The slap across my jaw from behind me made my ears sting red with anger and embarrassment. I was being punished for daring to glance around the room where I was being questioned – accused of being a spy for Britain. A few days earlier I had been brought, blindfolded, to the heart of Evin Prison, to begin what my captors believed would be the simple process of establishing my guilt. I was told to sit down, and keep facing the bare wall in front of me, before my blindfold was removed….Y ou think you’re treated so badly,” he snapped at me, “but what is our treatment in London or Heathrow? Every time in that airport it is four or five hours interrogation for us.”… Then, late on July 5, the door of my cell clicked open. Three jailers stood there. “It’s over,” one of them said. … I wondered if I would ever dare to return to Tehran. That was what my interrogators had asked me, too – but my ambivalent answer had disappointed them…”You shouldn’t be so negative about your experience,” the senior interrogator said
