After that was accomplished, he used a pair of Metzen-baum scissors and some tissue forceps to grasp all of the grayish-appearing dead muscle and cut it away until there was a bed of fresh uninjured muscle slowly oozing blood across the entire diameter of the wound.

  Using his fingers, Buck pulled the edges of the wound together to see if it could be repaired without having to take a chunk of donor muscle from the hip area.

  He was pleased with what he saw. The damaged muscle had swollen to the point where he thought he might be able to bring the edges together by undermining the skin and subcutaneous tissue enough to free up the edges and make them more mobile.

  He slipped the points of the Metzenbaum scissors under the skin, and using both blunt and sharp dissection, cut the skin away from its underlying soft tissue attachments. This loosened it enough that when he pulled the edges together, there was no tension on them, a necessary process for the wound to heal properly.

  237

  237

  "Give me some three-0 chromic suture on a large needle," Buck said to the scrub tech standing next to him.

  The tech placed the needle with the attached suture on a needle-driver and slapped it into Buck's hand.

  Using a deep vertical mattress-type technique, Buck made a deep pass through both sides of the muscle and gently pulled them together with several sutures.

  Once this was done, he leaned over and had a nurse wipe the sweat from his brow. The teirjperature under the big operating lights over the table was twenty degrees warmer than the rest of the operating room, and the thick gown Buck was wearing made it even hotter.

  Finally ready for the last part of the procedure, he stepped back up to the table.

  "Four-O nylon on a cutting needle," he said.

  The tech obliged, again slapping the needle driver into his palm with a smack.

  Buck glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes. "Gently, son, gently," he said. "Put it in my hand and give a little push. You don't need to slap it like you see on television and in movies."

  "Yes, sir," the embarrassed tech replied.

  Buck again used the vertical-mattress technique for the skin sutures to keep tension off the edges of the skin so the wound would heal properly.

  After an hour and a half, the surgery was completed. Buck stepped back from the table. "Would you dress that for me, please?" he asked the tech.

  "Yes, sir," the tech replied, reaching for some Vaseline, gauze and sterile tape on the mayo table next to him.

  Buck entered the command center still in his scrub clothes from surgery.

  Ben Raines, the rest of his team, and President Osterman 238

  and her cabinet were all in the large conference room when Buck walked through the door.

  Ben stopped talking in mid-sentence to give him a worried glance. "How is Hammer doing?" he asked, speaking the question on each of the team members' minds.

  Buck smiled widely. "Great! I was able to clean and de-bride the wound and close it without having to take any donor muscle from his hip."

  "That's really good news," Ben said, a look of relief passing over his face.

  Even President Osterman and her men smiled at the good news Buck had given them.

  "Yeah," Buck said. "That means he'll heal much faster."

  "When will he be operational again?" Harley asked, trying not to show his concern for his best friend.

  "Oh, he'll be up and around with his arm in a sling ready for desk duty by tomorrow. No heavy lifting or exertion until the stitches come out in five to seven days," Buck said. "Otherwise, we'll be right back where we started if he busts those stitches loose."

  "I'll make sure he doesn't use the arm too much," Jersey said, causing Coop to give her a look that had jealousy written all over it.

  "Are you too tired to sit in on our discussion?" Claire asked the doctor.

  Buck shook his head. "No, I grabbed a Coke on the way over here to get my blood sugar up, so I'm all right for another hour or so ... then I need to get something to eat."

  "This shouldn't take that long," Ben said. "We've been discussing the best way to proceed with the interrogation of Achmed Sharif, the leader of the Arab terrorists captured at the airport."

  "You want my advice?" Buck asked, walking to the corner table, picking up a coffee cup, and filling it with the strong, black brew in the pot.

  "Well, General Goddard thinks we should try to question 239

  239

  him first without chemicals to see if he'll give us any information that way," Claire said.

  Goddard nodded. "That'd be much faster than chemical interrogation," he said.

  Buck glanced at the general as he took a seat next to Ben Raines. "You want fast, or do you want effective?" Buck asked, sipping the coffee and making a face. He set the cup down without drinking any more.

  "Effective, of course," Claire said.

  "Then here are my recommendations. First, do not attempt to question him at all right now. It will just tip him off to what we're going to ask later, and will let him build up a mental resolve not to answer those questions, or worse, it may allow him to formulate accurate-sounding lies."

  "Uh-huh," Claire said. "What then?"

  "Strip Mm naked and put him in a completely dark cell for twenty-four hours with no sensory input to let him tell the passage of time."

  "Why take his clothes?" Claire asked, interested in the reasons behind Buck's thinking.

  "People, especially men, from a macho male-dominated culture like that of the Arabs, feel especially vulnerable when they are naked. Being dressed gives them a feeling of protection, of invulnerability. Keeping him time-disoriented and spatially disoriented, lowers his mental defenses and gives his mind all kinds of nasty things to think about-like what we're going to do to him when we come for him."

  "That sounds barbaric," Claire said, a look of distaste on her face.

  Buck shrugged. "It IS barbaric, but so is War, Madam President. The North Koreans established this protocol over seventy years ago during the Korean War, and the tenets of brainwashing and interrogation haven't changed a whole lot since then."

