Like most intelligence operatives, Andrew had received training in the ways humans processed information. According to one theory known as neuro-linguistic programming, most people were either sight-oriented, sound-oriented, or touch-oriented. A sight-oriented person tended to favor language that involved metaphors of sight, such as “I see what you mean.” From an observer’s point of view, that type of person tended to look up toward the left when creating a thought and to look up to the right when remembering something. In contrast, a sound-oriented person tended to use metaphors such as “I hear what you’re getting at.” When creating a thought, that type of person looked directly to the observer’s left and, when remembering something, looked directly to the right. Finally, a touch-oriented person favored metaphors such as “I feel that can work.” When that type of person looked down to the left or the right, those movements, too, were revealing.
People were seldom exclusively one type, but through careful observation, a trained interrogator could determine the sense orientation an individual favored. The interrogator might ask, “What city will be attacked?” If a sound-oriented prisoner glanced directly to the left and said, “Washington,” that statement was a created thought-an invention. But, if the prisoner glanced to the right and said the same thing, that statement was based on a memory. Of course, the prisoner might be remembering a lie he was instructed to tell. Nonetheless, through careful observation of eye movements, a skilled interrogator could reach reasonably certain conclusions about whether a prisoner was lying or telling the truth.
The trouble was, this particular prisoner obstinately refused to look Andrew in the eyes.
Hell, he knows about neuro-linguistic programming, Andrew thought. He’s been warned that his eye movements might tell me something about his mission.
The sophistication made Andrew uneasy. To consider these fanatics as ignorant was a lethal mistake. They learned exponentially and seemed dangerously more complex every day.
He couldn’t help thinking of the simplicity of an interrogation technique favored during his father’s youth in the 1950s. Back then, a prisoner was injected with Sodium Pentothal or one of the other so-called truth serums. This relaxed a detainee to such a degree that his mental discipline was compromised, in theory making him vulnerable to questioning. But the process was often like trying to get information from a drunk. Fantasy, exaggeration, and fact became indistinguishable. Needing clarity and reliability, interrogators developed other methods.
In his room, Andrew sat at his desk, activated the laptop computer, and watched an image appear. Transmitted from a hidden camera, it showed the prisoner in his cell. In keeping with Andrew’s instructions, the cot had been removed. The barred opening in the door was covered. A thin blanket lay on the concrete floor. The subject’s arms had been unshackled. He rubbed his chafed wrists. Now that he was alone, he confirmed Andrew’s suspicions by looking around warily, no longer fixing his gaze toward a spot on a wall.
Andrew pressed a button on the laptop’s keyboard and subtly increased the glare of the overhead lights in the cell. The change was so imperceptible that the subject couldn’t notice. During the next four days, the intensity would continue to increase until the glare was blinding, but no moment in the gradually agonizing change would be perceptible.
Andrew pressed another button and reduced the cell’s temperature a quarter of a degree. Again, the change was too small for the prisoner to notice, but during the next four days, the damp chill in the compartment would become extreme.
The subject sat in a corner with his back against the wall. In a moment, his eyes closed, perhaps in meditation.
Can’t allow that, Andrew thought. He pressed a third button, which activated a siren in the prisoner’s cell. On the screen, the prisoner jerked his eyes open. Startled, he looked up at the ceiling, where the siren was located. For now, the siren was at its lowest setting. It lasted only three seconds. But over the next four days, at unpredictable intervals, it would be repeated, each time louder and longer.
The prisoner would be given small amounts of bread and water to keep his strength at a sufficient level to prevent him from passing out. But the toilet in his cell would stop functioning, his wastes accumulating, their stench adding to his other sensory ordeals.
Andrew was reminded of the story his father had told him long ago on the sailboat. In his father’s case, there had been various increasing challenges to his perceptions. In the prisoner’s case, there would be increasing assaults to his perceptions. He would soon lose his sense of time. Minutes would feel like hours, and hours would feel like days. The intensifying barrage of painful stimuli would tear away his psychological defenses, leaving him so overwhelmed, disoriented, and worn down that he’d reveal any secret if only he could sleep.
The prisoner lasted three and a half days. The sporadic faint siren eventually became a prolonged wail that forced him to put his hands over his ears and scream. Of course, his scream could not be heard amid the siren. Only the O of his mouth communicated the anguished noise escaping from him. The eventual searing glare of the lights changed to a pulsing light-dark, light-dark strobe effect that made the prisoner scrunch his eyes shut, straining to protect them. The thin blanket he’d been allowed was merely an attempt to give him false hope, for as the cold intensified, seeping up from the concrete floor and into his bones, the blanket gave him no protection. He huddled uselessly under it, unable to stop shivering.
Again, Mr. Able and the other two guards entered the cell. Again, Andrew and the interpreter stood in the open doorway.
The prisoner twitched, this time definitely affected by Andrew’s size.
“When and where will the attack occur?” Andrew asked. “Does the attack involve smallpox? If so, how did your group obtain it? How will the attack be carried out? Tell me, and this is what I’ll do.” Andrew took a remote control from his suit-coat pocket and pressed a button that lowered the lights to a pleasant glow.
“I’ll also shut off the siren,” Andrew said. “I’ll make the room’s temperature comfortable. I’ll allow you to sleep. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to sleep? Sleep is the greatest pleasure. Sleep will refresh you.”
Hugging himself to keep from shaking, the prisoner confessed. Because he hadn’t slept for almost four days, the information wasn’t always clear. Andrew needed to rephrase questions and prompt him numerous times, on occasion reactivating the siren and the throbbing lights to jolt his nerves. In the end, Andrew learned all that he wanted, and the prisoner no longer avoided looking at him. With a beseeching gaze, the desperate man told him what he needed, and the movement of his red, swollen, sleep-deprived eyes told Andrew that he wasn’t lying.
The target was New York City. The attack did involve smallpox. In four days, at five p.m. on numerous subway platforms, aerosol canisters that looked like hair-spray dispensers would be taken from backpacks. Their tops would be twisted, then returned to the backpacks. Their pressurized air would be vented through a tube in each backpack, dispersing the virus among the crowd. The victims wouldn’t know about the attack until days later when symptoms of the disease began to appear, but by then, the victims would have spread the virus much farther.
As Andrew hurried toward a scrambler-equipped satellite radio to report what he’d learned, he heard muffled screams coming from another cell. Water splashed. Disturbed by the significance of the sounds, Andrew ran to an open doorway through which he saw a man strapped to a board. The board was tilted so that the man’s head was lower than his feet. His head was in a brace so that he couldn’t turn it from side to side. He was naked, except for his underwear. His features were covered by a cloth, but the brown color of his skin matched that of the prisoner Andrew had interrogated, making Andrew conclude that this man, too, was an Iraqi.