The real problem was that the tactics that TF 121 had pioneered had spread much too widely, Saul thought. Coercion should be used only when necessary — under close supervision, and on prisoners who could reasonably be expected to have good information. He didn’t understand why twenty-two-year-old corporals from West Virginia who’d never learned basic interrogation techniques were beating up detainees at Abu Ghraib and Guantánamo and Bagram in Afghanistan. Not that anyone at the Pentagon had asked his opinion.
As for the argument that his methods shouldn’t be used because they didn’t work, Saul could only laugh. Of course they worked. They worked too well, in fact, which was why they couldn’t be used in police investigations. After a few weeks with him, most people would admit to anything, even crimes they hadn’t committed, simply to get out. Those forced confessions were almost worthless, because even the questioner couldn’t tell if they were true. But Saul wasn’t trying to solve crimes. He was trying to stop them. He wanted information about attacks that hadn’t happened yet. The location of hidden bombs. The structure of terrorist cells. The real names and addresses of operatives. Concrete, verifiable information. He didn’t care how often he was lied to, as long as he got the truth at the end. Lies only drew out the pain. Eventually every detainee understood that, and when they did, they gave him what he wanted. farouk walked out of his cell and into a larger room that had a table at its center.
Two big men walked into the room. “Sit,” one said in English. Farouk saw no reason to pretend that he didn’t understand. He sat. One man stood behind him, while the other manacled his legs to the chair. Then they brought out a plate of bread, a bowl of hummus, and a glass of orange juice.
Saliva filled Farouk’s mouth. He could never remember being so hungry, not even as a boy when his mother had to make three kilograms of flour last a week. He wondered if the food was safe. One of the men dipped a piece of bread into the hummus and ate. At that Farouk dipped his head toward the table and shoveled food into his mouth with his cuffed hands. The glorious food filled his belly, and he felt a momentary rush of gratitude toward his captors. He stifled the reaction immediately. Don’t thank the
After he finished, the men cleared away the plates and walked out, leaving Farouk to sit alone. He suddenly felt strangely fatigued. He wanted nothing more than to put his head on the table and sleep, and a few minutes later he did just that.
s n a p! t h e l i g h t s shone brightly as Farouk tried to shake the mustiness from his head. A new man stood over him. Someone else shook him from behind. Why had he fallen asleep? And for how long? The hummus must have been laced with something. He was a fool. He wiped at a line of drool trickling from his mouth.
“Wake up,” the man said. He was tall, with dark hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. He set a thick folder on the table. Farouk shook himself desperately. He needed to be clearheaded. The man sat across from Farouk and took a pack of Marlboros from his jacket. “Cigarette?”
“No,” Farouk said, though he badly wanted one. The man shrugged. “Suit yourself. What’s your name?”
“Hussein. What’s yours?”
“My name doesn’t matter. And I think you’re lying to me. What’s your name?”
“Hussein. Hussein Ali,” Farouk said. “I’m a farmer from Basra. This is all a mistake.”
“You’re not even Iraqi. Don’t insult me.” The nameless man smiled a small cold smile. “For the last time. What’s your name?”
“I told you,” Farouk said as sincerely as he could. “Hussein.”
“Do you want to go back in the hole?”
Not that, Farouk thought. Please not that. He swallowed hard and tried to keep his composure as his interrogator tapped a Marlboro from the pack on the table.
“Do you want to go back in the hole? Yes or no?”
“Of course not,” Farouk said. “But my name is Hussein.” As long as he stayed calm he could outsmart this American. now, saul told himself. Show this bastard who’s in charge. He opened the folder. “Your name is Farouk Khan,” he said. “You were born in Peshawar, Pakistan, in 1954. You attended the University of Delft in the Netherlands as an exchange student. You received a bachelor’s degree in physics, and then an advanced degree. Upon your return to Pakistan, you were hired by the government.”
