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The next morning, exhausted from shocks, bruises and lack of sleep, I was hooded and hauled off again. Once more I recited the 23rd Psalm and again arrived before the interrogators inwardly at peace. I was made to stand, and electrodes were again placed on my breast and ear. Questions moved back to my arrival in Brazil in 1964 and all of my career as a missionary of the United Methodist Church, then focused mainly on my journalistic activities for TIME and the A.P. Between sessions I was again hung on the cell door. Except for about an hour when I was strapped to the armchair, I was on my feet from Monday morning until sometime Tuesday evening.
That night the turnkey opened the peephole and offered me half a cup of water and a piece of bread—my first food or water since breakfast on Monday. Then back to more interrogation, which continued for a couple of hours. After that, I was dumped on the floor of my cell. I was still in my shorts, with no blanket, bed or pillows, just the bare concrete. I fell into an exhausted sleep, and was allowed to rest through the night.
Wednesday morning I was hung up on the wall of the torture room by handcuffs, with my arms high over my head. More questions about Archbishop Câmara, TIME and Luis were accompanied by beatings on the back and kidneys. After about 15 minutes, I was taken down, turned around and hung up again, this time with my back to the wall, exposing my belly to their blows. Later, they turned me to the wall again, demanding to know the name of Luis' fiancee, so they could arrest her. I said I didn't know her, though I did. They used a new (to me) shock device. It was some kind of wheel with spikes on it, which they rolled across my back, scratching me. As they pushed down on it, it also gave me a severe electric shock.
At one point during this session, I was startled by a cold piece of metal being placed on my chest. I discovered that it was a stethoscope: the prison doctor was just checking my heart to see how I was bearing up.
To my surprise and despite my fears, I was bearing up rather well. I had not betrayed any confidences though I had none that could possibly have been of interest to the government, or made any false admissions.
I spent Wednesday night shackled to the door again, but on Thursday the questioning was accompanied by only a little torture. And then came help. U.S. Consul Richard Brown in Recife was finally given permission to see me. My friends had alerted him to my disappearance. It took him three days to get Brazilian authorities to honor an international agreement granting foreigners the right to see diplomatic representatives of their country. On Friday Ambassador John H. Crimmins officially protested my treatment to the Brazilian Foreign Office in Brasilia. After five more days, Brown managed to get Colonel Meziat to provide a mattress for me; in seven days I was given decent food and a New Testament. After 17 days of confinement, during which I lost 15 pounds, President Geisel signed an expulsion order. Without being given a chance to get any money from my bank account or arrange my personal affairs, I was escorted by the federal police to Rio, told that I would go to prison for from one to four years if I ever returned to Brazil (though no official charges were ever made), and placed on board a flight to New York—and freedom.