“Do all the others use this method as well?”
He’d hoped she wouldn’t think to ask that question. It was time to end the discussion before it went any farther. “Listen, I can’t discuss this with you.” It was bad enough that he was even here talking to her. He was in line for an official reprimand if his superiors found out he was talking to a civilian about any of this.
She raked him with a scathing glare and then stared out her side window. They sat in tense silence for about five minutes, and he had his hand on the door handle ready to step out, when she turned to lean against the door, tucking one leg up under her. “I’m not exactly sure how it works, but I think the picture comes first, then Mark has the dreams. Maybe it fills in the details.”
Jim suppressed a sigh. If she wanted to focus on the unlikely, no, make that the impossible, then he’d go along with it for now. At least it got her off the subject of methods of interrogation. He pulled out the photo, steeling himself. He wouldn’t cringe—not in front of her. He was used to seeing this kind of thing, but usually he was prepared and was able to detach from what happened to the subject. With Jessie sitting there, it was impossible to remain distant. For her, Taylor wasn’t a subject. He was a man, and not just any man, but someone she had feelings for. The fear and panic on Taylor’s face was palpable. “You think he’s going to dream this?” He held the picture up.
Shuddering, she looked away. “Maybe.” Jessie sighed. “I’m just not sure. I didn’t listen to him when he tried telling me.”
Jim sat back and stared out the windshield. Traffic whizzed by and horns blasted in the late afternoon rush hour. He rubbed his eyes. This whole thing was crazy. Magic wasn’t real. Everyone knew that. Magicians used sleight of hand and tricks. Religion wasn’t one of his things either and he had no idea what people would say about this. Most likely, no one would believe him if he tried to argue that Taylor did have a way to see the future. A rock formed in the pit of his stomach. No one would believe him, just like no one had believed Taylor. “I’ll see if I can change my flight home to an earlier one.”
“Does this mean you believe that he had nothing to do with 9/11? That Mark will be set free?” Jessie’s eyes opened wide, hope shining out of them.
He averted his gaze. There was too much hope in them. “I don’t know what I believe, but it’s beyond my control anyway. If I come to the conclusion that there’s not enough evidence to continue holding him, I can make that recommendation. I could try to convince the rest of the team. But that is the limit of my authority. I have to go through channels.” Jim took a deep breath. “ You should know how this kind of thing works. It’s not so different. People higher than me have the final determination.” There. He hadn’t promised anything.
The light in Jessie’s eyes fizzled. “I see.”
* * *
Mark tried to control his fear as he stood in the interrogation room, but his heart knocked against his ribs and sweat ran down his back. He locked his knees to keep the chains attached to the bolt in the floor from rattling. Jim wasn’t here, so maybe his dream had been wrong. Maybe it was a just flashback nightmare to when they had done the water thing to him before. He closed his eyes and as he recalled the details, bile burned his throat. Jim had been absent in his dream too.
Bill approached and Mark saw the same shaving nick on his chin that had been there in the dream. “I’m sorry Jim couldn’t be here with us today, but he had some business to attend to. I hope you don’t mind if I ask all the questions this time.” He smiled and paced in front of Mark, his expression amused.
“No, sir.” He hated all this small talk shit. His fear mixed with anger. What would they do if he said he did mind? Take him back to his cell? It was a sick game they played with him. “Just get it over with.”
Bill did a double take, his mouth dropping open. “Excuse me?”
Mark straightened as much as he could and looked him in the eye. “I know what you’re going to do. I dreamed it. So, let’s just get it over with.”
Eyes narrowed, Bill stepped right up to Mark and jabbed him in the chest with his finger. “Oh, you do, do you? Tell me about it.”
Mark opened his mouth to recount his dream, but snapped it shut. If he told them, he might change things. Sure, maybe he wouldn’t have the water poured in his face, but then what? This was his chance to prove what he said was true. “I can’t. Not yet. I...I could write it down for you, and put it in an envelope. You could seal it, and when we’re...done, you could read it.” He swallowed and tried to control his trembling. If he survived, he would have his proof.
