“Sir, I’d like to see some ID.”
“No problem. My wallet is under the driver’s side floor mat. I’ll have to get it out.” The officer kept the light on his face, though there was no reason for that. “I was just sleeping for a few hours. Can I move to another turnout? There must be a dozen along this road.”
“They’re scenic overlooks, they’re not for sleeping.”
“I tried the campsites. I was too late.”
“Keep your hands visible as you remove your wallet, sir.”
“Sure, but take it easy, I was just sleeping.” Beatty turned and reached down. “Can you see my hand?”
The flashlight beam was on his hands, but the officer didn’t answer. Beatty slid the black rubber mat back and the flashlight beam fell on his wallet.
“Do you see my wallet?”
“Pick it up.”
He picked it up and moved slowly as he pulled out his driver’s license and handed it to the officer.
“Sir, I’d like you to stand over here,” the officer said, then got on his radio and ran the license. His voice was loud enough to carry, saying, “Is this the Jeremy Beatty questioned about the bombings? I thought he was being held.”
Beatty couldn’t hear the response but pulled his phone and brought up Grale’s number. He tapped it before the officer looked back at him.
“He’s up here in Red Rock Canyon at a scenic overlook, sleeping in the back of a pickup bed.”
The officer made that sound as if Beatty had just robbed a bank. He stood outside his patrol car with the radio mic in his left hand and his right close to his holster as he waited for further instructions.
Now the officer looked over and saw Beatty with the phone to his ear. It rang once, twice, and on the third ring Grale picked up.
“Sir, get off that phone immediately.”
The holster opened. The gun started to slide out.
“A cop just rousted me. He’s got a—”
“Drop the phone! Drop it!”
Beatty dropped his cell and saw it go dark. The officer backed him away from it at gunpoint.
“I called an FBI agent named Paul Grale.”
“Do not talk. Do not speak!”
Beatty looked out across the wide valley at the eastern sky lightening with the coming dawn. The officer picked up the phone and returned to his radio mic. He asked for backup and was told it was on the way. With his gun still out but not pointing, he asked “What are you doing up here?”
“Sleeping.”
“I asked why you were here.”
“I don’t have a place to go to.”
“Are you the drone pilot who was questioned about the attacks?”
“Yes.”
“When I tell you to, I want you to turn around and face your truck. Spread your legs and arms and put your hands on the roof of the vehicle and do not move. Do you understand me?”
“Yes.”
When Beatty started to turn toward the truck, the officer yelled, “Freeze! Do not move until I tell you to move! Turn now. Slowly! Put your hands on the roof of your vehicle.”
Beatty exaggerated the slowness, and the officer handcuffed him and led him to the back of his patrol car. Fifteen minutes later, two Nevada Highway Patrol cars arrived, and though he could turn his head and look at them, he didn’t. He watched the sunrise and heard them talking, though not their words. Then his door opened and the officer who’d handcuffed him told him to get out. They removed his handcuffs and watched him put his sleeping bag in the pickup cab and rearrange the gear in the back.
“Can I have my phone back?”
“You can pick it up at the station.”
Beatty started his engine and backed up slowly. When he was ready to drive away, one of the two officers who’d arrived after he was handcuffed rapped on his passenger window. Beatty lowered it.
The officer said, “I want you to know I did three tours in Iraq. If it was up to me you wouldn’t be walking around. Now, get out of here.”
Beatty kept his foot on the brake. He left the window down. The engine idled.
“I just told you to leave.”
“I’m leaving. You did three tours. Okay, and I flew drones for the US Air Force for eight years, and I lost pilot friends in the bombing, and whatever you’ve heard about me is wrong.”
“Is that right?”
“You don’t believe me? Okay, I’m out of here, but just so we’re clear. Fuck you!”
Beatty took his foot off the brake and rolled. He expected lights and sirens and to be handcuffed again and hauled in, but nothing happened. In his rearview mirror he saw the three officers watching as he rounded the curve. But where should he go?