Plausible Denial (38 page)

They
knew she had probably been through the CIA’s resistance to interrogation
course, but real life was a lot different than a training course down at The
Farm. No training can duplicate the real thing.

In
training, the students know that they will not actually be harmed by the
instructors – threats and harassment can only go so far. But there would be no
such certainties in this situation, and that is precisely what they were
counting on.

The
mountain lodge was built into the side of the hill, so the entire rear basement
side of the lodge was below ground level. This dark, damp, windowless space was
used for storage – except for the two rooms on each end. They had been
converted long ago by Khun Sa into cells for “special guests,” just like these
two.

Each
cement block cell was approximately ten feet square. Aside from an olive green
military style canvass cot against one wall, there was no other furniture in
the room. There was no bedding on the cot, no sink, no toilet, nothing.

A
single bright light bulb in a grated steel fixture in the ceiling illuminated
the room. The light was never switched off. A steel plate door with a four inch
by two inch viewing slot with a sliding cover was set in the middle of the
interior wall.

Vanquish
occupied the cell at the north end, and Charly Blackburn occupied the cell at
the south end of the basement.

The
interrogation room, located in the front side of the building directly under
the main entrance, was actually the building manager’s office. Although it too
was windowless, it was a comfortable room with paneled walls, equipped with air
conditioning and heat. It was furnished with a large gray metal desk facing two
padded folding metal chairs and an upolstered couch along one wall. Grey metal
filing cabinets lined the opposite wall, and the floor was glossy gray, painted
concrete.

It
had been almost a week since Charly Blackburn had been kidnapped from her home,
and almost twice as long for Vanquish.

Paiboon,
who had no previous experience with interrogation, was placed in charge of the
care and feeding of the two prisoners. He was, of course, under the close
supervision of Ung Chea, who had considerable experience with the most brutal
forms of interrogation.

The
Cambodian had learned these skills from his father, Ta Mok, and other ruthless
Khmer Rouge leaders.

 After
days of sleep deprivation, constant beatings, living in his own filth, barrages
of non-stop questioning, starvation and time distortion, Ung Chea was convinced
that the old Hmong was holding nothing back.

He
knew very little anyway. Khun Ut would make the ultimate decision as to what to
do with the bloodied, broken old Hmong. That was not Ung Chea’s problem. He
would gladly take the Hmong out behind the lodge and put a bullet in his brain,
if that was what Khun Ut wanted. He was a traitor, pure and simple, and death
was the punishment for traitors.

Charly
Blackburn was another story. She was a CIA officer, and a tough one at that.
She had endured five days of similar treatment, absent the beatings per Khun
Ut’s orders, and had not given them a word of anything useful. She was totally
defiant and seemingly immune to the treatment she endured in silence.

Of
course, the Cambodian was unable to lay a hand on her – thus far, that is. But
Khun Ut clearly was coming around to the realization that they would have to
get tougher with her if they were to extract anything of value from her. Ung
Chea was confident he could break her, particularly if Khun Ut would permit him
to inflict a little pain on her body.

At
least Khun Ut would now permit more intimidation and threats during the
interrogation. That was a positive sign. At least a step in the right direction.
The next step would be to follow through on the threats. The arrogant bitch
deserved to be smacked around a bit, and Ung Chea looked forward to the time he
would see fear and pain replace the defiance in her eyes.

This
interrogation would be different than the others and he would personally
conduct it. Paiboon was much too easy on her – too polite. He played the “good
cop” role far too well. He actually liked playing that role.

Now
Ung Chea would begin this interrogation armed with the names of the two
farangs
– that alone should shock her into revealing precious information about what
the CIA’s plans and intentions were – and he now had the authorization to get
tougher with her. He would break her today…

Chapter One Hundred-Twenty

T
he
Cambodian and Paiboon kicked the building manager out of his basement office
and were discussing the previous interrogations of Charly Blackburn. Ung Chea
sat behind the grey metal desk with his feet up while Paiboon sat across from
him in one of the two chairs.

