Chapter Fourteen

 

 

Central Intelligence Agency Black Site, Vilnius, Lithuania

December 3, 3:25 p.m.

 

Justin helped Zamir get cleaned up and Carrie patched his wounds using one of the first aid kits of the CIA center. He was given his clothes and then a meal, his first of the day. He was still shivering at times and involuntarily twitching his neck and his right arm, but now he looked much better. Justin ushered him into the front passenger seat of one of the GMC Envoys and they left under the watchful eyes of Becca and Zach.

“Where are we going?” Zamir asked in Arabic.

“Just around the block. Roll down the window if you want.”

The snowfall had resumed, but it was coming down in small, relaxing flakes. The haze was still veiling most of the forest, hanging like a thick curtain behind every little open space in between the trees.

Zamir rolled down the glass and took a few deep breaths of fresh air. The wind messed up his black, curly hair.

“Do you smoke?” Justin asked.

“Yes.”

Justin had taken a pack from Andrew before leaving the center. He pulled it out of his pocket along with a lighter. He handed Zamir the pack and a moment later lit up the man’s cigarette.

Zamir drew in a deep puff, blowing small circles of smoke. He smoked the entire cigarette in a couple of minutes in silence, then Justin gave him a second cigarette and lit it for him.

“Do you know where we are?” Justin said as they came to a fork on the road. The snow and the haze had covered one of the direction signs in the distance. Justin turned in the other direction, headed south.

“Somewhere in Poland or Ukraine. The CIA has black sites in both countries.”

Justin nodded. “We’re in Poland,” he said. “Just across the border from Belarus.”

“What do you want? What are you going to do to me?”

“I’ll ask you a few questions. What happens to you depends on your answers.”

Zamir’s small black eyes peered at Justin. He tapped his cigarette with his fingers, dropping the ashes outside the window. “What if I don’t answer?”

“I’ll drive you back to the torture room. The two men there will waterboard you a few hundred times until you tell them whatever they want. You’ve heard of waterboarding, right?”

Zamir gave a slow nod. His face was downcast, the cigarette hanging in his left hand.

“It’s simulated drowning. They pour water down your throat to make you feel like you’re dying. They’ll do that over and over and over. It was done at least eighty-three times in a month to Zubaydah, an al-Qaeda operative, and a hundred and eighty-three times to Sheikh Mohammed, allegedly the mastermind of the September 11 attacks against the US. You’re not that important, but still you’ll get the waterboarding treatment at least a few dozen times, until you throw up blood.”

Zamir swallowed hard, his right hand instinctively rubbing his throat.

“They will do things to you that will destroy your mind. They’ll brainwash you. They will inflict so much pain on your mind and your body that you’ll beg them to kill you and end your hellish suffering.”

Zamir listened in silence. His face was frozen and only his eyes were flicking left and right. It looked like he was trying to figure out a way to escape this situation.

“Or they might choose another option, which is even worse for you.”

Zamir tried to grin. “Worse than what you just said?”

“Yes. They might release you after a day or two and claim you told them all the secrets of the Movement.”

Zamir unclenched his jaw. “They can’t . . . they can’t do that.”

“Oh, yes, they can and they will. You know what the Movement does to traitors, don’t you?”

Justin paused for a moment, then moved his hand across his throat in a slow, deliberate gesture. “I heard they’re using great HD cameras nowadays, with high resolution and excellent quality. Your beheading will look so lifelike.”

“And why . . . why should I trust you?” Zamir gestured with his head toward the back.

Justin shrugged. “I’m not asking you to trust me. I’m offering you a business opportunity, a trade. You’re a smart man and an economist. You understand trade. You have something I want and I have something you want. Perhaps we’ll come to terms of agreement on a peaceful exchange.”

Zamir’s eyes were completely focused on Justin’s face. He seemed to be absorbing each and every word coming out of Justin’s mouth.

“I’m not an American, and I don’t work for the Americans,” Justin added. “And you can see I’m treating you differently.”

“But you work with them,” Zamir said. “What do you want?”

“You know about the Roman Empire, Zamir? Did you study that in school?”

Zamir groaned. “Huh? What does that have to do with anything?”

“Let me explain. The Romans gave us many things: architecture, roads, and their legal system. They introduced the principle of audi alteram partem. It means ‘listen to the other side.’ The Americans aren’t interested in hearing what you have to say; they want you to tell them what they want to hear. I would like to hear you, what makes your cause so worthy for you, since you are willing to die for it, while your commanders and superior officers are still enjoying their freedom.”

“They’re not partying like the infidels do,” Zamir said. “Our chiefs, my chiefs, think and work for the freedom of our nation.”

“They do? But they send people like you on suicide missions and other dangerous operations. Assassinations. Planting bombs in schools. Killing innocent children. How is that justified from any point of view?”

Zamir looked out of the window. His lower lip twitched.

“Your sister has a young daughter. She’ll be four next week. What if someone planted a bomb in her kindergarten?”

Zamir’s eyes were still wandering somewhere outside in the gray haze. Justin felt he was getting somewhere, so he decided to bring his tactic to a hopefully successful ending. “Your niece cannot defend herself. Your sister cannot do anything to help her or you. But you can do something for them. You can be with them and protect them. You can tell me about the people who indiscriminately kill and hurt innocent women and children.”

Zamir shook his head, but did not look at Justin. “The Americans, they’ll never let me go.”

“Not right away. Perhaps in a few weeks. Many of the Guantanamo prisoners have been released. I will do the impossible to expedite your release. And I can get you much better treatment while you’re still in custody. But it will depend on our exchange. It will depend on what you know and what you’re willing to trade.”

Zamir turned his head toward Justin. “I know many things. I know about the courier. I know about the new target in Russia.”

“And the US? What do you know about the plot there?”

Zamir hesitated for a moment. His eyes wandered around the vehicle cabin.

“You have to give me something substantial in order for the Americans to come to an agreement.”

“I will. The truth is I don’t know much about the US plot. But the courier, he should know.”

“All right. Start talking, Zamir.”

 

* * *

 

Justin returned to the CIA center after a long conversation with Zamir. The man liked to talk and wanted to talk, giving him a deep insight into the structure, the workings, and the plans of the Islamic Devotion Movement. His speech was saturated with religious undertones, but Justin found it unnecessary to interrupt the flow of Zamir’s confession.

He began by telling Justin how he first became involved with the IDM. It came shortly after his brother’s death. Zamir claimed his brother was innocent and had never had any connections to extremist or separatist groups. Spetsnaz had made a mistake but they were not going to admit it. So Zamir joined the ranks of the IDM to avenge his brother, bringing his financial knowhow to the organization. He talked about how he set up offshore bank accounts on behalf of the IDM and transferred money all over the world to finance the IDM’s operations. Eventually, he got to the point where he gave up names, locations, current and future plans of the IDM—the intelligence Justin was looking for.

Zamir repeated the same story, albeit the abridged version, in the presence of the CIA agents and Carrie. They ran some of the names and locations through a series of databases and contacted the CIA station in Moscow to confirm some of the data. At first glance, Zamir was telling the truth. They were not sure if he was telling the whole truth, but it was sufficient for the time being, sufficient for Zamir to avoid waterboarding or other techniques of “enhanced interrogation” in the near future, and sufficient for the agents to present new intelligence to their FSB counterparts the next day in Moscow.