?” he said to the diver, pointing at a thin band of gold on his pinkie as Ruiz and Shepard left.