Bill looked at the other men on the team. One guy shrugged, tore a sheet of paper off his pad, and slid it across the table with a pen. Bill grabbed them. “Fine. Let’s do that.” Pointing towards the eye bolt on the floor, he barked an order to the guards, “ Release that, but stand by.”
Relief at the chance and dread at what was to come, warred within him as he was shoved onto a chair. Closing his eyes again, he pictured everything. When it was clear, he wrote it as a quickly as he could, trying not to leave anything out. He told of the plastic wrap, and how the water had been ice cold. He recounted all the questions asked of him, and even a snide comment made by one of the guards when he’d called Mark a drowned cat. Bill would say how Jim would be sorry he’d missed all the fun. His hand shook as he wrote that part.
Mark wrote of how the water had run out by the time the guard had counted to forty-four and Bill had sent someone for more. He came back with a full pitcher, and Mark recalled the next nineteen seconds. How Jim had burst through the door. He didn’t remember any more of the dream, but hoped that would be sufficient. When he’d finished writing, he had filled the front and back of the yellow paper. An envelope was pushed across the table and Mark folded the sheet and tucked it in. His mouth was so dry, he had trouble forming enough saliva to wet the flap, but managed to seal it.
Bill made a show of taking a piece of duct tape and sticking the envelope to the wall where Mark would be able to see it as he underwent the interrogation.
The guards pulled him to his feet, and dragged him to the spot, stretching him out and strapping him to the board. The scene played out just as he saw it in his dream. Mark heard the rustle of the plastic, but before he could react, a guard ran the clear wrap over his eyes, tightened it around his head, brought it down over his mouth and continued winding until only his nose was uncovered. He gasped for air and the plastic tightened across his open mouth, forcing his lips against his teeth. Already feeling like he was suffocating, Mark tried to turn his head. The cuffs ground into the bones of his wrists and ankles. He struggled, unable to stop himself.
Mark gagged and gasped as the torment progressed. The counting by the guard filtered through his panic, the only thing he had to hold on to. When the count reached nineteen in the second round, the torment would end. One way or another.
His hearing faded and darkness crept into the edges of his vision. Jim leaned over him, his mouth moving, but Mark’s world faded.
Thirteen
Mark’s eyes rolled back. Jim tore at the plastic, his fingers slipping against the wet film. “Goddamn it. Someone help me before he dies.” He hoped he wasn’t too late. Damn traffic.
The guards stooped, one working on the wrap, while the other released the shackles. When they rolled Taylor onto his side, water poured from his nose. Jim pounded on the unconscious man’s back and was rewarded with a weak cough, then a stronger one as more water drained.
Relief swept through Jim as he knelt on one knee. Taylor gagged and choked, then his eyes fluttered open. Thank God. Jim stood, fury rising in him, replacing the relief. Turning towards Bill, he ground out, “What the hell were you doing?”
Bill glared back. “I was interrogating the subject. What does it look like?”
Ignoring him for the moment, Jim addressed the guards and pointed to Taylor still lying dazed and gasping on the floor. “Take him to the infirmary and have him checked out
.”
Jim faced the interested expressions of the others in the room and strode to the table. How the hell could these guys just sit here and watch? None had bothered to help make sure Taylor didn’t die. It took every shred of his self-control to speak in a calm voice, “If you would all excuse us. I need to confer with Bill. I’ll let each of you know what is going on as soon as possible.”
Dr. Weiss, the medical expert on the team, looked like he was going to argue, but Jim gave him a hard look. “You have an objection, Doctor?” He, of all people, had the duty to make sure no lasting harm would be done. And yet, here he sat, looking befuddled.
The other man stood and shook his head as he gathered up his papers. “No, but I wanted to let you know about the unusual circumstances before the interrogation began.”
Jim leaned on the table with both hands. “What kind of circumstances?”
“The subject insisted that he knew what was going to happen, and he asked to write it down and put it in a sealed envelope.”
