by Martha Carr
Faisal spoke, ‘Impossible, sir. We followed instructions.’
‘Are you sure? Fifty milligrams of Benadryl? Five milligrams of Haldol? Two milligrams of Activan? In that precise order?’
Mazlan winced. ‘What? No. We only gave him ketamine. That’s all we were told. Just ketamine—’
Karim felt a streak of acidic fury bloom in the pit of his stomach. He clenched his jaw and slammed his palm against a nearby shelf. ‘The detainee has high blood pressure! You’re not supposed to give him ketamine! Weren’t you briefed? Didn’t you know that?’
The team fell silent. They exchanged furtive glances.
‘I asked you a question!’
Ahmad grimaced. ‘He said… He said ketamine would be fine.’
‘Who said that?’
‘The chemist.’
‘The chemist?’ Karim was incredulous. ‘The chemist is an old fool. You should have checked with me first. You had my number, did you not?’
‘We did—’
‘Then why didn’t you call me?’
‘We assumed you were busy,’ Faisal said. ‘We didn’t want to disturb you unless—’
‘Assume nothing. Operationally, the final decision is mine. Always mine.’ Breathing through his teeth, his cheeks stretched, Karim shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
Idiots…
The flight was a mere two hours. It was supposed to be a milk run. A simple transfer. Point A to Point B. And yet, somewhere along the way, the bureaucrats had managed to screw it up.
Unbelievable…
Still, Karim knew that his job wasn’t to hesitate. Or to second-guess. No, his job was to take charge. Decide.
So Karim rubbed the back of his neck. He felt his skin prickling with rage, but he just about managed to keep his voice even. ‘So be it. What’s done is done.’
He scoffed at the absurdity of it all, and he reached for the two-way radio on his belt. He unclipped it, and he keyed the transmit button. The radio squawked.
Karim spoke, ‘Control, this is Tiger Actual. Dispatch the doctor immediately. The detainee appears to be Code Yellow. Please confirm.’
‘Yes, confirmed. Code Yellow. Doctor en route.’
‘Copy. Out.’
Exhaling, Karim lowered his radio, slapping it against the palm of his other hand in muted frustration. Then he leaned back against the cabin wall. He waited, studying the faces of the rendition team.
Their expressions were ashen and grim.
Their eyes were downcast.
They knew that their careers were on the line.
Karim said nothing. He allowed the silence to linger and to stretch, wanting them to reflect on how badly they had performed.
These men were young. They had been recruited fresh out of VAT 69 – a special operations unit. They were assaulters. Ninjas. They knew how to kick down doors and shoot terrorists in the face. Which was useful if it came down to it.
But intelligence gathering required a different set of skills altogether. It was more about psy-ops and tradecraft, less about kinetic action. And Karim was beginning to wonder if the Director had made a mistake by allowing these paramilitary boys to participate in the op.
But, then again, the Director had little choice. The clock was ticking, and their American allies were growing increasingly anxious. Somewhere, somehow, another Shiite attack was looming. The terrorist chatter from signal intercepts had spiked in recent weeks. But the intel was all vague and hazy at this point.
Was it an assassination?
A hijacking?
A bombing?
All they could do was speculate.
Still, the political pressure to neutralize the threat was intense, and that’s why the Director had authorized this snatch and grab.
The rendition team had broken into the target’s house in the dead of night, then abducted him. Speed, surprise and violence of action.
That seemed to please the bureaucrats.
They perceived that kind of showiness as progress.
But, in Karim’s mind, it was macho nonsense.
They were rushing things, and that couldn’t be good.
If it was up to Karim, he would have very much preferred the clandestine approach. Maintain eyes and ears on the target. Track his movements until they had nailed down the correct leads.
That was the subtle way. The elegant way. And perhaps it would have yielded a better result in the long run.
But… no matter.
That bridge was burnt now.
All they had left was one possible method; one possible outcome.
