“Van, I’m not going to debate Cuba policy with the press. I believe I’ve made our position clear . . . Last question . . . Mikaela?”
“Mikaela Rinehart, Washington Post. Even if the administration says no direct talks with the Cubans, there is a long history of sending third parties to negotiate hostage releases. Chairman Bryce McCall of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee has played this role in the past, for instance last year in West Africa. I understand that Senator McCall has made a private offer to the White House to go to Havana in order to broker an agreement. Is that under consideration?”
“That’s a red herring.”
“Is that a no?” she asked.
“Let me make this perfectly clear, Mikaela.” Eisenberg failed to hide a grimace. “We will not negotiate. There will be no secret deals. There is no American envoy being sent to talk with Cuba.”
48.
GUANTáNAMO BAY NAVAL BASE, CUBA
FRIDAY, 8:17 A.M.
Detainee 761!” the officer shouted.
Judd couldn’t see any light through the hood. No shadows. Nothing. His breathing quickened. Calm down, he told himself.
“Opening the cargo bay door!”
Judd winced as he was pulled to his feet, the plastic handcuffs pinching the skin on the wrists. He heard the loud whirring of the door opening and a hollow thunk. Judd tried to slow his breathing.
“Let’s go,” the officer said roughly. He guided Judd down the ramp and out onto the tarmac. Once outside, Judd immediately felt the heat of the sun.
The officer led blind Judd for another two hundred yards, then stopped. Judd heard new voices.
“What’s your cargo today, Captain?”
“Detainee 761,” the officer said. “Transfer from Camp Romeo.”
“Welcome to Gitmo, 761,” someone sneered, tapping Judd on the shoulder.
“What’s the security level for this detainee?” asked another voice.
Judd tried to speak but the tight hood made it difficult. “Hey,” he tried to say.
“Should I check SIPRNet?”
“Negative. TS/SCI. Special protocol for this one.”
“Hey!” Judd tried to yell again, but the men ignored him.
“Roger that. I’ll take him into holding cell Zebra, before a transfer to Camp Delta.”
“Hey! Hey!” Judd tried again. “Hey!”
“I don’t think he’s going to Delta.”
“Echo or Iguana?”
“Neither.”
“Where do I take him, then?”
“Put him in the black hole.”
“Hey!” Judd shouted as loud as he could. “I’m—”
A firm hand pressed to his throat. “You got a screamer. Better get him there quick.”
Judd felt the hand slide to the back of his neck. “Quiet, 761! You’ll have plenty of time to talk once we get you to the hole.”
What the hell is going on?
Judd was bundled into a vehicle and driven for several minutes. Then he was yanked out and forced to stand. He could hear beep-beep-beep and then the click-clack and woosh of a door release. Judd was shoved forward and felt the sudden coolness of air-conditioning. He was shuffled down a corridor, then through another door lock, and finally into another room.
“Seven sixty-one is here. Your special protocol from Romeo.”
“Leave him.”
Judd could hear the other men depart and the door shut and lock. Once they were gone, the hood flew off his head. Judd shut his eyes against the sudden bright lights.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Ryker.” He felt the handcuffs release. “You’re safe here.”
Judd rubbed his wrist and squinted, trying to see who was in front of him.
“Who are you?” Judd asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” said the man.
“You know who I am,” Judd said. As his eyes adjusted, he could make out the silhouette of an older man, with short hair, a neatly trimmed beard, dressed in civilian clothes—black T-shirt, blue jeans.
“I could tell you my name—any name—and it won’t matter. You will never see me again. And I’ll never see you again.”
“What the hell is going on here?”
“My orders are to make you invisible. That’s what I’m doing, Dr. Ryker.”
“Whose orders?”
“I can’t say.”
“What are you, State? DOD or CIA?”
The man shrugged. “I can’t say.”
“Are you another agency?”
“Please, Dr. Ryker.”
“So where am I?” Judd asked. “What’s the ‘black hole’?”
“Here. You’re in a SCIF at Guantánamo Bay Naval Base. You don’t need to know any more. You are totally safe and secure, sir.”
“Safe and secure? You just hooded and frog-marched me off an airplane?”
“Yes, sorry about that, sir. Couldn’t be avoided.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The Cubans monitor all our incoming flights. They’ve even got moles inside the base. I had to make it look like you were Taliban or ISIS. Even to our own guys.”
“That’s insane.”
“It’s an insane world, Dr. Ryker. This is the only way to get you onto the island and be one hundred percent certain you’ve arrived undetected. We used to bring people in via Canada under tourist cover, but we couldn’t take that risk with you. You’ll need to change identities before you leave this room.”