Extreme Measures (3 page)

C
APTAIN Trevor Leland stopped outside the door, reached for the knob, and froze with indecision. When you worked for a man like General Garrison, this was one of those moments that could make or break your career. The base commander liked his sleep and had left specific orders not to be disturbed. Leland thought of how Garrison would react to the intrusion and lost his nerve. He withdrew his hand and began walking away. After a few steps, though, he slowed his pace and started to reconsider. He’d been an aide to Brigadier General Scott Garrison for nine months, and found it extremely difficult to satisfy the man. It was by far the most tasking assignment he’d had in his six years in the air force. Garrison, like Leland, was an Air Force Academy graduate. That was about where their common ground ended, however. They disagreed drastically on how to lead and be led.

Leland thought of his own career. The general wasn’t likely to do him any favors, even if he performed to expectations. There was something the general didn’t like about him. Leland thought he knew what it was, but he didn’t want to admit it. He was a charmer. He’d figured out pretty much every CO he’d served under and been able to win them over. Not this time, though. Garrison was a tough nut, and Leland was having a really hard time trying to figure out how to turn things around. He had even tried to win over the other officers on Garrison’s staff, but so far he had received little sympathy.

For at least the tenth time in as many minutes, Leland went over his options. If he woke him up, and it turned out to be nothing, Garrison would make his glum job downright miserable. If he didn’t wake him, though, and the rumors proved to be true… Leland shuddered at the mere thought of what would happen. He remembered the senators who had been at the base earlier in the week. Leland had gone out of his way to smooth things over and make sure the politicians had everything they needed. Garrison wasn’t about to do it. He hated the politicians and dignitaries who came rolling through his base for a photo op so they could tell their constituents or friends that they had been over there, that they’d been to the war zone and survived.

So it was up to Leland to kiss their asses. He knew how the game was played. Powerful senators regularly lobbied on behalf of the officers they liked. Leland had promised them that the prisoners would be treated humanely and by the book. One of the senators had told him they’d better be or she would haul his ass before the Armed Services Committee and eat him for lunch.

Leland thought about the senator’s words as he laid out his options yet again. If he woke him up, and it was for nothing, Garrison would go nuts. He was scheduled to go on leave in ten days and planned to meet a couple of academy buddies in Istanbul. He’d been looking forward to it for months. If this turned out to be nothing, Garrison wouldn’t hesitate to punish him by canceling his leave. If he let him sleep, on the other hand, and the rumors turned out to be true, the man would do a lot more than cancel his leave. He would probably have him transferred to one of the tiny firebases up in the mountains where he could expect to be shelled once or twice a day. Leland took a deep breath and made his decision. A firebase was a far worse punishment than missing Istanbul.

Leland moved quickly now. He didn’t want to lose his nerve. He tapped lightly on the door, even though he knew it would do no good. The general was a sound sleeper. Gently opening the door, Leland walked over to the bed and cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, sir.” The general kept snoring, so Leland reached out and repeated himself. The general didn’t stir. Leland grimaced and lightly touched the general’s shoulder.

General Garrison flinched and made a loud snorting noise as he snatched a breath. He rolled over and said, “What… who is it?”

“It’s me, Captain Leland, sir.”

“Leland, what in the hell do you want?” Garrison growled through a dry throat. “I thought I told you not to disturb me.”

“You did, sir, but there’s something… something that I thought I should bring to your attention.” He took a step back.

“Something,” General Garrison said in an irritated voice as he sat up. “This had better be good, Captain, or you’re going to be out calling in close air support for the rest of your tour.”

Leland took a dry gulp, his worst fears confirmed. It seemed he would never be able to satisfy the man. “A plane arrived shortly after midnight, sir.”

“Planes arrive all the time,” Garrison snarled. “This is an air base, Captain. That’s what happens… planes land and planes take off.”

Leland was suddenly regretting his decision, but there was no turning back. “I think it might involve the prisoners, sir. The two high-value ones.”

The news had a sobering affect on the general. “What do you mean, the two prisoners?”

“The plane was an Air Force G III. Six men deplaned, all wearing BDU’s. They had two Humvees waiting for them.”

“Who are they?”

Leland grew increasingly nervous. The next piece of information had been passed along as a rumor. “I have not been able to verify this, sir, but I was told by someone on the flight line that the men are from the Office of Special Investigations.”

Garrison threw back his blanket and swung his feet onto the floor. After mumbling a few curses he looked up at his aide and said, “Office of Special Investigations?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How long have you known?”

“About forty minutes, sir.”

The general stood. “Air Force Office of Special Investigations arrives on my base, unannounced, in the middle of the night, and it takes you forty minutes to notify me.”

Leland stood ramrod straight and looked over the top of the general’s head. “Sir, you left specific orders not to be disturbed.”