“Once
she knows we have the names of her two CIA cohorts she will break,” said Ung
Chea. “She will know the game is up. If she thinks we already know everything,
then it will be easier for her to confirm what she thinks we already know.”

Ung
Chea was proud of himself for figuring this out. Actually, he read about the
technique in various manuals on interrogation, but putting it into use in this
case, well, that was his idea entirely.

He
also planned to use a few well placed smacks to the head and body. Nothing that
would leave any marks, but enough to shock her into submission. “Now that we
can smack her around a bit, we will scare the crap out of her. That ought to do
it. Go get her now. Bring her here...”

“Yes,
sir.” Paiboon rose to leave.

He
returned several minutes later with Charly. The sight of her shocked Ung Chea.
Her condition had deteriorated considerably over the past couple of days while
he was in Nong Khai.

Her
hands were handcuffed in front of her and her once shiny shoulder length black
hair was now dull, matted and as filthy as a Rastafarian’s. She was wearing the
same clothes she had put on after her capture, a white short sleeved blouse,
blue jeans and running shoes.

But
the blouse was now torn, stained and covered in soot. Her jeans were filthy and
she had obviously soiled herself – a large dark, wet stain circled her crotch
area. Her eyes were black rimmed and dull and her face and exposed arms were
black with soot and dirt. She stank of body odor and urine.

“Do
not sit on that chair,” commanded Ung Chea as Paiboon was about to seat her.
“You stink like a donkey and you have soiled yourself. I do not want you on my
furniture you smelly bitch. You can stand right where you are.” Paiboon left
her side and stood by the side of the desk.

Ung
Chea got up from behind the desk, walked around it and stood in front of her,
leaning back on the desk. She appeared to wobble on her feet and refused to
look him in the eyes.

“You
are quite a mess, Charly Blackburn. Do you want to tell me now about your two
friends? Or would you prefer to go back to your filthy hovel.”

She
did not respond. She concentrated on the floor in front of her and stood on
unsteady feet. The slap came as a surprise and almost knocked her off of her
feet. Paiboon reached out to help her and when she was standing again Ung Chea
slapped her hard on the other side of the face, knocking her down to her knees
this time.

Paiboon
got her to her feet and noticed both cheeks reddening from the blows.

She
remained silent, staring at the floor in front of her, and began to weep. Soon
her whole body was wracked with deep, uncontrollable sobs. Her tears left long
streaks down her dirty cheeks. She appeared drugged, but her condition was due
to the lack of sleep and disorientation she had experienced since her
captivity, and this physical and verbal abuse was becoming intolerable.

“Paiboon,”
said Ung Chea, “put her in a chair and remove her handcuffs. I will try to
reason with her now.”

Paiboon
removed her cuffs and sat her in one of the chairs.

She
uttered, “thank you,” and massaged her wrists.

“Would
you like something to eat? When was the last time you ate?” The Cambodian
walked back around behind the desk and sat down, putting more distance between
them.

She
did not respond.

“Would
you like to get cleaned up a bit? Would you like a shower?”

She
did not respond.

“I
know you can talk. Answer my questions.”

She
did not respond. Her body wracked with another uncontrollable sob.

“From
now on your interrogations will take a turn. They will change. They will become
harsher. I am tired of playing games with you, and I am running out of time. So
listen closely.”

He
looked up at Paiboon. “Paiboon, hold her head up so she can see me when I talk
to her.”

Paiboon
put his hand under her chin and gently raised her head to face him. He kept her
head raised. Tears continued to flow down her cheeks, washing away the grime in
streaks.

“Good,
now you can see me. I want you to look into my eyes so you can see that what I
say to you is the truth.”

Her
eyes were blank and unseeing.

Ung
Chea paused before speaking. Calmly he said, “I want you to know what will
happen to you if you continue to sit there and not talk. You are a beautiful
woman – at least you used to be a beautiful woman. Right now you are
disgusting. But with some food and a shower and clean clothes, you could be
beautiful again.” He paused, “Unless you choose to remain silent.”

