Page 89 of Whisper
Zahawi pitched sideways, lying in his piss. Blood seeped from one of his reopened leg wounds, trickling down, mixing with the urine. Zahawi pressed his face into the dirt. His lips moved, scraping over the dust.
Paul reappeared, wheeling in a thin platform. Thick straps went across, obviously to restrain someone. A bucket of water and a black hood lay on the surface.
“No,” Kris breathed. “You can’t.”
“We absolutely can,” Dennis said. “The president authorized it. You just are too weak to do what the United States needs.”
“I gave you the opportunity,” Paul told Zahawi. “I gave you the opportunity to save yourself. All you had to do was tell me what I want to know.” Paul grabbed Zahawi and hauled him to his feet. Zahawi wilted, almost collapsed. Paul dragged him to the platform.
Someone else watched Paul strap Zahawi down. Someone else who inhabited Kris’s body, his mind. Someone else who could comprehend what was happening. Kris felt Dan and Ryan beside him, bracketing him. Dan was frozen, staring. Ryan had gone bone white. His hands had fisted, crumpling the memo Dennis had shown them. Only the top line was visible.Enhanced Interrogation Techniques Authorized.
“You can stop this, Zahawi. Tell me what I want to know. Tell me how the United States is going to be attacked.” He held Zahawi down with one hand as he tightened the straps around Zahawi’s wrists, his ankles.
“I told Kris. I told him, I told him everything. Ask Kris.Please, ask Kris,” Zahawi whimpered.
“No, I know you didn’t tell Kris everything. You are lying to me, Zahawi. And you know what happens when you lie?” Paul yanked on the strap over Zahawi’s thighs. It cut into his open wound again. Blood poured down Zahawi’s leg. He screamed. The speakers cut out, warbled, not able to process the intensity of the sound.
“I’m telling the truth,” Zahawi sobbed. “I don’t know anything…I don’t know anything!”
Paul pulled the black hood over Zahawi’s face. Zahawi screamed, shrieked. “Please!Please!”
Paul grabbed the water bucket.
“Holy fuck…” Ryan breathed. His voice shook.
Kris wanted to close his eyes. He wanted to run. He wanted to disappear and reappear on the far side of the moon. He wanted to time travel, go back to when he was nineteen and walking out of his classroom at George Washington, and tell his younger self to ignore the man with two cell phones who said his country could make use of his talents. He wanted to stop breathing, stop seeing, stop feeling anything at all. Stop his heart from beating. Stop time, and stop the pour of water as it fell from the lip of the bucket. He watched, every moment a lifetime, as the stream fell onto Zahawi’s hood-covered face.
Zahawi thrashed, wailing. Paul kept up a constant litany, telling Zahawi he could stop this anytime he wanted, that all he needed to do was tell Paul the truth. “What is your secret, Zahawi?” Paul called out, almost mocking. “What is theone thingyou are holding back? What is it that you don’t want me to know? Just tell me, and this will stop!”
Water poured. Blood seeped down Zahawi’s leg. He thrashed. The sounds he made weren’t human. They were primal, animal. Something beyond terrified.
Paul let up the water. Zahawi sputtered, for a moment. Until Paul started pouring again.
Kris forced his eyes open, forced himself to watch, the seconds turning to years, until his eyes watered and he couldn’t see, until he couldn’t breathe, until he felt like he was under the stream of water, the endless, ceaseless stream pouring from Paul’s hands. Paul’s voice was a monotonous call, a chant, a promise of salvation if Zahawijust told the truth.
Zahawi jerked. Went wild as a scream slithered from beneath the hood and his legs and arms went rigid.
And then he went limp.
Water poured, overly loud in the sudden silence.
Dan leaned forward, peering at the monitor.
“Is he—” Ryan’s voice choked.
“Get David!” Kris bellowed. “Get Davidnow!” He shoved Ryan, pushing him back toward the entrance. “Get him! Get David!” Ryan took off, racing for the door.
Kris shoved Dennis out of the way and barged into the interrogation cell. Paul was still pouring, still talking to Zahawi, still trying to get him to tell the truth. Kris felt like he was running upside down, like he was trapped in a carnival of horrors. Paul was pouring water on a dying man, trying to interrogate a soul that was disappearing.
He swung, his fist slamming into Paul’s cheek and jaw, decking him from the side. The bucket clattered to the ground as Paul went sprawling across the dirt on his face.
Kris worked the restraints, yanking on the ties and freeing Zahawi. He pulled the naked, filthy, bleeding man to the ground, kneeling next to him as he ripped off his hood.
Zahawi’s eyes and mouth were open. A bubble rose from his throat and hit the back of his teeth. It grew, ballooning out of his lips.
Kris laced his hands together, one on top of the other, and pushed his palms down into Zahawi’s unmoving chest.
Paul stared, frozen on the ground, as Kris pushed on Zahawi’s chest, over and over.
