Chapter Twenty-Three
Dr. Joba had been in the cell for a while. He was unsure of how long, as there was no clock. He knew the psychological reasoning for this. They wanted to throw the prisoner’s senses off in order to make interrogation easier. He still found it annoying. Then he was annoyed at himself for starting to fall into the simple psychological trap. He was smarter than that, he was far smarter than these arrogant Americans.
It was a simple holdings cell. There was a table, a chair, shower, and some shelves for personal items, not that he had any at the moment.
On one of the shelves the Americans had supplied a Koran. That was at least something positive about his situation.
He still wished he had an idea of what time of day or night it was. The lights had not been turned off since he had entered the room.
More disappointingly he had no idea which direction the Holy Land was. These little things made it difficult to pray properly, but that was of no real consequence. He had lived through many challenges in his life. He had been devoted to Islam for so long and achieved so much for the cause that he was confident of the rewards he would receive in the afterlife.
Many people disagreed with his interpretation of Islam, opting instead for a more moderate, temperate version. He considered those people to have a weak sense of faith. He was also certain that his captors would soon kill him anyway, that was what they always did according to every report he had seen. He would not have to wait long to receive his final rewards in Paradise. His only disappointment was that he would not live to see the surrender of Israel or the United States and he had hoped he would live to see the end of the two Satans.
With no knock or announcement, the door opened. A man came in carrying a tray with two glasses of water, a notebook, and a tablet computer. He sat down on the only other chair in the room. The man was dressed in tan pants and a blue denim shirt. He was of medium build with short hair. He was, probably by design, an utterly average and forgettable looking man. Doctor Joba considered these facts and decided that the man must be from their Central Intelligence Agency.
“Dr. Joba, my name is Phillip. I wonder if we might have a chat,” he said.
He sat in silence, staring at the man. There was nothing he wanted to say to him.
“I am well aware that you speak fluent English. I am well aware of oh so many things about you. We know, for instance, you are a graduate of both Stanford and MIT having studied physics with a specialization of nuclear physics.
“You are welcome for the education that our institutions of higher learning provided, especially when your own country could not hope to achieve the same proficiency. We know your entire academic record, which is to say the very least, impressive. We also know that you have several children,” the man said undeterred by the lack of response, either verbal or body language.
Dr. Joba was certain that they would have had all of this information even before this smug little man told him. He was growing bored with all this. He reached for the water glass and took a sip. He yawned just a little and was hopeful that his action would annoy this… Phillip. He had never been trained on how to be a prisoner, or how to resist interrogations, that was for military types, but he knew he was the smartest person in the building. That was all he needed to know to be confident that he would outwit these interrogators.
“I also know some less easy to find things. You have at least six children. That is to say, six that have been inside the United States at some point in time in their lives. These are the ones whose identities we can verify. One of which, a son, who has changed his name through at least four European countries, is now enrolled at your alma mater Stanford out in California. I am willing to bet that you encouraged him to go there and follow in your scientific footsteps. I assume that I now have your attention,” said Phillip.
He was indeed shocked by that last piece of information. He had more than six children, but this man was right, six had gone to various Universities in the United States.
“Your regulations and policies would never permit you to harm my son in any fashion. Besides, if he has listened to me over the years, he will have been on an airplane as soon as he saw there was an attack on our Nation in the area where I was in residence. By now, that much will have been on your ‘propagandist news and he is long since gone,” he responded speaking for the first time since being taken from his home in anything other than prayer.
He was bluffing a little, but secretly hoping that his capture had been officially announced and his son would be on the move. Better yet, someone should have covertly contacted his son and instructed him to start moving as soon as his abduction was discovered, even before their news had announced what happened. There was really no telling what the Americans would do if they got their hands on him. They would probably use him as bait, or threaten to torture the boy to get what information they wanted. It was really not some officially sanctioned physical threat he was concerned about. it was the vigilante groups. The source of the threat to his son was irrelevant, he was now concerned for the boy’s safety.
“Oh, don’t worry, no one knows you are here. If they do, they have said nothing on even the most secret of unofficial channels. There has been some news from the area, but it was all falsehood and obviously fabricated information not to mention the bogus pictures.
“We did see that your boy had an airline ticket to Brazil connecting to a flight to Omar, but we immediately placed him on a no fly list. He was unable to board but is not in our custody. At least, not yet.
“At this very moment, he is all alone in his second floor apartment. When I last looked at the video feed, just before coming in here, he was pacing the living room talking to himself about a physics problem I think. Maybe he was still perturbed by his travel disruption, it was hard to tell as he has a tendency to mumble.
“From what I was told, he seemed relieved to be able to stay, almost as if he is of two minds on the matter. Apparently he didn’t want to leave his girlfriend.
“Did you know he had a girlfriend? Of course you did. A dedicated father like yourself must know that much,” Phillip said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“She is a very nice American girl, a native of Los Angeles with very long legs and well, let’s just say, an artificially enhanced chest size. She loves to sun herself in a rather revealing bikini. The daughter of an action movie director from what I am told,” Phillip said with a most inquisitive look on his face.
Dr. Joba knew the man was purposefully making the subjects bounce around, he spoke quickly, in an attempt to further annoy him, or perhaps to throw him off balance. He knew this tactic well and refused to allow himself to be provoked by it.
“My son would not do this.”
“Well,” the American pulled the tablet computer off the tray he had brought with him and showed a video. There was no denying that his son was shown on a date, holding hands with a woman whom, by American standards, would be considered a highly attractive young blonde woman.
“Harm him if you like. He will be rewarded in the afterlife,” Dr. Joba knew this man was just attempting to scare him. He hoped they would not harm his son but, if they did he would be a necessary casualty of war. He would pray for his son’s soul in that case. Everyone must make sacrifices to reach the ultimate goal.