“Was it true?”
“Of course it was true. I was attempting to survive. The Americans invaded us. The country was in chaos. As you will recall, the formal fighting was of short duration. Sadly, unofficial acts of warfare continued. Bombings and suicide missions and the pointless loss of life.”
“Terrorism.”
“If you wish to call it that.”
“Isn’t that what it was?”
“If another nation occupied the US, and local resistance operatives struck against the occupiers, would you call them terrorists? Or freedom fighters?”
“I grasp your point, ma’am. But rehashing past acts won’t help anything. My focus is on winning Oz’s lawsuit.”
“Yes, of course. There is money to be made. And Americans prioritize profit above all else.”
I’ve never been anyone’s puppet patriot, but the woman was beginning to annoy me. “I assume you’re telling me this because you eventually had some contact with Nazir.”
“Indeed.” A shadow crossed her face. The dark eyes burned with a smoldering intensity. “I was arrested. Questioned for days without food, without sleep, without rest. They wanted information about the local resistance efforts. So I was tortured.”
“Waterboarded?”
“Raped.” A hush fell across the office. I felt as if someone had vacuumed the air out of my lungs. “Over and over again. For weeks.”
My voice cracked. “I . . . am so sorry.”
Her eyes seemed hollow. “It was a long time ago.”
“Who—”
“Officially, it was done by Iraqi operatives. But who do you think pulled their strings? Was Nazir working for Iraq when he did this to me, or for the US? Soon after, Nazir’s new alliance was made public.”
“Americans would never condone—”
“Which is exactly why they got Iraqi pawns to do it for them.”
“I don’t believe—”
“At the time, your president insisted Americans do not torture. Until there was overwhelming evidence that they did.”
I bit down on my lower lip.
“It is no matter what you believe,” she continued. “What was done was done. One day, they stripped me naked, put me up on a table, let old men circle around and bid on the right to rape me. The others held me down while the highest bidder took his pleasure. If I tried to resist, they beat me.” She paused, pushing her hair back with her hand. “But it made little difference who won. Once the highest bidder had his fill, the others took their turns.”
I was without words. “That’s . . . horrifying.”
“Sadly, that is commonplace. To this day, ISIS systematically rapes women and girls of the Yazidi religious minority. It is part of their theology—as is slavery. Because these people are conquered and not in the proper sect, it’s considered halal. They say raping Yazidi women is a prayer to God.” Her lips tightened. “Nazir and his brutes were much the same.”
“And you talked?”
“Not then. They could invade my body, but not my conscience. Not yet. Not till the hot irons.”
I knew I didn’t want her to continue. But I had no way to stop her.
She turned around and lifted her blouse. Her younger brother averted his eyes. “See the scars? They laid me flat on the floor—still naked—and threw hot irons on my back. The metal seared into me. I smelled my own flesh. I felt it peeling away from my body.”
“Why . . . would anyone do this?”
“Their goal was to break me. And I am sorry to say they succeeded.”
“You told them what they wanted to know?”
“I told them almost nothing because I had almost nothing to tell. I knew of a few small-time resisters, no more. But I babbled like a child. I would have told them anything. I wept and cried and begged for mercy like the weakest of cowards.”
“I think it’s understandable—”
“There is no excuse for weakness.” Her chin rose and her back straightened. “Never before in my life did I display such frailty. And never will I do so again.”
“Was Nazir in charge of your interrogation?”
“Yes. It was always done in the dark, with a hood over my head and a knife pressed to my throat. I never knew the names of my rapists. But so far as I am concerned, they were all Nazir. He was the cruel bastard who orchestrated the attacks. And he was rewarded for his cruelty with a trip to the land of opportunity and a comfortable government position. While I spent months in an institution in a virtually catatonic state, babbling and drooling on myself like a broken toy. This is how justice was administrated in Iraq—after the US military accomplished their mission and brought us freedom.”
15
I wished Christina were here. She was always better at nurturing than I was. Not that my heart didn’t go out to this broken woman. But I wasn’t sure how to show it, or even whether that would be appropriate.
Throughout her horrific narrative, I kept an eye on her young brother, Kir. He appeared to be a teenager, or maybe early twenties. He remained silent, but I could see anger burning in his eyes. I could hardly blame him for being protective of his sister. I had a sister, too.
And I knew how painful it felt when you couldn’t help her.
“You seem much better now,” I said.
“Yes. But it has taken years to recover myself. To find some semblance of the woman I once was.”
“Are you working?”
“With Abdullah. My work is political. And that is why, once again, they seek to stop me.”
“You also work for PACT?”
“I work for a division of PACT that uses a different name. JUSTICE IRAQ.”
I started to get an uneasy feeling. “I don’t know what that is.”
“The division that Omar works for focuses on lobbying for Arab-American rights, challenging the Freedom Act and anti-Muslim initiatives. But these legal niceties are of little importance to me. I know that this government will do what they wish regardless of their laws. If they can accomplish what they did to me, they can do anything.”
“What’s the focus of your organization?”
