'Screw her,' Tuấn said, his voice hoarse.
Timothy
22nd March, 11:30
They were making him wait to show him who's boss. He’d been waiting since 10am. The only objects in the room were a small table and the metal framed chair on which he sat; it wasn't very comfortable so occasionally he'd pace the room. His only glimpse outside was through a 20cm square window in the door through which there was a view of the corridor up to the next door.
After an absence of some ten minutes, Lieutenant Zhang returned with the promised bottle of water. Unscrewing the top, he offered it to Tim.
'Thanks,' he muttered. Unsure if the bottle was opened out of courtesy or the presumption that the westerner was incapable of unscrewing a plastic bottle top. 'Am I going to have to wait much longer?'
The Lieutenant shrugged, then leaned against the wall crossing his feet, which Tim took as affirmation of a long wait.
'No tank driving duty today?'
'I never drove a tank.' The Lieutenant glimpsed at his watch.
'For god's sake,' Tim muttered. He'd been told that he had the opportunity of an exclusive interview. He was beginning to doubt there was any interview. Was it some kind of tactic? Did they suspect him of something? Was he a prisoner?
He sniffed the water bottle. Placing it on the table he wondered if it was wise to drink. He doubted it was drugged, but he might drink it up to find they weren't going to allow him toilet privileges. He was a crony of the PLA, but they didn't trust his motives any more than he trusted theirs.
Through the small window he saw movement; a soldier pushed through the door. He was dressed differently to those Tim saw previously; his equipment was similar but his bullet proof vest was black and the camouflage pattern grey/black pattern. He was followed by the minder; helmetless and similarly clad in black grey camouflage. He had a look of the SAS about him. He wore not bullet proof vest, and like Zhang his only weapon was a pistol at his hip.
The minder’s intense eyes gripped Tim for several long moments. Tim quickly decided he preferred Zhang's company; who although clearly was a prick, seemed content to be an ass rather than actively intimidate- as was the minder's MO. Even Zhang stood straight in the minder’s presence. Tim mustered what he thought was a pleasantly disarming smile.
'So, we meet again! We were never properly introduced.'
'You are permitted to witness prisoner living conditions and interrogation. You may report on the proceedings. Follow me.'
It was a surprising move. Tim knew there was clearly an agenda, but to invite him into the depths of the Chinese Guantanamo? It was a great opportunity. He couldn't fail to get published.
'My camera was taken from me when I arrived.'
'You come now.' The minder turned and walked out of the room.
Tim was led up a stairwell into a vast chamber. An elevated walkway spanned the room supported from the ceiling by wires. Statue-like soldiers stood at ten metre intervals along the walkway. The guards’ attention was fixated on row upon row of cages below the walkway.
The cages looked to be about four metres square. Each contained a plastic bucket and a pillow. Almost all housed a single prisoner; barefoot and dressed in a light blue shirt and dark blue trousers.
Tim counted four groups of cages either side of the walkway. Each grouping was five cages wide and twelve deep; totalling some 480 cages. Each row separated by about four metres; enough distance for guards to patrol.
'You wish you had your camera, yes?' The minder sneered.
'Never wished for it more.'
The minder's smile was thin, almost cruel. He flipped open a pocket at his breast and produced a Smartphone. He snapped a picture of Tim, then still smiling offered the phone. 'Use this. I will collect it later. We will send to your email address all photos which do not breach security.'
This was journalistic gold. Surely no other westerner had this kind of coverage! Tim’s excited fingers turned the phone’s video camera on. He shot a short video of the guards; rigid except for their heads which panned left to right as they watched over their allocated section of cages.
He photographed the detainees- none looked up at the camera flash. Except for the occasional cough they made no sound. As far as he could see, all prisoners were male adults. Most sat cross legged or lay apparently asleep. A handful of guards walked between the rows of cages, each wearing full battle gear and carrying an assault rifle.
'Why are you showing me this?'
The minder shrugged one eyebrow. 'Western press speculate on breaches of the Geneva convention. I show you that prisoners are treated fairly. You will write this article.'
