On the Road
The drive to Evin Prison Complex was a long and dusty one. Apparently, the deserted region is a no-man’s land. I adjusted my scarf over my nose and mouth as I was allergic to dust.
“Thirteen minutes before we arrive, Ma’am,” the driver spoke with an Asian brogue.
“Thank you.”
“Are you sure you’ll want to meet them?”
“Yes, the world needs to know the truth,” I replied downheartedly. We were now reaching the outskirts of the city. The sandy horizon lay ahead of us. I was mentally coaching myself. The question I would ask, the way I would get them to say what the world ‘needs’ and not ‘want’ to know.
“I heard the Evin has some of the world’s most dangerous criminals, and the guards…not very nice.” My chains of thoughts were broken by the driver.
“Hmm. It is so I’ve heard.” I brought out my notepad and wrote down:
27th June, 2025,
Evin Prison Complex.
I put my notepad back into my bag, brought out my phone and checked the battery. It was 98%. It was enough for a two-hour interview. Hopefully, I wouldn’t feel the urge to use the phone as I haven’t used it for two days. I was getting restless. I checked my wristwatch which read 11:38.
“How long before we get there?” I asked from the backseat.
“See for yourself.”
I craned my neck and I saw the tip of the obelisk-like tower looming in the distance with its sides made of glass. As we got closer, I could see tiny figures in khaki which I deduced as guards. The octagonal fence was fortified with barbed wires, electric wires, alongside cameras and lights swivelling alternately.
From what I’d read, the fence is made of volcanic rocks, reinforced with titanium alloy and proximity sensors to know if a prisoner is near. I was amazed. We finally approached the gates. Up close now, I could see dragon teeth on the fence and the guards didn’t look so nice. An officer with a desert coloured uniform came up to our car and asked the driver to lower the window. His badge read: F.H. Musbahudeen.
“Where are you coming from?” he asked us in a gruff Middle East accent.
“I have a passenger,” the driver replied.
“Wind down let me see,” he commanded. I wound down my glass so he could see me.
“Where are you from?”
“I’m from the press.” I showed him my press card.
“Public or private?”
“Private.”
“What type?”
“Blogger.”
He nodded and said something to the guards in Urdu, which I later understood as ‘open the gates’. As we drove in, the building looked more like a mall than a prison. With its seemingly invincible security measures, facilities and strategies, I wondered what the weakness of this place would be. None apparently. I came out of the car and thanked the driver.
“Thank you…er…”
“Call me Gotog. I’ll be waiting outside the complex.”
IN THE COMPLEX
I watched as he reversed out of the compound. I sighed and exhaled deeply before entering the main building. Cameras swivelled and watched my movements as I walked through the hallway. There was a panelled office that looked like a cubicle which read ‘SECURITY’. A small window on the panel was nearly covered in newspaper cut-outs about the 12-day war. Apparently, they don’t use the internet here. I felt a buzz in my backpack and I unzipped it. Seeing it was my phone, I checked the message and saw that there’s no Wi-Fi here.
“Eh…Ms. José.”
The officer peered out from the cubicle. He had black hair already greying at the temples, a black beard and a face which made me guess that he would be around 35-40.
“Yes, that’s me,” I replied.
“Asad Motef, Head of Security. Please follow me.”
The medium-heighted HOS led me through the hallway, which opened into a larger space like an airport terminal. Strong pillars rose up to support the sloping helical ceiling which I guessed was curvilinear. We were walking on the left side of the building.
“…state of the art infrastructure designed to keep our prisoners in and our staff safe…” Asad was saying.
I was mesmerised by the glass-coated pillars, the marble floor and a statue of…
“Is that Atlas?” I pointed at the statue of a man holding the globe on his back.
“Yes. It is a sign of ‘brag and boast about yourself and you shall be defeated by your match’,” Asad said.
“And is it…”
“Yes, premium diamond. It’s actually a security protocol.” He winked. It was then I noticed he had sun-crinkles.
We were now reaching the end of the left side.
” We’ll have to check your belongings now, although it should have been checked at the administrative block, one of the 3-piece buildings.”
“Wait, three?”
“Didn’t you notice?”
We were now out of the building and walking through a cloister.
“This is one of the cloisters that lead to other buildings. And I advise you to stay away from the panels as they are electric,” Asad told me.
I looked up and saw that the cloister was actually a series of solar panels laid in filaments. The ammeters were measuring the flow of current passing through the vertical panels to other parts of the buildings.
“So, this is how you get electricity.”
Asad nodded.
We were close to the door leading to the administrative block. Asad brought out a bunch of keys and picked out three, which he placed side by side into one lock and unlocked the door. I was greeted by a blast of cold air.
“Salaam, colleagues,” he announced.
ZAIN INTERVIEWS ME
“Morning, General,” the three officers in the vicinity chorused. He then turned to me.
“Ms. José, these are junior officers Chowdhury Khan,” he said as he pointed at a dark-haired, tall and dark-skinned man, then to two identical men, “Zain Raj and Aiman Raj.” They were both medium heighted, with wheatish complexion and were dressed identically. Even their hair colour was the same. I would not have been able to differentiate them except that the one the General called Zain had a bullet mark on the right side of his high cheekbones. Also, even though they looked alike, Aiman had a warm glow in his eyes while Zain’s were stone-cold.