“To see that justice returns to my country. To address the sins of the invasion and force Congress to make reparations.”
“I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”
“Did not your nation demand reparations after World War II?”
“That’s very different.”
“Indeed. You were not invaded. Your country was not razed, your men were not slaughtered, and your women were not raped. Your economy was strengthened, not decimated. And yet still you demanded reparations. So shall we.”
I was getting an ugly premonition not only about this woman but about this case. I was also beginning to understand why the feds were pulling no punches. “Would it be fair to call JUSTICE IRAQ . . . radical?”
“Radical is in the eye of the beholder.”
True enough. “Would you call it a terrorist organization?”
“Of course not. That would be foolish.”
“But would it be true.”
She hesitated much too long before answering. “We are a political lobbying group. We seek retribution through legal avenues. I have seen the impact of violence. I have no desire to see it repeated.”
Oz cleared his throat. “JUSTICE IRAQ has appeared on the CIA’s list of known or suspected terrorist organizations.”
I felt my eyelids close. “And you’re just now telling me this?”
“It’s got nothing to do with me. I don’t work for that organization.”
“Your girlfriend does. The sister of your boss does.” My voice rose of its own bidding. “This completely changes the case.” And I hadn’t even had a chance to ask the question that really burned in my brain.
“I’m your client, Ben. I’m not a terrorist.”
“But you’re sleeping with one!” I wished I hadn’t said it the second the words were out of my mouth. Especially since her brother sat right beside her. But there
was no taking it back.
“I have the right to be with whomever I choose. My personal relationships are of no relevance.”
“The government will claim that they are. I guarantee it. What’s more, they’ll say that this lawsuit is part of her vendetta. That both of you want revenge against Nazir.”
“Are you telling me to break up with her?”
I wasn’t going to say it. He could see reality for himself and decide whether he wanted to win this suit. “It might be helpful if Abdullah would come forward. Explain that your work was nonviolent and completely legal.”
“That will not happen,” Mina explained. “Due to the government penchant for detention and torture, my brother has gone dark.”
“Meaning?”
“You can’t contact him. And neither can anyone else.”
“Is that what this is about? The government wants to find an undercover terrorist, so they go after his friend and his sister?”
“We are not terrorists,” Mina said. “We only seek to make the world aware of the crimes that have been committed.”
“But you hate Nazir. I’d hate him, if he’d done to me what he did to you. Or if he’d done it to my wife.”
“But Omar’s lawsuit is not about personal hatred. It’s about the difference between right and wrong.”
I continued to press. “Admit it, Oz. You hate Nazir. He tortured both of you.”
I sensed Oz’s discomfort. “I don’t know why you’re—”
“Because it matters. You hate him.”
“I am not going to—”
“Stop wasting my time and admit it. You hate him.”
“All right then. I hate him!” His voice was so loud it shook the beams in the walls. I wondered if the reporters outside could hear. “He let them rape Mina. Repeatedly. And he tortured me. For twenty-one days. Of course I hate him. If it had been you, you’d hate him, too. He’s a sick, evil bastard, and he deserves to die. Painfully!”
For all that his voice had rattled the rafters, the silence that followed was even more shattering.
***
I wasn’t messing with Oz and Mina just to amuse myself. I was trying to demonstrate what would happen as soon as the prosecutor got him or her up on the witness stand and started pressing hard. They couldn’t deny their enmity toward Nazir and the CIA, and even if they tried, no one would believe them.
For the first time, Kir spoke. Despite all the turmoil surrounding him, he remained amazingly calm.
“If I may speak, sir.”
“Of course.”
“I have known my sister all my life, of course. She has a strength such as I have never seen anywhere else. I would do anything for her. I have sometimes suggested revenge against our oppressors, and she has always insisted that I resist such impulses. That I follow a more peaceful course. The woman who taught me this, the woman with such moral courage, would never act for any reason but her belief that it was the most just course of action.”
Mina beamed at him. For the first time, I saw the faintest trace of what might be called a happy expression. “He is a smart boy, is he not? The top of his class at school. His science teacher calls him a . . . what is it? A whiz kid. And so calm, so measured. Not like me at all.”
Kir’s eyes lowered. “I have only taken advantage of the opportunities you have made possible.”
Mina wouldn’t have it. “We make our own opportunities in this life.”
I thought it was time to move in a different direction. “Oz, the feds think you’re aligned with ISIS. Is that true?”
“Of course not.” Pause. “Not anymore.”
My head felt light. “You mean you were?”
“It was a brief flirtation. I was never really a member.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Mina cut between us. “I am an Iraqi patriot. Do you think I would be associated with a member of ISIS?”
“What I think is—”
“Excuse me.” Christina appeared in the doorway. “Are you aware that some of those reporters have extremely powerful microphones? Maybe you should stop shouting your conversation.”
“You think they could hear?”
“I think Helen Keller could hear.” She glanced at her watch. “We should head downtown. We don’t want to miss Thrillkill’s press conference.”
“I don’t want to be there.”
“Yes you do.”
“If I’m there, the reporters will want me to give them a rebuttal.”