So that was it. He was their spin doctor.
'How can I write it when I see only what you want me to? You've kept me waiting hours to carefully prepare the scene. I need unrestrained access to the facility.'
The minder cupped his hands behind his back. 'I have selected an English speaking prisoner. I will question him. You will observe.'
Tim stopped himself from speculating aloud that the 'selected' prisoner could be a Chinese operative posing as a prisoner to give the right answers. He wouldn't get anywhere by antagonizing the minder. He bowed his head.
'I thank you for your generosity. I feel undeserving of such… magnificence on your part.'
The minder's eyes narrowed fractionally. He's no fool, Tim thought- don't overdo it. He took several minutes to shoot pictures from the walkway. The minder and the Lieutenant didn't shy from the frame. Although Tim doubted those pictures would survive the selection process.
The building he presumed was previously a factory; in places yellow safety signs were still bolted to the walls. He stepped heavily across the iron grilled walkway to attract the attention of a prisoner. The sound carried through the vast chamber. The only other constant noise was a faint hum from the several dozen fans positioned at intervals along the walls. Still no prisoner looked up.
'Prisoners raising of eyes or voices is prohibited.' The minder said.
Lieutenant Zhang, clearly a stranger to the prison facility, looked about with apparent curiosity. The minder waited patiently for Tim to finish taking photographs, then extended his gloved hand with a nod towards the phone. Tim reluctantly turned the phone over. It disappeared quickly back into the minder's pocket.
He was led from the great chamber through a twist of corridors to a small room much like the one he previously waited in. This room was just slightly larger, with a similar table and chair at the centre. A second table was pushed against a corner; on it a notepad, felt pen and what looked like a small digital dictaphone.
The minder waved Tim into the chair beside the table. Zhang moved directly behind the chair. Once he was seated the guard left the room. The minder picked up the dictaphone, handing it to Tim.
'You may use this,' he smirked, 'I give you many presents.'
Tim accepted the dictaphone with a curt nod. He sat in awkward silence between the two standing officers. It was a relief when the guard returned, accompanied by another soldier and escorting a shackled prisoner.
The convict was a young guy in his mid-20's. A mop of hair hiding his eyes. His pyjama like blue prison uniform looked freshly pressed. He shuffled into the room- legs chained together so he could only separate his feet by a matter of about fifty centimetres. His hands similarly handcuffed in front of him. A chain linked the handcuffs to the leg bindings. The detainee hung his head, whether in shame, remorse of fear Tim wasn't sure.
The guards walked the prisoner to the centre chair. One kept his hand on the prisoner's shoulder until he was seated. The other stood to one side watching. Tim noticed the chair was bolted to the floor. A soldier adjusted the shackles- securing wrists and ankles to the chair, then with a command from the minder the soldiers left the room.
The minder circled the prisoner, with hands cupped behind his back. His eyes fixed on his target as he circumnavigated him. The prisoner kept his head hung low and eyes down. Tim didn't think
the prisoner had even stolen a glance to see who was in the room.
'You should activate the recorder,' the minder said, eyes still on the prisoner.
Tim did as he was bid. He glanced behind; Zhang was slouched against the wall, a deep frown on his face. Tim didn't think the Lieutenant knew what was going on. The minder pushed the prisoner’s forehead back, forcing him to look up. 'State your name for the record.'
The prisoner mumbled something.
'More clearly!' the minder ordered.
'Nguyen Khôi Dũng.'
'State your age and occupation.'
'Twenty-two. Student.'
'Why are you here?'
The prisoner's eyes flicked to Tim for the first time. He seemed reluctant to answer. his chubby lips twitched. Although he didn't appear physically injured, the scent of disinfectant on his clothes did little to mask his body odour. It had likely been days since he washed.
'I was arrested by the Chinese army.'
The minder stepped back. He regarded the convict with a puzzled, almost offended frown. 'Don't be coy! State the reason you were arrested.'
