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- Author: Steve P. Vincent
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“I feel like you want to tell me something, Jack.” The voice persisted.
Jack raised his head. “I – ”
Jack was interrupted by pounding against the interrogation room door. He jerked his head toward it, even though he couldn’t see anything from underneath the hood. He heard a deep sigh from one of his interrogators and then the clicking sound of boots on the concrete floor. Jack didn’t think much of it until he heard several low, angry voices speaking.
He couldn’t hear what was being said, though the anger of his interrogator was clear. He shook his head and clamped his teeth together, determined now to hold out after his moment of weakness and his near betrayal of the photos and the story. After a few moments of back and forth conversation near the door, the voices grew louder and several new footsteps could be heard.
The light burned Jack’s eyes and he squeezed them shut as the hood was pulled off his head. His mind screamed with confusion. He could hear voices but couldn’t process what they were saying, until slowly everything returned to normal and he started to regain his senses. He opened his eyes and looked around, confused by the five men who surrounded him.
The only man not wearing a military uniform spoke. “Mr Emery, my name is Keith Baird, I’m a staffer at the Australian Embassy in Kabul.”
Jack blinked a couple of times and tried to lift his hands, but they were still bound on the table. “What do you want?”
“I want you, actually.” Baird smiled sadly. “I’m just sorry it took me so long to hear about your… predicament. Sorrier still it took me so long to get here.”
Baird waved a piece of paper at the soldiers. “This is an order from the Afghan Justice Minister ordering you to release this man into my custody.”
Just like that, Jack nearly cried as the four military men – three American and one Afghani – worked to free him from his restraints. He didn’t get his hopes up until his hands were free. He felt his wrists and rubbed his raw, abused palms against his legs. He stood, resisting the urge to take a swing at one of the soldiers and then walked to stand behind Baird.
In less than five minutes he was out of the compound and riding in a black SUV with Baird towards Kabul. They sat in silence in the back seat, as if Baird was waiting for him to speak. The soldiers had watched them leave, their expressions blank. Jack had wanted some sign that his departure meant something to them, but he received none.
Finally, once they’d been driving for a bit, Baird spoke. “Tell me where you want to head from here, Jack? Once we’re back in Kabul, I mean.”
Jack continued to stare out of the window. “I need to spend some time getting to the bottom of a story.”
“Anything you need. You’ll have a room at the Embassy for a few days to tidy up loose ends and then we’ll see you safety to the airport.” Baird patted him on the shoulder. “I hope it’s a good story. You’ve caused a huge stir. The Australian Foreign Minister had to shout a bit to get you out of there.”
Jack turned to face Baird. “It concerns the torture and abuse of Afghan prisoners by United States Marine Corps troops. It’s organized and I have proof.”
Baird whistled. “I guess I better get ready for the flurry of diplomatic protests. But that’s no matter. If there’s a story you need to tell it.”
“Thanks.” Jack nodded and turned back to look out of the window.
Jack exhaled deeply as he swung back on the office chair and stared up at the ceiling. He reached up and rubbed his eyes, wishing again that the Embassy had some real coffee. He’d been burning the candle at both ends to get to the bottom of the story for three days and this, combined with the lack of sleep he’d had while in prison, had him slow on his feet. He knew he should stop and rest, but the story was too important.
He sighed, leaned forward, and resumed tapping away on his laptop. He’d spent his time at the Australian Embassy in Kabul digging as deeply as he could into Brinson, Navitas, and the role of the US Marine Corps in torture and prisoner abuse. Though Baird and the other staff had stayed out of his way, he hadn’t found much online and the few sources he’d reached out to hadn’t been much help.
The only thing of use had been some media coverage about pressure on the CIA to wind-down the extraordinary rendition program – the extrajudicial transfer of prisoners to other countries that had become a means of torture by proxy by the United States. It seemed that the high point of pressure on the Agency had coincided with the opening of Navitas, which Jack assumed had been torturing Afghans from the day it opened.
Though it could just be a coincidence, he didn’t feel like it was. The attention he’d received – the detention, the beating, and the diplomatic pressure that Baird said was being placed on Australia to hand him over – all spoke to something important that influential people felt it vital to cover up. It was more than some rogue Marines kicking some Taliban and Al Qaeda fighters around.
He’d called Josefa Takaloka, his editor at the Standard, who’d pressured Jack to just write the story as it stood. Jo had thought the story good enough to run and didn’t want to risk Jack’s safety by digging deeper. Jack had stalled and asked for a few more days to uncover something that proved his hunch – that this was a far deeper cancer than a single camp.
His phone started to buzz on the table, breaking his reverie. He looked down and was surprised by the name flashing on the screen. He answered. “Jack Emery.”
“Jack, it’s Dan Ortiz.” There was a pause. “Where are you? I’ve got some information to share with you but I can’t talk over the phone.”
“I’m at the Australian Embassy. It’s the only place I’m safely able to work at the moment.” Jack hated saying it aloud. “I’m sorry, Dan. I can’t risk it.”
Ortiz laughed. “And what do you think I’m risking even by calling you? You’re going to want to hear this.”
Jack thought about it. While Ortiz had given Jack no reason to be suspicious of him, he did work for the same branch of the armed forces that Jack was investigating. On the other hand, he knew he had barely any time left to close up his story, with the patience of his editor, the Australian Embassy, and the Afghan Justice Minister growing thin. Everyone wanted him out of the country. Each extra day was a risk.
Besides, the business of a reporter was out in the field, not hiding inside a government compound. He lifted the phone to his mouth. “Okay.”
“Great.” Ortiz seemed relieved. “Where should we meet?”
Jack didn’t hesitate. “Faisal Market. North entrance. One hour.”
He terminated the call and gathered his things. He walked out of the small office and asked a staffer to organize a car, ignoring the protests that he stay inside the compound. The location of the Embassy was classified and he was a guest, but he was still a free man. It was made clear to him as the car pulled up that once he left the building he was on his own until he returned. If he returned.
Fifty minutes and some traffic later he was at Faisal Market. He grabbed a kabob from a street vendor and waited slightly away from where he’d told Ortiz to meet him. He wanted to be sure what he was getting into before he committed. As he ate, he kept his eyes peeled for any sign of trouble, but as the minutes ticked by he felt more comfortable. He trusted Ortiz.
Finally, Ortiz came into view. He was disguised in chinos, a white cotton shirt, and dark sunglasses. Importantly, from what Jack could tell, Ortiz was alone. He watched as Ortiz stopped in place, raised his glasses, and looked around. After a few minutes Jack threw the remains of his food in a bin and walked over to Ortiz.
He walked up behind Ortiz. “Hi, Dan.”
Ortiz turned around and flashed a smile. “Your field craft is good, Jack.”
Jack grinned and shrugged. “You spend a few years in the White House Press Corps and you learn a thing or two about stalking prominent Americans.”
Ortiz gave a small laugh and then his expression darkened. “I need your phone, Jack.”
“What?”
“Your phone. I need it. I can’t talk to you without it.”
Jack hesitated, then reached into his pocket and handed over his phone. “Please don’t break it.”
Ortiz took the phone, opened the back, and removed the battery and the SIM card. He then handed them back to Jack. “Now you can’t be listened to, but they still know you’re here. We only have a couple of minutes.”
Jack nodded. “I’m in danger every second I’m in this country, Dan. It’s clear to me that I’ve kicked over an ant hill, but I’m not
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