name is Jeremy Regland, and I’m accused of being a CIA agent. I’m just a journalist “My on assignment to Pakistan, if the United States government will free all Muslim prisoners held in Afghanistan and Guantanamo Bay, I will be released. If three hundred prisoners aren’t free within two days”—Jeremy’s voice quaked with fear as he glanced up at his captor—“I will be killed.” Ritter watched Jeremy’s fingers tapping, and mimicked the short and long pauses on the table. signaling with his fingers.” Ritter said. “He’s Carlos huffed. bad, it’s the license plate from the van.” “Not traced it to the where we picked up”—Shannon paused—“the guy we thought “We was Haider.” The camera swung towards a man in a ski mask. A red headband with the al-Qaida logo in script hung low over his brow. The man ranted in Arabic and gesticulated with an AK-47. Ritter leaned in, listening intently. Haider speaking. Not the Haider I knew, but that’s “That’s him, Iraqi accent and everything. He’s complaining about the Zionist state of Israel’ and ‘illegal America’s crimes against the—” we’ve had it translated.” Shannon interrupted. “Yes do they know he’s CIA?” Ritter asked. “How Carlos rolled his eyes. don’t know for sure. It’s just some jihadi fantasy that every “We Westerner in Pakistan is somehow in the CIA—” the ISI sold us out.” Shannon interrupted, invoking the Pakistani secret intelligence “Or agency. it was bad tradecraft on Jeremy’s part. Or his lack of resistance training made it easy “Or for him to break under duress.” She looked at Ritter. have to operate under the assumption “We
“My name is Jeremy Regland, and I’m accused of being a CIA agent. I’m just a journalist on assignment to Pakistan, if the United States government will free all Muslim prisoners held in Afghanistan and Guantanamo Bay, I will be released. If three hundred prisoners aren’t free within two days”—Jeremy’s voice quaked with fear as he glanced up at his captor—“I will be killed.” Ritter watched Jeremy’s fingers tapping, and mimicked the short and long pauses on the table. “He’s signaling with his fingers.” Ritter said. Carlos huffed. “Not bad, it’s the license plate from the van.” “We traced it to the where we picked up”—Shannon paused—“the guy we thought was Haider.” The camera swung towards a man in a ski mask. A red headband with the al-Qaida logo in script hung low over his brow. The man ranted in Arabic and gesticulated with an AK-47. Ritter leaned in, listening intently. “That’s Haider speaking. Not the Haider I knew, but that’s him, Iraqi accent and everything. He’s complaining about the ‘illegal Zionist state of Israel’ and America’s crimes against the—” “Yes we’ve had it translated.” Shannon interrupted. “How do they know he’s CIA?” Ritter asked. Carlos rolled his eyes. “We don’t know for sure. It’s just some jihadi fantasy that every Westerner in Pakistan is somehow in the CIA—” “Or the ISI sold us out.” Shannon interrupted, invoking the Pakistani secret intelligence agency. “Or it was bad tradecraft on Jeremy’s part. Or his lack of resistance training made it easy for him to break under duress.” She looked at Ritter. “We have to operate under the assumption
The_Caliban_Program-Sample.docx