The room was dimly lighted but they could still see each other, being only inches apart. They both knew what was coming. They were strapped to the boards. Then the boards were tipped back. Their heads were submerged in a large bucket of icy water. They were held there nearly long enough to be drowned.
When they were lifted free from the water, their feet were kept elevated. Next, a thin cloth was placed over their faces and icy water poured over it. The liquid quickly saturated the cloth and then filled their mouths and noses. The gag reflex was nearly immediate. They coughed and spit. More water was poured. They coughed and gagged. More water was poured. They both retched.
The cloth was lifted and they were allowed to snatch three or four normal breaths before the cloth went back on. The water was poured again, with the same result. This process was repeated over the next twenty minutes.
Both Reel and Robie had vomited what little was in their stomachs. All that was coming out now was bile.
They were kept on the boards with the cloth over their faces. Neither knew when the water would start up again, which was all part of the technique. No training in the world could really insulate you from the terrors of waterboarding.
They both lay there gasping, their limbs pressing against the restraints, their chests heaving.
Normally, interrogation would start now. Both Robie and Reel knew this, but they each wondered what sort of interrogation they would be subjected to.
The lights dimmed even more and both of them braced for what might be coming next.
A voice said, “This can stop; it’s up to you.”
It was not Amanda Marks. It was a male voice neither of them recognized.
“What’s the price?” gasped Reel.
“A signed confession,” said the voice.
“Confessing what?” said Robie, spitting retch from his mouth.
“For Reel, the murders of two CIA operatives. For you, aiding and abetting her. And also to a count of treason.”
“You a lawyer?” sputtered Reel.
“All I need is your answer.”
Reel’s next words made the man chuckle. He said, “I’m afraid that is physically impossible for me to do to myself. But that’s an answer in itself, I suppose.”
Twenty more minutes of waterboarding occurred.
When they came back up for air the same question was posed.
“This will stop,” said the voice. “All you have to do is sign.”
“Treason carries the death penalty,” gasped Robie. Then he turned to the side and threw up more bile. His brain was about to explode and his lungs felt seared.
Reel interjected, “So what the hell does it matter?”
“It does matter. You’ll be given lengthy prison terms, but you won’t be executed. That’s the deal. But you have to sign the confession. It’s all prepared. You just have to sign.”
Neither Robie nor Reel said anything.
The ordeal went on for twenty more minutes.
When it finished, neither of them was conscious. This was one drawback to this form of torture. The body just shut down. And there was no purpose in torturing an unconscious person.
The lights came on and the man stared down at the pair strapped to the long boards.
“An hour, impressive,” he said.
His name was Andrew Viola. Up until the year before he had been the chief trainer at the Burner Box, and before that a legendary CIA field agent who’d had a hand in some of the most complex and dangerous missions of the past twenty-five years. He would be fifty on his next birthday. He was still fit and trim, although his hair was an iron gray and his face heavily lined. And scarred from one mission that had not gone according to plan.
He looked over at Amanda Marks, who had been observing the entire process with a look of slight revulsion. “Not for the weak of stomach, or heart,” he said.
“And I didn’t exactly understand the purpose. Did we really expect them to sign a confession?”
“Not my call. I was told to do this and I did it. CIA lawyers and upper management can figure out the rest.”
“This was my mission to run,” she said.
“And it still is, Amanda. I’m not stepping on toes here. But I had my orders. And”—he glanced down at Robie and then Reel—“unlike some, I always follow orders.”
“So what now?”
“My work here is done until I’m called up again. So I might see these two again before they leave here. If they leave here,” he corrected himself.
“They both believe they were brought here to die,” said Marks.
“And you don’t think that’s a possibility?” asked Viola, looking mildly surprised. “Recruits do die here. It’s rare, but it happens. This is not summer camp, Amanda.”
“That’s different. Accidents happen. And Robie and Reel are not recruits. They are vets and battle-tested. But if the purpose from the start was—”
He cut her off. “Don’t try to think too much about it. Just do your job. You’ll be happy, and so will the higher-ups.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
He glanced sideways at her. “Maybe in the past. Maybe. But not anymore.”
“What changed?”
“We were attacked. The Towers fell. The Pentagon was hit. Planes crashed. Americans died. Now I try to see the world only in black and white.”
“The world is not black and white.”
“That’s why I said I try to do it.”
He turned and left the room.
Marks came forward and stared down at the two unconscious agents. She thought back to her meeting with Evan Tucker before coming here. The director had been understandably clear on the outcome he wanted. On the surface it appeared fair and evenhanded. If they passed the test, they passed. They would be redeployed. Simple and straightforward.
But then this had come — the order for the waterboarding to be conducted by Viola. The man was excellent at his job, Marks knew. But he had, well, a ruthlessness, a moral compass that did not seem to actually encompass any morals at all. That bothered her.
A signed confession admitting to murder and treason?
That had to have come from Evan Tucker. No one else in the agency would have dared issue such an order. So the rules had changed. Tucker was using the Burner Box not only to test and break Robie and Reel. He also wanted them to admit to acts that would result in their imprisonment. He had not told her this part of the plan. He had been wise not to, because Marks would have refused.
This seemingly simple thought stunned her. She had never before refused to carry out a direct order. It was just not something one did. Failing to do that had been the cause of both Robie’s and Reel’s current troubles.
Am I becoming like them?
She heard Robie and Reel moan and then they started to come around.
She turned to one of her men. “Take them back to their room. Let them sleep. I’ll give directions for when their next testing will begin.”
This order was carried out immediately. She watched Robie and Reel being carried back to their room.
Their prison cell, more like it.
Maybe their death row.
Chapter 16
Robie woke first. There were no windows in the room so he had no idea what time it was. Their watches had been taken from them up on arrival. He slowly sat up and rubbed his aching head. He leaned over from the top bunk and saw Reel still sleeping in the lower berth.
Robie swallowed with difficulty and cringed when he tasted the remnants of the vomit still in his mouth and throat.
“Sucks, doesn’t it?”