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anyone what he’s done, but he offers up nothing else.”
    “How much more time do we have with him?” I ask.
    “Not much. At any moment Randy could kick him into Abu Ghraib. I’m not even sure we’ll get another shot at him.
    “What do we do?”
    Bobby thinks it over for a moment. “Let’s go pay a visit to Abu Ali’s childhood pal. See if we can’t work them off each other.”
    “Do you think they’d rat each other out? They’re lifelong friends.”
    “Probably not, but what do we have to lose?”

Three
THE JOVIAL IMAM
    A N HOUR LATER, Bobby and I sit down with Zaydan, Abu Ali’s childhood friend. I’m surprised at the difference between the two men. Where Abu Ali is skeletal, Zaydan is rotund. Where Abu Ali is bitter, Zaydan is cheerful. Zaydan exudes no hatred, no poisonous resentment or dislike for Americans. In fact, he doesn’t act as if his life hangs in the balance at all.
    After Bobby introduces me, he asks Zaydan to explain his role in Al Qaida. Zaydan doesn’t hesitate. He freely admits he worked to recruit Sunni fighters through the mosques he preached at in Yusufiyah and southern Baghdad. He joined Al Qaida for the same reasons Abu Ali did. Zarqawi’s organization offered him safety from the roving Shia death squads.
    In the absence of leadership or structure, the Shia unleashed a wave of vengeance against the Sunnis. Theymurdered and plundered their way through the Sunni neighborhoods in Baghdad and Najaf, polarizing the population. Our inability to stop the violence drove thousands into Al Qaida’s ranks. Zaydan is just one of those, though more important than most since he is an imam.
    After Zaydan tells me his story, Bobby goes to work on him. “Zaydan,” he begins, “We’ve been talking for many days now and I’m trying to help you out, but the clock is ticking here. We don’t have much time left before you will be transferred to Abu Ghraib. That’s no threat, it’s just a fact. From here, you’ll be sent there to stand trial before three judges.”
    Zaydan nods dismissively, “I know.”
    “Okay, then. Help us help you. If you just tell us who your boss is, we can go to the judges and work on your behalf.”
    “I can’t tell you that.”
    “Why not?”
    “I can’t.”
    Bobby glances at me. Though we’ve only worked together for a few hours, I can already sense what he’s thinking. Can’t help because you’re loyal to Al Qaida, Zaydan? Or are you afraid of them?
    Bobby tests the waters. “We can protect your family.”
    Zaydan laughs. His bulging belly rolls with the effort. We stare at him, unsure of what sparked this outburst. Finally, he says, “You Americans already protect my family.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “My family lives in a compound in Yusufiyah. It is a new settlement, walled and guarded. There is a checkpoint at the entrance. U.S. Marines guard it.”
    Bobby and I are floored. An elite community in the most actively hostile area outside Anbar Province protects the family of one of Al Qaida’s top recruiters in Baghdad.
    Bobby makes no effort to hide his surprise. “Really?”
    Zaydan laughs and replies, “Sure. Abu Ali’s family is there as well!”
    I ask, “You mean his wife and daughter?”
    Zaydan frowns, “No, his wife, son, and daughter.”
    Interrogations are like poker games. This sort of revelation is obviously significant. We just can’t let our detainee know he’s inadvertently given us something of value. I cover up.
    “I forgot he had a son.”
    “Why do you think I call him Abu Ali?” Zaydan chides us. “Abu means ‘father of’ and his son is named Ali.”
    The interrogation rolls on, with Bobby working the Love of Family approach. He can’t get Zaydan to budge. On the fly, he makes a decision not to use the Prisoner’s Dilemma yet on Zaydan. I’ll have to ask him about that later.
    Two hours later, we’ve gone in circles. We’re no closer to breaking him or finding his motivation. With our troops