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Despite a few delays, arrangements had been completed for visiting Brian. I was approaching the meeting with a mixture of nervousness and curiosity. Both feelings were linked to the same question: how would the whole thing turn out?

After signing in and going through some security procedures, I was ushered into a visiting area. I sat down at one of the tables and waited for Brian to come.

About five or ten minutes later, a man came through one of the doors on the far side of the room and looked around. Although there were maybe ten other people in the room, the man came directly toward me.

As he reached the table, he extended his hand to me and said: "Dr. Phelps, I'm Brian Idaho. How are you?"

I rose to shake his hand and stammered: "I'm...ah...fine." Glancing briefly at the other people in the room, I said: "How did you know I was the one waiting for you?"

His face had a somewhat impassive look to it as he remarked: "Spiritual powers have their uses." Then, as he saw the look of disorientation in my eyes, a slight smile came to his lips, and he said: "Sorry, I couldn't resist. Actually, Beth got a telephone message to me a few days ago which included a brief description of you."

Although I laughed, there was an uneasy tone to it. Brian must have picked up on it and did his best to make me feel comfortable: "Look, Dr. Phelps, I really appreciate your taking the time to come all the way out here. A lot of people in your situation would have turned Beth down without thinking twice about it."

Brian was about six feet tall and appeared to be forty-something, but a very athletic-looking forty-something. He was neither handsome nor homely, but his eyes had an electric quality to them.

They seemed to glow with a combination of compassion and perceptiveness. I had the feeling he missed very little, if anything, of what went on around him.

I'm not exactly sure what I was expecting in relation to Brian. However, he struck me as being somehow different from whatever unconscious preconceptions I had brought to the meeting.

He appeared to be gentle, with a sense of humor. In addition, he seemed to be relatively open, without any trace of an attitude concerning his situation.

I looked down at the tabletop for a few seconds and, then, looked up at him. "Quite frankly, I don't have the foggiest idea where to begin. Beth has told me a few things, but I'm still pretty much operating in the shadows."

I shrugged my shoulders with a sort of helpless motion. "If I can help in some way, I would like to. Yet, I really don't know what, if anything, I possibly could do for either you or Beth."

Brian's look suggested he empathized with my predicament. He shook his head back and forth slightly and said: "I wouldn't worry too much about that, Dr. Phelps. These things often have their own way of working themselves out."

He reflected briefly before saying: "Sometimes we try to take responsibility for things which aren't in our control. A lot of things become clearer with patience."

His words had a slightly unsettling effect on me. I had come to the meeting with a vague notion of somehow being of help, yet, Brian was the one who was helping me to put things in perspective. The role reversal was somewhat disconcerting in the way it exposed some of my assumptions concerning my place in the scheme of things.

I nodded my head to acknowledge the truth of what Brian had said and asked: "Where should we begin, then?"

Brian thought about my question for a moment and offered the following. "I think you need more information, Dr. Phelps, so why don't you ask some questions? If I can, I'll do my best to answer them."

I started to ask one of the questions which had brought me to the meeting and stopped. "Is it O.K. if I call you Brian?"

He said: "You have my permission to do that as long as you let me call you Dr. Phelps."

Almost automatically, I was about to respond: "Of course", when I realized what he had done and laughed. "David will be sufficient."

He made a gesture with his head as if to say: 'I bow to your wishes'. He smiled and, then, motioned me with his eyes to go ahead with the questions.

I swallowed nervously, cleared my throat and smiled somewhat apologetically. "Could you tell me a bit about why you are here...you know...the circumstances which led to your conviction?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "There's not much to say. It's pretty cut and dried."

He leaned back in his chair slightly. He started slowly but began to pick up a little speed as he gave his account.

"The federal authorities claim I killed, albeit somewhat accidentally, an FBI agent. This agent supposedly was involved in an undercover investigation of alleged terrorist elements within the membership of the American Indian Movement."

As he continued to speak, he held up the four fingers of his left hand and, whenever a new fact was introduced, counted it off with his right hand by grabbing one of the extended fingers on his left hand. "I found out about the undercover operation. An altercation ensued when I supposedly confronted the agent with the discovery. Things got out of hand, and the man died from a head injury received when he fell after allegedly being hit by me. The charge was manslaughter."

"Did the events take place as the government indicated?" I asked.

Brian shook his head and said: "No. There was no hard data or forensic evidence, except of a very circumstantial sort, that tied me to the scene of the crime. However, I had no alibi for the time of the incident."

He grimaced a little before adding: "The case turned on the testimony of two people from a local reservation. They claimed they overheard the fight and saw me leaving the room just before the body of the agent was discovered."

A look of sadness descended on Brian's face. "I had considered the two people in question to be friends. Unfortunately, they perjured themselves."

He was quiet for a while, then sighed. "Who knows what kind of pressure or enticements were being brought to bear on the two. I feel badly for them."

With a note of perplexity in my voice, I queried: "Why should you feel badly for them? You're the one in prison."

He looked at me as if I were missing the obvious. "Yes, I'm the one in prison, but I still have my integrity as a human being. Those two have bartered theirs away."

Brian explained further. "I'd rather be in prison with my integrity intact, then to be free to roam around without it.

"There are all kinds of prisons in this world. Some of the worst prison conditions on the face of the earth are the ones we construct for ourselves through our wrong intentions and actions."

I countered with: "Wouldn't it be even better to have your integrity and your freedom?"

He smiled. "Yes, of course. However, if it hasn't escaped your attention, and I'm sure it hasn't, the Great Mystery doesn't always consult us about the arrangement of events."

Brian saw the puzzled expression on my face and instantly guessed the problem. "The Great Mystery is that which makes everything in existence possible. The Great Mystery creates, organizes and arranges everything."

I gave a slight nod of understanding. I added: "While I agree events often seem to have their own mind, I'm afraid I'm not much of a believer in things spiritual."

Brian seemed unfazed by my comment. "That's alright, David. Even if you don't believe in the Great Mystery, nonetheless, the Great Mystery believes in you."

He hadn't said it with condescension or arrogance. He wasn't challenging me in any way. There was no sense of put-down in his remark. In fact, there was a haunting quality of gentleness to his words.

I studied Brian for a moment and briefly became lost in thought. People in prison were notorious for professing their innocence. They were equally well known for being charming con artists who quickly could spot exploitable vulnerabilities in other people and begin manipulating those weaknesses. Sometimes, religion, or spirituality of some kind, was part of the con.

I didn't have any gut feeling Brian was running some sort of scam on me. He seemed quite genuine and without artifice.

On the other hand, if he was really good at the con game, his 'sincerity' probably would be part and parcel of the set-up. I'd never see the sting coming until it was too late, and, perhaps, not even then.

I returned from my musings and asked another question. "Is it possible your conviction could be overturned on appeal or that a new trial might be ordered by bringing forth evidence about the perjured testimony?"

Brian shook his head in the negative. "My lawyer has gone over the transcript and feels no procedural or legal errors were made during the trial on which to base an appeal that had much legal credibility. He said he could go through the motions, pardon the pun, but that's all they would be: motions."

Looking slowly around the room, Brian continued to speak. "As far as a new trial is concerned, shortly after I was convicted, the two witnesses were murdered. Nobody seems to know who did it or why, but there are a lot of rumors flying about. In any event, one might say the idea of a new trial has pretty much reached a dead end."

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