59 - Washington, D.C.
Interrogation was as old as warfare. The Army has a 97-page Interrogation Manual that describes sixteen successful “interrogating approaches,” including such favorites as Love of Comrades, Hate of Comrades, Silent, Mutt & Jeff, We Know All, Befuddled Interrogator and Rapid Fire. The manual says nothing about torture. Torture is illegal for American forces.
The use of torture in interrogating captured enemy troops is prohibited by the Geneva Convention, which was mostly honored by formal belligerents from the Second World War onward. A notable exception was the North Vietnamese, whose torture of captured American flyers was the primary motivator, thirty years later, for some of those pilots who were elected to Congress to enact strict legislation prohibiting torture by Americans.
Torture is not a physical act, however, as much as a definitional one. The certain knowledge that “enemy combatants” were loose on American soil with at least the makings of a nuclear weapon caused the United States government to search for an acceptable definition of what constituted torture.
The research effort was directed by Wilson Harrison. President Quaid wanted to know where the legal line stood as to what could and could not be done when questioning the detainees at Camp Edwards. Then he wanted to know how thick that line was. He was not yet ready to cross it, but he wanted America’s toes on the far edge of that line.
Attorney General McQueeney’s advice concerning torture was not what the President wanted to hear.
“America does not use torture, Mr. President,” she told him. “That’s the law. That’s our history. That’s what we stand for. You permit torture and you violate the law. It’s as simple as that.”
“Come on, Queen,” President Quaid retorted angrily. “After New York goes up in a radioactive cloud you want me to tell the American people that we could have stopped it from happening but we didn’t want to hurt any of the bad guys in the process?”
The Attorney General refused to back down.
“I’ve been offering my resignation for a month now, Mr. President,” she said.
“I know, Queen, and I’ve been refusing it,” President Quaid replied. He was not in a mood to accept criticism. “Maybe it’s time for that after all.”
“Say the word, Sir, and you have my head on a plate, so to speak,” she answered, trying not to sound as enthusiastic as she felt about separating herself from the decision she knew the President had already made.
Carol Cabot, the President’s legal counsel, increasingly filled the shoes left vacant by Bob Brown, the former chief of staff. She sided with the Congressional leaders urging the President to do whatever it took to protect the nation.
“You have all the power in the world,” she’d told the President. “Go ahead and wield it. We just have to do it properly, you know, make Presidential findings and issue classified Presidential directives. You do whatever you want and I’ll cover you with the right paper. My job is to protect you and you can trust me to do that, Sir.”
Quaid reached Cabot by telephone at her home at 2:00 a.m.
“Carol, sorry to call you this late, but I’ve made a decision and I want you to make it happen, tomorrow, first thing,” he said. “The Queen’s been offering to resign and I’ve been balking at it. Wrong time for that and all. Well, first thing tomorrow you call her and tell her to get her resignation to me, in writing. I want her resignation on my desk by 9:00, effective immediately.
“Second thing, those Presidential findings and directives you talked about. Do it. I want them by the end of the day tomorrow. OK. Is that clear? Any questions?”
“No sir. Good decisions, Sir.”
“OK. Good night Carol.”
“Well, Sir, there is one thing. Who will run the shop at Justice starting tomorrow with the Queen out before a new AG is in?”
“I thought about that, Carol. I like that assistant over there, Harrison. We’ll name him interim Attorney General for now and decide later whether to send his name to the Senate for the permanent position. Make that happen, too.”
Cabot immediately regretted her last question. Young Harrison was too hungry for her taste. But her job was to do whatever the Boss said. It had been for years and it would be, she hoped, for years to come.