Naphtali hadn’t seen new polling numbers since Iran had tested its first nuclear warhead. However, he suspected American support for an Israeli first strike in light of all that was happening would go up, not down. Still, even if Congress continued voting for substantive military aid packages for Israel, if the president chose to veto such aid, the question was whether congressional leaders had the muscle to override the veto — and continue to do it year after year. Would they do so if the Middle East went up in flames and a new wave of terrorism broke out around the world? Would they do so if oil prices hit one record high after another and the American economy was further damaged by spiking gasoline and home heating oil prices?
“Who are the satellite phones for?”
“The executives at Iran Telecom,” David replied.
“Why so many?” the security official asked.
“There are only twenty.”
“But you brought in twenty last time and five before that.”
“You have all the paperwork. It’s all legitimate.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Then I don’t understand the question.”
“Why are you bringing in so many?”
“I’m bringing what is being ordered,” David said. “I have no idea what the phones are for, nor do I care.”
“Did you know that Abdol Esfahani has been arrested?”
David was genuinely stunned. He had heard no such thing. “No,” he replied. “What for?”
“He was arrested while you were gone, Mr. Tabrizi, on espionage charges.”
“Espionage? That’s impossible. He’s not a spy.”
“Actually, he is. We have proof that he has been working with the Central Intelligence Agency. And now we suspect you are too.”
David felt a wave of fear flash through his system. How could they know? How had he slipped up? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Why was Esfahani trying to buy more than three hundred satellite phones?” the official asked. “What use could he possibly have for so many?”
David’s mind scrambled for an answer. He had been sworn to secrecy by Esfahani not to mention the connection to the Twelfth Imam or the Group of 313. “I have no idea. You’ll have to ask him.”
“We did. He said it was your idea.”
“Mine?”
“He said you also worked for the CIA, that you were paying him a quarter of a million dollars to get these satellite phones into the hands of all the top officials in Tehran. Under torture, severe torture, he showed us how the phones have bugs in them that allow them to be listened to by the NSA’s Echelon signals intelligence system.”
“That’s crazy!” David shot back, jumping to his feet and putting his finger in the man’s chest. “I’m not paying him for these phones. He’s paying me. And none of these satphones are bugged. I’ve checked each one of them myself. And I’m a German, you moron, not an American. I wouldn’t work for the thugs and imbeciles who run the CIA for all the money in the world!”
“Sit down, Mr. Tabrizi.”
“I will not sit down.”
“I said, sit down, Mr. Tabrizi.”
“Look, you fool, I’m not one of your stooges. I’m not going to be accused of spying or bribery or anything else. Now, I was hired to do a job for your government, and I expect to be treated with respect. So let me go, or I demand to see someone from the German Embassy immediately.”
27
Two large men rushed into the room.
Before David realized what was happening, they moved quickly around the wooden table in the center of the room, punched him in the stomach, dragged him to the floor, gagged him, and tied him up. He struggled as best he could, but they kicked him repeatedly, and eventually one of them pressed his boot down on David’s face to keep him from thrashing around any further.
Next they kicked the chairs aside and dragged in a large wooden board that looked almost like a stretcher, roughly seven or eight feet long and several feet wide. They propped one end on the desk so that the board was inclined like a child’s slide. Then they grabbed David and strapped him to the board with thick ropes, his feet at the elevated end, his head toward the floor, and his arms stretched over his head.
That’s when David knew exactly where they were headed. He was about to be waterboarded. He struggled all the more to get free, but it was impossible. Everything was happening too fast. They knew he was CIA. He had no idea how. But they were going to brutalize him until he told them everything. Fear gripped him. Sweat poured down his face and up his back. He gritted his teeth and willed himself not to break. He would rather die than betray his family or his country.
They placed a dirty towel over his face. It had been soaked in something, alcohol or possibly gasoline. Either way, his eyes began to sting and water. He began to gag as well. He knew what was coming. He sucked in a lungful of air and shut his eyes and mouth. Without warning, they hoisted a large can over his head and began to pour water over his face in a steady, controlled fashion. The water soaked the towel, making it heavy and limp. As more and more water poured over it, the towel settled around the contours of David’s face and sealed up his nose and mouth. Now, even if he wanted to breathe, he wouldn’t be able to. His arms tried to thrash but couldn’t move. His legs struggled to break free but could not. David knew he shouldn’t be expending the extra energy. He needed to save every ounce of strength, every bit of oxygen, to stay alive. But he couldn’t help himself. His movements were involuntary.
From the moment the water started, he was counting.
Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…
The water kept coming.
Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one…
He wasn’t going to make it. His lungs were going to explode. He didn’t want to die. He had no idea where he would go, and it scared him more than anything else he had ever faced. Thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven…
Suddenly the water stopped. The towel came off. David exhaled. The overhead lights were so bright he couldn’t see his captors. He knew he had only a moment. He breathed in and out and in and out and in one more time.
Then they smashed the towel back down on his face and began pouring buckets of water over him again.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…
His lungs burned. His hands and feet were shaking. Was he about to go to hell? Was hell real? Was he going to spend eternity burning and writhing with no way of escape?
Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six…
The more he writhed, the more he could feel the burning of the ropes as they cut into his wrists and ankles. And because his body was strapped to the board at a downward angle, water finally began seeping into his nasal passages. This instantly triggered a gag reflex to keep him from drowning.
Thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five…
“Okay, he’s ready,” one of them said.
The water stopped. The towel came off.
“How long have you worked for the CIA?”
David shook his head. “I don’t.”
“Stop lying! We know you do. We’ve been tapping your calls. We’ve been following you. We just want to know how long you’ve been with them.”