“Damn screw. Just go in already.” Charley pounded the wall with her fist for good measure.
“Shoot.” She should have brought her basket of tools out with her. Setting the screwdriver and the uncooperative screw down on a chair, she snatched up her flashlight, and stalked out of the barn. Couple of minutes later, she headed back, the tool basket in one hand, along with a cold soda, and the flashlight in the other. She was halfway there when she heard something snap behind her.
Heart in her throat, Charley stopped and spun, shining her light in a path toward the house. Nothing. She shrugged and started walking again.
“Just a squirrel,” she reassured herself. Then the noise came again. She did not bother to look for the cause. She ran to the barn, slipped in quickly, and bolted the door with the new lock behind her. Was someone out there shooting pictures of her? Or were they preparing to do to her what they did to Kyle?
Releasing the breath she held, Charley dropped the tools, and removed her weapon from the back of her pants. Locked securely inside the building, she stood on a chair, and peeked out the windows, holding her SIG 9-millimeter in her right hand just underneath the windowsill. No movement. On the other side of the room, she checked the windows. Nothing.
“Critters. It had to be critters.” Stepping down off the chair, she tucked the pistol back where it belonged, shaking her head in a self-reprimand. She needed to remember she lived in the sticks of New Hampshire, not in the city.
More determined than she had been fifteen minutes ago, Charley searched through her tools and located a drill and the correct drill bit. After that, the screw went in without a struggle.
“Slick as a whistle.” She snapped her fingers and grinned then rolled her eyes. She would have to be careful of spending too much time with Jake, his drawl and Southern demeanor was already rubbing off.
She yawned. Just in time. All done. Switching off the lights, Charley locked up and set the alarm for her new office space, and walked back to the house. Luckily, no boogieman leaped out at her, she thought, as she trudged up the stairs to the bedroom.
Despite her exhaustion, she pulled the laptop out from under her bed then sat on the mattress with her legs stretched out in front of her, and placed the computer on her thighs. She would finish the report before she nodded off and be able to sleep in.
Opening her research file, she started merging the data she gathered and added MSgt. Hayes’ name and the other names he revealed during the interview, along with the Republic of Georgia events to her Network Operations Wiring Diagram.
The wiring diagram was used as a sort of connect the dots tool. It gave a visual cue revealing who knew whom, and how they may be related to each other in various events. The purpose being to give more information and more leverage during an actual interrogation with a possible enemy. Once she completed that last piece, Charley zipped up the report and sent it to the secure FTP site.
As that message left, another arrived. From Kyle.
Charley stared sightlessly, her heart beating out of her chest. “He was dead! Wasn’t he?” Her stomach dropped with dread and with shaky fingers, she clicked the email.
The message read, “Black sites.”
That’s it? Wanting to see more, she clicked the down arrow on her screen, but nothing happened. She scrubbed her face with her hands and wiped at her eyes. That can’t be it! She wanted more. Where was he? Had the picture been a joke? Sick! Charley rubbed at the frown lines between her eyebrows. Kyle was alive?
Holding her arms out at her sides in the same pose as a crossing guard, she inhaled and exhaled several times, calmed her breathing and settled her mind.
“Okay.” Composed, she turned her attention back to the message and re-read it.
That was all there was. “Black Sites.”
When she looked at the header information, something odd struck her. Kyle sent the message over a week ago. Before his phone call. Before their dinner. What took it so long to arrive? What did it mean?
“Someone had intercepted it.” Then why send it anyway?
Sick to her stomach, Charley shoved the laptop aside, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes, covering them with an arm.
“What happened, Kyle? What is a black site?”
* * * *
An incessant noise disturbed her sleep. Swatting at air didn’t make the ringing disappear. Finally, Charley rolled over and searched for the sound. Finding her Capri pants, she fished out her cell phone.
“Hello,” she answered with sleep in her voice, taking a seat on the floor.
“I’ve got an assignment.”
Grayson. “It’s three in the morning. I’m on vacation.” Did Grayson not know the meaning of vacation?
“Charley,” he snapped out and she sat bolt upright. “There will be a car there in thirty minutes. Be ready.”
TEN
The black car met her and drove her to Logan Airport in Boston where a military pilot and his helicopter were waiting. The first helicopter ride took her to a military hanger where she hitched a ride on an armed forces plane. After the long airplane flight, she caught another helicopter. The pilot flew her to an undisclosed location, touching down on the rooftop of a tall building. It was dark and Charley saw no lights in the skyline so she figured it had to be rural and foreign.
Two Army guards met and escorted her inside the building, down a couple of flights of stairs, and into a preparation room. In the small windowless room sat a rectangular metal table with two green, vinyl-cushioned, metal chairs. Sitting on top of the table was a manila folder. Her assignment.
“If you need anything, Ma’am.”
“It’s Charley. Thanks.”
Before the Private could shut the door on his way out of the room, Charley heard yelling followed by a loud crash. Without thinking, she followed the Private out of the room and down the hall to an open door where several people congregated. Standing on tiptoe to see the cause of the commotion, she saw Dick Grande, US Army Intelligence—Delta Force, AKA Big Dick, cowering over a tied-up and soaking wet individual.
