The Interrogator Read online

  Table of Contents

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter ONE

  Chapter TWO

  Chapter THREE

  Chapter FOUR

  Chapter FIVE

  Chapter SIX

  Chapter SEVEN

  Chapter EIGHT

  Chapter NINE

  Chapter TEN

  Chapter ELEVEN

  Chapter TWELVE

  Chapter THIRTEEN

  Chapter FOURTEEN

  Chapter FIFTEEN

  Chapter SIXTEEN

  Chapter SEVENTEEN

  Chapter EIGHTEEN

  Chapter NINETEEN

  Chapter TWENTY

  Chapter TWENTY-ONE

  Chapter TWENTY-TWO

  Chapter TWENTY-THREE

  Chapter TWENTY-FOUR

  Chapter TWENTY-FIVE

  Chapter TWENTY-SIX

  Chapter TWENTY-SEVEN

  Chapter TWENTY-EIGHT

  Chapter TWENTY-NINE

  Chapter THIRTY

  Chapter THIRTY-ONE

  Chapter THIRTY-TWO

  Chapter THIRTY-THREE

  Chapter THIRTY-FOUR

  Chapter THIRTY-FIVE

  Chapter THIRTY-SIX

  Chapter THIRTY-SEVEN

  Chapter THIRTY-EIGHT

  Chapter THIRTY-NINE

  Chapter FORTY

  Chapter FORTY-ONE

  Chapter FORTY-TWO

  Chapter FORTY-THREE

  Chapter FORTY-FOUR

  Chapter FORTY-FIVE

  Chapter FORTY-SIX

  Chapter FORTY-SEVEN

  Chapter FORTY-EIGHT

  Chapter FORTY-NINE

  Chapter FIFTY

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  JJ Cooper spent seventeen years in the Australian Army, deploying on two tours of duty in East Timor and one tour to the Middle East in 2003. A former member of the Australian Army Intelligence Corps, he specialised in Human Intelligence, including interrogation (as a practitioner and instructor). Since leaving the military, he spends every spare moment on his passion for writing. He finds time to be a devoted husband and father of two boys and a girl, and lives in Brisbane.

  THE INTERROGATOR

  JJ COOPER

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including printing, photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  The Interrogator

  ePub ISBN 9781864714692

  Kindle ISBN 9781864717259

  A Bantam book

  Published by Random House Australia Pty Ltd

  Level 3, 100 Pacific Highway, North Sydney NSW 2060

  www.randomhouse.com.au

  First published by Bantam in 2009

  Copyright © JJ Cooper 2009

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia.

  Addresses for companies within the Random House Group can be found at

  www.randomhouse.com.au/offices

  National Library of Australia

  Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry

  Cooper, J.J., 1971–

  The interrogator/J.J. Cooper.

  ISBN 978 1 86325 661 2 (pbk.)

  A823.4

  Cover design by Joe Mills, blacksheep-uk.com

  Internal design by Midland Typesetters, Australia

  Typeset in 13/16 pt Bembo by Midland Typesetters, Australia

  Printed and bound by Griffin Press, South Australia

  Random House Australia uses papers that are natural, renewable and recyclable products and made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The logging and manufacturing processes are expected to conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

  10 987654321

  For Nicole

  PROLOGUE

  One squadron of elite Australian SASR troops had gained control of the airfield in Iraq's Western Desert. Prisoners were herded, bound and placed on the roadway at the airfield's entrance. Jay observed for weaknesses that he could later exploit during their initial interrogation. Around 60 of Saddam's 'Men of Sacrifice' to sort through.

  And one little Iraqi girl.

  Jay gazed through the swirling dust at a hardened trooper gently guiding the young girl toward him. The wind played at her tattered blue jumper and whipped her matted dark hair. She held a delicate yellow flower tight to her chest.

  She stopped short of Jay and looked up with deep brown eyes, her gaze almost devoid of emotion; no tears, no smile, only a hint of vengeance buried deep within her young soul.

  The little girl looked at her flower then back to Jay as he crouched. She started to extend her hand and offer up her precious possession. Her lips moved, but her voice was drowned out by the barking of an Australian .50 calibre machine gun.

  Jay grabbed the girl and dived to the ground. His headset came to life: 'Incoming!'

  ONE

  Ice water hit, stinging Jay Ryan's lips and cheeks. The harsh cold ripped through his naked body and forced air deep into his lungs. His heavy breaths jolted his brain into action. Handcuffs dug into his wrists and kept him tethered to a metal chair. He opened his eyes to darkness. Black-out goggles stretched against his cheekbones. His ribs ached and his head pounded from a beating he couldn't remember.

  'I will now remove your eye protection, Sergeant Ryan,' a familiar voice said. 'You've been kept in the dark for a long time and the bright lights will affect your vision. I advise you to open your eyes slowly and adjust to your new environs.'

  A rough hand forced Jay's head down and yanked off the goggles. The thick elastic band ripped at his hair. Jay thought he knew what was happening: a standard start to any session. He was on the wrong side of his favoured skill: interrogation.

  'Would you prefer me to address you as Sergeant or Jay?' asked the interrogator.