Karim stared down at the shivering detainee. It was never a good sign when a package was delivered to him already mishandled and damaged. But he would work with it anyway. He had to—
That’s when Karim heard urgent footsteps approaching from down the aisle. He turned.
Dr Ridzuan had arrived, his physician’s bag slung across his shoulder. He gave Karim a respectful nod. ‘Captain.’
‘Doctor.’
Dr Ridzuan knelt and began to unclasp his bag. ‘Tell me what happened.’
Karim heaved a sigh, and he gestured. ‘My men here did not get the correct brief. They gave ketamine to the detainee even though he has high blood pressure.’
‘I see. How unfortunate.’ Dr Ridzuan’s expression was calm as he got down to examining the detainee, his motions clipped and precise. He shone a penlight in the detainee’s eyes. He probed the detainee’s ear canal with a thermometer. And he ran a stethoscope across the detainee’s chest and back.
Karim stood by and watched with his arms crossed. He offered no comment.
Eventually Dr Ridzuan finished his examination and grunted. ‘Mm. I’m fairly sure the ketamine is responsible for most, if not all, of the symptoms.’
‘Can you counteract it?’ Karim asked.
‘I’ll give him a tranquilizer and a muscle relaxant, as well as an antipyretic. That ought to calm him down.’
‘Then he’ll be good to go?’
‘Do you want my honest opinion?’
‘Always, Doctor.’
‘I recommend that we move him to the infirmary immediately. Rehydrate him to restore all the fluid he’s lost in the vomiting. And place him under close observation. Just to be safe.’
Karim considered the implications. He realized it would mean delaying the interrogation. But what choice did he have?
Karim inhaled and nodded. ‘Very well. Do it.’
Dr Ridzuan withdrew syringes and drug vials from his bag. He measured the correct dosages and injected the detainee.
They waited a few minutes for the cocktail to take effect.
Soon enough, the detainee visibly relaxed and stopped fidgeting and groaning.
Working together, Karim and his team set up a mobile stretcher.
Under the cover of predawn darkness, they removed the sedated detainee from the plane and loaded him into a waiting van. Then they all piled inside, and the driver pulled away from the hangar. They sped across the airfield’s tarmac.
They were in the middle of the rural countryside. Beyond the electrified fencing, paddy fields stretched out in every direction. This was a rice-growing region. The landscape was flat and green. The climate was hot and humid.
The only residents in the area were simple farmers. The government paid them a monthly stipend, and for that, they were grateful and eager to please.
They would never ask questions, and they would never approach the airbase. Most importantly, they would report the presence of any outsiders in the area.
No human rights activists or foreign journalists would be allowed to come close.
That made the airbase the perfect black site.
The van rounded a corner, and Karim and his team coasted to a stop behind the terminal building. They offloaded the detainee and hustled him through the loading dock.
That’s when Karim’s cell phone rang. He saw that it was the Director.
Karim groaned and motion
ed for his team to carry on without him. Then he moved to a quiet corner and took the call. ‘Sir?’
The Director’s voice was gravelly and emotionless. ‘I’ve been told that the flight has landed. Have you carried out your assessment?’
‘Yes. There was a deviation in the dosage. The detainee was given ketamine.’
‘This accounts for the vomiting during transit?’
‘Correct. But Dr Ridzuan has stabilized the detainee. His prognosis is hopeful.’
‘I’m looking at the mission brief now.’ There was the sound of the Director shuffling and crinkling paper. ‘Ketamine is certainly not on the script.’
‘No, sir. The dosage should have been fifty milligrams of Benadryl, five milligrams of Haldol, and two milligrams of Activan.’
‘Who, specifically, is responsible for this oversight?’
Karim paused, his chest stiffening, like barbwire cutting into his soul. He knew what was coming. The Director was a calculative man, with a very low tolerance for error.
Someone was going to be punished.
That much was certain.
But who?
Of course, Karim could lay the blame on the paramilitary boys, who had failed to check in with him regarding the proper dosage. Or… Karim could blame the chemist, who had misled them with the wrong script to begin with.
