After a fifty minute drive south, Shuai and Scott finally pulled up outside a small bungalow on a run-of-the-mill middle-class street in San Mateo, Silicon Valley. They’d driven in a silence broken only by Shuai’s men reporting that they’d arrived at that same location ten minutes prior, and would start “questioning” Hao.
As Scott followed Shuai up the drive, he reminded himself to project authority. It was imperative he made clear he was no pushover.
‘Right, I want to take a look around,’ said Scott, as they entered the foyer.
Already, he was taking things in. The foyer was large, and doubled as a living room: there was a TV in the corner, playing the news. Off this foyer were four doors. And while the two dead ahead, and the one to the left, were shut, the one to the right – a pair of double-doors – were open, and revealed a large table supporting a number of computers.
‘Two bedrooms – five rooms in all,’ Shuai replied. ‘I’ll show you.’ He pointed to the right. ‘That’s the computer room.’
Scott walked over, and put his head round the door. There was another table to the other side of the room, also full of equipment.
‘And I take it the tech to undermine TOR isn’t here?’
Shuai gave a small nod. ‘For the same reason you don’t have the DVD with you. We’ll make the swap later.’
Scott nodded. ‘Show me the rest of the house.’
Shuai proceeded to show him the main bedroom, crammed with four beds, and accompanied by an en suite, behind the door to the left – and a smaller bedroom, behind the door straight ahead and to the left. In this one, Scott noticed something interesting: two large pieces of luggage on one of the two beds, both with “L. Kelden” written on the side.
As they exited this second room, the remaining door (ahead and to the right) opened, and two grim-faced men exited, both of whom gave Scott a cursory look before engaging Shuai in conversation in Chinese.
After a moment, Shuai turned to Scott.
‘They’ve been interrogating Hao. He insists you never recorded a confession, and that you have no proof of his online activities: he says he merely told you about them. So, since we want to be sure there’s something in this bargain for us, we’d want you to get him to admit that you did record a confession.’ A deliberate pause. ‘We have the facilities that’ll allow you to water board.’
Scott felt a hot ball in his throat. He’d guessed Hao might be in the final room – which he reckoned was a kitchen. But while Hao may well have said just that, he knew Shuai wouldn’t have taken it seriously – after all, Scott had just handed Hao over to people who’d probably kill him, and might simply be trying to punish Scott. Instead, Scott reckoned this had nothing to do with verifying the existence of the DVD and USB stick. Instead, it was a test. If he was willing to inflict unspeakable agony on another person, albeit a pedophile, they’d know he was truly on side.
He’d gone this far. No turning back now.
‘Fine. I’ll make that pig squeal,’ Scott said, with nothing in his voice. He walked past the three men and into the kitchen. All three followed.
It was a large kitchen. In the center was Hao, again tied to a chair. On the counter was a line of hosing, and a roll of cling-film.
Hao’s eyes shot fearfully between the items on the counter and Scott. There was an awful tension.
‘What the fuck’s going on? One moment you’re whiter-than-white, and now you’ve stabbed your own friends in the back?’
‘Shut the fuck up.’
He approached Hao, and tugged his head harshly back by his hair.
Hao gasped.
‘So you’ve been telling them I didn’t have any knowledge of your online habits? That I didn’t record your comments?’ Scott pulled harder. ‘That right?’
Hao spat in Scott’s face.
Scott let go, and calmly wiped his face on his sleeve. Then he got to work. He affixed one end of the hosing to the sink faucet. He picked up the cling-film and tore off a square. He approached Hao once more, and tipped his chair, so its back was leaning against the wall, and its front legs raised.
‘Anything you want to say?’ tried Scott. A bead of sweat dribbled off his nose, and onto Hao’s cheek.
‘Eat shit.’
Scott nodded. Then – calmly, deliberately – he took the sheet of cling film, wrapped it tight round Hao’s face, and turned on the faucet. As the water started flowing out the end of the hose, Hao’s face turned to panic. He was already struggling to breathe.
If you think you’re panicked now, Scott thought.
Then he did it: he directed the flow of water over Hao’s face, and watched. Watched as Hao’s panic deepen into something far more instinctive; as Hao’s body – which was receiving signals from the brain that it was drowning, knocking on death’s door – thrashed urgently against its bonds.
Scott felt his testicles tighten with repulsion. But he continued.
After six long seconds, he stopped, and peeled off the film.
Hao’s face was bright-red, and he gasped in air with such animal hunger that Scott’s hair went on end. With the amount he was sweating, Scott’s face was as wet as Hao’s.
‘Let’s try this again,’ Scott said. ‘Did I record your confession?’
Hao continued to heave in air. Then he tried to spit at Scott again. But he was too exhausted and the saliva landed pathetically on his own face.
Scott replaced the film. This time, Hao started thrashing before the water hit. Scott let him wait a couple of seconds, before again letting him have it.
The results were the same. But now, Scott seemed almost to be having an out of body experience: he was watching himself do it from a vantage point above.
He continued water-boarding, this time sailing closer to the wind. He kept it up for over ten seconds; over ten seconds of manic, insane thrashing.
Then he watched himself again pull off the film, again put the question to Hao, again meet with resistance.
But this time, when he went to replace the film, Hao capitulated and ramblingly, incoherently admitted to everything.
Scott had expected as much. Nobody can withstand the horrors of water-boarding. He knew, also, that although the confession happened to be true, it was of limited value to Shuai. People will admit to anything to get the torture to stop…
But that wasn’t the point. The point was that he’d done what he’d needed to prove himself trustworthy. And in that moment, he knew he’d do it again if he had to. The floodgates had opened.
He turned to Shuai. ‘Make sure you pass on the message that I played your little game,’ he spat. ‘I want that goddamn hard-drive.’
He then grabbed a towel, wiped his face, and walked out of the room.