  Jay raised his head and squinted against the light. A figure appeared in front of him, within reach. He strained against his handcuffs. Metal on metal echoed. Not a bad start, you arrogant prick, he thought. 'I can't answer that question, sir,' he rasped through dry vocal chords.

  'I understand that you're very confused and a little disoriented. I will endeavour to explain as much as I can, after you answer just a few questions. Do you understand, Sergeant?'

  Jay understood all too well and knew his interrogator's technique. He'd delivered the same speech hundreds of times himself. 'I can't answer that question, sir.' Unable to focus, he lowered his gaze to allow his sight to adjust. He sniffed hard through dried blood.

  'You can answer my questions. Look at me.' The voice was calm and measured.

  Jay raised his head and narrowed eyes stared back at him. 'I'm here to help you out of an obviously sticky situation,' the interrogator said.

  Jay stared at Captain Warren Primrose. The little man dressed in stand
ard camouflaged fatigues stood grinning before him. A man he loathed for all the right reasons. A fellow interrogator with a different code of ethics.

  'This should sound familiar, as you've made it famous,' Primrose continued. 'You've always told prisoners who claim that they can't answer your questions that they can; that they just choose not to. As you've often explained, the word can't means it's physically impossible to answer the question. They should be saying that they won't answer the question. Don't you agree?'

  Jay ignored the question. He'd used the argument often when interrogating junior prisoners. Logical reasoning applied to inexperienced soldiers full of bravado and of limited intelligence. He glanced past Primrose to identify his surroundings. A room he knew well. One of the three interrogation rooms sunk within the lower level of the Centre, the military's elite academy for training intelligence professionals. His own training base, buried within the subtropical forests of the Gold Coast hinterland.

  The cold of the concrete floor raced up through his veins. He shivered and moved his gaze to the little man before him. Primrose's gaunt facial features were smug with gratification. Not a good sign.

  'Don't you agree?' Primrose repeated.

  'I can't answer that question, sir,' Jay repeated, not remembering the question. He tried to arrange his thoughts into a logical sequence of events. Assumptions were not made – not yet. There were facts and information gaps. Not enough facts. Too many gaps. Primrose interrupted his thoughts.

  'You know how this works. I ask questions and you answer them. Surprised to be here? Hangover must be a killer.' Primrose paced the room, his footsteps echoing off the concrete. 'As an interrogator, you've agreed to be interrogated anywhere and any time by your peers and superiors. Are you following what I'm saying?'

  Jay tensed as though reacting to fingernails scraping a chalkboard. He knew Primrose was baiting him. Yet the soreness he felt all over didn't match an interrogation training session. Soldiers weren't allowed to hurt other soldiers when training. Then the realisation struck: this wasn't training. Primrose and his tarted-up wife had drugged the scotch they'd bought him at the bar the previous night.

  'I can't answer that question, sir.'

  'I see. So you want to play games.' Primrose stopped pacing and turned to face the two-way mirror directly in front of Jay. He removed a copper comb from his pocket and ran it through his thinning hair. 'As you're sticking to your training thus far, I'll take it that you do understand me.'

  No, Jay didn't understand.

  Primrose turned. 'You see, as you think it's necessary to drown your sorrows regularly, the Commander and a few others are concerned that you're becoming susceptible to an approach from a foreign intelligence service. Don't you agree?'

  No, Jay didn't agree. The statement didn't ring true. The situation was wrong, very wrong. 'I can't answer that question, sir.'

  'Look at me,' Primrose said. A hint of impatience crept into his voice.

  Jay lowered his head against the order. Primrose's arm shot out, grasped Jay's hair and yanked his head upward. 'I said look at me!'

  Spittle showered Jay's face and he tightened every muscle. His heart skipped a beat as something else out of the ordinary caught his attention. Beyond Primrose's snarl, the small red light on the wall below the two-way mirror was dull. Primrose wasn't recording the session. Jay willed himself to keep hold of his senses. It had to be a ploy. All interrogation sessions had to be recorded. The light should have been on.

  Primrose followed Jay's gaze. He let go of Jay's hair and made his way to the light. With a smirk, he produced a small multi-tool from his pocket and released the screwdriver attachment. He unscrewed the light cover, removed the bulb and brought it closer to Jay's eyes. The filament was still in place.

  'I know what you're thinking; that it's illegal for us to conduct sessions without recording them. So you're assuming that we removed the bulb to trick you. We wouldn't waste our time. We have simply chosen not to record this session.' Primrose threw the bulb into the corner of the room. It smashed against the concrete wall. He looked satisfied with his tactics.

  Primrose pocketed the multi-tool and said, 'Must be eating you up that I keep referring to "we", so without further ado ...'

  The heavy door to Jay's right opened and Catherine Primrose's dark hair bounced on her shoulders as she slinked toward him. Her knee-high black leather boots made a disturbing contrast to faded blue jeans and a basic tan shirt. She rolled her tongue across her thick lips and purred, 'Nice to see you again, Jay.'

  The sight of Catherine made Jay's anger boil to the surface. 'What the hell is going on, Primrose? You know civilians can't be in here.'

