"Isn't it true, sir that you attempted to revive Mr. Khury, and were unsuccessful?"

"No sir!" Benson answered, raising the volume of his voice.

"And that Mr. Khury died in the feeding chair?"

"No sir!"

"You checked for his pulse, didn't you Nurse Benson?"

"Objection, asked and answered," said Nagel.

"No sir!"

"It's not your fault, Benson, but you do have to tell the truth," Brent insisted.

"Objection argumentative!"

"Tell the truth Benson, or you'll never be able to live with yourself!"

"I am telling the truth!"

"There is no question pending," said Nagel. I'm instructing the witness to say no more to this line of questioning."

"Join," said the JAG.

"Oh, I'm not finished yet," said Brent.

"Who removed Mr. Khury from the feeding chair?"

"Corporal Reeding and Sergeant Brown," said Benson.

"When did Sergeant Brown come in?"

"He was called by Corporal Reeding?"

"What for?"

"Calls for speculation," said the JAG.

"Corporal Reeding became nervous when the detainee coughed out the feeding tube."

"The detainee had a name, didn't he Benson?"

"Yes, sir."

"Does it make you feel better, calling him "the detainee" instead of by name, like a human being?"

"The witness will not answer that question," instructed Nagel.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE.

Corporal Brian Reeding's deposition proved to be a bit smoother than the others. But what he was not telling festered on Brent like a mosquito bite that you can't stop scratching. Reeding's body language was point-on, according to Rick. So what could he be hiding?

"What compelled you to call Sergeant Brown during Mr. Khury's feeding?"

"Mr. Khury was complaining that the feeding tube was hurting him and he subsequently coughed up the tube."

"Did you think that he might be in danger?"

"I thought he might be, yes, sir."

"And how many of these force-feedings had you been present at before this one?"

"Objection to the characterization of the feeding as a force-feeding," said the JAG.

"It was a new detail for me, so not that many, but enough that this one made me alarmed."

"And what happened after Brown arrived?"

"He cleared the room."

"What do you mean by 'cleared the room?"

"He sent my team out."

"Including you?"

"Yes."

"And what did your team do?"

"Sergeant Brown ordered the team to secure the next detainee for feeding."

"And Nurse Benson and Sergeant Brown remained in the feeding room?"

"Yes, sir."

On cross-examination, Nagel did his best to destroy the credibility of Corporal Reeding.

"Corporal, you testified that this was a new detail for you, is that correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"And isn't it true that you have no medical background?"

"Yes, sir."

"So you don't know that Mr. Khury was in danger when you observed him coughing up the feeding tube, isn't that correct?"

"He looked like he was."

"But you can't say for a fact that he was in any kind of a bodily crisis as a result of the procedure, isn't that correct?"

"No sir, I can't."

"And isn't it true that Mr. Khury told you that he wanted to die?"

"Yes, sir."

"How many times did you hear him say that?"

"Several times."

The depositions of the feeding team were like playing back the dry recorded voices of a computer using a synthetic speech system. No emotion, no body language, like each one of them had been as programmed as they had been desensitized to the entire force-feeding process. Yes, they had seen many detainees complain about the procedure. Yes, they had seen many of them cough up vomit and blood and still live to tell about it. The entire exercise at trial would come down to the credibility of Brown and Benson as witnesses, and the battle of Dr. Orozco v. the military doctor who would be called as an expert.

Brent and Rick left Gitmo on this note, a bit dejected, but still determined to keep up the fight. The unknown lay ahead, and they were dedicated to making as much of it known as they could.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

Being in South Beach, Miami was like stepping back in a time machine to the Art Deco 1950's. It was hot during the day, and equally hot at night, blazing with the neon that the Las Vegas Strip had long forgotten. At 9 p.m., the strip was just warming up, with diners packed in the sidewalk cafes in front of the boutique hotels, being hounded by homeless graduates selling red roses wrapped individually in cellophane and street musicians singing Besame Mucho and La Bamba.

Brent and Rick found Corporal Reeding sitting at a corner table in front of the Colony Hotel, dressed in his Bermuda shorts and a T-shirt, sipping on a margarita on the rocks. After the mandatory round of handshaking, Rick and Brent joined him.

Smalltalk was cut short by curiosity, however, and, for Brent, every additional second of waiting seemed like an excruciating hour.

"You said you wanted to talk to us," said Brent.

"I do, but only under conditions of confidentiality. How does it work? Can I be a confidential informant?"

"We can talk confidentially now, of course," said Brent. "But if you're implicated at all in any wrongdoing against our client, that's where all confidentiality would cease."

"Oh no, sir, nothing like that."

"Alright then, speak confidentially and tell us what you know."

"I just want to say that I'm very proud to be a soldier and even more proud to be an American. But it's just not right what they're doing down there in Gitmo, it's downright un-American if you ask me."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I've done two tours, one in Afghanistan and one in Iraq. We all learn in basic that there's a certain way to act toward your prisoner, and this ain't it, I can tell you that."

"What are they doing that you think is not right?"

"This is anonymous, right? I don't want to be the next guy swinging from the ceiling in my quarters."

"Yes, anonymous."

"Waterboarding, dry-boarding, fake executions, beatings, you name it, they do it. Some guys get used to it, but I can't. I just follow orders."

"Have you thought about reporting this?"

"To who? I'm only talking to you guys because I know you're on the right side. I can't trust anyone, not in my position."

Corporal Reeding continued to describe the house of horrors that was Camp 7: every inhuman act, every violation of the Constitution, the Military Code of Justice and the Geneva Conventions of 1949 that would throw every conviction of every accused who ever set foot in Camp 7 out of court.

"Corporal Reeding?" asked Brent.

"Yes, sir?"

"What really happened in that feeding room to Ahmed?"

"I don't know sir, really I don't. I told you everything I know in my deposition. The only ones who really know are Sergeant Brown and Nurse Benson. And..."

"And who else?"

"I don't know, sir. But I think something went really wrong in that feeding room and they're trying to cover it up."

"Those a-holes have fucked up every case against every real terrorist, haven't they?" asked Rick, slamming a shot of whiskey.

"I'm afraid they have," replied Brent, "It's a shame that the guilty ones are going to get off, but that's what happens when you try to change 200 years of checks and balances."

"So, are we gonna stay here awhile and catch some strip acts?"

Brent just gave Rick a look that obviated the need to respond verbally.

"What? Okay, I get it, back to work."

"Back to work," said Brent.