The interrogation at El-Maza

The plot takes place in an interrogation room at the El Maza jail in Damascus, Syria.

 

‘Mabruc’ (congretulations) muttered their senior laconically, though the circumstances were fit to bestow praise. He glanced at the recangular transperant aperture, through which the interrogation chamber could be seen without being seen; concentrating his gaze for a few seconds in the interrogator and his victim.

‘Taieb (good) you did a good job up till now, although we’re just at the beginning. Sit down, return to your posts.’ He added quite genialy, without harassing his inferiors as he’s used to. ‘Do update me with a few details before we’ll go in.’

The younger of the two interrogators, that up to their senior’s arrival followed with much interest the happening beyond the screen, and has recorded every detail and word that took place over there, offered his seat to his estimable department’s head.

‘First of all, how did she get to London? She is engaged to be married to her relative, isn’t she?’ Asked the department’s head as he sat down on the unoccupied chair.

‘She was a beloved daughter…’ Opened up the older one among the two.

‘A beloved daughter, but there’s the tradition… the family’s honor… maybe we should check up if the whole matter hasn’t started in her family?’

‘Wallah (by God) we haven’t even thought of such a possibility!’ Remarked the older one with much cajolery. ‘We’ll check that possibility too ya side (sir). As for our subject matter, she refused to marry that relative of hers; she threatened to commite suicide... Her father made much fuss but at the end he had to accept it. The solution was to send her abroad, to study. They compensated her ex fiance’, they aren’t short in money.’

‘How was she recruited then?’ Kept on asking the department’s head. The full details he would learn in her complementary interrogation, in his presence within a few minutes; but he prefared to know beforehand the basic things and verify it during the counter interrogation.

‘In a disco club, on the first night that she was tempted to visit such a joint.’

‘Is that so?’ Wondered the department’s head knitting his brows, ‘and how did they manage �" but to the point.’

‘One of the students a friend of hers, an Algerian girl, dragged her to that place...’

‘I said to the point and I mean it...’ Reminded him his senior.

‘...It’s a popular club and many of our kinsmen visit it too. Several men asked her to dance, a certain Lybian courted her with elegant determination, claimed that he has fallen in love with her from first sight; offered her his rubby ring… She refused to accept it of course, but was very impressed it seems; later on he drove her and her friend back to the students’ dormitory, and she gave him her mobile number…’

‘So step by step developments were the cause.’

‘That’s right, that Lybian was her first one, and after a short time she moved to his place. That’s how it all started.’

‘If she isn’t a virgin wallahi, we can have the time of our life on her account…’ Barged in the youger one enthusiastically.

‘Aouskut ya jachs!’ (Shut up young jackass) Retorted angrily the department’s head. The young interrogator lowered his eyes and coughed slightly, quite shocked; but the department’s head seemed to lose all his interest in him. ‘To me she looks “tamam” (unscathed) just as new, “ya’ani” (which means) no harm at all. How was she tamed then? Yes I’m listening.’ He turned again to the older one between the two.

‘It was quite easy. We’ve shown her a few old devices, which were left here from the time Faisel and the “Inglizi” (the Englishman = Laurence of Arabia) have beaten the Turks, and ended up with the Automan Empire…’ He broke out laughing seeing the broadening smile on his senior’s face. ‘That was the opening and at nightfall we’ve organized a chorus of tortued victimes’ shrieks; just before midnight she knocked with frenzy on her door, asking to meet the officer in charge �" that is, she wished to see you “ya sidi” (sir).’

‘Very well,’ noted the department’s head with a beaming face. ‘We’ll treat her with kid gloves from now on, and if some idiot would dare to touch her, I’ll castrate him with own hands!’ He remarked raising his voice, turning his eyes towards the younger among the two. ‘She’s a raw material of the best quality, if things won’t work out as we wish, we can always transfer her to our Palestinian brothers; to attone for her treason as a “shahida” (saint) with an explosive belt. But we’ve to find out still, whether we can turn her into a double agent.’ He made a short pause as if he was thinking it over. ‘The ties with her operator might have been cut off for just a short while already; anyhow, we can always put up some cover story like let’s say, suspicion of false papers or some other trivial cause that brought to her detention.’ He cleared his throat with much importance, turning a reproachful look at the young interrogator. ‘Tell Rashid that we’re going in.’ He ordered and rose to his feet.

 

‘What’s your name “ya habibti” (my dear). Asked the department’s head the young and frightened woman, with much kindness. He even introduced himself to her with some alias that he invented right on the spot, as soon as he sat opposite her. The atmosphere has almost changed from one extreme to the other. The young woman watched him as if he was her savior, who would wake her up from the nightmare, in which she found herself without being able to cope with.

‘Amina, Amina Rifa’aee…’ She answered hesitantly, watching him with entreating eyes.

‘Send for some coffee and something to eat, are you  hungry Amina?’ He turned to her and asked, but without waiting for her reply he ordered on: ‘Pitahs (flat bread) with honey and move your butt!’ He scolded the young interrogator, and the latter left running.

‘Amina Rifa’aee, a Damaskian, a daughter of a

distinguished family…’ muttered the department’s head feigning astonishment. Meanwhile food and drinks were brought in, and up to the moment that everyone has completed to employ his jaws, neither the deparment’s head nor his inferiors frightened on their victim.