Dr. Weiss pointed to the corner where Mark was now standing on trembling legs. The guards shackled him, and Jim had to bite his tongue to keep from telling them not to do so. Protocol had to be followed. Mark had recovered enough to send a hate-filled glare in Jim’s direction.
“The envelope hasn’t been touched since Bill taped it there. I’m curious and I’m sure the team is as well.” The other two members hesitated at the doorway.
At a tearing sound, Jim looked over his shoulder to see Bill yank an envelope off the wall. Jim straightened and held his hand out. “I’ll take that.”
Bill’s mouth set in thin line, but he gave Jim the envelope. As the senior member, Jim had the authority. He knew it rankled Bill at times, but this was the first time he had seen outright anger. He decided to spare Bill any further embarrassment and nodded to Dr. Weiss. “Thank you for telling me about this. I’ll let you know if it’s pertinent to the investigation.” He waved a dismissal to the others.
Jim would have liked to open it with Taylor present, but that would mean the guards would be privy to the contents as well only he had a feeling that this information should be kept secret. He nodded towards Mark. “I hope you’ll feel better soon.”
It was the closest he could come to an apology. The anger in Mark’s eyes wavered, and then his shoulders slumped. The guards led him away.
“Well, aren’t you going to open it?” Bill sprawled into a chair, pointing with his chin at the envelope in Jim’s hands. “The guy was a real pistol tonight. Told me to just get it over with.”
“Get what over with?”
“What we were going to do. Claimed he dreamed it last night.” Bill clasped his hands behind his head and grinned.
The hairs on the back of Jim’s neck rose and he paused as he tore the seal. “He said that?”
“Yeah, but he wanted to write it down instead of telling us. I decided to go along with it. Thought maybe he would write something useful while he was at it.”
“Huh. Well, let’s see.” Jim unfolded the paper and smoothed it on top of the table. The handwriting scrawled across the page, but it was still clear enough to read without any problem. Taylor had outlined in stark detail exactly what was going to happen.
Jim read it and slid it over to Bill. “I wasn’t here for most of this, so, I don’t know if he’s right or not. What do you think?”
Bill lowered his hands with a sigh and slouched forward to read the paper. Seconds later, his back straightened and his eyebrows rose. He flipped the paper, his eyes racing across the lines of print. When he finished, he looked up at Jim. “Well, holy hell. What do you know? He has it verbatim, right down to a...remark I made.”
Jim pulled out a chair and flopped onto it. “So, what do we do about it?”
“What do you mean?” Bill sounded puzzled. “It’s interesting, but doesn’t change anything.”
Jim narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. “How can you say that? Either what he’s been telling us all along is true, or someone on the team set this up.”
Bill shrugged. “Who the hell would set this up?” He stood and pointed a finger at Jim. “Are you accusing me of arranging this...this scam?” Leaning one arm on the table, he swept the other in a vague motion towards Taylor’s cell block. “Maybe the guy got lucky. He’s had enough sessions in here that he could have guessed. But if this is his attempt to get released, it’s not going to work.”
Jim felt his jaw tighten and exerted every measure of his self-control to keep his anger in check. His instinct was to jump up and stand toe-to-toe with the guy. Instead, he tilted the chair back on two legs, put his feet on the table, and crossed his arms, giving Bill a hard stare until the other man sat down.
As if the outburst hadn’t occurred, he said in a calm voice, “Of course I don’t think you set it up, but there were others in the room. We’ll need to keep alert for troublemakers.” He let his feet drop to the floor and stood. “However, this fiasco notwithstanding, I do have doubts about Taylor’s guilt. Unless you uncovered anything with this session today?”
Bill shook his head. “Nope, just more of the same denials.”
“Either Taylor is the world’s toughest guy or he’s not connected to any terrorists.” The implication that Taylor was innocent, and had been caught up in a post 9/11 witch hunt wasn’t something that he wanted to think about. There were too many people involved. Something like that wouldn’t happen. The designation of enemy combatant needed approval from the highest authorities. It wasn’t Jim’s job to question it.