Another
sob wracked her body and she tried to lower her head, but Paiboon gently raised
it again.

“If
you continue to remain silent, I will make you permanently ugly. Do you see
this scar on my face? Every day I am reminded of the piece of shrapnel that
took off my ear and sliced open my face. It was not a happy day. But at least
it happened quickly, in battle. For you it will happen here, in your cell,
slowly, very slowly. You will feel unbelievable pain, and when I am finished
you will be permanently ugly, unattractive to any man, and repulsive to
children. Do you have any idea what I will do to you?”

She
continued to stare blankly in his direction with Paiboon’s hand cradling her
chin.

He
removed a hunting knife from a desk drawer and unsheathed it. He held it out in
front of him and ran his thumb across the blade to test its sharpness.

“I
will remove your ears – first one, and then the other – and then I will remove
the tip of your nose, and then I will heat the end of the knife and cauterize
the wounds. Maybe I will cut your cheeks as well. From the corners of your
mouth outward. And then I will cut off your nipples. I will do all of this, I
promise, if you remain silent. Do you understand?”

Her
eyes widened in fear and she shook her head and muttered, “Yes.”

“Good.
You can speak.” He continued. “But before I turn you into an ugly witch, my men
and I will take turns with you. We will fuck you in your stinking cunt and we
will fuck you in your ass and it will be the last time anyone will ever want to
fuck you again. Do you understand what I am saying, Charly Blackburn, CIA
bitch?”

She
nodded and sobbed and continued to stare at him blankly.

“I
see the fear in your eyes, Blackburn, you can not hide it from me.”

She
spoke, “Yes, I am frightened. You are a frightening, beast of a man. I believe
you could…would, do all of those things, and more, and enjoy every moment of
it. I believe you.”

“So
you can talk after all. That is a good start. Let us begin from where we left
off the last time I saw you. Tell me about your two
farang
friends. Your
two CIA friends. You know who they are, MacMurphy and Santos.”

Her
head jerked up in surprise. The vagueness in her eyes disappeared. She became
alert and on guard. Her body language gave lie to any denials she might make.
Ung Chea read the signs and smiled in victory.

“Yes,
we know who they are and we know you have been in contact with them. They are
CIA officers like you and they are leading a CIA attack on our operations here
in the Golden Triangle. You can not deny those facts.”

She
laughed and shook her head in disbelief.

“Why
are you laughing? Are you denying the truth?”

She
cleared her throat and looked at him with an amused smile. Then she spoke
softly.

“No,
Ung Chea, they are not CIA officers. Your sources are wrong. Yes, they used to
be CIA officers, but they were fired. They are no longer employed by the CIA,
and the CIA will have nothing to do with them. They committed a serious crime
and were kicked out of the Agency by the director. They were fired. That is the
truth…”

The
Cambodian stared at her, speechless and incredulous. He sensed she was telling
the truth. He looked over at Paiboon, who was equally mystified.

“What
about that meeting you had with them in the Wangcome Hotel in Chiang Rai last
summer?” he said. “What about that? You were liaising with them, right?”

She
shook her head and smiled. “In a manner of speaking, yes, I was liaising with
Mac MacMurphy, but not on behalf of the CIA. You see, Mac and I have been
lovers for many years. We met that one time, shortly after he arrived in
Thailand, and only that one time. He told me it would be too dangerous for me
to see him again. Now I understand why. Now I understand.”

The
Cambodian could not believe what he was hearing. It was impossible, he thought,
this can not be. It has to be the CIA.
And then he recalled Khun Ut’s
suspicions.
Maybe it was a competitor who hired them, or someone within
their ranks
.

“You
say they were fired. When were they fired and why?”

“Over
a year ago. The summer before last. They were involved in an operation in
Paris. They stole several million Euros during the operation and the CIA
director found out about it and fired them both. After that they moved to South
Florida and started a company called GSR research or reporting or something
like that. They are mercenaries now. They will work for anyone who will pay
them. But the CIA would never touch them. Not any longer. That would be
impossible…”