  'Now, now. I thought that might get you talking. Couldn't keep up your training, hey? Name, rank, number and date of birth only. Too bad. You were going so well. And I can't remember giving you permission to address me by name,' Primrose added.

  Jay turned his attention to Catherine. 'You need to leave here immediately. This is a restricted area. Not a nice place for civilians.'

  'You're naked and handcuffed to a chair,' she said. She moved further forward, running her fingernails gently down Jay's cheek. 'I don't think you're in any position to tell me what I should do.' She looked down toward his groin. 'Ice will do that to you.'

  'She's right, you know ... on both counts,' Primrose said. 'I suppose you would like to know exactly why you're here, Sergeant Ryan.'

  'Don't suppose it's anything legal, dipshit.'

  Catherine slashed Jay's cheek with her fingernails. His head jerked back. The shock sent his mind racing, trying to convince himself it was just a training exercise. But he knew the truth. He raised his head, tasted blood and swallowed hard. Catherine's dark eyes drilled into him. If only he could gain the psychological upper hand. He needed to fight fire with fire.

  He smiled at Catherine. 'Pity you don't have the same loyalty to your husband when he's away. The boys tell me you have plenty of energy to burn.'

  She lashed out again. This time he was prepared and leaned back in the chair. She swung, missed and lost her balance. Jay drove the top of his head straight into her chin. The headbutt lacked sufficient force to knock her out, but sent her tumbling back a couple of steps. He planted his feet and swung the chair and his body around like a baseball-batter.

  Primrose kicked out, his boot catching Jay squarely in his chest, sending him flying backward. His head hit the concrete floor, and his cuffed hands lodged tight under the chair.

  Jay had been schooled in resisting the torture techniques of the enemy. This was different. His enemy was wearing the same uniform.

  He slipped into unconsciousness.

  TWO

  Garbled voices registered. The base and back of the metal chair gripped like a vice on the rear of Jay's neck and chest. Cold concrete numbed his knees and toes. Handcuffs dug into his bare lower back and the steel frame of the chair pushed hard on his broad shoulders. A groan escaped his dry throat. Bloodstained saliva fell to the floor, adding to the pool inches away from the two army boots in his sight. His mind fought hard to combat the pain and to comprehend his circumstances.

  He heard the slow release of a zipper above his head. A hand grabbed the chain that linked his handcuffs, forcing his arms upward. Another groan escaped his swollen lips. He arched his back to relieve the pressure on his shoulders. Cold metal whacked onto his lower back like a meat mallet on a chopping board. Shockwaves ascended his spine. He wanted to scream, but couldn't.

  A warm substance smacked into Jay's hair and traced a line across the back of his head. The liquid made its way down through his ear and onto his cheek. A horrible little laugh commenced above.

  'This is for headbutting my wife,' Primrose said.

  Urine splashed into Jay's eyes and mouth. He tried to fight but his body wouldn't respond. His stomach shrank and the revulsion made its way toward his throat. Mucus drained from his nose and his throat rasped from gagging. The urine continued to target his mouth like a hos
e to flames. Laughter above forced the hose off target, yet it kept tracking back. He sucked the putrid liquid into his lungs with each gasp of breath. He forced his head down a couple of inches for momentary relief, but the urine followed him. He vomited onto Primrose's boots and roared like a wild boar to clear his lungs. His breathing eased and fingers curled. He caught the movement of the boots as they manoeuvred behind him. The laughter subsided.

  'Now that's the kind of reaction I would pay to see,' Primrose said. 'Bet you haven't got that kind of reaction before from your prisoners, have you, Jay?'

  'I...I...ca...' Jay struggled to articulate through his strained vocal chords.

  'You're disgusting sometimes, Warren,' he heard Catherine say from behind. 'Get on with it before he passes out again.'

  'Hmm, can't have him passing out again just yet; the fun is yet to begin,' Primrose said. 'Is everything set up, plugged in and ready to go, babe?'

  'Yeah. You going to tell him?' she asked.

  'I've got a better idea. Still with us, Jay?' he asked.

  Survival mechanisms kicked in. His mind wandered to his own interrogation training six years before. He had learnt how egotistical some of the instructors were in the Army Intelligence Corps. There had been endless lectures from officers like Captain Warren Primrose, who had never used their skills in the field. Unlike Primrose, Jay had applied his skills in combat situations in Afghanistan and Iraq. Unlike Primrose, he had never needed to beat a prisoner. Never pissed on anyone. This was new to him. This wasn't in any training manual. He released another low muffled groan and felt the need to vomit again.

  'I'll take that as a yes. Now my wife has told me all about the secret little liaison you two had last week. A couple of things you should know. One – I know about it because I set it up. Two – I have reviewed the tape, it turned out superbly.'

  The words bounced through Jay's brain as he tried to match his recollection of the previous week. Yes, he had slept with Catherine Primrose. She had wanted him bad and wanted it rough; so he had given in to a weakness and obliged her. She'd called him while her husband was away, feigning loneliness. He had agreed to meet up with her; he had wanted her for a long time. An infatuation he couldn't explain. He knew it was wrong but those dark eyes and beautiful soft skin were enough. Irresistible.