“So you had him arrested?” Reynolds asked.
“No, I didn’t. Within two hours, a convoy approached from the embassy. CIA, some type of spooks, I think, though who can keep up with the alphabet agencies. They brought a security team, had me remove McClain and his men.”
“That must have been interesting,” Reynolds remarked.
“Delta would have torn these guys up. So, I moved them, ordered them away. Basically, I lied and said these people were there to help. But they weren’t. Instead, they snatched him up. Black-bagged, cuffed—hands and feet. Carried him away like a sack of potatoes.”
“How long after did they interrogate York?”
“Not long. They gave him a few hours, sedated him, though it hardly seemed to work.”
“Was McClain there for the interrogation?”
“Negative. That’s when things got strange. McClain’s team was ordered to pack it up, to move out. Transferred immediately. Couldn’t tell you where they are,” Kline said.
“North,” the Colonel responded.
“Well, they weren’t happy, as you can imagine. McClain nearly blew his lid. To be honest, I was afraid they’d try to break York out. Couldn’t imagine if that happened. But luckily all went smooth, despite Delta’s wrath. They knew better, and before they knew it they were whisked away.”
“What’s happened to York since?”
“He’s been interviewed . . . or interrogated as you called it. Many times now. He’s in the brig. We have a few cells, well guarded. Never really have to use ’em, so he’s alone there. They put him in the farthest, deepest part of that shitbox. Six by nine cell is York’s home now, unless he’s being questioned.”
“And for the past three weeks, Sergeant York has been held as a prisoner,” Reynolds commented.
“You could say that. And Colonel, if I had any say so, I’d end it right now. But out of my hands and I suppose none of my business. I was even warned to stop asking questions.”
“By the CIA?”
“The suits, whomever they are. They threatened my command in so many words. Told me to ignore it, that it didn’t happen, and that it fell under their jurisdiction.”
“Have you been privy to all the interrogations?”
“Most,” Kline admitted. “A few of the computer guys have kept me posted. I’ve watched through a spliced feed, though off the record. I was concerned for York’s well being. Still am.”
“What’s been done?”
“Shit, they’ve practically tortured the man. Filled him with meds, allowed him little sleep. Constant interrogations, threats, you name it. I guess the spooks didn’t believe his story about monsters, nor can I blame them. But still . . . York deserves better. His accommodations are three shit ass meals a day, a metal cot, seat and toilet, and that’s about all. Six men escort him to the interrogation room, and this is done with full shackles and a bit of violence. But that eventually became nine.”
“He still fights?”
“Every day. From my understanding, they raid his room daily and fight him every day. Crazy, if you ask me. He’s shackled while interviewed, shackled to his bed at night even.”
“Enough to drive a man insane,” Reynolds commented.
“Yes. It takes a full force of men to move him around, and yes, they use violence. But I can’t blame them either. York’s violent. The goon squads at the CIA are pretty bad, hope you know. I’ve heard they beat on him even when in restraints, though there’s nothing I can do. They keep York sedated, enough to kill a horse, yet he still fights.”
Reynolds couldn’t help it. He smiled.
“I’m not sure why that makes you happy, Colonel. He’s violent, and that’s why I advised Elizabeth to reconsider speaking with him.”
The Marine shrugged his shoulders. “Her show, not mine.”
A moment of silence passed, a time where both men reflected. Finally, it was General Kline who broke the silence.
“Colonel, are you planning on going back in?” he asked.
“That’s classified, General Kline. But you’re a smart man. I’m sure you’ve got it figured out.”
“I don’t envy you, not in the least. And Colonel, whatever support I can provide, please ask. Otherwise, I’ll mind my own business and wish you success.”
“Sounds like a plan, General,” Reynolds said, beginning to stand.
Kline interrupted his exit, saying, “Colonel, might I add something?”
“Shoot.”
“I’m afraid York’s future might be a bleak one. I have this overwhelming fear that once the CIA is done with him, he’ll no longer be needed, if you know what I mean. I might not always agree with Delta, but the man’s still Army.”
