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55
MOSUL, IRAQ
Kennedy lay naked on the floor. Salty tears streamed down her face and mixed with the puddles of urine on the dirt floor. Her panties and bra lay shredded a few feet away. The musty blanket that had given her a sense of security had been torn from her hands and tossed to the far corner. Her captors stood over her and laughed while they described in graphic terms how they were going to rape her. That had been about the only indignity she’d been spared thus far.
All she had done was ask to go to the bathroom. A simple function that she had taken for granted her entire life. The man who called himself Muhammad had made it sound as if it would not be a problem. Instead of taking her somewhere, though, the guards brought her a rusty bucket and stood a few feet away leering at her. Kennedy squatted over the bucket and used the blanket to try and maintain a modicum of privacy. When she was in the middle of relieving herself one of the men gave her a kick that sent her sprawling. The second man then joined in as they tore the blanket and her undergarments from her. The men pawed at her bare skin; slapping, punching, and kicking her. Kennedy attempted lamely to fight back, but they were too strong and far too vicious.
In the end all she could do was curl up in a defensive ball and hope they would tire. When they finally did, they dropped their pants and urinated on her. That was when they began to describe in gruesome detail how they were going to rape her. Kennedy did not scream or cry out loud. She simply lay there and let the tears flow. She thought of her son, Tommy, her mother, and a life she had devoted to her country. She did not ask “Why me?” or drown herself in pity, she simply accepted her fate for what it was—a very nasty ending to an otherwise wonderful life.
She had surrendered herself to the idea that it would be better to die than give up the most closely guarded secrets of her country. She owed that to the men and women of the CIA, and the spies they had recruited. She knew she would not be able to endure many more beatings like the one she had just gone through, so her mind began searching for a way to end it all. The tears stopped and in a strange way the thought of taking her own life gave her strength.
A loud clang of the metal latch being lifted and squeaky hinges announced the presence of a visitor. Kennedy did not attempt lift her head and look. She stared beyond the feet of her tormentors at the blanket in the corner as if she could will it to come to her.
“In the name of Allah, what have you done?”
Kennedy recognized the voice as belonging to the man who called himself Muhammad.
“You fools!” he yelled.
Kennedy saw him push his way past the two men and retrieve the blanket on the far side of the room. He came back and draped the blanket over her naked body and then turned his anger on the men. He screamed at them and ordered them out of the room. When they were gone he returned to Kennedy and squatted down at her side. He started to move a strand of hair from her face and then stopped when he realized it was soaked with urine. He stood quickly and marched into the hallway.
Kennedy could hear him yelling at the guards and telling them to bring fresh water and a first aid kit. There was more shouting and more demands. Kennedy went numb and stopped listening. The man came back into the room several times to check on her, each time apologizing for what the men had done. Kennedy never acknowledged his presence. She simply kept staring off into space.
At some point a chair was brought into the room and the man helped her up so she could sit in it. She was beyond caring that she was naked under the blanket. The man tried his best to keep the blanket wrapped around her chest, as he took the bucket of water and began rinsing the urine from her hair. He then wet a washcloth and cleaned her face.
When he got to her shoulders he stopped and placed the washcloth in Kennedy’s hand. “I will get you some clothes. Please finish cleaning up. We need to discuss your release.”
Kennedy blinked for the first time in minutes. Her head slowly turned and watched the man leave the room. The door closed behind him and she realized she was alone. Looking down at the white washcloth, she had the strangest feeling that she must have been dreaming. Her eyes moved slowly over her arms, noting the scrapes and bruises. She took the water-soaked cloth and ran it along the inside of her left forearm. The blood and dirt came off. She bit her tongue to make sure this was really happening and upon feeling the pain realized it was. Kennedy stood and draped the blanket over the back of the chair and then set about bathing. She doused herself with handful after handful of water until the blood, dirt, and stench were gone. A good five minutes later there was a knock on the door. Kennedy grabbed the blanket and held it in front of her.
Muhammad entered the room with a towel, a stack of neatly folded clothes and some sandals. He set them down on the chair and said, “Please put these on. We have much to discuss.”
After he left, Kennedy slowly got dressed. The clothes were all slightly too big for her but she was grateful nonetheless. She put on the blue dress pants, brown sweater, black hijab, and finally the sandals. There was another knock on the door and then Muhammad entered carrying a video camera and a tripod. Kennedy was instantly suspicious.
“I am sorry for the behavior of those two animals. They were not raised properly.”
Kennedy only nodded.
The man set the camera down and asked, “How do your clothes fit?”
“Fine.” Kennedy clutched at the hijab.
“Good. Now I have been talking to many people about your release, and I think we have something arranged. The men who took you…I can’t tell you who they are, but they are a nasty lot. More than half of them want to kill you because of what you have done to their country and who you work for. There are a few, however, who think that this is a waste. They are split. Half of them want to torture you and sell the information to the highest bidder and the other half want to ransom you and be done with it. I think I have them convinced to ransom you, but before I can do that they want you to read a statement.”
“What kind of statement?” Kennedy asked in a guarded tone.
“I want to remind you they are only words. Once you are free, you may say whatever you’d like.” The man handed over the sheet of paper and then busied himself with the video camera. “Smile for me, please,” he said as he pressed play.
Kennedy looked down at the double-spaced typed words and began reading. He heart sank with each sentence. Thirty seconds later she was done. She handed the paper back to the man and said, “I can’t read that.”
“Yes, you can.” The man handed the paper back. “All you need to do is read it and you will be free to leave with me.”
“Those are all lies. My cou
ntry had nothing to do with the destruction of the Isfahan nuclear facility. We did not invade Iraq for oil, and we are not plotting to invade Iran to steal their oil.”
“I am not arguing with you.” The man said with his hands held up. “And when you are set free you can scream from the mountaintops that you were forced to read this statement at gunpoint.”
Kennedy knew there would be no taking it back. There were too many in the Middle East and beyond who thought it was true to begin with. Her reading this prepared speech would be used for decades to come as proof of America’s imperial ways. “I can’t read it.”
