But instead of conveying a message as I ve imagined, he just stands next to me. The gesticulating arms at the door eventually persuade me to go and see what this is all about. I find myself bustled into a side-room. He gets flustered. They insist on hugging us as we walk.
Bored conscripts leer at the door.
The four others with us sit crying and moaning, shaken by their rough interrogation. They have been gathered off the streets for no reason too, they say. If they re lucky, they might have caught some drug dealers, maybe a terrorist. Tonight maybe even an Israeli spy. We re called out, handcuffed to each other, made to kneel down, then hauled off and shoved into the back of a police van.