“It doesn’t matter anyway, we can’t just let him go. Who knows, maybe the guy is tough. Maybe he’s just stupid or a martyr.” Bill stood and waved his hand. “Besides, there’s still the confession by his friend and his trip to Afghanistan to consider.”
“That’s all bullshit, and you know it. His ‘friend’ named half of his address book. From what I read, that guy was a bit player. A wannabe terrorist. His confessions have yielded a big fat zero as far as actionable intelligence. In fact, the last memo stated that he’s already been released back to his home country.”
Bill shot a Jim a look of surprise. “Oh. I missed that one, I guess.” He sank back onto his chair and drummed his fingers on the table.
Jim nodded. “I’ll find it and forward it to you.”
“But Taylor was still in Afghanistan...”
“So? Lots of journalists and photographers were in that country in the last several years. Should we go round them all up?” Why was he defending the guy? Jim shook off the thought. He wasn’t defending, he was simply playing the devil’s advocate.
Bill sighed, and rubbed circles on his temples. “What other evidence do we have? The calls? Is that it?”
“Exactly. The evidence we do have, the calls warning of the attacks.” Jim began ticking off the list on his fingers. “His association with someone who has contacts within al-Qaeda, and his trip to Afghanistan, hasn’t been built upon since his detainment began. We’re still at square one.”
“You think he’s innocent.” It was a statement.
Jim flipped the envelope against one hand, tapping it as he paced in front of the table. Innocent? It was hard to contemplate. Difficult to accept. “I don’t know, but I’m not comfortable with what we have so far. If we don’t get more soon, we’re going to have to make some serious decisions.”
Shaking his head, Bill said, “Even if the guy is innocent, how can we let him go? You know he’d go running off and telling the press.”
“That’s a possibility, but not a reason to keep him prisoner. It shouldn’t even be a factor in our decision. We’re not some communist country who locks up dissidents. If he wants to speak, it’s his right.”
“Well...shit.” Bill propped his elbows on the table, his hands on either side of his head. After a moment, he dropped his hands. “What about a non-disclosure contract?”
“You mean an agreement to keep quiet?” The idea put a sour taste in Jim’s mouth.
“You have a better idea?” Bill spread his hands. “Look, Jim, I’m not so sure the guy is innocent, however, like you said, we haven’t been able to get any hard evidence. I concede that. None of the teams have, so we’re not alone.”
Jim halted his pacing, tucked the envelope in his inside breast pocket, tugged on the lapels. “I think we dig in deeper. Try some new techniques. If those don’t work, then, I don’t think we have any choice but to recommend release.”
* * *
Mark paced his cell. It had been weeks since the last interrogation and he hadn’t heard anything about what he had written. This whole time, from the beginning of this nightmare, despite the accusations and the interrogations, hope had burned in him. He’d tried to quash it—had tried to go numb, but it flickered anyway. Then the dreams came again, and as terrifying as they’d been, they gave him a reason to hope, a way to prove his innocence.
Now, even after his predictions came true, nothing had changed. He’d seen the envelope in Jim’s hand before they took him to the infirmary, he was sure he remembered that. Had they thrown it away? Had he gone through hell for nothing?
Hope. He hated hope. It was insane to cling to it. He was insane. This whole goddamn place was insane.
He balled his fists, his body tensing as rage raced through every cell of his being. The bastards! The confines of the cell, with no way to vent the anger, served as a pressure cooker. He yanked the thin pad off his bed, slamming it against the wall. Why didn’t they let him go?
The dark bubble over the camera up in the corner caught his eye. There they were. Watching him. They were always watching him. The lights shone all the damn time. Everything he did was caught on tape. He couldn’t even take a piss without an audience. Shame combined with the anger, and Mark’s gaze dropped to the half-eaten bowl of grits on his tray. Grabbing it, he whipped handfuls of the congealed substance at the bubble. Let them just try to see through that mess.
Mark Taylor Omnibus (The Mark Taylor Series) Page 25
