strapped to the chair legs with nylon fishing line. Sweat had washed
away the long lines that tears had etched down his cheeks.
The camera winked red. Kahlid’s pictures peered at Ryan over the boy’s shoulder.
This was the situation.
But this didn’t even modestly describe the situation, because the real situation resided in their minds. In Kahlid’s mind,
in the youth’s mind, in Ryan’s mind.
Above all else, Ryan knew that he could not allow his mind to break. If Kahlid managed to shape his responses, Ryan knew he
would do whatever the man wanted, which in this case would likely mean the death of his wife and daughter.
The manner with which Kahlid meant to break his mind was clear enough. What kind of man could stand by and watch innocent
victims being killed on his account without suffering terrible anguish? The pressure of such horror would eventually break
him.
But the only way to save Ahmed was to offer up his own wife and child.
The similarity between this particular situation and war was inescapable. Kahlid was right, innocent victims were allowed
to die in war for the greater good of the campaign. To slay the dragon you had to kill a few bunnies who got in the way. Collateral
damage. You could try to say the innocents weren’t truly innocent, but in the end they were daughters and sons and wives and
they
were
innocent.
Innocent like Ahmed.
The only difference between the quivering Arab strapped to the chair before Ryan and the innocents who’d been killed by shrapnel
from a bomb dropped on a building was that one was face-to-face, and one was distant.
Kahlid meant to make it all personal to Ryan and through his camera to the world.
It was an impossible conundrum. But Ryan had long ago learned that every code could be broken. Every game could be beaten.
Even the impossible ones. He’d given his life to this one objective. He’d saved a thousand lives by doing what very few could
do or were willing to do. This was what he knew.
And he knew that the only hope he had of beating this game was to shut down his emotions entirely so that he could focus on
the challenge at hand. Doing so with Ahmed weeping in the chair had been a monumental hurdle, but Ryan had managed for the
most part.
The fact that Kahlid had left a clock on the table this time didn’t help. The ticking was a constant reminder that they were
in a time lock.
He glanced at the small white alarm clock and saw that three hours had passed. Three to go.
“What’s going to happen?” the boy asked in Arabic for the hundredth time.
Ryan looked at him without expression. If the boy learned that he could speak his language, he would continue as he had for
the first half hour, begging for some explanation, asking for his mother, explaining that he was only going out to get wood
as his father had asked him to.
None of this was useful information and only weakened Ryan’s resolve to guard his mind.
He closed his eyes and centered his thoughts once again, stepping through the facets of this challenge as he had so many times
already.
One:
Kahlid’s entire game was built upon the belief that if presented with an edited video of an American officer begging that
his wife and daughter die to save the lives of Iraqi children, some of whom were seen broken on the floor, the American public
would cry out in outrage and demand that such senseless killing of children be stopped, regardless of whose side it was on.
And Ryan thought he had a point. Especially if the video included images of his wife and child being killed. They would be
furious at the terrorist, but his point would be made in spades.
Two:
To accomplish his mission, Kahlid must coerce an American soldier into the position of making such a plea by presenting him
with precisely the kind of threat he’d chosen.
Three:
The game assumed that Ryan actually cared whether or not the children died as much as he cared whether his wife or child
away the long lines that tears had etched down his cheeks.
The camera winked red. Kahlid’s pictures peered at Ryan over the boy’s shoulder.
This was the situation.
But this didn’t even modestly describe the situation, because the real situation resided in their minds. In Kahlid’s mind,
in the youth’s mind, in Ryan’s mind.
Above all else, Ryan knew that he could not allow his mind to break. If Kahlid managed to shape his responses, Ryan knew he
would do whatever the man wanted, which in this case would likely mean the death of his wife and daughter.
The manner with which Kahlid meant to break his mind was clear enough. What kind of man could stand by and watch innocent
victims being killed on his account without suffering terrible anguish? The pressure of such horror would eventually break
him.
But the only way to save Ahmed was to offer up his own wife and child.
The similarity between this particular situation and war was inescapable. Kahlid was right, innocent victims were allowed
to die in war for the greater good of the campaign. To slay the dragon you had to kill a few bunnies who got in the way. Collateral
damage. You could try to say the innocents weren’t truly innocent, but in the end they were daughters and sons and wives and
they
were
innocent.
Innocent like Ahmed.
The only difference between the quivering Arab strapped to the chair before Ryan and the innocents who’d been killed by shrapnel
from a bomb dropped on a building was that one was face-to-face, and one was distant.
Kahlid meant to make it all personal to Ryan and through his camera to the world.
It was an impossible conundrum. But Ryan had long ago learned that every code could be broken. Every game could be beaten.
Even the impossible ones. He’d given his life to this one objective. He’d saved a thousand lives by doing what very few could
do or were willing to do. This was what he knew.
And he knew that the only hope he had of beating this game was to shut down his emotions entirely so that he could focus on
the challenge at hand. Doing so with Ahmed weeping in the chair had been a monumental hurdle, but Ryan had managed for the
most part.
The fact that Kahlid had left a clock on the table this time didn’t help. The ticking was a constant reminder that they were
in a time lock.
He glanced at the small white alarm clock and saw that three hours had passed. Three to go.
“What’s going to happen?” the boy asked in Arabic for the hundredth time.
Ryan looked at him without expression. If the boy learned that he could speak his language, he would continue as he had for
the first half hour, begging for some explanation, asking for his mother, explaining that he was only going out to get wood
as his father had asked him to.
None of this was useful information and only weakened Ryan’s resolve to guard his mind.
He closed his eyes and centered his thoughts once again, stepping through the facets of this challenge as he had so many times
already.
One:
Kahlid’s entire game was built upon the belief that if presented with an edited video of an American officer begging that
his wife and daughter die to save the lives of Iraqi children, some of whom were seen broken on the floor, the American public
would cry out in outrage and demand that such senseless killing of children be stopped, regardless of whose side it was on.
And Ryan thought he had a point. Especially if the video included images of his wife and child being killed. They would be
furious at the terrorist, but his point would be made in spades.
Two:
To accomplish his mission, Kahlid must coerce an American soldier into the position of making such a plea by presenting him
with precisely the kind of threat he’d chosen.
Three:
The game assumed that Ryan actually cared whether or not the children died as much as he cared whether his wife or child
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