Tom Clancy - Locked On

“Today, only the conditions of your confinement. The warden and the FBI team in charge of your custody have shown me the Special Administrative Measures that you are under. They tell me that when you arrived here all your rules were explained to you.”

The Emir said, “It was worse in the other places.”

Cochrane raised a small wrinkled hand. “Okay, now is probably a good time to go through some of our ground rules. I can go into more detail when we actually begin working on your case, but for now I will just say that I am not allowed to record any detail of your capture or detainment before you arrived here at ADX Florence three months ago. In fact, I am required to inform you that you are not allowed to tell me about anything that happened before you were transferred into federal custody from”—she chose her next words carefully—“from where you came from before.”

“I am not allowed?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Yasin shook his head slowly, incredulously. “And what will my punishment be if I violate that arrangement?” He winked at the woman in front of him. “Will they put me in jail?”

Judith Cochrane laughed. Quickly she caught herself. “I can understand that this is a unique situation. The government is making this up as they go along. They are having some… growing pains in deciding how to handle your situation. They have a track record of trying so-called enemy combatants in federal court, though, and I can assure you my organization will hold the attorney general’s office to high standards during your trial.”

“ADX Florence? Is that what this place is called?”

“Yes. I’m sorry; I should have known that was not clear to you. You are in a federal prison in Colorado. Anyway… tell me about your treatment here.”

He held her gaze as he said, “My treatment here is better than my treatment at the other places.”

Cochrane gave another sympathetic nod, a gesture she’d made a million times in her long career of defending the indefensible. “I’m sorry, Mr. Yasin. That part of your ordeal will never be a part of our discussions.”

“And why is that?”

“We had to agree to this condition in order to be allowed access to you. Your time in U.S. custody is divided, and the dividing line is the moment you came here, the moment you entered the federal system. Everything before that, I assume, involved the U.S. military and intelligence community, and that will not be part of your defense. If we force this issue at all, the Department of Justice will just remand you back to military custody and you will be sent to Guantánamo Bay, and God knows what will happen to you there.”

The Emir thought this over for a few moments and then said, “Very well.”

“Now, then. How often are you allowed to bathe?”

“To… bathe?” What madness is this? thought the Emir. If a woman asked him this in the Pakistani tribal regions where he’d spent much of the past few years, she would be flogged to death surrounded by a crowd of gleeful onlookers.

“Yes. I need to know about your hygiene. Whether or not your physical needs are being met. The bathroom facilities, are they acceptable to you?”

“In my culture, Judith Cochrane, it is not proper for a man to discuss this with a woman.”

She nodded. “I understand. This is not comfortable for you. It is awkward for me. But I assure you, Mr. Yasin, I am working in your interests.”

“There is no reason for you to be interested in my toilet habits. I want to know what you will do about my trial.”

Cochrane smiled. “As I said, it is a slow process. Immediately we will petition for a writ of habeas corpus. This is a demand that you be taken before the judge, who will then determine if the prison system has the authority to hold you. The writ will be denied, it won’t go anywhere, it never does, but it puts the system on notice that we will vigorously attend to your case.”

“Miss Cochrane, if you were vigorous about defending me, you would listen to my explanation of how I was captured. It was wholly illegal.”

“I told you. That is off-limits by agreement with the Justice Department.”

“Why would they do that? Because they have something to hide?”

“Of course they have something to hide. There is no legal justification for the United States’ kidnapping of you. I know that and you know that. But that is what happened.” She sighed. “If I am going to represent you, you are going to have to trust me. Can you please do that for me?”

The Emir looked at her face. It was imploring, sincere, earnest. Ridiculous. He would play along for now. “I would like a paper and pencil. I would like to make some sketches.”

“Sketches? Why?”

“Just to pass the time.”

She nodded, looked around the room. “I think I can persuade DOJ that that is a reasonable request. I will get to work on that as soon as I get back to my hotel.”

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome. Now… recreation. I would like to hear about what your recreation consists of. Would you care to talk about that?”

“I would prefer we talk about the torture I endured at the hands of American spies.”

Cochrane folded her notebook with another long sigh. “I will be back in three days. Hopefully by then you will have something to sketch with and some paper; I should be able to manage that with a letter to the attorney general. In the meantime, think about what I’ve told you today. Think about our ground rules, but also please think about ways you can benefit from a trial. You need to consider this as an opportunity for you and your… your cause. You can, with my help, stick a finger in the eye of the American government. Wouldn’t you like that?”

“And you have helped others stick their fingers in the eye of America?”

Cochrane smiled proudly. “Many times, Mr. Yasin. I told you I have a lot of experience in this.”

“You told me you have a lot of clients in prison. That is not experience that I find particularly impressive in an attorney.”

Now she spoke defensively. “Those clients are in prison, but they are not on death row. And they are not in a military stockade, unlike a lot of others. The supermax prison is not the worst fate.”

“Martyrdom is preferred.”

“Well, I won’t help you with that. If you wantt. be a to be dragged into a dark corner of this place and given a lethal injection, you manage that on your own. But I know men like you, Mr. Yasin. That’s not what you want.”

The Emir kept a faint smile on his lips, but it was just for show. In his head he was thinking, No, Judith Cochrane. You do not know any man like me.

But when he spoke he said, “I am sorry I have not been more pleasant. I have forgotten my manners in the many months since my last conversation with a kind soul.”

The sixty-one-year-old American woman melted in front of him. She even leaned forward toward the glass partition, closing the distance between the two of them. “I will make things better for you, Saif Rahman Yasin. Just trust me. Let me get to work on the paper and pencil; perhaps I can arrange a little privacy for you, or a little more space. As I tell my clients, this will always be a prison, not paradise, but I will make it better.”

“I understand that. Paradise awaits me; this is merely the waiting room. I would choose it to be more luxurious, but the suffering I endure now will only serve me in paradise.”

“That’s one way to look at it.” Judith Cochrane smiled.

“I’ll see you in three days.”

“Thank you, Ms. Cochrane.” The Emir cocked his head and smiled. “I am sorry. How rude. Is it Mrs. or Miss?”

“I am unmarried,” replied Judith, warmth filling her fleshy cheeks and jowls.