“They’re the ones who will be searching your belongings,” the General told me. I handed my bag to Khan while the Rajs used a Garette to check for contrabands. In the end, I had to give up my earrings. Security’s really tight here.
“I’ll leave it here Ma’am. I have to return,” General said.
“Ok.”
After he left, I was now alone with Zain as Aiman had left to the other side of the room and Khan was with him, still checking my bag. I found myself an ergonomic chair.
“So,” Zain started as he pulled a chair opposite me, his black eyes hauntingly studying me. “General told us you’re here for an interview. I would like to know your intentions for this truthfully or…” he raised a brow “we could use sodium pentathol, a truth drug.”
I was starting to feel uneasy as I didn’t like the sound of being forced. So I took a deep breath and started:
“I formerly worked as an MSNBC correspondent, a BBC broadcaster and a CNN journalist. When I found out policies against the truth were being put up, I resigned and started my own show and blog, ‘The Truth Canal’. I needed to know the truth as Western media doesn’t cover the truth except if it benefits them, so I decided to start blogging and I needed to hear and get information from a representative of the source.”
“And…how do you hope to achieve this?”
I was confused.
“Is there a reason for this?” I asked.
“You said you are coming here to interview. The way in which you get them to tell the truth matters, doesn’t it?” he finished with an American accent.
My eyes fell on a cabinet labelled ‘Na Pent.’ Maybe it would work.
“And, of course, don’t think about the truth drug because it is only to be used carefully. It has side effects that, believe me, you don’t wanna know.”
“Ok. I’ve learnt that most people here…”
“People?” he raised a brow.
I corrected myself: “Most prisoners are apathetic. They don’t have firm beliefs. But by using a straight and rigid approach as they have flexible beliefs, they end up speaking the truth unknowingly.”
“Hmm…psychology of an apathetic. Fascinating. Did you study psychology?” he asked.
“No. I studied Mass Communication.”
“Ok. Interview granted.” He stood up.
The light from the screens showing the CCTV footage gave the room a steel blue glaze and made Zain’s scar more prominent.
“Do you have any interviewee in mind?” he looked at me over his left shoulder as he asked.
“No.”
HOPE LIES IN THE FILES
“Well then, have a look at these files.” He opened the drawer below the one marked ‘Na Pent’ and brought out a score of navy blue binders and dropped them on the table beside me. I noticed that they were coded into 3; black, red and amber.
“Mr…”
“Call me Zain,” he replied in his usual American accent.
“Well um, Zain, what’s the colour code?”
“Amber is mild. Red is serious. Black is Grave,” he answered while pulling out more files.
Well ‘Grave’ would make good information as they knew more. So I asked Zain to bring only those under the ‘Grave’ category. I started going through them but I quickly became tired as most of them were not up-to-date.
“How many prisoners are here at Evin?” I asked Zain.
“About 500.”
“And how many are listed under ‘Grave’?”
A hundred and twenty! That would take forever to go through and I had already spent 30 minutes on 10 files. These weren’t also recent.
“Wait! That’s it!” I clicked my thumb and forefinger together.
“That’s what?” Zain asked.
“Do you have the most recent category on ‘Grave’?”
“Uh, yes. About three days ago. Will that do?”
“Yes. How many?”
“Three.”
He opened another cabinet and pulled out a quarter of a dozen files and I collected them. I opened the first which read:
Name: Moore ‘stake’ Anderson
Nationality: Irish
Age: 34 (1991-2025)
I didn’t continue reading as I couldn’t ask the dead questions. So, I picked up the next one and read it.
Name: Tova Sikes
Nationality: Israeli
Age: 26
Town: Tel Aviv
Offence: Responsible for the near-activation of a mine below the apartment of a nuclear scientist (name not stated). Detonation didn’t occur as witnesses contacted the right authorities. Attempted to set a suicide bomb.
Previous offences: Shoplifting, mercenary activities and espionage (claiming patriotism).
Time of present arrest: 12:36pm (local time).
Occupation: Divisional head of nuclear production, IAEA.
Marital status: Married.
Spouse: Oxana sikes.
Children: Nil.
Current health status: In coma. As at failure of detonating suicide bomb, offender seized a pole and hit himself to unconsciousness. Currently in psychiatric infirmary.
I didn’t finish reading as I also couldn’t talk to the comatose. I dropped Sike’s file with disappointment. I looked at the last file. If the owner was not in good health, I would have a stale interview. I opened it and read:
Name: Freilich van Gogh
Nationality: Israeli (also German)
Age: 30
Town: Dimona
Offence: responsible for the detonation of a hand grenade at souk-al-jameel. Claims not to have done it, although witnesses, CCTV, drones and investigations pin him as guilty.
Previous offences: Verbal assault in important personnel
Time of present arrest: 8:23am (Local time)
Occupation: Lt-col. of ‘Eagle Eyes’, a mercenary squad.
Marital status: Widowed
Spouse: Erica Freilich Carnicky (1997-2020)
Cause of death: Corona Virus
Children: Alexandra Freilich -10
Orpheus Freilich – 8
Hades Freilich – 8
Current health status: all health is intact. No medical concerns. Psychologically okay.
Concerns on behaviour: Currently a somnambulist. Found trying to escape but thoughts might have subsided. Sometimes paranoid and aggressive.
I snapped the binder shut with a smile.
(To be continued from next week)