First of all, skipy, the hypothetical (and possibly, someday, real) situation you present is old stuff, and so is the answer to it, which goes as follows :

I am a terrorist in on a plot to plant multiple bombs around the city. And I get caught.

Okay, now I'm highly dedicated to my cause. And I'm not stupid. I figure that I'm dead meat anyway. Hell, when I got into this in the first place, I figured I might be strapping explosives around my waist, walking into a crowded restaurant somewhere, and blowing myself up. After all, if I die in the cause, I will be transported immediately to Paradise where there are seventy-two beautiful, juicy young virgins waiting eagerly for me, to ply me with milk and honey, and pleasure me for all eternity.

I go through the sham of allowing my interrogators to begin to torture me, waterboarding or whatever. But having thought all these possibilties out well ahead of time, for what I plan to do, I have to create an illusion. I hold on. I resist. I resist as long as I can stand it. When I really can't take it any more, I "crack." "Please," I beg. "Please! Don't hurt me anymore! I'll tell you anything you want to know!" And then I spill my guts. Anything to keep them from torturing me any more.

But I lie through my pearly whites. I send all of my captors' available resources off on wild goose chases, making sure to keep them busy until all the bombs go off. And resigned to my fate—in fact, looking forward to it—I sit in my cell, and when I heard the rumble of exploding bombs off in the distance, I lean back and laugh like a maniac.

Don Firth