Eric Hoffman in front of the Bolshoi Ballet... He learned of his expulsion about two hours earlier... hence the sour expression.

By Eric Hoffman, News Photographer, WTKR, Norfolk, VA

In 1996, police were called to the Virginia Beach, Virginia apartment of Eddie Makdessi. When they arrived, they discovered two dead bodies: one was his wife, Elise, and the other was an "intruder." Eddie claimed the intruder forced his way into their apartment and struck Eddie over the head. According to Makdessi, when he came to the intruder was on top of Elise, raping, choking, and stabbing her. Eddie says he grabbed his gun and shot the intruder and called the police. The intruder was, in fact, Elise's co-worker... there was some speculation the two were having an affair, and Eddie walked in, shot the "intruder," and nearly decapitated his wife. Charges were never filed, and the case went cold. Mike Mather, now our station's investigative reporter, worked for the newspaper at the time and interviewed Makdessi extensively. In May 2002, charges were finally filed against Eddie... but he was nowhere to be found.

In September 2002, Mather began to receive emails from Eddie. He claims to have been deported (his status as a US citizen was disputed--he is Lebanese by birth) and sent to Syria. He eventually married a Russian woman and moved to a small town roughly 4 hours east of Moscow. He wanted to return to the States, face the charges against him, and clear his name. The infinite red tape of criminal law, extradition, and international relations prevented him from doing so and he was asking Mather for help.

Mather and I board a plane from JFK to Moscow. We have tentative plans to meet up with Makdessi the next day in a small city called Vladimir (about three hours by car east of Moscow). We deplane in Moscow and file into what seems like the basement to begin the customs process. We've made arrangements with CBS Moscow to assist us... foreign journalists still catch the attention of customs officers, who solicit bribes for our audio cables not having serial numbers and other such "infractions." ("Why do you have all of these tapes?" "Well, because we're a TV crew.") Over $300 later and we're off to our hotel... the Stalin-esque Hotel Sovietsky, which still sports huge portraits of Lenin and Stalin in their various lobbies.

We hire a translator (Sasha, a producer for CBS Moscow) and driver for the day. We meet them in the hotel lobby at 6 a.m. and begin our trek to Vladimir. Moscow is far enough north that it doesn't even begin to get light until after 8 o'clock. We get to Vladimir, get in touch with Eddie, and arrange to meet him at the Golden Ring Hotel where he is staying. I'm feeling some apprehension... we're about to go meet an accused double murderer, and nobody has any idea where we are or how to find us.

We meet Eddie... he's a short, stocky, nervous, friendly man. He's wearing a suit that has seen perhaps a decade of wear. Sasha and one of the hotel's managers engage in an animated conversation, after which we are told we may set up in an unused part of a restaurant for an interview. As I'm setting up some lights and my camera, Mather helps Eddie to put on the wireless lav mic. Eddie excuses himself to use the restroom before we start, and Mike whispers, "He has a gun holstered on his left hip." We're about to ask an armed suspect the tough questions. It made us both nervous...we didn't realize we would have greater concern later.

Eddie returns and the interview begins. It was fantastic... Mike threw hardballs, and Eddie answered every single question. We don't know how truthful he is, but he paints a fantastic picture of hardship as he details the night his wife was killed, his deportation, imprisonment in Syria (they suspected him of being an American spy), and the stark realities of trying to make it as a subsistence farmer in Russia. We wrap up, pack up, and get ready to go. Eddie has asked Mather for help in returning to the U.S., a journey which will require a valid passport. Eddie cannot remember whether his Russian passport is valid or has expired. He insists he can have a friend deliver it to him in Vladimir. Mather and I agree to meet Eddie at 3 p.m. to check on the status of his passport.

We go to downtown Vladimir to shoot some b-roll, stand ups, and teases. We also stop and enjoy a fantastic traditional Russian meal... only $12 (U.S.) for the three of us. We return to the Golden Ring at 3 o'clock, and Eddie is waiting outside for us. He and Mather meet on the steps and inspect Eddie's passport. I am rolling on the "action" with a Sony PD-150. We discover Eddie's passport is valid for two more years. Eddie suggests that Mather and I take his passport to the U.S. Embassy in Moscow in hopes this will expedite any necessary paperwork for his trip. He thanks Mather repeatedly and profusely. We part company with Eddie, I turn off the camera, and we begin to make our way back to the van with Sasha.

Seemingly from out of the grey Russian haze, eight men materialize and surround us. The are all dressed in dark suits, black shoes, and black leather jackets. The look very severe. The man, who is undoubtedly in charge, mutters to us in low tones as he flashes some credentials. Sasha informs us that this is the FSB, the Russian State Police... an agency directly descended from the old KGB.

They remind me to keep the camera powered down, then usher us back into the hotel and up to a sixth floor room. Almost immediately, Mather and I are separated and I am taken to a room on the fifth floor. It is small and plain: two short beds, a television, and a view of a concrete wall. The three youngest of the agents, all in their early twenties, are assigned to make certain I behave myself. None of them speak English or German (and I, unfortunately, speak no Russian) so there is no dialogue between us. They talk in low tones amongst themselves with occasional outbursts of almost childish giggling.