  "Okay, so we strip him and keep him in the dark for 240

  twenty-four hours. Then what?" Claire asked, leaning forward with her elbows on the conference table.

  "The guards who come for him must be instructed not to talk to him at all, no matter what he asks or says. He is to be treated as if he is of no importance whatsoever. This will further lower his mental defenses.

  As a leader of the Arab terrorists, he will be used to being treated with some deference and respect. We must change that from the get-go."

  "Go on, Doctor," Claire said.

  "Tomorrow morning, after he's lain awake all night in the dark wondering what's to become of him, we'll take him from his cell and walk him naked through the corridors to my interrogation room, which will be filled with all manner of terrible-looking instruments and machines. I and my helpers will be gowned and gloved as if ready for surgery when he enters the room."

  Buck thought for a moment, then smiled. "Also, it will be better if there are several females in the room."

  "Females?" Claire asked, astonished at this request.

  Buck nodded. "There's nothing to make a man feel insignificant and impotent like having women see him paraded around with his genitalia hanging out. It strips him of what remains of his pride in his manhood."

  "Especially for an Arab who culturally has great disdain for women,"

  Jersey added, a look of malicious glee on her face at the thought of the arrogant terrorist in this position.

  "I see," Claire said, smiling herself at the mental picture this evoked.

  "Then, when he is in the room, he will be blindfolded and strapped on an operating table. By this time, his mind will be conjuring up all kinds of horrible torture scenarios. In fact, it will most probably remind him of things he's done to enemies in the past, further helping to demoralize him," Buck said.

  "You don't really intend to torture this man, do you?"

  241

  241

  General Goddard asked, as if the very thought were foreign to his thinking.

  Buck shook his head. "Not in the least, General. Once he's on the table, I'll start an IV and begin to infuse the chemicals I use for interrogation."

  "You mean, like sodium Pentothal?" Claire asked.

  "Naw, that's old hat, Madam President," Buck answered. "I'll start with sodium Amytal, a distant relative of Pentothal, but much quicker and more potent. Once the Amytal has him relaxed and calm, I'll add a pinch of scopolamine."

  "Scopolamine?" Claire asked. "Wasn't that once used in childbirth?"

  "You're correct, it was. It was used to cause a semiconscious condition called a twilight sleep. It completely relaxes the inhibitions part of the brain, and it has a further benefit of causing amnesia about the time the subject is under its spell. That way, Sharif won't remember what we did or what we asked or even what his answers were."

  "So," Ben said, "we can repeat the process and double-check the answers to the same questions to see if he gives the same response?"

  Buck nodded. "Sure. It's a way to make sure he wasn't able to lie to us the first time."

  "You mean even with all this, some people are still able to lie under the chemicals?" General Goddard asked, as if he couldn't believe such a thing.

  "Yes," Buck answered. "It depends on how strong-willed the subject is.

  Back in the days of Korea, the Koreans only had about a twenty-percent success rate with the Americans they tried to brainwash, because Americans were very strong-willed and had grown up in a country that prized individuality."

  Buck paused. "However, since this man grew up under the Arab culture, where conformity and obedience at all costs is taught, he should be much easier to break."

  242

  Claire nodded. "So, you plan to start first thing in the morning?"

  "Yes, ma'am. What I need from you is a list of questions you want answered and information you are seeking. It's best if only one person questions the subject."

  "Can I be there?" Ben asked. "That way, if one of the answers leads to another question, I can let you know."

  "Sure," Buck said, "but I have to be the only voice Sharif hears. During interrogation, there is a weird sort of transference that takes place between the subject and his interrogator. Too many voices spoils the effect."

  Ben nodded, satisfied. "In the morning then . . ."

  "Dr. Buck," Jersey said.

  "Yes?"

  "As one of the people involved in capturing this man, I'd like to be one of the women in the room when he's brought in naked."

  "Me too," Anna said.

  Both Corrie and Beth nodded that they wanted to be included in the audience.

  Coop snorted. "You that hard up to see a naked man, Jerse?" he asked.

  "No, idiot," she answered, "but I think it might make him feel even more insignificant if the women who aided in his capture were there to observe his humiliation."

  Buck nodded. "You're exactly right, Jersey. I'd like all of you to be there in the morning. You too, Coop."

  "Okay," Coop said, "but only if I don't have to look at his ... equipment."

  Jersey laughed. "Yeah, we wouldn't want you to feel inferior, would we, Tiny?"

  Coop raised his eyebrows in disbelief at Jersey's statement. "Oh, yeah?

  And just how would you know anything about the size of my . . . er, uh .

  . . you know."

  "Oh, it's not from personal observation, that's for sure," Jersey said, a look of distaste on her face.

  243

  243

  "Then you're just guessing," Coop said triumphantly.

  "No," Jersey replied, "but on the wall of the women's head back at our base, someone wrote, 'For an unremarkable time, call Tiny,' and under it was your phone number."

  "That's a damned lie!" Coop protested as all the other members of the team burst out laughing.

