After about an hour, Mateyenko comes in to unlock my handcuffs and bring me to a windowless room that resembles a cell. It has a narrow cot with a thin blanket, a metal toilet without a lid, and a small rusted sink.
“Where is this place?” I ask, but the senior agent doesn’t respond. He just steps out and locks the door behind him, leaving me alone.
I wait for a few minutes to make sure he doesn’t return, and then I use the toilet and wash my hands with the rusty water trickling from the faucet in the sink. I also consider drinking some of that water to quench my thirst, but decide against it.
I’d rather not spend my last night puking my guts out.
I walk over to the cot and lie down, staring at the ceiling. I know I won’t be able to fall asleep, so I don’t even try. My mind spins and wh