“You think the plan is to kill him?”
“I believe they have every intention of taking him out to the mountains and putting a bullet in him,” Kline responded.
Colonel Reynolds nodded his head, saying, “If it eases your worries, Elizabeth is in charge now, and despite the way you perceive her, she actually gives two shits about Spec Ops guys. Rumor has it she’s dated one. She seems to understand them. She’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. And I damn sure won’t allow such a thing to happen either,” Reynolds reassured. “Now have a good day, General Kline.
The pair shook hands and the Marine left.
CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY
Asymmetrical Clandestine Elite Services
Interrogation of Sergeant C. York
Army, 1st SFOD-D
Interviewer: Elizabeth (ACES)
Location: Khost Province, Afghanistan
Time: 2230 Hours Zulu
CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET
43
Elizabeth strolled in, soft leather briefcase in her left hand, clipboard in her right. Her shoes clacked against the stone surface, her ponytail swinging as she entered the dark room.
“Can we get some overhead lights, please,” she said, though not really asking. “This spotlight in his face is too eighties.”
Moments later and light filled the room. Rows of fluorescents flickered on, the room brightening.
York squinted as Elizabeth approached, tilting the two giant spotlights away from his face. “Better?” she asked him.
“Yeah.”
“Good, now let’s get started,” Elizabeth said, sitting in the chair across the table from York. She tilted her head, looking at the four men who stood along the walls. “That’s all, gentlemen.”
“Ma’am, we’re ordered to provide protection at all times,” said the private security contractor, glaring at York, remembering the black eye he received only days ago.
“He’s shackled, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then leave,” Elizabeth ordered.
The four men left, heads lowered. They didn’t like this woman.
Once the door was shut, Elizabeth pulled out a notepad, a pen, setting it neatly in front of her. She spoke, looking up to face York. “Sergeant, I must inform you this interview is not being taped. This is an informal discussion.”
“Bullshit,” York replied.
“Believe what you will, but we have hours of tape. There’s nothing nefarious about this, I only mean to inform you this talk is off the record. I’d like you to start from the beginning,” she said.
“I’ve told this fuckin’ story a million times.”
“Well, let’s make that a million and one—just in case you missed something,” she said with a smile.
“Fuck you!” Sergeant York spat. He strained in his chair, pulling hard. But the handcuffs held, as did the leg shackles. York’s hands were forced upon the table, his movement restricted. His eyes shot back up, glaring at the beautiful woman. “Fuck you all! I’ve been in—what the fuck place is this anyway?”
“You’re in a hospital, Sergeant York.”
“Hospital, eh?” he laughed, a crazed grin on his face. “Where?”
“You’re still in Afghanistan. You haven’t left the base, sold
ier.”
“And how long has it been?”
“Three weeks. You’ve been held three weeks,” she said, no hint of emotion, no looking away. Her stare was firm, businesslike.
“I can’t . . . I can’t . . .” York shook his head, glancing away.
“What is it, Sergeant York? I’m here to speak candidly, that’s all.”
“I can’t think straight,” York blurted. “My mind isn’t working. I’ve been here three weeks you say? It feels like three years. Maybe you’re lying, even. Maybe it has been years.”
“I assure you, it’s been three weeks.”
“Well, even if you ain’t lying, this is insane. You fucking clear on this? You understand what’s happening here? I’ve had no contact with my family, no contact with my team. Nothing.”
“I understand, Sergeant York.”
“No, you don’t! You see, lady, I’m with The Unit. Been with ’em a long time, too. We’re close. We’re the best. We do your dirty work and we do it well.”
“I’m aware of the accomplishments of 1st SFOD-D, Sergeant York.”
“I’ve done four tours for my country, and guess what? I get black-bagged! You fucks hooded me, held me three weeks like a prisoner. You jack me full of drugs, you kick my ass when you feel the need. You think any of this is right, lady?” York thrust again, pulling with all his might, shaking violently. The handcuffs still held firmly. He screamed out, repeating, “You think this is right?”
