FILE NO. 229

INTERVIEW WITH CW4 KARA RESNIK, UNITED STATES ARMY

Location: Joint Base Lewis-McChord, Washington State

—How long has it been, Ms. Resnik?

—Since we last met, or since Dr. Franklin died?

—Would not the answer be the same?

—Pretty much. And I’m sure you know the answer better than I do.

—I meant to ask how long it had been since we last met. And I genuinely do not know. I would say six or seven months.

—Nine.

—I see you were promoted. I am happy for you.

—I’m not…I barely get to fly since I made CW4. I spend most of my time planning missions. It’s funny, I never paid much attention to any of it before. I just went to mission briefings and I flew my bird. I never really thought about how long it took someone to work out all the tiny details of my five-hour flight. Well, now I know.

I swear my head will explode if I have to spend another minute staring at a map. They’re all desert maps, too. I spend hours staring at gigantic beige pieces of paper, squinting to figure out if one little square is ten feet higher than the one next to it.

—I take it you did not ask for that promotion.

—God, no! They called me in one day and broke the news. They said I have good leadership skills. How does that make me fit to look at maps and weather reports?

—People often confuse leadership with managerial skills. I agree with their assessment. You certainly have the ability to inspire people. Minutiae, on the other hand, might not be your forte. That being said, even if you are not the most organized person in the world, it would be a shame not to let everyone benefit from your experience and wisdom.

Can I ask how Mr. Couture is doing?

—You tell me. Last time I heard from him, he’d just gotten back to Montreal. That was also nine months ago. He’s either not taking my calls or he’s gone somewhere else. I guess he could be anywhere by now.

—He is still in Montreal. I take it this is not the high point of your relationship.

—I should have known it wouldn’t last.

—Your relationship?

—No, your asking questions you don’t already know the answer to. I thought something bad might have happened to him. It’s nice to know he just doesn’t want to talk to me. What’s he doing now?

—That is a lot of cynicism to fit into just three sentences.

—I don’t know what to tell you. He just left. After her death…It’s all he could think about. It just ripped apart whatever was holding him together.

—I spoke to both of you after the incident. Unless you hid something important from me, it seems clear that neither of you are to blame for what happened.

—We didn’t keep anything from you. But none of it would have happened if we’d listened to Dr. Franklin. Vincent chose not to. It’s his legs that gave up, his hands that pushed those buttons. I know I’m as responsible as he is, maybe more. I was trained to listen to others. But I can’t blame him for thinking he killed her. He did. I killed her too.

—Everyone knew there were risks involved, especially Dr. Franklin.

—It’s one thing to risk your own life. It’s fairly easy to rationalize the deaths of strangers. To shoulder the death of a friend, someone you know, that’s a completely different thing.

—I would venture with some measure of certainty that she would not want either of you to blame yourself for her death.

—I know she wouldn’t. There wasn’t a mean bone in her body. Somehow, it doesn’t make me feel any better about what happened. At least I know what to expect. I lost people that were close to me before. I lost family, I lost people on missions. I know how long I’ll feel like this, I know what I’ll be feeling later. Denial, grief, resentment. We’re predictable little creatures. But I’m worried about Vincent. He doesn’t know what’s coming. I’d like to know how he’s doing.

—I am not worried for his life, if that is what you are asking. He is…You are right. He is devastated by the passing of Dr. Franklin. That much is obvious. However, you can find some comfort in the fact that it is that obvious. He has no problems expressing his feeling of loss, his guilt, his anger over what happened. His emotions are well-defined, and he is coherent in expressing them. In time, he will come back.

—I’m not so sure. What does he do now?

—I am not certain he has a source of income. He was making model ships when I visited.

—Ships? Like…toys?

—Scaled model ships from World War II. I am not an expert, but some seemed quite elaborate.

—…

—Some of them must have close to a thousand pieces. Building them requires a certain set of skills, a lot of patience, and attention to details.

—…

—Yes. You could call them toys.

—And that’s all he does?

—For most of the day, yes. I realize it does not sound extremely encouraging, but it gives him something to focus on. I would rather see him work on a 1/200 scale USS Arizona than lie in bed all day.

—Does he eat? Does he bathe?

—I believe so. Although shaving seems to have made way for other, more important tasks in his daily routine. We keep talking about Mr. Couture but it is you I came to see. How do you feel?

—I feel…numb.

—What do you mean?

—After something this intense, everything else just…Things that would have had you up in arms before now seem so utterly trivial. Nothing really matters. You start to ignore little things, because they’re little things. You compromise. You rationalize. Soon you look at yourself in the mirror and you don’t recognize the person staring back at you.