Blood boiled and fury raged through her as she shoved and elbowed her way into the room ordering everyone to stop.
“Stand down!” She commanded Dick, stepping between him and the drowning man, her arms spread out in a feeble attempt to protect the victim. “Cut it out!”
When she pushed at Dick’s expansive chest, he didn’t budge. Not an inch. But Charley saw the moment the haze cleared from his eyes and Dick recognized her.
“Aw, hell.” He didn’t back off, he raked large fingers through military cropped hair and swore. “Damn it. Who let you in here?” He yelled but Charley did not answer.
Narrowing her gaze, she pointed to the open, crowded door, and ordered Dick and the rest of the Army out. “Go!” When Big Dick refused to move, she stepped closer to him, invaded his space. “Now,” she commanded between gritted teeth.
His nostrils flared, fingers curled into fists at his sides but he backed down and stormed out of the room.
When the room was empty except for her and the detainee, Charley turned toward the cowering man, and conscious of her skirt, squatted next to him. “Are you okay?”
Dark eyes, red-rimmed from tears and water stared up at her. He did not answer. She wanted desperately to touch the man. Hell, he was not even a man. He was barely old enough to shave. She could not offer him any physical comfort. Men from his country looked upon most Americans as whores and the touching of a woman who was not your wife or mother was not permitted. It would be considered a crime against his family and punishable by any number of means.
Charley had always taken special care to dress appropriately in modest but feminine clothing and to exude a motherly persona. The motherly guise aided her in gaining the detainee’s trust and respect. Men were more apt to open up to a mother figure than a whore.
“I will get you a towel and first aid.”
Standing, she walked to the half-closed door, opened it and ordere
d the closest guard to get a medic and some towels. He hesitated then ran off to do her bidding. Shutting the metal door behind her, Charley stepped out into the hall. Another guard armed with his M-16 moved in front of the door to take up the post.
Dick came walking out of a side hall drying his arms and face with a towel. Without any pretense to cover his disdain for her, he rolled his eyes upward.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I was ordered to be here.”
“Fucking great, lady. The last thing we need is some weak pussy drilling these men.”
Charley inwardly cringed at his verbal abuse but made certain she did not outwardly demonstrate her disgust for the man.
“What gives you the right to barge in on my interrogation session?”
Pinning her fists to her hips, she glared at Dick. “Same answer.”
He aimed a meaty index finger at her. “Lady, you got no right to interfere. Another few minutes and he would have talked.”
One of her feet tapped the floor. “Waterboarding is not sanctioned and you know it.” He started to speak but Charley successfully shut his trap by holding a hand in the air and continued. “Furthermore, you nimwitted jarhead, the use of torture seldom produces reliable information. The subjects will say anything to get you to stop.”
“Waterboarding isn’t torture. It’s a day at the beach. Would you like to go for a swim?” He smiled a cold, heartless grin.
Charley shivered. “It is torture and you know it.”
“That depends on which official you listen to. I happen to agree with extended interrogation tactics.”
Extended interrogation was just a political term invented to cover up torture. He knew it and so did she.
“Have you read the Army Field Manual? I’m sure you have. I can refresh—”
“Can it!” He took two strides, towering over her, and spoke in a low whisper. “You think any of those detainees would treat you with respect if the tables were turned, Sweetheart?” His upper lip curled. “Not on your life. First chance they got they would rip those clothes off, if they even bothered removing them, then they’d throw you over the nearest jeep, table, or camel, do away with your panties, and slam into you.”
Charley swallowed hard at the very visual description, squeezed her eyes shut. She refused to let Dick frighten her.
He backed up. “My men protect people like you. People too stupid to know when they’re in over their heads. But believe me, lady, we stand the wall.”
Charley’s heart raced inside her chest but she shoved the fear aside. “I know you do. I respect that. I appreciate it. Now let me do my job.”
There was silence in the hall. No one moved. Dick just stared at her. Then he nodded and strode away.
Letting out a heavy sigh of relief, she walked to the preparation room and spoke to the guard. “I need a bottle of water and an hour. Then I’ll be ready.” Charley shut the door behind her and wiped at the tears that threatened to fall. “Just let me get through this.”
After reading the file of information left for her, in addition to what she read on the helicopter flight, Charley was prepared. Straightening her clothes, she picked up her pen and paper along with her box of cookies, and exited the small room.
“Ma’am.” The guard respectfully addressed her.
She smiled back. “Is the interpreter available to observe just in case?” Having studied and used the Russian language for years, she didn’t think she would need an interpreter, but she preferred to be safe than sorry. Any disruption during an interview could throw the whole thing off rhythm.
“Yes, ma’am.” The young Private escorted her down the hall.
When Charley entered the interview room, Vladimir Gerritt sat in a metal chair on the opposite side of the table with his ankles and waist secured. Although she hated to see it, Charley had been grateful for the restraints on several previous occasions.