“I left specific orders not to be bothered with all of the trivial bullshit that you think is important. When the Office of Special Investigations shows up in the middle of the night, it’s about as bad as it gets for a CO. It ranks just an ass hair under a plane crashing or attack on the base.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Where are they now?”

“I’m not sure, sir, but I think they might be at the Hilton.”

Garrison was in the midst of pulling on his flight suit. He stopped with both feet in and fixed a stare on the young captain. “The Hilton?”

“Yes, sir.”

The anger spread across the general’s face. “How in the hell did you ever graduate from the United States Air Force Academy?”

N
ASH and Rapp had made it clear to General Dostum that, as much as they would like to hand al-Haq over to him, it was not going to happen. The general was reluctant at first, but when Rapp offered to deposit a sizable amount of cash in his bank in Geneva, the general agreed to the plan with enthusiasm. Their little charade had been rehearsed in advance, and was so far proceeding according to plan. Nash reasoned that once al-Haq agreed to talk, Dostum would be the perfect person to initiate the interrogation. The two men had fought alongside each other for eleven years. Al-Haq had committed his unforgivable sin during a pitched battle against the Taliban for the city of Mazar-i-Sharif. When it became obvious that the Taliban was going to carry the day, al-Haq crossed over with his men and switched his allegiance. Dostum was forced to retreat and eventually flee the country. Al-Haq would think long and hard before he lied to his former friend.

Nash and Rapp monitored the first few minutes of the session from a one-way viewing window. When it was obvious that Dostum wasn’t going to choke al-Haq to death, Nash relaxed a bit. His plan was to move onto the other prisoner while Dostum got things rolling. He turned and looked at Marcus Dumond, who was sitting behind the watch desk. Rapp had brought him from Langley. The thirty-one-year-old was the Clandestine Service’s resident genius when it came to security systems and computers.

“You getting all this?” Nash asked.

“Yep,” Dumond answered.

“And you have control of the cameras? Base security isn’t catching any of this?”

Rapp had made Dumond shave his Afro for the trip, and he couldn’t stop rubbing his newly polished head. He looked at Nash the same way he looked at anyone who dared question his ability to work magic.

“Base security is looking at a one-hour loop from every camera in this facility. I am recording the interrogations, both audio and video, onto this flash drive.” Dumond held up a small silver box no bigger than a checkbook.

“Good.” Nash turned back to Rapp and said, “Are you ready for a little fire and brimstone?”

“In a minute. Where do they keep the towels?”

“Storage closet over here.” Nash led Rapp down another hall and opened the door to a janitor’s closet where fresh orange coveralls, bedding, and towels for the prisoners were kept. Rapp grabbed a towel and wet it in the mop sink.

Already concerned over the cut above Haggani’s eye, Nash asked, “What do you have in mind?”

Rapp wrung out the towel and said, “You’ve seen his type before. The only thing you can do is beat on him until he heels.”

“Mitch, we have to be careful.”

“Don’t worry, no matter how pissed off I look, it’s all part of the act.”

“Right. And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“No,” Rapp said with a smile. “You just do your fire-and-brimstone thing, and I’ll play the sadistic bastard who looks like he wants to tear his head off and piss down his throat.”

“That’s a real stretch for you. You sure you don’t want to switch roles this time?”

“I’m sure.” Rapp laughed. “I don’t have your ministerial zeal.”

“Fine. Just remember… no more marks.”

“I’ll do my best,” Rapp said, as if he was already admitting he couldn’t.

Rapp’s attitude gave Nash pause. “You’re looking for a fight, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Then maybe we shouldn’t go in there. Al-Haq is already talking. Let’s get as much out of him as we can tonight, have Irene bring it to the president, and if all goes well, he’ll be transferred to our custody, and we can spend the next thirty days debriefing him.”

“No,” Rapp said with conviction. “I want a shot at Haggani. I’ve wanted to get my hands on him for a long time. I want to hear from his own mouth how he thinks it’s noble to kill little kids, and then I want him to feel some real pain. I want him to understand what he’s put these people through. I want to break him down bit by bit, and then I want to suck his brain dry. And then I’m going to personally hunt down every person in his little pipeline of suicide bombers and put a bullet in their head.”

Nash had known Rapp long enough to know he meant every word of what he’d just said. “Mitch, it might take weeks just to get him to talk.”

“It might, but he also might break within an hour.” He jerked his head toward the interrogation room. “Let’s get started.”

Nash reached out and grabbed Rapp’s arm. “Mitch, I’ve been here all week. These senators put the fear of God into these air force guys. Let’s not give them any reason to call Washington.”

“I’m not going to back down from this fight, Mike. I’ve had it with these damn politicians who don’t have the stomach to take on these bastards. It’s only a matter of time before we get hit again and then you watch these pricks run for cover. Every single one of them who’s been handcuffing us is going to blame us for failing to stop these guys.”

