Seven Days From Sunday (MP-5 CIA #1) (18 page)

Gonz had been trained to resist an inquisition using a variety of interrogation techniques, so he had in fact, undergone waterboarding preparation. He knew for a fact that it was a truly terrible feeling.

But it also worked.

Even the toughest opponents usually lasted no more than thirteen and a half seconds. It was a quick way to get answers without leaving any marks on the body.

“Go,” Gonz said. The man who had brought in the watering can, now lifted it over Adnan’s head and began to pour water onto the Iraqi’s face. Adnan instinctively tried to get away, but the firm bindings kept him in place. After what Gonz knew felt like an eternity, the water pouring was stopped and Heisman tilted the plank so that Adnan was perpendicular to the floor. They could hear the gasps, as Adnan tried desperately to breathe through the cloth.

“Again,” Gonz said. The plank was tilted back again, Adnan’s head lower than his feet, and water was poured over his face. This time Gonz said harshly, “Al Mudtaji! Tell me what you know and this stops!” There were grunt noises along with the gasps and Gonz said to the men, “Stop.”

Heisman brought the plank level as the man on the other side used surgical scissors to cut away the cloth over the mouth and nose. Adnan gasped for air, drinking in as much oxygen as humanly possible. Not letting up, Gonz demanded, “Tell me! Tell me about al Mudtaji!”

Adnan wheezed a few words in Arabic and Heisman swiftly translated. “Yes, I will say. I will say.”

“C’mon! English!” Gonz charged. The truth was, he hated waiting for the damned translation.

“Yes,” Adnan panted in English. “I was there...”

“Where?”

“At the beheading. Of the American. I was in the Ring of Allah.”

Gonz and Heisman exchanged glances. “You’re part of his inner circle?”

“No!” Adnan panted. “No, never.”

Gonz looked to the men. “Again.”

“No!” Adnan cried out.

“Then tell us or we do it all again,” Gonz said. As Adnan still gasped for air, Gonz stepped closer to the Iraqi. “I’m not Muslim, but I know the Ring of Allah. That’s a great honor. Al Mudtaji put you there for a reason.”

“I helped,” Adnan panted. “I helped.”

“What do you mean, helped?”

“What you said before. I got the medication. For his heart. I got it.”

“What was it?” Gonz asked, knowing that the medical examiner had found traces of a Turkish ACE inhibitor.

“For his heart. To keep it working.”

“What type of medication!? Exactly!” Gonz challenged.

“ACE inhibitors... We get from Turkey...” Adnan continued to gasp for air.

“So you’re a part of his cell?”

“No!” Adnan vehemently denied. “No, never.”

“You were there. In the Ring of Allah.”

“Because I had no choice! I helped him, but only to get close. Not because I believe. I don’t!”

“You’re lying,” Gonz said, rising. He nodded to Heisman and the plank started to tip again.

“No!” Adnan screamed. “I went for Ghaniyah! That’s all!”

Gonz motioned for Heisman to stop. The plank was tilted to a perfectly flat level. “Go on.”

“My Ghaniyah,” Adnan blurted out. “He took her. I knew he had her, so yes, I went. I helped. I gave the American the drugs. It kept him alive. But that is all.” Exhausted, Adnan’s voice trailed off. “That is all I did... That’s all...”

“I don’t understand the delay,” the man said in very good English.

McKay couldn’t help but glance across the conference table at the English-speaking nurse to see if she would speak out, pointing a finger at McKay for the delay. After all, the nurse had confirmed McKay’s worst-case scenario the day before: Ghaniyah’s aunt wasn’t the only one with symptoms of severe nausea, diarrhea, vomiting, and bloody stools. The two other women, one man and two children shared a common factor with Ghaniyah’s aunt – they all used the same well water.

In fact, it would be perfectly understandable if the Iraqi nurse gave a recapitulation to the official from the Ministry of Health, blaming McKay for not acting faster. But the nurse sat in silence across the table from the government official, a rotund middle-aged man who wore a western-style business suit with an Arab-style head covering. On the table in front of him was a large stack of papers. Although the papers were all in Arabic, McKay knew that they were copies of each patient’s medical chart.

She glanced at Dr. Nichols who sat next to her, but it was impossible to read his face. She simply didn’t know him that well.