The prisoner hesitated. He looked up, meeting the minder's unwavering gaze. 'I was arrested for suspected partisan activities.'
The minder's steps echoed as he circled his prisoner. He stopped behind him, staring down at the back of the convict's neck. The prisoner didn't turn but his pupils darted left to right like a trapped animal. 'Elaborate.'
'I...uh. Had a gun.'
'Someone recruited you into these... partisan activities?'
The prisoner hung his head. Looking down into his lap.
'A friend from school.'
The minder leant forward, his lips barely an inch from the prisoner's ear.
'And who recruited her?'
The minder flinched, his face snapped around to glare at Tim. Realising he’d given the game away; he knew a girl recruited the prisoner. It wasn't his first confession. It was a show confession.
'Someone from the army recruited her.'
The minder forced a shocked expression. Holding his palms out, he looked at Tim to ensure his exaggerated surprise was clearly noted.
'A member of the Vietnamese army? Wow, how could you tell? Was he in uniform?'
'I never saw him.'
'Then how do you know he was a soldier?'
'She told me.'
The minder walked around the prisoner to stand in front of him. He pushed the table aside leaving no barrier between them.
'Look at me! Did the army supply guns?'
'Yes.' The prisoner squirmed in his chair. Eyes peering from under his fringe.
The minder nodded, satisfied.
'So, you and your friends were recruited as paramilitaries. Where are your friends who were recruited alongside you?'
'Dead.'
'Dead.' The minder sighed. Pursing his lips, he shook his head, making a soft tutting sound as he paced the room. He then turned on his heel. 'Are Vietnamese soldiers actively recruiting volunteers?'
'Yes.'
'Yes,' the minder repeated. He looked at Tim, his mouth drooped in feigned sadness. 'Twenty-two-year old students. Armed by a defeated enemy. Americans would call them insurgents. We just say terrorists.'
Zhang said something in Chinese to the minder, whose expression darkened. He barked something back- whatever it was silenced the Lieutenant. He turned his attention back to the prisoner.
'If you were approached by another Vietnamese soldier, would you follow him?'
'No.'
'Why not?' The minder reeled in mock surprise.
'Because everyone died. Our mission was hopeless.'
'Yes,' the minder said. His sad, low tone sounding more mocking than sorrowful. 'Hopeless is right. In the recent attacks more than a hundred insurgents were killed. Another seven hundred arrested. We lost twenty-six dead and wounded. We're still here,'
The prisoner winced. His lip trembled but he remained quiet.
'Perhaps,' Tim interjected, 'the prisoner... Mr Nguyen was it? Perhaps he could tell us what happened in his own words.'
The minder's nostrils flared like he might breath fire. His face contorted in a snarl.
'You do not interrupt. I am conducting an interrogation!'
'It's not really an interrogation is it?' He ignored the internal voice heeding caution. 'I mean… you already know all the facts. This is an interview for my benefit. Isn't it?'
The minder's black-gloved hands clenched into fists. He glared down his nose at Tim; his jaw clenched firmly shut like he was braced to contain an internal explosion.
A hand rested on Tim's shoulder. Zhang forced polite chuckle.
'You're not familiar with Chinese customs, Mr Campbell. Please remain quiet and respectful. If you were to jeopardise your position as our leading Western journalist, it would affect your leave to remain in the country.'
The minder snapped something to the Lieutenant. The hand was withdrawn from Tim's shoulder. The minder turned back to his prisoner.
'You have convinced me, Nguyen Khôi Dũng, that you have seen error in your ways. I will sign discharge papers immediately... if you give your parole that you will refuse all cooperation with terrorist organisations and report any of their activities.'
The prisoner’s mouth hung open in shock for a few moments before he hurriedly nodded. It had to be a ruse; he wasn't going anywhere. They'd never let him walk free.
'Perhaps my driver can give him a lift back into the city.' Tim ventured.
Zhang muttered something which sounded like a curse. Were his impudent questions getting the Lieutenant into trouble?
