“It was my mother’s wedding band,” the diver said. “She died when I was small.”

“Take it off,” Emerson said. “No jewelry for the test.

“Thank you very much,” Emerson said brightly when the diver finally dropped it in his outstretched waiting palm.

Bravo, Emerson, Reyland thought proudly. Skin-on-skin contact, violation of the subject’s personal space, forced removal of precious items.

Textbook.

Emerson slowly and meticulously attached all the leads to a little black box that was then connected with a USB cord to his laptop. He turned the laptop’s screen around so Vance could see it.

“Pay attention. This is important,” Emerson said. “See these? These four moving lines? The upper two are respiratory rate and electrodermal, and these bottom ones are for your blood pressure. These instruments monitor your vitals. Your breathing, your pulse, your blood pressure, your perspiration, and any slight movements of an arm or a leg.

“Now, before we get started, I want you to read something,” Emerson said, taking a laminated card out of his pants pocket.

“Do you understand what this document says?” Emerson said after a minute as the diver stared down at the card. “It basically says that if you lie to me during this polygraph examination—if any of your vitals indicate falsehood—you will not just be subject to court-martial, you will be guilty of obstruction of justice, a federal felony punishable by up to five years in prison.”

“What?”

“Every time you lie, it will be a felony, Steve. Do you understand, Steve? Every falsehood you tell is a year in Leavenworth.”

“But you can’t do this! You can’t do this! It’s illegal. Please!” the diver said.

“Not only can I do this,” Emerson said, turning the laptop back around, “I have to, Steve. It’s my job.”

21

Reyland left after the first hour when the diver began to stutter uncontrollably.

It was a humid night outside in the open shipyard, but there was a nice breeze off the darkly gleaming Caribbean. It was steak night in the officers’ mess hall, and there was a pleasant, happy, summer vacation kind of smell of charcoal from the grills.

From the mess, he grabbed a tray and a plate of sirloin and mashed potatoes and took it upstairs to the office space above the mess that they were using as a staging area.

Reyland was sitting at a conference table, sipping a cup of lukewarm coffee with Ruiz, when Emerson came in two hours later. They waited for the interrogator to hit the head and come out and crack a Diet Coke from the fridge.

“So what’s the story?” Reyland said.

Emerson put down the soda.

“My first read is that he didn’t take it. He doesn’t know about the missing money.”

“But?” Reyland said, looking at Emerson’s clouded face.

“He has a secret,” Emerson said. “It’s something about the video.”

“The video? We got that off Martin first thing,” Ruiz said.

“Yes. But there’s something there about him handing it over. Every time the video comes up, there’s a hiccup. Tiny but there.”