“You’re probably right, but there’s a smart way to do this and then there’s the…”

Rapp held up a hand and cut him off. “You don’t have to go in there with me. You’ve got a family to worry about. I don’t. I’m free and clear. I’ve got nothing to slow me down. Nothing they can hold over my head.”

Nash was tempted to take him up on the offer, but they had been through too much together. He owed Rapp too much. “Just try not to leave any more marks.”

“I’ll do my best.” Rapp walked back down the hall and paused to look in on General Dostum and al-Haq. He took it as a good sign that the two men were talking. Rapp moved down the hall and opened the door to the other interrogation room. As he entered, he said, “Abu, I hear you’ve been playing dumb all week.” Rapp reached Haggani’s side and added, “We both know you understand English.”

Rapp expected it this time. Was waiting as the same feral look spread across Haggani’s face. With his arms and legs bound to the chair, the prisoner tilted his head back, cleared his throat and then lunged forward unleashing a gob of spit. Rapp held up the towel and blocked it.

“Bad move, Abu,” Rapp said as he draped the towel over Haggani’s head and reached into the right cargo pocket of his pants. He fished out a black stun gun and gripped it firmly in his right hand. Haggani was violently trying to shake the towel from his head, but was having little success. As soon as he stopped moving, Rapp placed the two charge electrodes against the wet towel in the general area of the terrorist’s mouth. He pulled the trigger and pressed firmly, holding it down for three long seconds. The high-voltage, low-amperage electrical charge crackled as it spread through the wet towel. Haggani’s body went rigid for a second and then convulsed several times.

Rapp withdrew the gun, grabbed the towel, and took a step back. A disoriented Haggani fought to keep his head up.

“Abu, have you ever heard of Ivan Pavlov?” Rapp searched the man’s still-dazed eyes. “Based on your limited educational experience, I doubt it. He’s a Russian, or I should say, was. He’s been dead for a long time, but that’s not important. The man was a genius… the father of classical conditioning. Most people know him because of the study he did with dogs. He’d ring a bell, wait a few minutes, and then feed the dogs. After a while the dogs would salivate in anticipation of being fed when they heard the bell ring… pretty basic stuff. It’s called conditioned response and it works with humans as well as dogs. Take your little nasty habit of spitting on people, for example. The guards should have broken you of the habit right away, but they didn’t, so I’m going to have to do it. Not a big deal, though. It shouldn’t take us more than ten minutes to cure you of the tendency.”

Haggani’s eyes blinked several times. He shook his head and then opened his mouth and flexed his jaw.

Nash watched, unfazed, from the other side of the table. He’d seen Rapp go through this with prisoners on four other occasions. The towel was used to both block the spit and spread out the charge so they wouldn’t leave any marks on Haggani. Nash had used stun guns himself on many occasions. Especially on the prisoners who were fond of throwing their feces and urine at the guards. Every human rights organization had released statements condemning the use of stun guns on prisoners as torture. Nash wondered how they would feel if they had someone throwing shit on them every day when they walked into work.

Rapp got the towel ready. He stepped a little closer and asked, “Are you done spitting?”

Haggani tilted his head back again and pursed his lips.

Rapp tossed the towel back over Haggani’s head and hit him with another three-second shot from the stun gun. The results were the same. Haggani’s recovery, though, took a good half minute longer.

Nash and Rapp exchanged a brief look. Between the two of them they’d had only one prisoner go beyond three hits in a sitting. Almost all required shocks a day or two later, to help cement the conditioning. A minute passed and Rapp pulled the towel off Haggani’s head. He didn’t speak this time. He stood within striking distance locked in a stare with Haggani waiting for him to decide which path he would take.

Nash stared at the cut and swollen bump above Haggani’s eye. The blood had run down his face onto his neck and was now soaking the collar of the orange jumpsuit. It showed no signs of slowing. Nash knew that sooner rather than later he would have to get a first aid kit and clean up the prisoner. There was no way of hiding the injury, though. That was going to create some major problems in the morning.

There was a knock on the door. Nash walked over and opened it. General Dostum was standing in the hallway, smiling. “He wants to talk to you.”

Nash did not want to talk in front of Haggani, so he said to Rapp, “I’ll be back in a minute.” He stepped into the hallway, and as soon as the door was closed he asked, “What’s up?”

Dostum rolled his eyes. “The man is a snake. He thinks only of himself. I knew he would want to strike a deal.”

“Did he give you anything?”

“He says he has information that would be very helpful and timely to the U.S.”

“You believe him?”

“He was in a position to know important things, but he is a liar. It is up to you to sort it all out.” Dostum grinned.

Nash thought of his strategy. He knew from experience that you never walked into an interrogation room without a plan. He had an idea where al-Haq would want to take this. He patted Dostum on the shoulder and said, “Thank you. I will go in alone. Please watch, though, and don’t be afraid to interrupt if you think he is lying.”