  Claire Osterman glanced from one member of the team to another, wondering how these fools could be so silly and yet be such devastating warriors. It was clear she just didn't get the camaraderie that existed among men and women who fought together and put their lives on the line together.

  244

  After the meeting in the conference room broke up, Jersey stopped Buck in the outside corridor and whispered something in his ear.

  He laughed and nodded. "A great idea, Jersey. I'm gonna make an interrogator out of you yet."

  "What was that all about?" Coop asked.

  "Dr. Buck says we can be the ones to escort Sharif to his new quarters,"

  Jersey said, a glint of mischief in her eyes as she told the others what she had planned.

  Achmed Sharif was sitting in his cell, wondering when the infidels were going to come to question him. He had prepared himself mentally to stand up to whatever torture they tried on him. After all, was he not the descendent of princes of the realm of Arabia? he thought with some pride.

  The metal door to his cell banged open and several men and women filed in. Two of the women were holding Beretta pistols in their hands, the hammers back and ready to fire, he noted.

  As he looked at them, he recognized them. They were part of the Scout team that had captured him and destroyed the airplanes as they tried to land at the airport.

  In general, Sharif was opposed to the idea of women being 245

  245

  in the Army, thinking they were too weak to make good fighters. But, he had to admit to himself, these female Scouts of Ben Raines's Army made excellent warriors.

  As two of the women covered him with their side-arms and the two men stood in a corner with their arms crossed and enigmatic smiles on their faces, the female with the dark skin and long black hair pulled out a K-Bar assault knife, its razor-sharp blade glistening in the pale light of the cell.

  Sharif took a deep breath. He was determined not to show any fear, no matter what the crazy woman did to him.

  She approached, a slight grin on her face and a weird glint in her eyes, causing his heart to beat fast and sweat to appear on his brow.

  He stood up straight, his chest out and his lips in a tight line, determined not to let his fear show.

  Jersey walked up to him, lightly running her finger along the blade of the assault knife. As she stepped in closer and raised the blade, Sharif could stand it no longer.

  "What is the meaning of this?" he asked in his most imperial voice.

  "Don't you realize I am a prisoner of war and am to be accorded all the amenities of an officer?"

  None of the troops spoke or even acknowledged his words.

  "Wait a minute," he protested, taking a step back. "Just what do you intend to do?"

  Jersey moved closer and raised the knife. In a lightning-quick motion, she sliced through his shirtfront, leaving it hanging open.

  And then, she reached down and put her fingers in the front of his pants, pulling them out away from his stomach. Sharif's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to protest.

  With another quick motion, Jersey sliced through his pants and underwear, opening his trousers and letting them fall to the floor, leaving him standing naked from the waist down.

  "What. . . ?" he began, until she reached up and jerked his shirt off his shoulders, leaving him completely unclothed in front of the troops.

  246

  Sharif took another step back until his legs were against the corner of his bunk, and tried to cover his private parts with his hands.

  His face blushed a fiery red as he noticed the women glancing down at his shrunken member, smiles of derision on their faces.

  "This is unacceptable behavior toward a captive officer," Sharif began as Jersey took bis shoulder and shoved him out of the cell and into the corridor.

  Other troops were along the corridor, observing his nakedness and his futile efforts to keep his hands over his genitals as he stumbled down the long passageway.

  "I am a prince of Arabia," he protested, trying to ignore the grins and laughs as he was paraded nude past dozens of men and women along the way.

  Fear caused a terrible urge to urinate that he fought with all his strength, knowing that would be the final humiliation.

  After a long walk and a descent down three flights of stairs, Sharif was shoved into a dank, dark cell with no window and no light in the ceiling.

  "What are you doing?" he asked again as a solid steel door was slammed in his face.

  He turned round and round, unable to see his hand before his face in the complete blackness of the room. With his hands outstretched, he moved slowly around the cell until he found a bare metal bunk against a far corner.

  It was cold to the touch, the temperature in the cell being in the fifties. When he lay down upon it and placed his arm over his eyes, he shivered and could feel his genitals shrink with the cold.

  These infidels were tougher than he'd been led to believe by the propaganda of his home country, which portrayed them as weak and vacillating creatures with no backbone in them.

  As he lay there, his mind cast back to what he'd done to prisoners in the past to make them talk, and his genitals

  247

  shriveled even more at the thought that now such things might be done to him.

  "Allah, give me strength," he whispered, but could feel no answering solace in his words.

  Sharif spent a horrible night. He slept fitfully, often awakened by terrible dreams of dismemberment and mutilation at the hands of the infidels, all with the terrible women warriors watching and laughing as his penis fell, shriveled and twitching, onto the concrete floor of his cell.

  By the time the cell door opened--Sharif was unable to tell how many hours later-he was almost babbling and talking to himself. Even though he knew it was a sign of weakness, his terrorized mind was unable to stop playing pictures of his naked body being paraded sans penis among hoards of laughing, gesturing females.

  When Harley and Coop and the women of the team walked into the cell to take Sharif to his interrogation, they found a much different man from the almost arrogant one they'd met at the airport.

  He was sniveling, tears of rage and fear coursing down his cheeks, his body reeking of fear-sweat, puddles of urine on the floor next to his bunk.