ONE "AN ATMOSPHERE OF DEPENDENCY AND TRUST" I In the Introduction, we saw for the first time -- and apparently in spite of her best efforts -- the methods of Sergeant Lacey, who, according to an FBI agent on the scene, grabbed a prisoner's genitals in the course of an interrogation. We also learned about "detainee #63," who "had been subjected to intense isolation for over three months," after which time he was seen "evidencing behavior consistent with extreme psychological trauma (talking to non-existent people, reporting hearing voices, crouching in a corner of the cell covered with a sheet for hours on end)." As we will see, Sergeant Lacey's conduct is by no means an aberration. A Pentagon investigation confirmed "numerous instances" in which female interrogators, using dye, pretended to flick or spread menstrual blood on prisoners. The technique was intended to interfere with the prisoners' prayer; a Pentagon official familiar with the investigation said, "If a woman touches him prior to prayer, then he's dirty and can't pray." Nor is this confined to Guantanamo. Since 9/11, the United States has opened approximately six hundred investigations into prisoner abuse. As of February 2006, ninety-eight prisoners had died in U.S. custody, and thirty-four of these deaths are being investigated by the military as suspected or confirmed homicides. These events naturally lead us to ask why the Administration created Camp Delta and the other prisons in the war on terror. One answer is that the Administration needed a place to hold captured prisoners, just as in any war. But these are not like the prisons we built for captives in World War II, or Korea, or Vietnam. To understand these prisons, we must return -- however painful it may be -- to that Tuesday morning, September 11, 2001. I was living in Minneapolis at the time and was driving to my office when I heard the news on the radio that the first World Trade Center tower had been hit by a plane. No one seemed to understand what had taken place, and there was some thought it may have been an accident. Inside, my colleagues and I watched the scene unfold on television. My wife was in Mexico City on business at the time and I reached her in her hotel. The telephone was our only connection, but we clung to it like a lifeline as the second plane crashed into the south tower. Soon we learned about the plane at the Pentagon, and not long after about the plane downed in Pennsylvania. This was not an accident. For a time, all was chaos. Speculation flew and confusion reigned. There was a rumor that a plane was unaccounted for, somewhere near Seattle. Before long, all planes were grounded, leaving my wife stranded in Mexico. Like so many others, and though thousands of miles apart, we watched together on television as the stricken towers fell. We spent anxious hours trying to reach our friends in New York, many of whom lived and worked in the shadow of what came to be known as Ground Zero. But our efforts were in vain; lines were down and circuits were jammed. For the next several days, I shook my head in silent disbelief and could not help but cry at the tragic stories of family members wandering the streets of New York, checking hospitals and morgues, looking for the loved ones they had so casually kissed goodbye that Tuesday morning. We cannot escape these memories, nor should we try. And we cannot fairly evaluate what took place in the days, months, and even years that followed unless we are willing to keep these memories in mind. The Bush Administration has not provided a complete explanation for its detention policy. (Part of the motivation for this book is that no one else has either.) But that explanation emerges clearly enough if we examine things from the Administration's perspective, beginning with 9/11. On that day, al-Qaeda carried out the most destructive foreign attack on U.S. soil in this country's history.