While drinking coffee and mineral water, the department’s head asked Amina to sum up her adventures. A short pause fell, the meaningless conversations that his inferiors led on purpose; as if it was some friendly meeting of some old acqaintances, were cut off instantly. Amina opened up with bits and fragments, hardly audible, from the disputes at home, the voyage, her first year of studies, the meeting with Murad at the the disco club, up to the transfer from the students’ dormitory at Grosvenor House to Murad’s place.

‘What have you studied and where?’ Abed El Naim the department’s head interrupted her incoherent monologue, with unreserved curiousity and well  disguised sympathy.

‘International relations at LSE.’

‘El what, what’s the full name of that academic institute?’ He wondered.

‘London shool of economics,’ she anwered right away but with dismay, as if it was some information that could incriminate her.

‘Oh I see,’ he muttered and turned a meaning glace at Rashid, which meant “you’ll have to clrify it to me later…” ‘But what caused you to move to his place? You a devoted daughter betrothed to another?’

‘He swore that I was all his world, and that’s how he behaved in the first three months, and I was so lonely…’ Tears filled her eyes and she lowered her head. ‘He behaved with chivalry he didn’t push his hands, and up to the moment that I let him he didn’t touch me. I was sure I’ve found the man of my life.’

‘You fell into the hands of a pro.’ Remarked the Abed El Naim.

Rashid who is the department’s most experieced interrogator and his two aids, sat as if they were tied up in their seats, the moment the sexual experience of their victim was brought up.

‘Oh yes, I couldn’t grasp what he was really after, I thought that he’s a pimp, despite the fact that he’s a devout muslim and he wasn’t short of means.’

These certain details the departmet’s head had no reason to probe into, there was no need to verify that sort of evidence after Amina’s detailed confession.

‘He didn’t threaten you or ill-treated you? He didn’t change his behaviour towrds you?’

‘No, he didn’t threaten me and whenever he  brought up the matter from time time and I opposed it, he didn’t react with malice. I didn’t have to leave him and I studied on.’

‘And how did he define that matter?’

Amina hasn’t hastened to reply to that particular question. A nervous tick gripped her chin and it seemed as if she is about to crack up.

‘Don’t be afraid we won’t harm you, we want to pull you out of that complicated mishap.’ Abed El Naim promised her, pulling out of his repetoire one of his most convincing miens.

‘To contribute my share to replace the dictatorial regime in Syria…’ She mumbled and burst out in hysterical sobs.

Once again a pause ensued, simply to let her calm down and regain some sort of self composure. A minute passed and Rashid handed her a paper handkerchief to wipe her tears; and right afterwards the moderated interrogation was resumed.

‘Alright you feel much better now I hope,’ remarked Abed El Naim. ‘So what made you change your mind and make all the way to Beirut?’ It was clear to him that all these details were recorded during her first interrogation in his absence, but he prefared to hear it from her mouth once more, and compare it with the recorded version.

‘He introduced me his American friend, while we had lunch at a restaurand in Chelsea.’ She broke off suddenly as if she expected some more questions, and then went on. ‘It was on a Sunday on the first floor, which wasn’t crowded as the lower one. All of a sudden that friend of his popped up. I do understand now that it was planned beforehand and wasn’t a coincidence. Murad didn’t waste time and explained to me that his friend is a senior agent in some Amrican intelligence agency; and that he’s going to be my operator in Beirut.’

There must be something above and beyond that superficial tale, something much more serious…’ Declared the department head his dissactisfaction.

‘He’s a charming man, I don’t know how to explain it… Maybe it was my hope to return to Damscus even with a fake identity, and to keep seeing that man…’

‘And how long were you supposed to stay in Beirut both of you, before your return to Damascus?’

‘A year and a half,’ she replied with a heaving bossom, releasing the air caught in her lungs with broadening nostrils.

‘At least you know now that they tried to exploit you, that they tried to turn you into a traitress…’ He watched her with a penetrating stare, letting her grasp the full meaning of his last sentence; the fact that he offers her the chance of her life, the exemption from punishment, from death at the El Maza jail, or handing her over to her ex fiance’ relatives who would cut her throat or strangle her to death… ’You shall meet your American operator, but from now on you shall serve devotedly your motherland!’ He stated emphasizing each sylable.

Amina lowered her eyes and fell into an emotional spasm again.

‘We’ll protect you, we’ll take care of you with much care.’ The department’s head summed the matter up while giving a clear sign that the interrogation was over. The jailors were summoned and the department’s head and his aids took leave of Amina, as if she was one of the department’s regular agents.

The moment they were left alone in the interrogation chamber, Abed El Naim turned to Rashid: ‘She didn’t tell the Lybian if he’s a Lybian at all, nor the one who stole her heart about her annulled betrothal, did she?’

‘That’s right, she’s hidden that fact from both of them.’

‘Well, thus her ex fiance’s uncle had identified her in Beirut, by sheer coincindencs, thanks to his  business with the Lebanese.’ Remarked the department’s head with a beaming smile. ‘That significant detail failed them and saved her life, the poor devil that she is.’

 

©  Haim Kadman 2007 �" all rights reserved