Chapter 26
The blinding lights suddenly went out and the music stopped, though the hideous wailing rang so loudly in his head he wasn’t sure if it had ended.
He hadn’t slept in hours or maybe it was days.
Could be weeks. There was no reality anymore, no ability to think or analyze.
He was beyond hunger and dehydration. It had been an eternity since he had entered this hell without enough water and food.
He was still packed tight in his cage, lying on his back and legs that were bruised and swollen and covered with open sores.
Dried blood covered his skin from the waist down.
The same two, Ninja and Franco, appeared and looked at him only long enough to make sure he was awake.
Or alive? They said nothing as they brought over the hook and began cranking the cable through the boom.
Paul was jerked upright and his cage was swung to the same place over the drain where they had hosed him yesterday.
Or was it three days ago? Franco pulled out the water hose, turned on the water, and began spraying.
Paul could not help but scream when the cold water hit the open sores on his back and legs.
Franco laughed as he aimed the water at Paul’s genitals and made sure his midsection was clean.
The dirty water and dried blood and excrement ran through the wire flooring of the cage and into the drain.
Franco turned off the hose and Ninja lowered the cage to the floor. He yanked open the door, grabbed Paul by the hair, and flung him to the floor. He tried to stand but his legs were too weak.
“I need something to eat,” he said.
“Maybe later.” Franco handed him a bottle of water and he gulped the warm liquid down.
It could have contained lethal poison but he didn’t care.
Ninja placed a long wide board between two sawhorses.
As soon as Paul finished the water, Franco slapped a black hood over his head.
With a strain, they lifted him onto the board.
“What’s this for?” Paul asked in a panic because he had a hunch. “What are you doing?”
Nothing. They quickly wrapped thick Velcro straps over his legs and chest, pinning his hands over his genitals, then a smaller strap tightly across his forehead. He tried to wiggle and fidget but was too weak and the straps were too tight. One of them put a towel over his face.
Paul knew the basics of waterboarding, as well as other forms of torture.
He knew its history, knew it was illegal, knew it had been used anyway by the United States in the frenzy after 9/11.
He knew it had a long history as the preferred method of torturing war prisoners, criminals, enemies, and political opponents.
He knew his own military had used it on its elite soldiers to prepare them for potential captivity, and that that experiment was stopped because it was too brutal and it crushed morale.
At that moment, though, what he knew and what he was experiencing were not the same.
His mind was not processing anything in a rational manner.
He did not realize what was happening until the first drops of water soaked through the towel and the veil and ran down his nose.
In the blackness under the veil, his entire body and soul shuddered with fear.
Using a plastic pitcher, Ninja poured more water.
Paul’s whole body flinched as he closed his mouth and held his breath.
When his nostrils were filled he had no choice but to open his mouth.
It filled immediately with water, water he could neither swallow nor spit.
His airways were blocked and he couldn’t breathe.
He was drowning. He gagged and spit and wrenched violently against the straps, so hard that the board shook.
As he was losing consciousness, the water stopped, and Franco pulled off the towel.
Paul exhaled, gurgling, spitting, gasping for air.
The momentary loss of oxygen sent a sharp pain to his head.
His lungs labored, desperate for oxygen.
His stomach roiled and he felt nauseous, but there was nothing to throw up.
He wanted to lash out and curse them viciously, but little good it would do. Why give them the pleasure of enjoying his suffering even more?
Just as he caught his breath, Franco slapped the towel over his face, and Ninja poured again.
With the towel soaked, the water immediately filled Paul’s eyes and nostrils.
Instinctively, he again tried to hold his breath but his heart was pounding and he could do so for only a few seconds.
When he opened his mouth to breathe it filled with water.
His throat and esophagus were clogged. Again, he gagged and choked and soon couldn’t breathe. He was drowning again.
Ninja poured until the pitcher was empty and Paul was getting still.
As crude and violent as it was, a certain level of skill was involved.
Too much water poured at one time could lead to death by asphyxia.
The Americans had learned that lesson at Kandahar prison in Afghanistan.
Too much water could cause extreme pain, lung damage, and brain damage from oxygen deprivation.
The goal was not to kill the prisoner, but to keep him alive for more torture.
Paul inhaled rapidly and exhaled loudly. When he caught his breath he said, “What do you want?”
“Shut up.”
“What do you want? I’ll give it up but I don’t have anything.”
“Shut up.”
Franco slapped the towel over his face.
“Please!” Paul begged.
Ninja began pouring again.