a monster, and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.
Harvath had no choice but to battle monsters. It was his job. He did, though, have a choice when it came to how deeply he would let the abyss stare into him. He had no intention of becoming like the monsters he hunted. Besides, a simple act of human kindness could also be a powerful interrogation tool, especially if the subject was already broken.
Feed their dreams and starve their fears was a mantra the Old Man had taught him. Judging by the looks of Khuram Hanjour, all the recruiter was dreaming about right now was gaining his freedom. His biggest fear was being locked back inside the psychologically suffocating confines of the Storm Case.
After wheeling the container inside the ground-floor bathroom, Harvath and Cowles had donned masks, butcher’s aprons, and rubber gloves. They lifted Hanjour out of the case, propped him up in the tub, and turned on the shower.
Once he was as clean as he was going to get, they used trauma scissors to cut away the duct tape. Some strips refused to come loose and Harvath knew they’d be pulling away skin, so he left them on. They could be used later to inflict pain, but he didn’t think that was going to be necessary.
They cut away Hanjour’s soiled khakis and underwear, then put a hood over his head and dragged him out of the bathroom and down to the basement. The cell was at the end of a short cinderblock hall. Cowles removed a set of keys and opened the door. There were portable construction lights, a video camera, and a lone chair. Along the wall behind the chair, a sheet had been hung so that no one would ever be able to reverse-engineer where the video had been shot.
Harvath sat Hanjour down and secured him to the chair. He then nodded to Cowles, who left the room, closing and locking the cell door behind him. Harvath stood at the far corner for a few moments watching Hanjour. Placing the hood over his head had brought about a severe panic attack. Harvath walked over and removed it.
“Take deep breaths,” he told him. “Breathe.”
Harvath walked back over to the wall and watched. The mind was an incredible thing. It could help transport a person to incredible heights or reduce him to unfathomable lows. The range and breadth of personality traits, mental disorders, and capacity for good or evil in human beings was staggering. Harvath had watched interrogators break some of the toughest subjects he had ever seen in half the time it had taken him to break weaker men. Interrogation was an art form, and at its core was an understanding of how the human mind and all of its complicated components worked.
He waited until Hanjour’s breathing had normalized and then turned on the video camera to begin his interrogation. “Khuram, you have something I want. If you give it to me, I’m going to let you live. In fact, I may even set you free. But all of that is going to depend on how well you cooperate.”
Hanjour shook his head. It took him a moment to find his words. “You will never set me free.”
“Why do you think that, Khuram?”
“Your country doesn’t release people like me.”
He had a good point, but Harvath wasn’t going to concede it. “You’d be surprised what kind of an arrangement might be made,” he said. “Of course, you would be working for us, but I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Let me finish laying the ground rules. If you lie to me, I will know and I will put you back in the box. If I even think you are lying to me, I’ll put you back in the box. If you give me an unsatisfactory answer at any time, I will put you back in the box. I know everything, Khuram. I just want to hear it in your words. Have I made myself clear?”
Hanjour nodded.
“Is it your wish then not to be put back in the box?”
Hanjour nodded again.
“Say it. Say I don’t want to be put back in the box.”
The man saw the expression on the American’s hard face and knew he was serious. “I do not want to be put back in the box.”
“Say it again,” Harvath ordered.
“I do not want to be put back in the box.”
“Where are you going if you do not cooperate with me?”