The incident took place approximately six weeks ago. She found herself in Iraq to observe and participate in the second stage of the Joint Georgia-US “Immediate Response” training demonstration. The main duty of the peacekeeping forces was to seize a mock terrorist who hid in one of the houses. The mock terrorist tried to escape when the coalition forces appeared but the troops managed to detain him and realized they captured, Onder Gozcu, a PKK terrorist. Onder Gozcu had been caught carrying three kilograms of explosives on him.
Not wanting to disrupt the joint operation demonstration and training exercise, the Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary of the US had Onder extradited to Armenia. Once in custody at the detention center, the military police found another type of explosive in his pocket. Then she got involved.
What should have been a simple demonstration and training mission turned into five days of stress and work. The HUMINT collection officer onsite, Grayson assigned her to interview Onder Gozcu, a terrorist with no respect for human life, and even less for women, especially American women. She did her usual to try to gain rapport, but to no avail. During the questioning sessions, he gave very little up, answering most questions with a sneer, or spitting at her, or making lude comments.
On day three of her sessions with Onder, he somehow managed to loosen his waist restraint giving him room to reach out and snag her wrist. At her request, there had been no guard in the room that day. Charley had mistakenly thought their presence held Onder back. Before the guards stormed into the room, Onder had jerked her across the table, punched her in the face then grabbed her breast and squeezed it roughly, ripped her blouse, and put his mouth on her neck.
The guards rushed in just after she managed to scratch his face with her short nails. He screamed but the act only pissed him off more. Before the guards got around the table to pull him off her, he sank his teeth into her left breast. When the guards got a hold of him, he still did not stop. He spit at her and called her a whore. If those restraints were not on at all, who knows what would have happened. Now there was always a guard stationed in the back of the room for added protection. She would never make the mistake of changing that rule again.
Swallowing hard, Charley slowed her heart rate, pushed the memory of Onder out of her mind, and focused on Vladimir Gerritt. As she set her things on the table, and took a seat in the opposite chair, she gave Vladimir a genuine smile.
“Hello. I’m Charley.” Pulling the box over in front of her, she opened it. Vladimir averted his gaze, trying not to show interest but she saw his dark eyes angle back and watch. She set the opened box in front of him.
“Go ahead.”
He glanced down. Charley observed Vladimir’s gaze grow wide, and the thin line of his mouth turned up slightly.
“Eat.”
Vladimir looked at her, his brows knit in distrust.
“It’s okay.”
He reached in with tentative fingers and pulled out a cookie. Instead of eating it, he offered it to her.
Smart. Charley grinned and took the cookie, making certain of no physical contact. It wasn’t until she swallowed the first bite that Vladimir took a cookie for himself. His sole focus on the cookie, Vladimir made no eye contact with her until he had eaten two cookies and was on the third. Then he presented her with a smile, a genuine smile that engaged the muscles of his temples. Bingo! They had bonded.
“Do you like the cookies?”
He smiled again. “Yes.”
“I’m Charley Duston, US Intelligence Officer.” She extended a hand to Vladimir. He lifted a brow then finally took her outstretched hand.
“Sergeant Major Vladimir Gerritt, Russian Army.”
Charley mirrored his sitting position with his hands clasped together on top of the table, another technique to aid in building the bond between interviewer and interviewee.
“Where are you from Vladimir?”
“Abkhazia.”
Abkhazia was a Russian-backed separatist region that bordered Republic of Georgia. Based on the reports she had read, Charley knew his answer was true.
When first starting to question a subject it was important to baseline their behavior with questions you knew the answer to. This allowed her to observe his mannerisms and see his honest reactions. Then when an untruth came out, which would be inevitable, she could gauge the difference between the actions. A human lie detector.
“Where were you arrested, Vladimir?”
“Arrested? I was not arrested. They kidnapped me.” Kidnapped? She guessed some might consider the military police breaking down your door at a luxury hotel in downtown Tbilisi, sweeping you up and out in the middle of the night as a kidnapping.
“What are the names of your sisters?”
Vladimir’s brows flashed up then down quickly in surprise. “One sister.”
Good. “What is her name?”
His eyes rolled up and left in his head, Charley’s left, accessing an image of his sister. “Kokovtseva.”
Another honest answer.
“Who is she married to?”
Vladimir hesitated in his response and his eyes shifted down and left, an indication he was talking with himself, trying to come up with a lie.
She would ask another question and come back around. “What does your sister look like?”
Again, Vladimir accessed the part of his brain where he retrieved a picture of his sister. “Dark, long hair, brown eyes. Beautiful.” He smiled at the memory.
“Where does she work?”
His brows creased in confusion. He was trying to determine whether his answer could hurt his sister. “Defense Ministry.”
Yes! “Ah. That is nice. She works where her husband does.”
“Yes.”
Ha! She hadn’t posed a question just a statement that he confirmed. It was an honest answer because he hadn’t shown any of the tell-tale signs like fidgeting, trying to stare her down, nothing. It was just a slip, an honest slip.
“What is her husband’s name?” Same question she had asked before only different. Repeat questions allow her to hone in on whether a subject is truthful.
Vladimir scratched his neck five times below his right ear. He was uncertain how to answer. “Mikheil Putin.” That confirmed what the reports suspected based on other detainees reports.
Connect the Dots Page 5