Brent Marks Legal Thriller Series: Box Set One

by Kenneth Eade

  “Now are you happy?”

  The cat sniffed at the mixture, hesitated, and looked up at Brent, who walked away.

  ***

  Brent opened his eyes. He couldn’t see anything. It was deadly silent. He tried to move, but was unable to move his arms or legs. He strained to breathe against the hood that threatened to suffocate him, and blocked out all sensation. All he could feel was his naked body against a cold concrete floor. He screamed, but could not even hear himself scream. In his panic, he bucked against his restraints, and felt the cold steel burning into his wrists. Suddenly, he could hear someone calling him from far away. It was a faint sound.

  “Brent?” Brent rustled, and his startled eyes opened in terror. He felt tingling on his sweaty neck.

  “Brent, are you okay?” It was Debbie.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Must have had a nightmare.”

  Debbie stroked his back to calm him down. “Go back to sleep.”

  “Can’t, big day tomorrow. Sorry Deb, I have to go.”

  ***

  Brent got home about midnight, just long enough to take a shower, review his outline for the next day, and get to bed. It was all about getting the evidence in. The visit to Debbie’s took an edge off the adrenaline cocktail he had been working on all day. Hopefully there will be no more nightmares, he thought.

  He lay in bed, going over his notes, until he found himself reading the same line over and over again.

  Then the alarm went off.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  “The Plaintiff calls Sergeant William Brown as an adverse witness.”

  “Sergeant Brown, please step forward and be sworn.”

  Sergeant Brown took a seat in the witness box, which seemed to be too small for him. Under cross-examination, Brown outlined Ahmed’s “processing” during his first six weeks at Guantanamo, as he did in his deposition, as if such things were completely normal, and only left out little things like waterboarding, dry-boarding, beatings, and mock executions.

  Brent didn’t expect to crack Brown, like Masters Mason, and get him to admit that Ahmed had died in the feeding room, and that he and Nurse Benson had covered it all up. But he tried his best to elicit any details that could be exploited by the testimony of others, or used in his argument. Presenting a trial was like working a huge jigsaw puzzle for the jury, where half of the pieces were missing. Unfortunately, what really happened would never be known.

  “Sergeant Brown, when Mr. Khury was brought to Camp 7, he was chained, hooded so he could not see, his ears muffed so he could not hear, and his hands muffed so he could not feel, isn’t that correct?”

  “Mr. Khury was delivered by the Air Force wearing their standard issue equipment to ensure the safety of their personnel and the integrity of Camp 7, whose location is classified.”

  “Move to strike as non-responsive, Your Honor.”

  “Granted. Sergeant Brown, you must answer the question.”

  “I will rephrase it, Your Honor.”

  Sergeant Brown looked down at the one hooded and shackled detainee that had just arrived. He was sitting in the dirt on his knees, naked, his hands shackled behind his back, his head waving from side to side, starving for any input to tell him where he was.

  “Only one Haji?”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” said the Corporal. “This one has been tagged as a high profile non-privileged combatant, sir.”

  “He looks like Stevie-fuckin’ Wonder movin’ that fuckin’ head round like that.”

  The Corporal laughed.

  “Let him sit here for a few hours. Then get him washed, searched and beard and head shaved. Do the standard cavity search. Make sure he’s not hiding anything up his ass.”

  “Yes, Sergeant. Then what?”

  “Then what Corporal? What do I do with shit I scrape off the bottom of my shoe?”

  “I don’t know, Sergeant.”

  “Throw him in the hole, Corporal.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  “Mr. Khury was issued a basic comforts-only package, which consisted of an ISO mat, one blanket, one towel, one roll of toilet paper, toothpaste and a finger toothbrush, one Styrofoam cup, one bar of soap, a copy of the camp rules, and a Koran.”

  “What about a jumpsuit, and a basic comforts package?”

  “Corporal, did you hear what I just said?”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  “Good, because I was thinking for a minute that you’d gone deaf, or, worse yet, that I’d gone dumb.”

  “No Sergeant.”

  “Throw this fuckin' Haji in the hole with nothing. Is that clear, Corporal?”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  “Phase Two of Behavior Management was a program to isolate Mr. Khury and foster his dependence on the interrogator,” Brown testified.

  “How was that supposed to be done?”

  “By exploiting his sense of disorientation and disorganization.”

  Sergeant Brown looked at Ahmed, hanging lifelessly from the pole after the mock execution.

  “Looks like this Haji has pissed his pants.”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” said the young private with the M16.

  “We’ve gotta teach these Arabs not to piss in their pants. We’re not a laundry service, are we, Private?”

  “No, Sergeant.”