Karim wiped the sweat from his forehead.
The paramilitary boys were young, and no doubt, they had acted in a manner that was ill-informed. But that didn’t mean they deserved to be RTU’d. That would effectively end their careers, and they would never get a second chance at becoming spooks. Disastrous.
Meanwhile, the chemist was old and approaching his sunset years. Retirement was just on the horizon. But if he got dismissed now for misconduct, he would almost certainly lose his government pension. Catastrophic.
Damn it…
Karim wrestled with himself, his conscience feeling raw. He hated having to choose. He had been raised in a pious family. His father had been an ulama – a religious scholar. And he’d been taught to believe that there were some lines you just didn’t cross.
Don’t put sand in other people’s rice bowl…
Yes, that’s what his father was fond of saying.
So… Karim really wasn’t in the mood to hurt anyone. Not today. Karim paced about in a semi-circle, his shoes tapping hollowly on the cement floor.
Maybe there was a way out.
Karim knew for a fact that he was indispensable. He was a top performer; the best interrogator in the service. He consistently produced results. And, for that reason alone, the Director would be more forgiving.
So Karim nodded and swallowed, bracing himself, and he decided to bite the bullet. ‘Sir, I take full responsibility for the mistake. If anyone’s to be held accountable, it’s me. I should have been more attentive regarding the details of the mission brief—’
The Director cut him off. ‘Nonsense. I know you, Karim. You’re sentimental, and you like to cover for the shortcomings of others. But that won’t be happening today.’ There was the sound of paper being shuffled once more. ‘I believe the chemist is most culpable. He was the most senior officer on-site when the rendition was carried out. I have his signature right here. So… it’s only proper that he is disciplined and discharged. Do you agree?’
Karim closed his eyes and stopped pacing. His hand flexed on his cell phone, his knuckles white, but he grudgingly played along anyway. ‘I agree.’
‘Good. Now, keep me posted on the detainee’s progress. The Americans are hounding me. I need to be able to tell them something.’
‘Understood, sir. I won’t disappoint you.’
The Director hung up.
Karim stood rooted, his cheeks tight and twitching, feeling like he needed to punch the wall.
Manipulative bastard...
Under any other circumstance, Karim would have preferred to process the detainee and then subject him to interrogation immediately. He was mindful of the ticking clock. But after the unfortunate accident with the ketamine, he decided that he had no choice but to play it safe.
So Karim had the detainee placed in the infirmary, and he gave the man a full twenty-four hours of sedated rest. He waited until Dr Ridzuan had done all the requisite checks and confirmed that the detainee’s vitals were stable enough.
Only then did Karim proceed with the program.
The rendition team placed a hood over the detainee’s head while Dr Ridzuan hooked the detainee up to a specialized intravenous drip. Barbiturates were fed into his right arm, while the amphetamines went into his left. The precise flow and dosage would be controlled with the use of an infusion pump.
The rendition team withdrew to the edges of the room, watching, waiting.
Karim pulled up a chair and sat close to the detainee. He nodded. ‘Let’s begin.’
Dr Ridzuan worked the infusion pump and gave the detainee a spike of amphetamines, boosting his heart rate and blood pressure.
The effect was immediate.
The detainee gasped and jolted awake, the fabric of his hood rising and falling with each panicked breath. His arms and legs were strapped to the bed, and he struggled against his restraints.
Karim studied the detainee. He kept his voice gentle, adopting a tone one might use when addressing a child. ‘Do you know why you’re here?’
Agitated, the detainee jerked his head towards Karim’s voice. He pulled harder against his restraints. ‘Who…? Who are you?’
‘I’m your caretaker. You are my guest. And I have some questions for you.’
‘Fuck you!’ The detainee began rocking from side to side, arching his back, the bedsprings squeaking as he worked himself up into a frenzy. ‘Let me go! Let me go!’
