Well, of course they had. I would have done the same, now that I thought of it.
"We have enough on you now to put you away for a very long time, Marcus. Your possession of these articles --" she gestured at all my little gizmos -- "and the data we recovered from your phone and memory sticks, as well as the subversive material we'd no doubt find if we raided your house and took your computer. It's enough to put you away until you're an old man. Do you understand that?"
I didn't believe it for a second. There's no way a judge would say that all this stuff constituted any kind of real crime. It was free speech, it was technological tinkering. It wasn't a crime.
But who said that these people would ever put me in front of a judge.
"We know where you live, we know who your friends are. We know how you operate and how you think."
It dawned on me then. They were about to let me go. The room seemed to brighten. I heard myself breathing, short little breaths.
"We just want to know one thing: what was the delivery mechanism for the bombs on the bridge?"
I stopped breathing. The room darkened again.
"What?"
"There were ten charges on the bridge, all along its length. They weren't in car-trunks. They'd been placed there. Who placed them there, and how did they get there?"