“Sergeant York, perhaps I should come back another time,” Elizabeth said. Her voice was low and firm, yet a gentle undertone to it. Loving, in a strange way. “Your family has been notified. I spoke with your father personally. They’re all safe themselves.”
“Y . . . you did?”
“I did. And I understand this situation is a horrible one, Sergeant York. My goal is to ease your burdens a bit, that’s all,” she said, encouraging. “It’s unfortunate, and I hope to resolve it shortly. In the meantime, realize you’re safe, you’re in a hospital where you’ll receive the best possible treatment.”
“You call this safe?” he asked, his eyes wide. “I’d rather be outnumbered ten to one by the Taliban than sitting in this—hospital, as you say it is.”
“Sergeant, you’ve undergone a traumatic experience, one that might remain with you for a long time, perhaps forever. You’ve lost your team, your friends. I understand—”
“Understand?” he interrupted. “You can’t possibly understand. You haven’t been here but what, a few days?”
“Few hours.”
“Ha! A few hours. You see, ma’am, maybe you don’t know it, but they keep me shackled—like a dog. Even in my own room, I have chains. Then, they strap me tighter, lead me down a hall where every time I think it’s to my death, and put me in a room with your fucking spook interrogators. A few more drugs, maybe some shock therapy. Then, after hours and hours, I’m dragged back, given shit for food—no television, no magazines, no radio. Shit, I don’t read much, and I can’t even get a fucking book,” York complained. Over the weeks, though still angry, he was growing cynical as well.
“I’ll fix that. Any type of book you’d like to read? I think they’d be a good thing. Relax your mind a bit,” she suggested, holding up her pen and paper.
“Um . . . well, I like westerns. I guess,” he muttered.
“Done. I’ll bring you a few action adventure books too. There’s a new series out, I’ll add it to the list.”
“Listen, books sound fine and dandy, but you’re not going to appease me. They interrogate me every fucking day. Three, four times a day. Same people, different people. Who knows, they hide behind that glass there,” York said, pointing to the one way mirror. “They hide behind spotlights, they hide in the darkness.”
“I haven’t hidden. You can clearly see me, yes?”
“You’re the first,” York replied. “They use voice disguisers, they point machine guns at me, and worst of all, they ask me the same questions. Over and over again, ‘what happened in Khost?’ they ask. I get to talk to so called scientists, who poke and prod me. I talk to psychologists, who have more problems than I do, yet they all think I’m bat-shit crazy. The CIA, the NSA, the fucking DOD . . . they come and go and come and go, and guess what?”
“What?”
“I’m still here,” York declared, raising his hands an inch or two off the desk, stretching at his chains.
“I read you’ve had a few altercations, Sergeant York. Perhaps the chains are for the safety of everyone involved,” she suggested.
“Yeah, the Marines like to get rough from time to time,” York said, a smile forming on his lips.
“Are you being abused, Sergeant? If so, I can help. I’ll file a report, have the guards reprimanded, put you on better surveillance. I’ll replace them within the hour,” Elizabeth promised.
“File a report, huh? Nah, I’m good,” York said, his eyes wild and crazy once more. “For the most part, I start the fights. You’re probably right, I’d keep me in chains too,” he said, laughing.
Elizabeth remained quiet, not looking away, observing him. Strange to York, she didn’t seem to fear him. But he could tell something was different about her. He could read it in her eyes. She wasn’t a woman of naivety, she was sharp, well-educated. Her IQ probably doubled his, for he was a simple Texas guy who liked to fight in the desert of Afghanistan.
York leaned forward in his chair. “I’d rather there be no reports, ma’am.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I rather enjoy them, ma’am. The beatings, that is. No report necessary, no getting on their asses. I don’t hold it against ’em.”
