‘He’s very well,’ said Bruckner. ‘Ah, there’s Doctor Fisher.’ Bruckner signalled to an attractive woman of about thirty with blonde hair tied in a ponytail, a slightly overweight figure enclosed in military style green trousers and shirt but with no badges of rank.
‘Mandy Fisher wrote the report on Ali Hamsin,’ said Bruckner. ‘Doctor Fisher!’ he called out. She looked round, smiled and walked over.
‘Hello General,’ she said, ‘Felix, hi.’
‘Mandy this is Gerry Tate from London,’ said Bruckner. ‘She’s read your report on Ali Hamsin, and I think you’ll be taking her to meet with him.’
‘Hi Gerry,’ the woman said with a smile and they shook hands.
‘I didn’t realise that you were the psychiatrist who wrote the report,’ said Gerry, ‘it wasn’t attributed.’
‘Oh I’m not a psychiatrist. I have a PhD in psychology, so yeah, I am a doctor I guess, but not in the medical sense.’
‘Still, you’re well qualified to write psychological assessments,’ Gerry replied, ‘and yours was very insightful.’
‘Thank you. Anyway, I’m here to take you to see Hamsin. We’ve an hour and a half before we meet for lunch, so are you all set?’
Gerry was hard pressed to appear nonchalant. ‘Sure, I’m ready when you are.’
Mandy led Gerry to a well-used Chevy Blazer.
‘It’s a bit of a wreck I’m afraid,’ Mandy said. ‘They don’t import too may new vehicles here, and they certainly don’t let us non-military types have them, but at least the aircon sort of works.’
‘I saw you have no rank badges. Who do you actually work for?’ Gerry asked.
‘I’m with the FBI team. I was sent here initially because I speak some Arabic. It’s not enough to converse fluently, but it helps to form some kind of rapport with the detainees. Do you speak any?’
‘Not much really, I’m afraid,’ said Gerry, out of habit revealing as little as possible, and also pleased that the American apparently knew little about her. ‘What do you know about this General Bruckner character who introduced us? He seems old for the army.’
‘Oh, he retired ages ago, but these older guys like to keep their ranks, especially if they were senior officers. I’m not sure who he is now. He’s never been FBI; I’m pretty sure he’s not CIA, but he probably was at one time. He’s just one of these well-connected people in some obscure branch of the administration who pops up here from time to time. Somehow you don’t feel like asking too many questions of them, if you know what I mean.’
‘You’re telling me! I came across some right tricky bastards in my lot. Have you been here long, in Guantanamo?’ Gerry asked.
‘I’ve been here three years now. I was seconded for one year, pretty reluctant I might tell you, but then, well, I met someone here, and so instead of being resentful, I suddenly became all happy and content.’
‘Good for you,’ said Gerry.
‘Thanks. How about you? Are you married? Do you have any children?’
‘No, I’m single,’ said Gerry, ‘and I don’t have any…’
Mandy suddenly swerved the car violently as a stray dog ran across the road.
‘Sorry about that, we’ve been trying to round them up. We’re driving to camp five. That’s where the interrogation facilities are. As you know we’re no longer interrogating Hamsin; haven’t done for months, but he’s sort of set up home there, and didn’t want to be moved.’
‘Your report stated that he is institutionalised.’
‘Well I thought perhaps he was, but when we told him you were coming to see him as per his request he became quite excited. He said he knew you from years back.’
‘That’s right.’
‘He told me that when he went on some mission to Frankfurt and this British woman went with him, only he called you Emily, not Gerry. It took us a little while to get your details from your lot. They seemed rather reluctant to have you sent over.’
‘I was on an overseas assignment,’ said Gerry, ‘and I couldn’t be freed to come over here straight away.’
‘Oh I see,’ said Mandy. She brought the vehicle to a halt outside the prison block and as she watched the British woman climb out of the car she bestowed a small look of contempt towards her back. She had been briefed that Gerry had been released from prison to meet Hamsin.
Mandy led the way into the monitoring room. Two men in military fatigues were scanning the CCTV screens that showed each occupant of the cells in turn. ‘The guards look into the cells every few minutes, and monitor them all the time on these screens.’
‘They don’t get much privacy,’ Gerry remarked.
‘No, none at all really.’
They watched the screen cycle through the detainees. They were all wearing beige coveralls, which showed that they had cooperated to some degree with their captors. Several sat in wheelchairs and a few of them were missing limbs, the result of explosions or combat injuries. Mandy tapped on the computer screen below one of the monitors and there was Ali Hamsin sitting in an armchair reading a novel. Mandy zoomed on to the cover.
‘It’s “Heart of Darkness” by Joseph Conrad,’ said Fisher. ‘Very appropriate.’
‘Yes it is,’ Gerry agreed. She glanced at Mandy wondering if she had actually read the novel and understood the metaphor in the title. Ali looked older than she had expected. He was thinner but still appeared distinguished despite his scruffy beard.
‘I don’t want to talk to him in one of those interrogation rooms,’ Gerry said.
‘We’ll go to one of the recreation pens, then,’ Fisher agreed.
She led the way along the corridors, nodding and smiling at the guards and swapping the occasional name and greeting. They were all men and they stared at Gerry with some interest. She stopped outside a door with a hatch and an observation port but rather than looking in she knocked and called out.
‘Hi Ali, this is Mandy.’
His reply emerged from a speaker on the wall next to the door. ‘So I suppose you are coming in, then.’
Mandy unlocked the door and Ali stared past her at Gerry. ‘Emily… you’re here.’
‘Hello Ali. It’s been a few years,’ said Gerry.
‘Yes.’ He inclined his head in polite agreement.
‘Come on Ali,’ said Mandy, ‘we’ll talk in one of the recreation spaces.’
She led the way outside the back of the building into an area about six metres by three surrounded by a concrete wall and a mesh roofing that cut out most of the sun. Gerry looked round and saw that there was another CCTV camera mounted in one corner with an array of microphones beneath it. There was no chance of a private conversation while Ali Hamsin was under the supervision of his captors in Guantanamo bay. Presumably Bruckner, Grainger and half a dozen others were preparing to listen to their conversation. Maybe it was also being transmitted to the George Bush Center in Langley.
Ali sat down on one side of the table and Gerry and Mandy sat down on the other. He placed his hands on the table and Gerry could see that his nails were bitten as badly as her own. He had a mosquito bite on the back of his hand and he had scratched it until it bled.
‘So Emily,’ he began in his near perfect English accent, ‘how are you enjoying your visit to our tropical island paradise.’
‘Not at all really Ali,’ she replied. ‘I’m here strictly on business.’
‘Why that’s too bad,’ he said in a high pitched American accent, ‘we have excellent facilities for leisure and entertainment, all the food you can eat; medical care; feature films as well.’
Gerry guessed that his accent was an imitation of Mandy Fisher’s. She glanced towards the psychologist and her tight-lipped expression confirmed it. ‘Unfortunately the television is mostly closed circuit surveillance and hardly anyone gets a chance to leave,’ Ali finished.