'Very well. Mr Campbell.' The minder smiled thinly, then opening the door he barked an order to the guards, who marching in began the process of unchaining the prisoner. Yanked from the chair he was led away like a slave with chains ringing.
'We will return his clothes and possessions. Minus the gun, of course.' The minder slid into the prisoner’s chair. His vague smile wasn’t reflected on any other part of his face. 'Western journalists... we've seen a few. We sent most back. Troublemakers- only willing to see the unfairness of an invasion by the mighty China against poor farmers of Vietnam. Isn't it right?'
Tim nodded in tentative affirmation. The minder produced a packet of cigarettes, offering one to Tim who shook his head no. The minder lit one. He leaned back in his chair, taking long a contented drag.
'You see Mr Campbell… Vietnamese and Chinese destinies, they are the same. If you follow history, you will know the Chinese and Vietnamese were once as one. We are returning to the old order. There are always teething problems with any merger.'
'Merger?' Tim gasped incredulous, 'I hate to say it mate, but you’re talking crap.'
The minder grinned for a few seconds before his face grew serious and stern again. 'Mr Campbell, you are a westerner. I don't expect you to understand China. We are merely protecting our historical territories and claims. The Vietnamese send fishing vessels to disrupt legal oil extraction. They disrupt our legal mining operations in Vietnam for which their government had been well paid. They attack our civilians; even Vietnamese whose grandparents were Chinese.'
The minder tapped ash onto the table. He shook his head and sighed a grey cloud of smoke. 'The Vietnamese have strayed too far. It’s time to bring them back into the fold.'
Tim shook his head. 'I don't know why you're trying to convince me. I'm just a neutral observer.'
The minder fixed him with a stare. 'Nobody is neutral, Mr Campbell.'
'Then your prison's going to get a lot bigger,' Tim grinned.
The minder blinked. He extinguished the cigarette on the table top. His smokey exhalation enveloped Tim.
'You could have friends in China, Mr Campbell. China is a good ally, I'm sure you can appreciate that.'
Tim blew at the smoke. Some of the cloud flowed back to its source. The minder blinked as the smoke fanned across his face.
'Mr Campbell, friends of China receive favou
rable treatment such as you have enjoyed so far. Opponents are asked to leave Vietnam.'
Tim grunted. 'I'm no enemy, but if deportation is the best you can threaten me with then I think China is a bit of a toothless dragon.'
The minder nodded solemnly, his index finger stroking his chin.
'Of course if you were to leave, your Vietnamese girlfriend wouldn't enjoy our protection. We can't spare the manpower. I should think Vietnamese rebels would be very angry with her.'
Tim swallowed, stifling a curse. He couldn’t let the bastard know how to rile him. 'I told you before; she's not my girlfriend.'
The minder's toothy smile was wide and genuine. Wrinkles formed in the corners of his eyes. 'You two are very close, Mr Campbell. The hotel walls are very thin I'm told.'
Tim was unable to suppress a shiver. He clicked the stop button on the dictaphone. Of course the Chinese had bugged his room. Now he'd inadvertently given them leverage. What more could they make him do? He reported only what they allowed. They screened everything; editing his work- making his neutral reports sound marginally pro-Chinese. They wanted no less than full control over him.
'Mr Campbell, it would be nice if we were friends. I can make life very comfortable for you. There will be many opportunities once we have established a new civilian government. The right man could become wealthy. Famous even.'
Tim closed his eyes. He was firmly in their palm.
***
He was surprised when Lieutenant Zhang relieved the jeep driver; opting to drive the journalist and emancipated prisoner to the city himself and without an armed escort. Tim wasn’t so keen. The ambush from which he was the sole survivor still a very recent imprint on his consciousness. The prisoner sat quietly in the back of the jeep. Tim wasn't sure how much he could say to him with the Lieutenant present.
'Are you going to drive him right up to his door?' Tim said as the jeep left the base. He doubted the prisoner would want to be seen driving all the way home with the officer. Or for the officer to know his address.
The March of the Dragons Page 24