Perspectives, An Intriguing Tale of an American Born Terrorist by Jeffrey Shapiro Page B
Authors: Jeffrey Shapiro
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were uniformed soldiers all around. He now knew where he was: Guantanamo Bay, Cuba.
His cell was about 8 foot by 8 foot. There was a single bed and no toilet. They had dressed him in light cotton pajamas that were bright orange and there was a number sewn over the left front pocket. He started to feel sick to his stomach and vomited on the floor. He had a difficult time making it back to his bed, because of the pain in his feet and arm. He rolled carefully back into his bunk and passed out.
He was awakened by the sound of the large metal door swinging open. He opened his eyes and tried to focus. There were two uniformed men in green fatigues and a man in a business suit. He recognized the man as Harry Davidson. Harry was a short stocky man in his mid-forties built like a bull. His hair was cut almost to the scalp and he didn’t have a trace of hair on his face. He wore a small gold loop earring in his right ear. Davidson walked over to Jonathan and yelled, “Get up!” Jonathan struggled to sit up, but before he could make it, Davidson grabbed the handcuff chain between Jonathan’s hands and yanked him so hard that he fell face first on the floor. The pain from his left arm hurt so badly that he screamed out loud.
“You ready to go for your daily walk?” Davidson asked.
Jonathan didn’t reply.
“Get him on his feet!” he barked to the soldiers who lifted Jonathan up by his elbows.
They pushed Jonathan out the door and down a long narrow hallway that contained other cells. He caught glimpses of the other prisoners and saw beaten men, all dressed in orange, shackled like him. He stumbled, not able to keep up with the pace, only to be jabbed with the butt of a gun. They exited the cell area and walked outside across the compound. The sun was intense and blinding. The ground was like a barren desert, hot and lifeless. Outside the fences was a lush, green paradise.
The light in the interrogation room was blinding as it reflected off the luminescent white walls. There was a large mirror about half the size of the wall opposite Jonathan, which was obviously hiding the team of experts who were watching him, studying to pick up clues through motions, expressions and attitude. He scanned the room and saw 2 other chairs, an IV on rollers and a stainless steel electronic cart containing several pieces of high tech equipment. His chair and one other were black leather with shiny aluminum frames; the third chair looked like something you would see in an optometrist’s office, with a big black pair of spectacles on a pivot attached to one of the arm rests. They tossed him into one of the black chairs and left him alone for what seemed like hours. It took him several tries to stand up and when he finally got to his feet he staggered over to the mirror and saw several contusions on his face and head and dried blood in his nostrils. He yelled at the mirror. “I didn’t do anything and this is what you do to me! I give my life to you and this is how you repay me. I lost my son God Damn it!” The words echoed in the empty room. The shouting exhausted him and he retreated back to the chair and put his hands on the chair back to keep himself from falling.
After several minutes, the door opened and Harry Davison walked in. “Sit down Jonathan.”
“Why, so you can beat me some more? Didn’t you find out everything there is to know? I’m sure you did because I don’t know anything!”
“Sit down and let’s talk.”
Apprehensively, Jonathan sat down in the black leather chair.
“Now, we’ve just gotten started and this is going to get a whole lot worse, so I need you to tell me who Heliracer 99 is and where can we find the other 6 people from that email.”
Jonathan stared into Harry’s cold eyes but could see no life. “Didn’t you give me a polygraph?”
“We did,” answered Harry in a soft monotone voice.
“And did I tell the truth?”
“Jonathan, you know as well as I that those things are flawed,
His cell was about 8 foot by 8 foot. There was a single bed and no toilet. They had dressed him in light cotton pajamas that were bright orange and there was a number sewn over the left front pocket. He started to feel sick to his stomach and vomited on the floor. He had a difficult time making it back to his bed, because of the pain in his feet and arm. He rolled carefully back into his bunk and passed out.
He was awakened by the sound of the large metal door swinging open. He opened his eyes and tried to focus. There were two uniformed men in green fatigues and a man in a business suit. He recognized the man as Harry Davidson. Harry was a short stocky man in his mid-forties built like a bull. His hair was cut almost to the scalp and he didn’t have a trace of hair on his face. He wore a small gold loop earring in his right ear. Davidson walked over to Jonathan and yelled, “Get up!” Jonathan struggled to sit up, but before he could make it, Davidson grabbed the handcuff chain between Jonathan’s hands and yanked him so hard that he fell face first on the floor. The pain from his left arm hurt so badly that he screamed out loud.
“You ready to go for your daily walk?” Davidson asked.
Jonathan didn’t reply.
“Get him on his feet!” he barked to the soldiers who lifted Jonathan up by his elbows.
They pushed Jonathan out the door and down a long narrow hallway that contained other cells. He caught glimpses of the other prisoners and saw beaten men, all dressed in orange, shackled like him. He stumbled, not able to keep up with the pace, only to be jabbed with the butt of a gun. They exited the cell area and walked outside across the compound. The sun was intense and blinding. The ground was like a barren desert, hot and lifeless. Outside the fences was a lush, green paradise.
The light in the interrogation room was blinding as it reflected off the luminescent white walls. There was a large mirror about half the size of the wall opposite Jonathan, which was obviously hiding the team of experts who were watching him, studying to pick up clues through motions, expressions and attitude. He scanned the room and saw 2 other chairs, an IV on rollers and a stainless steel electronic cart containing several pieces of high tech equipment. His chair and one other were black leather with shiny aluminum frames; the third chair looked like something you would see in an optometrist’s office, with a big black pair of spectacles on a pivot attached to one of the arm rests. They tossed him into one of the black chairs and left him alone for what seemed like hours. It took him several tries to stand up and when he finally got to his feet he staggered over to the mirror and saw several contusions on his face and head and dried blood in his nostrils. He yelled at the mirror. “I didn’t do anything and this is what you do to me! I give my life to you and this is how you repay me. I lost my son God Damn it!” The words echoed in the empty room. The shouting exhausted him and he retreated back to the chair and put his hands on the chair back to keep himself from falling.
After several minutes, the door opened and Harry Davison walked in. “Sit down Jonathan.”
“Why, so you can beat me some more? Didn’t you find out everything there is to know? I’m sure you did because I don’t know anything!”
“Sit down and let’s talk.”
Apprehensively, Jonathan sat down in the black leather chair.
“Now, we’ve just gotten started and this is going to get a whole lot worse, so I need you to tell me who Heliracer 99 is and where can we find the other 6 people from that email.”
Jonathan stared into Harry’s cold eyes but could see no life. “Didn’t you give me a polygraph?”
“We did,” answered Harry in a soft monotone voice.
“And did I tell the truth?”
“Jonathan, you know as well as I that those things are flawed,
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