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by Ron Marksity (Author)
It was warm the September day I saw them. They waited until tennis practice was over and then called me by name. They didn't give me their names. They did give me questions.
The second contact was a while later. They contacted me at home, when no one else was there.
I don't remember their approach, but I do remember the message. "Young man, you're quite the tennis player. It would be a shame if you couldn't play anymore. It would be a shame if your parents had to go to jail. It would be a shame..."
Then they made their pitch. "Your parents are assisting and harboring known enemy collaborators. They are using their church as a cover. If you want your parents to stay out of jail and the three of you to stay together, you are going to have to work for us."
Weeks passed. This time there was only one suit. "Hello, Ron. Yes, I'm with the first two who visited you. But we're all not the same."
He told me his name. He said he was with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Yes, the FBI.