“Why the delay?” the official asked. “I don’t understand the delay.”

“It was my fault,” McKay answered looking directly at the government representative. “I wanted to confirm my hypothesis with blood, urine, and stool analyses.”

The official thumbed through the stack of papers as if searching for something, so Dr. Nichols quickly explained, “Dr. McKay had a theory, but wanted physical substantiation.” The official looked at Dr. Nichols who continued, “Physical evidence. So she ordered the tests. That took a while, yes, but Dr. McKay didn’t want to raise unfounded concerns.”

“Exactly,” McKay confirmed. “The results from those tests came back positive late yesterday afternoon, and we immediately contacted you.”

The official nodded. Looking at McKay, he asked, “You think it is poison?”

“I’m honestly not sure, but that is my best guess,” McKay replied.

“What kind of poison?” the official asked.

“I don’t know.”

The nurse spoke in rapid Arabic. She saw McKay’s questioning look and explained, “I just said that we need an answer very soon. The youngest child is very sick.”

McKay nodded and said to the Ministry of Health representative, “The child she speaks of, almost two years of age, has severe kidney distress. If we don’t find out what the cause is, know how best to treat him, he could go into kidney failure.”

The official just nodded again, studying the papers in front of him. Finally he looked to Dr. Nichols. “You tell the Americans?”

“Excuse me?” Dr. Nichols answered, surprised by the question.

“You tell the Americans?” the official repeated, clearly annoyed. “What is going on here? This unexplained sickness? That it may be poison?”

“No,” Dr. Nichols insisted.

“You?” the official asked McKay. “You tell the Americans?”

“No,” McKay responded, glancing at Dr. Nichols.

The Iraqi official flipped through more pages. McKay, Nichols, and the nurse exchanged impatient glances. McKay had felt somewhat guilty that they hadn’t contacted the Iraqi officials sooner, but now she was glad that the CIA had a head start on finding out exactly what was in the well water. If this man was any indication of government response, it would be some time before the well water was analyzed.

Just minutes after arriving back at the hospital late yesterday afternoon, McKay had gotten a text message instructing her to go to the post-surgical room on the third floor. When she got to the room she found it empty except for a young Iraqi man mopping the floor. Expecting to see an American, she was surprised when the man had softly said, “The Denver Broncos will be in the next Super Bowl,” the prearranged code Gonz had given her. Heisman’s favorite NFL team.

The Iraqi was Gonz’s man in Basra. McKay had then handed over the water samples, which the man had quickly placed in a backpack. He had then swiftly walked out of the room, leaving his mop and bucket behind.

She guessed that by now the water samples had been in Kuwait more than twelve hours. With any luck, she’d hear something very soon. The six people affected by whatever toxin was in the well water, including Ghaniyah’s aunt, were all in critical condition. The next 24-hours were crucial.

The official studied McKay for a moment before inquiring, “When the tests came in, no one could find you.”

McKay’s heart skipped a beat. She had been gone for more than four hours, retrieving the water samples and taking apart the old woman’s dresser, searching for any kind of clue that would tell them why Iraq’s foremost terrorist wanted it. “I went back to my hotel,” she answered. “I had the start of a migraine.”

“A migraine?”

“Yes.”

“You take medication for it?”

“Yes, but it can take a while to take effect.”

“I told Dr. Nichols as soon as the blood tests were back,” the nurse explained.

“And I called the Ministry of Health,” Dr. Nichols remarked, appearing somewhat put out. “Whatever delay you’re trying to blame on this hospital is nothing compared to the delay right now by your department not acting.”

The official gave Dr. Nichols a long look. “We will investigate this, be assured, Doctor.” He then looked at McKay. “I just find it curious that you asked the nurse here to see if there were any other patients with these symptoms... nausea, loose stools, severe stomach cramps. What made you suspect there would be more?”

“I asked our first patient if she had eaten or drank anything abnormal before coming in. I originally thought it was a simple case of food poisoning.”

“And what did she say?”

“She said her diet hadn’t changed. The only thing that was strange was that some man had come to fix their well. She said there was nothing wrong with it.”

The government representative contemplated this for some time. Finally he said, “I see.”

Dr. Nichols defended McKay saying, “Look, Dr. McKay did everything by the book on this. She’s an excellent doctor.”