“But if they’re—”
“Drop it,” he demanded. “I’ve taken dozens of beatings, and a dozen more. I’d take a hundred for a simple book or magazine. Maybe a shower? I’d take a thousand beatings to speak with my family. Shit, a million beatings if they’d just stop pumping me full of their toxins. What the hell am I on anyway?” York asked.
“Thorazine,” she said. “The drug is called Thorazine. It’s a heavy anti-psychotic, usually given to the worst cases. To those who suffer major psychosis.”
“Like I said, they all think I’m crazy. I know it, I can tell.”
“I can’t speak for anyone else,” she replied.
“Fine. The question now is, do you think I’m crazy?” he asked, staring deep into her eyes, reaching to her very soul, a place few men had ever found.
Something about this man touched a part of Elizabeth, causing her to feel something she didn’t feel often—empathy. She felt sorry for York, she couldn’t help it.
“No,” she finally replied. “I don’t think you’re crazy.”
“You don’t, eh?”
“I don’t lie, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”
Oddly, York detected no lie. “Who are you, anyway? Or just another voice with no name?” he asked.
“My name is Elizabeth,” she responded.
“And your last name is—”
“H. My name is Elizabeth H.”
“Ah, CIA, huh?”
“ACES.”
“You have some power here, or just another shrink?”
“My background is international affairs, counter-terrorism, asymmetrical warfare, and a few other things. And yes, I have a bit of pull. I’m the field director. I’m the one in charge.”
“Wonderful, about time. Of course, last time, a guy told me the same thing. Then the time before that, and before that,” he said sarcastically.
“You may believe whatever you wish, Sergeant York,” she responded.
“Elizabeth H. You’re from the Farm, eh? That’s how they do it there. No last names. Just like The Unit, except no first names.”
“Something like that, yes,” she replied.
“So you’re a spook, eh?” he asked.
“A super-spook,” she said with a smile. “I’m the baddest bitch in these parts, and I’m really in charge here. I just arrived,
met with the base commander, and requested to see you immediately. And despite what you think, I’m not against you, Sergeant York.”
“Really wanted to see me, eh?” he grinned. “Sorry I wasn’t prepared. I’d have dressed a bit nicer, maybe showered if they’d let me.”
“Sergeant, are you flirting with me?”
“Darling, it’s been awhile. All those hopes and dreams we have in life, well, I’ve abandoned them. Think about two things, getting out of here and getting laid. And darling, you might be a super-bitch, but you’re one sexy super-bitch. Catch is, they won’t even untie me long enough to beat off. Nothing wrong with a combat-jack. That is, unless you decide to do a guy a favor.”
“Fuck you?”
“A wargasm is a good thing. Sure as fuck I’m flirting. And if you decide to take this to the next level, I’m sure you have the authority to arrange it.”
Under different circumstances, his charm might have worked—on another woman. But Elizabeth had dealt with men like York, and dismissed it, showing no signs of being affected by his words.
“I do have such power, but perhaps we’ll keep this professional. That okay with you, Sergeant? Because I don’t have the time to discuss porn, I’m afraid. Maybe next time.” Her voice was derisive, calling his bullshit.
“Well, it was worth a shot,” he said.
“No, it wasn’t. Because if we don’t make progress, my bosses will send in someone else. I know the guy, too. A real ass. He doesn’t communicate well, except for violence.”
“I like violence.”
“Fair enough. Then, Sergeant York, it’s been nice meeting you,” Elizabeth said, gathering her effects.
“Wait,” York blurted out.
Elizabeth stopped, looking to him.
“I’ll talk with ya. Don’t leave,” he said, nearly begging. “Please don’t leave.”
44
“Then let’s get serious, shall we?” she requested.
“Sorry,” he said, looking to her perky breasts. “Just haven’t seen a woman in awhile. Unlike those private contractors, they don’t ship in prostitutes for Delta. Hope ya understand, it’s just been awhile,” York said. It was a half-hearted attempt at an apology, but considering what he’d gone through, Elizabeth dropped it.
Khost Page 18