Karim nodded.
Dr Ridzuan adjusted the dosage, giving the detainee a torrent of barbiturates, dropping his heart rate and blood pressure.
The detainee moaned, his body going limp, and he stopped struggling. He remained perfectly still, the fabric of his hood rising and falling gently. He seemed placid, almost monk-like. It was a remarkable change from his aggressive manner just a moment ago.
The detainee’s words were soft and slurred. ‘What… is… this?’
‘Are you going to cooperate now?’
The detainee shook his head ever so slowly but said nothing.
Karim smirked. ‘You’re here because you’ve done something unpatriotic.’
The detainee was silent.
‘It’s a mistake that’s made you a person of interest to us.’
The detainee remained silent.
Karim leaned forward. ‘I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that if you continue to keep quiet, you’ll avoid incriminating yourself. And eventually – maybe – we will have to provide you with a lawyer…’
Dr Ridzuan gave the detainee a minor shot of amphetamines.
He began shivering and whimpering, clenching his fists, curling his toes, reacting as if he was freezing from imaginary cold.
Karim clicked his tongue. ‘Unfortunately, that’s not going to happen. Under the Security Offenses Special Measures Act, you have no right to legal representation. In fact, as far as anyone knows, you have just disappeared off the face of the earth.’
The detainee reacted, bunching up his shoulders. His breaths grew hitched.
‘Your wife is expecting a child in the next few months. I don’t think you’re going to be around to witness the birth of your child.’
Dr Ridzuan gave the detainee an infusion of barbiturates.
The detainee crashed emotionally and began sobbing.
Karim nodded. The drugs had done their work – taking the detainee up to a paranoid high before plunging him down to a depressive low. And with that, Karim had planted a seed of foreboding in the detainee’s head. That was all that was required at this point. And he was sure that the detainee’s own fertile imagination would do the rest.
Karim snapped his fingers. ‘We’re don
e.’
Dr Ridzuan unhooked the detainee from the intravenous drip. The rendition team unstrapped his restraints and pulled him from the bed.
Karim studied the detainee and sighed for dramatic effect. ‘Are you certain you have nothing to say? Nothing at all?’
‘I didn’t do anything wrong!’ the detainee finally spoke, anguish strangling his voice. ‘I’m innocent!’
‘Everyone’s innocent… until they’re not.’ Karim rose from his chair.
The rendition team hustled the detainee out of the infirmary. Karim followed close behind. The detainee struggled, his legs swimming as they dragged him along the corridor.
‘Tell me, how does it feel to betray your faith, your people and your nation?’ Karim asked.
‘No, I didn’t.’ The detainee gasped. ‘Please.’
‘We know you’re acting as a hawala broker for the Shiite rebellion.’
‘What? I… I don’t know what that is.’
‘I’m sorry, but you’re a poor liar.’
Eventually they reached a prison cell at the other end of the building. They paused in front of the open doorway. The cell was pitch black inside.
Karim leaned in close to the detainee, his voice falling to a whisper. ‘I’m going to leave you now. But I want you to think about what I just said. Think very hard. Because we’ll be talking again very soon.’
The rendition team yanked off the detainee’s hood and shoved him into the cell. He staggered and fell on to his knees. They closed and bolted the steel door.
Karim cleared his throat, then he nodded at the rendition team. ‘Take a break, but maintain your readiness. I will need you in a few hours.’
Karim started to turn away when Mazlan stopped him. ‘Thank you, sir.’
Karim swiveled his head back, frowning. ‘For what?’
‘For covering for us,’ Ahmad said.
‘We heard that you put in a good word with the Director,’ Faisal said.
Karim sighed, looking at each of them in turn. ‘Just make sure you’re worthy of it.’ He paused. ‘The truth is, your good fortune came at the expense of the chemist. After thirty years of service, he’s going to be dismissed at the end of this week without his pension. Just because of one careless mistake. So think about that.’
The rendition team stared back, their expressions going sullen.