Christina looked at me, arms akimbo. “And you’ll give them one. You don’t want Thrillkill to be the only voice on the evening news.”
“Cases should be tried—”
“Then that’s your rebuttal. But you will give one.”
I noticed she used the imperative will rather than the suggestive should. And I’m no fool. “All right then.”
Oz pushed himself out of his chair. “I’ll accompany you.”
I raised a finger. “Absolutely not.”
His face flushed red. “No one knows more about this situation than I do.”
“All the more reason not to be there. That goes for all three of you. I don’t want you anywhere near that place. We’ve filed suit. We’re seeking justice in an appropriate manner. Go home. I’ll contact you if I need anything.”
“But—”
“Look, you hired me to advise you, so take my advice. Go home. I’ll be in touch.”
Oz frowned but returned to his seat.
Tanya appeared in the doorway. “I just heard a news flash. They’re preempting local programming on most networks to cover the press conference. The feds say they have new evidence of ‘plots against the United States.’”
Christina and I didn’t even have to exchange a glance. We were out the door.
16
By the time we arrived at the state capitol building, a significant throng had assembled on the south plaza. Usually, when they hold this sort of event, the speakers assemble their own staffs on the steps so the press can shoot over their heads and make it look like a much bigger deal than it is. When I’d interned at the DA’s office, press conferences were frequently scheduled at lunchtime so everyone in the office could attend. We hoped curious passersby might inflate the flock.
This time the crowd needed no artificial enhancement. I estimated more than four hundred people were in attendance, completely filling the plaza, and they didn’t all come from the USAG’s office or the CIA. I recognized some of the attendees as reporters who had been outside my office earlier. Others were lawyers and personnel from the various cogs of the criminal justice system. And some appeared to be concerned citizens. Judging from the placards, many had already determined that this lawsuit was a threat from foreign powers and had come to show their support for good ol’ ’Merica.
As I approached, I heard chanting and shouting, some of it angry. In the past, the Oklahoma capitol building had been famous for three reasons: because it had working oil rigs on the premises, because it was one of only two capitol buildings in the country without a dome, and because it had a Ten Commandments monument. Someone finally drummed up the funds for a dome, and court cases and vandals eliminated the Commandments, but the rigs were still there. They didn’t pump as much as they once did, but the capitalist symbol remained, even now, when scientists told us fracking and wastewater reinjection had turned Oklahoma into the most earthquake-ridden state in the Union.
Thrillkill read his prepared statement, interrupted every time he said something that fanned the flames of the reactionary lookie-loos. This was obviously stage-managed to influence popular opinion about the lawsuit, but I tried not to let it bother me. I love this state, and it was no news flash to me that it leans red. Around here, people use the term “Oklahoma Democrat,” which translates to “what the rest of the world calls a Republican.” I also know 9/11 had genuinely unnerved many. Any time a public official talks about terrorist threats, people get scared. Scared people make poor decisions.
<
br /> But they’re great when you’re trying to stir up support.
Thrillkill spoke in short bursts, as if the speech had been written not in sentences but in sound bites. No point in giving a press conference if the news crews can’t use it on the evening broadcasts. “I have been asked to make a few comments regarding the recently filed lawsuit challenging the authority and actions of the United States of America.”
Well, that was one way to put it. I wondered who, if anyone, “asked” him to make comments. I suspected this conference was scheduled on his own initiative—sua sponte, as we say in the law—by an intelligent lawyer well aware that an election year approached.
“We categorically disagree with the charges made in this pleading. I speak on behalf of the US Attorney General’s office, the Central Intelligence Agency, the Justice Department, and all branches of the US government. In fact, ‘disagree’ is not a strong enough word. We find these allegations vile, self-serving, and frankly motivated by the desire to undermine American intelligence efforts.”
A cry of approval erupted from the crowd. Possibly a plant, but I had to admit it sounded spontaneous.
“The suggestion that either the Justice Department or the Central Intelligence Agency would resort to extralegal measures is both factually incorrect and completely offensive. We did not do this, and we have no need to do this. The Freedom Act is generous in the power it gives law enforcement to prevent threats to this nation. We will contain ISIS just as we’ve contained terrorist threats in the past.”
Low-level rumblings of support. Thrillkill knew how to play this crowd, and he was handling it well.
“The Petition alleges false imprisonment and illegal detention, and yet the Freedom Act allows us to hold and question suspected participants in terrorist enterprises. And that includes”—he glanced down at his notes, as if he didn’t already know the names—“Omar al-Jabbar, who has significant links to ISIS and other terrorist forces.”
He paused a moment, allowing the pure Persianness of the name to sink in. Unsurprisingly, he did not mention that Omar was completely Caucasian.
“We will of course defend this nation against all those who would derail our national defense through civil unrest, lawsuits, or any other unscrupulous chicanery. Let me make two matters absolutely clear. First, there is no merit to this lawsuit whatsoever. Second, we will defend against all threats to the integrity and security of this nation.”
Justice Returns (Ben Kincaid series Book 19) Page 8