“Just one more question,” the official announced, flipping through more papers before looking at McKay. “You worked for nearly a year in Kenya. Close to Wajir, I see. You like it?”

“It was fine,” McKay replied stiffly. Why was the man questioning her about her cover story? It was supposed to hold up to scrutiny from fellow Western doctors. Not some stupid Iraqi official.

“It’s nice there near Lake Rudolf.”

McKay didn’t say a word, unsure where the man was going with such questions.

“Wouldn’t you agree?” the Iraqi pressed.

“Sure,” McKay finally said.

“Wajir is near the Eastern coast, Doctor,” the official bluntly corrected her. “Nowhere near Lake Rudolf. Perhaps you weren’t in Wajir after all.”

McKay’s heart thundered. “You’re right. I wasn’t in Wajir.”

The official had a smug look on his face. Dr. Nichols and the nurse were clearly surprised. McKay went on, “If you read carefully, I was posted ‘near Wajir.’ That’s because I was flown in on a crop duster and dropped off at a tent city. ‘Near Wajir.’ No running water. No electricity. A tent city for AIDS victims. If there was a lake nearby, I never saw it. What I did see was a lot of HIV positive children, most of them orphans, and a hell of a lot of sickness.” She glared at the official. “And for the record, very little hope.”

“They’ll take you back.” Heisman handed the papers to a soldier standing at the driver’s door of the Humvee. Another soldier was already up front, riding shotgun.

Thamer took one look at the Army vehicle and said, “I’d rather take a taxi.”

“This won’t cost anything,” Heisman explained in Arabic.

“Won’t cost me? You think I’m dropped off by your soldiers and that doesn’t cost me? I still have many customers,
many
, who don’t believe in this occupation.”

Heisman gave the older man a nod. “Suit yourself. They’ll drop you right outside the Green Zone if that’s what you want.”

“Where’s Adnan?” Thamer asked.

Nodding to the Humvee, Heisman said, “You have to ride in that since you’re in our zone. After that, you’re on your own.”

“Excuse me!” Thamer insisted. “Where is Adnan?” He looked around, waving his arms at the surrounding buildings, a few uniformed soldiers coming and going. “Do you still have him here?”

Heisman looked at the soldier standing near the driver’s door and in English said, “He wants out early, he’ll start clamoring. Otherwise, take him to the address on the map. It’s a pharmacy. Pretty easy to find. You’re familiar with Jadida?”

“Yes, sir,” responded the soldier.

Heisman nodded and looked at Aref. “He’ll probably stay with you. You got his address in there, too. Same neighborhood, not too far.”

“Yes, sir.”

Heisman turned to Thamer. Switching back to Arabic he remarked, “Just so we’re clear, our job is to follow up on any leads that might take us to al Mudtaji. That led us to your pharmacy.” Thamer frowned and Heisman continued. “You must realize when al Mudtaji attacks us, he attacks Iraqis as well. Much as you might not like it, we’re here for one reason and one reason only – so that as one of our famous presidents said, Iraq too, can have a government ‘of the people, by the people and for the people.’”

Thamer just stared at Heisman, unsure what to say, if anything. The soldier opened the rear passenger door and Aref eagerly climbed in. Thamer slowly got in after him.

Aref couldn’t believe it. He was actually riding in a U.S. Army truck. He marveled at how high they sat off the ground. He hadn’t minded his stay inside the Green Zone. For one thing, he hadn’t felt so alone, as he always did at home. In fact, inside the Green Zone there were many people, even in the tent where he was taken. And each person was very nice, offering him food, water, even a prayer mat.

He also enjoyed his stay because he knew very few Iraqis had been inside the Green Zone. Now he could tell people he had been there. He had been questioned three times by different people, but his story had never changed. For the simple reason that he had not lied. He didn’t know al Mudtaji. He knew if ever he did meet him, he would be terrified. Never mind that al Mudtaji was also a Sunni. He was still a cold-blooded killer.

They were waved past a checkpoint, and a minute later they were outside the Green Zone. He glanced at Thamer to see if he was going to ask the driver to stop, but the pharmacist remained silent, looking out his window and keeping his thoughts to himself. As they passed pedestrians and other cars, Aref felt like he was a king, sitting so high.