Chapter 17 – The Horror at Guantanamo

The year 2005 began unexpectedly for Harry. He had barely spent a month in his quiet mansion in England when he received an official call. The American government, impressed by his work during joint operations with the SAS and MI6, requested his expertise again – this time for a sensitive mission at Guantanamo Bay.

Guantanamo was the most controversial detention center in the world, known for housing terrorist suspects captured during the War on Terror. The US government needed someone with special interrogation and intelligence skills – and Harry, with his impeccable track record, was the natural choice. He accepted the assignment, believing he could help extract vital information in an effective and ethical manner.

When Harry arrived at Guantanamo Bay, the atmosphere was oppressive. Located on a US military base in Cuba, the facility was surrounded by high fences, barbed wire and armed guards patrolling every corner. The bright sunlight and stifling heat added to the sense of claustrophobia and tension.

Harry was greeted by an American military intelligence officer, who quickly led him into the facility. The officer, a middle-aged man with a hard expression, wasted no time on formalities. They entered a briefing room and got straight to the point.

"We are dealing with the world's worst terrorists, Potter," the officer began, his tone serious and direct. "We need answers, and we believe you can get those answers in a more… strategic manner."

Harry nodded, remaining firm and professional, but a sense of unease began to set in. He had an inkling of what was to come, but nothing could prepare him for what he would find.

Over the next few days, Harry was taken inside the detention areas where the prisoners were held. He began conducting interrogations, using his refined tactics of psychological and behavioral manipulation that had proven effective time and time again in the past. His goal was simple: extract crucial information without resorting to violence or torture.

However, as he progressed through the mission, he realized that something was deeply wrong. Between interrogation sessions, Harry began to hear disturbing rumors from the other operators and guards. Snatches of conversation about "enhanced interrogation techniques," "extreme pressure," and "breaking the will" of the prisoners.

Harry, suspicious, decided to investigate further. He knew something was going on beyond his own interrogations, but what he discovered would shake his faith in the joint military operations he had been conducting with the United States.

One night, after a long day of work, Harry followed one of the guards who seemed to be engaging in these practices. He saw him disappear into a confined corridor and decided to follow quietly. Passing through the security doors, Harry came to a separate area of ​​the compound, where he found something that filled him with horror.

In a dimly lit room, prisoners were being subjected to brutal torture. They were handcuffed, exposed to extreme cold, and deprived of sleep. Some were being subjected to waterboarding, while others were held in physical stress positions for hours, their bodies in obvious agony.

Harry stood there, watching in silence as the American agents applied these inhumane techniques, believing they were justified in the name of national security. His stomach turned. This wasn't interrogation, it was torture.

"This… this can't be happening," Harry whispered to himself in disbelief.

He knew that intelligence operations could be harsh, but he had never believed they would descend to this level of cruelty. This wasn't the kind of counter-terrorism he imagined he was helping with. He felt a rising anger, but also a sense of helplessness. Harry knew that if he tried to interfere directly, he would be expelled or, worse, compromised.

The next day, Harry confronted the officer in charge. In a conference room, with the windows closed and the air conditioning freezing, Harry stood before the American officer.

"I know what's going on here," he began, his tone serious. "These prisoners are being tortured. This goes beyond any ethical line. This is not how you get reliable information."

The American officer kept his expression impassive. "Do you think we are dealing with common criminals, Potter? These men are terrorists, responsible for thousands of deaths. We will do whatever it takes to protect our nations."

Harry, feeling the frustration and anger bubbling in his chest, replied, "I fight to protect my country, but not at the cost of our humanity."

And the information you're getting this way is useless. They're telling you what you want to hear to stop the pain."

The officer huffed, visibly irritated. "That's none of your business, Potter. You are here to help, not to judge our methods."

Harry knew there was no more to discuss. The mindset of this operation was deeply rooted in a distorted belief that brutality would lead to victory. He could not change the system alone, but he knew he could not continue to participate in it.

After that conversation, Harry decided that his mission at Guantanamo was over. He could not, in good conscience, continue to be involved in this cycle of torture and despair. He communicated his decision to the British officer who coordinated his activities and packed his things.

Before leaving, Harry visited the detention complex one last time, surveying the prisoners in their cells. Many were broken men, victims of both fanaticism and military vengeance. The expressions on their faces reflected the emptiness of those who had lost everything—even hope.

As Harry boarded the plane that would take him back to England, he knew that the experience had changed him once again. He had seen the horrors of war before, but Guantanamo had revealed a different side to the fight against terrorism—one he never wanted to witness again.

Although he was relieved to be home, he carried with him the weight of what he had seen and the knowledge that, amid the chaos of war, the line between justice and cruelty was dangerously easy to cross.

That evening, upon returning to his mansion, Harry sat on the deck and once again sank into meditation. But this time, his mind was far from at peace.