  “Save the jumpsuit for him for later. He won’t need it now. Take him back and throw him in the hole. Lights out.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  “Mr. Khury was treated in the spirit of the Geneva Conventions,” Brown continued in his testimony.

  “But as a non-privileged enemy combatant, you were trained that the Geneva Conventions did not apply to him, isn’t that correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And that was according to your standard operating procedure, is that correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Were dogs used in Phase Two?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Large German Shepherd dogs, like police dogs, isn’t that correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You used them for management, correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “For example, when you moved Mr. Khury around the camp, you brought the dog into his cell, correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And then you placed wrist cuffs and ankle cuffs on Mr. Khury, is that correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And then you placed the hood over his head, correct?”

  “Sometimes, when needed.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And ear muffs, so he could not hear.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Yet you still considered him to be a threat, after all those precautions.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So you still needed the dog to escort him, correct?”

  “Yes, sir, for the safety of extraction personnel.”

  The team of MPs, dressed in riot gear, with a large un-muzzled German shepherd in tow, entered Ahmed’s cell, casting light into the darkness. They let the dog loose and he ran at Ahmed, growling.

  “Don’t move Haji!” commanded one of the soldiers.

  The dog stood a few feet in front of Ahmed, barking. Ahmed recoiled in fear, whereupon the dog, sensing movement, charged at Ahmed, burying his nose in Ahmed’s crotch, growling.

  “I said don’t move. If you move, he’ll take your balls off.”

  “Mr. Khury was kept in isolation for six weeks, is that correct?” asked Brent.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And that is standard operating procedure?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You didn’t consider that torture?”

  “We don’t torture detainees, sir.”

  “Move to strike as non-responsive.”

  “Granted. Answer the question,” Judge Henley said.

  “You don’t consider isolation to be torture?”

  “No, sir.”

  “During
those six weeks, you used sensory deprivation on Mr. Khury, is that correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Again, that was standard operating procedure?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you don’t consider that torture?”

  “We are not allowed to torture detainees at Camp 7, sir.”

  “Move to strike as non-responsive.”

  “Granted. The witness will answer the question.”

  “Yes or no, Sergeant, do you consider it to be torture?”

  “No, sir.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Brent continued the grueling cross-examination of Sergeant Brown as an adverse witness. The Sergeant was not going to break. He had been through more stressful situations than this cross examination in his tours in Afghanistan and Iraq. If he was lying, and Brent was sure he was, it wasn’t going to come out on cross. Brent had to zero in on items that he knew the Sergeant would admit, fully aware of the fact that the real truth would never be exposed.

  “Was Mr. Khury kept in stress positions during Phase Two?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “When was he kept in stress positions?”

  “Before interrogation by the JIG.”

  “In fact, Mr. Khury was forced to stand, with his hands cuffed to a chain in the ceiling of his cell, for eight hours at a time, isn’t that correct?’

  “It depends.”

  “Move to strike as non-responsive.”

  “Granted, the witness will answer the question.”

  “Sometimes.”

  “And, other times, he was forced to fit himself into a steel box on the floor, or stand on one leg with both of his arms up for 30 minutes, isn’t that correct?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Again, this was standard operating procedure, isn’t that correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get into the box, Ahab,” said Sergeant Brown, surrounded by four men in riot gear.

  “I can’t fit in that box, Sergeant Brown.” Ahmed looked at the small steel box on the floor.

  “Company!”

  One of the men sprayed pepper spray in Ahmed’s eyes. He recoiled in pain, tears running down his face.

  “Okay, I will try.”

  “Don’t try, do!”

  “And you didn’t consider this stress position to be torture?” asked Brent.

  “No, sir.”

  “This standard operating procedure, is that set forth in a manual for the operation of Camp 7?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Showing you a document that has been marked for identification as Exhibit 23, can you identify this document as the manual of standard operating procedures for Camp 7?” Brown flipped through the exhibit.

  “Yes, sir, it looks like it, sir.”

  “Sergeant Brown, after six weeks, was Mr. Khury moved out of isolation?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And he was placed in the general population?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Showing you a series of photos marked as Exhibits 24 through 30, do these photos accurately depict the corridor outside Mr. Khury’s cell and the cell itself?”

  “They appear to, sir.”

  Ahmed was instructed to put on an orange jump suit, then he was hooded, and moved. He could hear the sound of loud rock music in the distance. His escorts, dressed in riot gear, with dark visors and earplugs, opened the steel door to the cellblock. As they did, the sound of AC/DC blaring and reverberating against the concrete walls felt like a second steel door to pass through. They opened the door to Ahmed’s new cell, pushed him in, and ripped his hood off to a blinding light, as intense as the sun.

  “Welcome to your new home,” said one of the team, a private with buck teeth, and slammed the door.