After about two hours I am taken upstairs. Mather is taken down to the fifth floor. The agents make sure we do not talk in passing. As I enter the room, I notice my PD-150 and DVCpro are both on the coffee table. The tapes are stacked next to the cameras. I sit on the couch next to Sasha, and the lead agent sits across from me. He is a big, Russian bear of a man: stalky and in his mid-fifties. He is balding. He has a very visible scar bisecting his forehead and running down the side of his face. He also has a scar on the back of his right hand, which is holding a lit cigarette that he is constantly rotating between his fingers. He asks me whether I work for the government, state or local police. He asks if I am or have been in the military. He asks if I am working on behalf of any of the above agencies. He asks how we found Eddie... I tell him we didn't--Eddie contacted us. He asks his questions, Sasha translates to me, I answer, and Sasha translates. Another agent writes down both the questions and answers.

Sasha and I are made to initial each question and answer on the paper to prove we understand what was asked and that the answers are truthful. I ask for a copy of the paper, but I am refused. We ask to make a phone call to the U.S. Embassy, which we are supposed to be afforded if arrested in Russia. The agents claim they have notified our consulate.

We ask to call our station in Virginia. The agents take down the number, leave the room, and return. They insist that nobody answered the phone. At this point we know they are not being truthful with us: would a phone ring unanswered in our newsroom at 10 a.m. Eastern time? No. They are clearly lying.

I am then returned to the fifth floor room as Mather undergoes another round of interrogation. I spend the next 90 minutes looking out the window. It's dark now. The three agents watching me are now watching some Russian cartoons, which they seem to find highly amusing. I watch the snow that is starting to fall and wonder what will happen next. I have never been in a situation like this. I have never felt this vulnerable. Mike and I have, for all intents and purposes, been detained for interviewing a man at his request. Nobody knows exactly where we are... a lot could happen to us before anyone back home would suspect anything was wrong.

I am eventually taken back upstairs. Mike is sitting on the couch looking exhausted, shocked, exasperated, and concerned. We confer quietly: "Did they ask you the same questions they asked me?" We are amazed at the agents' seeming inability to understand that television news in America is not affiliated with or run by the government. Sasha cautions us to speak with discretion... he suspects one agent, a meek looking character who sits at the end of the couch staring at his feet and biting his nails, understands English and is evesdropping.

Our tapes are taken from us. The FSB tells us to "volunteer" them as evidence to corroborate what we had told them (or incriminate us, I suppose). Mather insists we will not volunteer them, and we are informed the tapes will be taken regardless. We have been accused of having improper visas, but Sasha quickly points out our papers, which we obtained legally through the Russian government, clearly state that we are journalists visiting on business.

We're then accused of meddling in domestic affairs... whatever that means. I'm not certain how a 1996 Virginia Beach murder is a domestic affair in Russia. Finally, we're accused of "interviewing a Russian citizen without proper accreditation." Even Sasha, a working journalist and Russian, has never heard of such a charge. We sit around for a while... the agents bring slices of meat, cheese, and bread. We eat sandwiches, drink Coke, and sit in near silence with the agents. Mather, Sasha, and I occasionally say something to lighten the mood, but it is really to mask nervousness.

Finally, after nearly eight hours, the Bear announces the verdict: in spite of our serious crimes, we are to be released. (How serious could these crimes be? We're being released!) As we are getting ready to leave he says, "Let this incident not spoil the new goodwill between our two nations." What?

We leave and head down to the van. As we begin to pull away and head back to Moscow, Mather and I talk about what has just happened. Our driver turns around and puts his index finger to his lips, signalling us to be quiet. He tells Sasha that, after he walked down the block to find something to eat, he returned to the van to find many of the objects had been moved. He suspects the van was tossed and bugged by the FSB. We have been entirely truthful with the Russian agents, so we are not too worried about censoring our dialogue. We sit in silence for much of the long, dark ride back to Moscow and our hotel.

We visit the U.S. Embassy and provide the security administrator with extensive details regarding our adventure. The also caution that our hotel phone is likely bugged, and we are probably being followed. Really think about that....it's an eerie feeling.

The embassy calls us and informs us that the Russian Foreign Ministry has allowed us 48 hours in which we may leave the country. After that time, we will be arrested if we have not departed for America. Mather calls to change our tickets and ($1,700 later) were scheduled to leave the next day. Since we may never be able to return, we use the remaining few hours of our evening to visit Red Square. It was magnificent. Any images you see on television will never do it justice. I highly recommend visiting if you ever get the chance.

It is now late December and we are still without our tapes. 48 hours has become interested in our saga. Sadly, the whole experience has left a bitter taste in my mouth... the harassment, the vulnerability, the explusion... and no tapes. Perhaps the FSB and Foreign Ministry will someday realize we were not endangering national security and return them to us, but I'm not holding my breath. At least I've got a hell of a story to tell!

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