But, you know. I’m alive. I’m OK. I wake up every day, and I get out of bed thinking today might be just a bit better than yesterday. Most of the time it is. Show must go on, as they say.

—Do you have any vacation time coming?

—I don’t think a vacation is really what I need right now.

—I was not making conversation. I am inquiring as to whether or not you could take a short leave of absence, not about your predispositions.

—I don’t know. Wasn’t I just on extended leave for about two years? I never really thought about asking for more since I came back.

—Would it surprise you to know that you have accrued 22.5 days of leave since your reassignment at Fort Carson?

—I forgot who I was talking to. I suppose in a minute you’ll tell me that I’ve already put in for some leave.

—You have. But I want you to feel perfectly comfortable, should you wish to reconsider.

—I’m free to reconsider taking the leave of absence I never asked for…Typical…I should have known you didn’t come here just to see how I was doing.

—I did. I came here specifically to see how you were doing, and to ask for your help if you appeared capable.

—What is it you want me to do?

—I want you to locate someone for me.

—Can’t you get any of your Special Forces friends to do it?

—The military are not involved in this operation. In fact, it is critical that no one working for the US government be involved in any way.

—Except for me…

—Except for you.

—So, where am I taking this much-needed vacation?

—Sarajevo.

—Really? This better be good.

—You will absolutely love Sarajevo. It is one of my favorite places in the world. By the time you leave, you will wish you did not have to.

—And what am I doing in lovely Bosnia?

—You should try and visit Mostar if time permits. But, aside from ancient cities and the usual tourist attractions, you are attending the Sarajevo Film Festival.

—Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

—You will catch the premiere of Oprosti mi, Mina. It is a very small film by a young Serb cineaste named Goran Lukic´. He is someone I know and trust. He will be your guide in Bosnia.

—What does Oprosti Mina mean?

—Oprosti mi, Mina. Mina is a name. Oprosti mi means “forgive me.”

—Sounds like a nice guy…

—Goran is actually one of the kindest, most selfless people I have ever met.

—Coming from you, I’m not really sure what that means. When will he be expecting me?

—He will not be expecting anyone. He will, however, host a small party at Zlatna Ribica after the premiere. You will make an appearance and congratulate him on his movie. When no one else is around, you will remind him that he never paid for the plumber in Belgrade.

—What’s that? Some sort of code?

—No, not a code. More like a subtle metaphor.

—Why don’t you just contact him yourself? You seem to like him. He might enjoy talking to you again.

—I assure you he would not.

—How do you know him?

—I assisted in his interrogation during the war.

—You mean you helped torture him.

—It is, as most things are, a matter of personal and historical perspective. In CIA parlance, we were given an “alternative set of procedures.” Suffice it to say that, however unpleasant the experience might have been, he is indebted to me.

You will procure some inconspicuous clothing and ask him to take you to Srebrenica. It is a small mountain town at the east end of Bosnia.

—Why does that ring a bell?

—Thousands of Bosnian Muslims were rounded up and slaughtered there in the mid-nineties. Once you reach Srebrenica, you will try and find a woman called Fata.

—Fata who?

—I do not know her last name. Nor do I know where she lives. I can tell you that she had three sons and one daughter. Her oldest son worked in the salt mines of Srebrenica with her husband. They might have come into town for work every day from one of the surrounding villages.

—Really? That’s all you have? Do you know which village she might have come from?

—I do not have that information. Unfortunately, the Serbs also destroyed hundreds of villages during the war. Hers may no longer exist. She would be in her early fifties by now. I know she was well liked by everyone, and that she might have served as some sort of informal nurse.

—How will I know I found the right person? Unless I’m mistaken, Fata’s short for Fatima. I’m gonna take a wild guess and say that’s probably not the most unique name for a Muslim woman. Sounds a lot like: “Hey! Go find John in New York.”

—You will know when you find her. Talk about the war. She will have stories to tell.

—How long do I have?

—You requested two weeks of vacation.

—When?

—The premiere is on the fifth. You leave Saturday.

—And let’s assume I find this Fata of yours. What do I need her to do?

—Nothing. She needs to do nothing. I only need to know where to find her. I may need her in the future.

—For what?

—Nothing you should concern yourself with. Hopefully, it will never come to that, and you will have a worthwhile experience visiting the remote corners of Bosnia. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to be on a plane in one hour.

—Sir?

—What is it?

—Thank you.