  The music and light show continued 24/7. Ahmed tried to put his hands over his ears, but he couldn’t because they were still handcuffed. He closed his eyes, and wished for the isolation and darkness that had been his enemy for so many weeks.

  “Was overstimulation used on Mr. Khury while he was in this stage of behavior modification?” Brent asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “When you say over stimulation, do you mean that Mr. Khury’s cell was bombarded with loud rock music for long periods of time?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And intense bright lights?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you do not consider this torture?”

  “No, sir.”

  “And this is standard operating procedure?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Isn’t it true, Sergeant Brown, that you were trained by your command in the definition of torture?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And this definition of torture that you learned in your training is, ‘That which inflicts serious pain, likely to be experienced by great bodily injury, such as the destruction of an organ?’”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you know what waterboarding is, Sergeant?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That is where a person is immobilized on a flat surface, and water is poured over their face to simulate drowning, is that correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you contend that Mr. Khury was never waterboarded?”

  “Correct, sir.”

  “Even the secretary of defense doesn’t think that waterboarding is torture, isn’t that correct Sergeant?”

  “Objection! Calls for speculation!” Nagel said, sharply.

  “Sustained.”

  “Do you know what dry-boarding is?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That is a process of sticking cloths in a person’s mouth, then taping their nose and mouth shut, is that correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And it is your contention that Mr. Khury was never dry-boarded?”

  “That is correct, sir.”

  “Sergeant Brown, were you called by Corporal Reeding during the last force-feeding of Mr. Khury?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did Corporal Reeding express to you that there was an emergency?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But you don’t think there was an emergency, do you Sergeant?”

  “No, sir. The detainee coughed up his feeding tube. It happens all the time.”

  “Yet this was the last time he was force-fed, isn’t that correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Because the next day, he was found dead in his cell, isn’t that correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Immediately after that feeding, Sergeant, you put Mr. Khury in his cell, is that correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You and Nurse Benson, is that correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Isn’t it standard operating procedure for the feeding team to take the detainee back to his cell?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So you broke procedure?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you broke procedure because the situation called for different handling, isn’t that true?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And again, Sergeant Brown, Mr. Khury was found hanging from the wire mesh ceiling in his cell, is that correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “A ceiling that is eight feet high?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Nobody else saw you and Nurse Benson take Mr. Khury back to his cell, correct?”

  “That is correct, sir.”

  Brent was at a crossroads. He knew that Brown would never admit what really happened, but he needed a thread of the truth to come out. For that, Brown needed to be agitated, off his game. Whether he slipped or not, it didn’t matter. The jury would hear where Brent was going and would draw their own conclusions.

  “And isn’t it also correct, Sergeant Brown that Mr. Khury was dead when you brought him back to his cell?”

  “No, sir!” said Brown, raising his voice.

  “You don
’t have to scream Sergeant, we can hear you.”

  “Objection, argumentative,” barked Nagel.

  “Sustained.”

  Isn’t it true that, after you took Mr. Khury’s lifeless body to his cell, you strung him up with a regular orange jumpsuit to make it look like he had hanged himself?”

  “That is not true, sir. I did no such thing!”

  “Showing you what has been marked as Exhibit 31, Sergeant, is this the jumpsuit that Mr. Khury was found dead in?” Brown glanced at the tag, and then averted his eyes.

  “It appears to be, sir.”

  “Would it surprise you, Sergeant that this jumpsuit is not one that cannot be tied or torn?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Mr. Khury had talked about suicide, isn’t that correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And every detainee who was suicidal was given a special jumpsuit that could not be torn or tied into a noose, isn’t that correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Your honor, I submit as Exhibit 32, a report by the United States Navy Investigative Criminal Investigation Service, and I quote, “the detainee’s jumpsuit was tested and identified as a standard issue orange jumpsuit. Move to admit Exhibit 32 into evidence, Your Honor.

  “No objection? It is received.”

  “In fact, that was standard operating procedure in the case of a suicide threat to give every suicidal detainee a special jumpsuit, isn’t that correct Sergeant?”

  “Yes, sir. But Khury was not considered a suicide threat.”

  “No further questions at this time, Your Honor.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  In order to rehabilitate Brown and lessen the negative blow of his testimony, Nagel took him through his duties at Gitmo, their humane treatment of detainees, the anti-torture policy (under their definition of torture), and his contacts with Ahmed.

  “Did Mr. Khury ever express a desire to kill himself?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How many times?”

  “Several times, sir.”

  “And yet he was never placed on suicide watch, isn’t that correct?”

  “No, sir. He was evaluated and found not to be suicidal.”

  “Evaluated by whom?”

  “The Naval psychiatrist, sir.”

  “So, you took the precaution of having him evaluated, yet he still hung himself?”