Chapter Thirteen
Central Intelligence Agency Black Site, Vilnius, Lithuania
December 3, 3:05 p.m.
The glass door creaked with a threatening squeak as Justin stepped inside the torture room. Zamir was sitting in a corner in a puddle of dirty water. A large black blindfold was placed over his head and his hands were cuffed behind his back. A small metal table and two plastic chairs were set in the middle of the room. Space heaters, large speakers, and powerful lamps were installed at the top and bottom corners of the room. They would be used in the next stage of psychological torture: sensory overload and deprivation through the extreme use of noise and silence, heat and cold, light and darkness.
Justin sidestepped around the table as he looked at the cameras fastened near the top of the glass walls. He knew Becca and everyone else could see and hear everything that was going on within the chamber. He would have only a few seconds before they would interfere with his plan.
He reached Zamir, then crouched next to him.
“Zamir, I’m going to remove your blindfold now,” Justin said in English.
He picked up the wet blindfold and lifted it up carefully so as not to scrape Zamir’s face. The man shivered and whimpered like a scared dog, trying to hide his head between his knees. His unshaved face was bruised around the sides and there was a long cut just underneath his left cheekbone. Dried blood was caked around his mouth, and his right eye was slightly swollen. His large nose was also covered in blood.
“Can you hear me?” Justin said.
Zamir did not move or reply.
“If you can hear me, nod or respond,” Justin said in Arabic.
The language change brought about the desired result. Zamir began to lift his head, but did not look at Justin. He said quietly in Arabic, “I can hear you.”
“Good. I’m going to remove your handcuffs. Can you walk?”
Zamir wore an orange jumpsuit, like most detainees in similar CIA-operated centers, and Justin could not tell if he had suffered a broken bone or a leg injury.
Zamir said, “I think I can walk.”
“Good, you and I are going to get some air outside.” Justin removed the man’s handcuffs and helped him to his feet.
Zamir leaned against the glass for support, as if his feet were not strong enough to carry his weight. He sighed and took a few shallow breaths. Justin put his arm around the man’s waist and carried him to one of the chairs. Just as Zamir collapsed on the seat, Zach opened the door.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he shouted at Justin.
Becca entered the room after Zach. “What is this?” she demanded.
“I’m going to ask Zamir a few questions. Outside.”
Her jaw dropped and she gave him a sideways glance. “You must be kidding.”
“I’m dead serious.”
“He’s not leaving the premises.”
Justin frowned. “I thought you were going to observe my methods and not interfere.”
Becca stepped closer to him. “That was before I knew you were planning to release him.”
Justin opened his mouth, but then paused to think before saying something he might regret. “Listen, we’re just stepping outside for a few minutes.” He gestured toward Zamir, whose eyes were shifting from Justin’s face to those of Becca and Zach. “He’ll be under my constant supervision at all times.”
Zach shook his head. “This is crazy. He’ll escape.”
Justin smiled. “Don’t insult my abilities.”
“He’ll learn our location and tell his associates,” Becca said.
“No, he won’t.” Justin shook his head. He looked at Zamir, then stepped closer to Becca and whispered in her ear, “You see what I’m doing here, don’t you? I’m allowing him to have some control, to feel like he’s in charge of at least a few things. There’s a snowstorm and forests on all sides outside. He’s not going to see anything and we both know he’s not going anywhere soon regardless of my interrogation.”
Becca bit her lip. She thought about it for a few moments, then shook her head. “I can’t allow it. Too much risk. He will need to be interrogated here, according to our protocols and procedures.”
Justin’s frown returned, deeper and darker. “Can we step outside for a minute?” he asked Becca.
“Zach, keep an eye on him,” she said, and they stepped outside.
Justin caught Carrie’s eyes as they walked away from the glass chamber. Do you need a hand? her look asked him. Justin shook his head and gave her a small smile. Everything is okay.
“You’re going to keep him tied in here and waterboard him?” Justin asked in a harsh tone.
“Yes, because it works,” Becca replied.
“If he knows something.”
“He does, and he’s already given us some information. And we haven’t even started to really interrogate him.”
Justin toned down his voice. “Let me try a different method, since we don’t have much time.”
“You don’t believe in torture, Justin?” Becca said. Her words sounded more like a scolding than a simple question.
“I don’t believe in unnecessary violence. I have no idea what that man knows. I have no way of easily confirming any intelligence we may obtain from him as a result of torture. We need to make many assumptions. A man under torture would admit to anything, and that could lead to grave errors and lost time.”
“He’s a member of the terrorist group we suspect is going to attack my homeland. He must have knowledge about these plans,” Becca said.
“We want to believe that. But we can’t be sure. If we torture him, we’ll break him for sure, and he’ll tell us what we want. But is it true? Is it accurate? Useful? How reliable will his memory be after hours of psychological and physical pain and suffering?”
Becca took a moment to process Justin’s words. She said, “But you will believe what he tells you if you reward him?”
“I will believe what he tells me through his own free will, because he correctly understands his position and the consequences for him and his family if he refuses to cooperate.”
“So you believe in the threat of torture or at least of future violence?”
“I believe in choices, decisions, and consequences. The ones he makes for himself, not the ones we make for him.”
Becca nodded. “All right, Justin. You want to play the good cop? Fine. I hope this amounts to something, otherwise when you bring him back, it’s my turn.”
“Thank you, Becca.”
“Don’t mention it. You’ve got two hours.”