Page 87 of Whisper
“The word on the street is that Zahawi is the number three man in al-Qaeda. He needs to give up the goods on Bin Laden. Where is he hiding? What plans have they set in motion?What’s the next play?”
“He’s given up all their current plans. He’s given up what he knows about the leadership. He doesn’t know where Bin Laden is, though. He says no one does. Bin Laden’s in hiding. From everyone.”
“That’sbullshit.Someoneknows. The number three in al-Qaedahasto know. They have an organization to run.”
“George, I’m telling you. He doesn’t. I think we’ve tapped him dry for actionable intel. Now we need to focus on operations. Understanding what’s what in al-Qaeda. Who’s who, and what their history has been. Who believes what, who is married to whose sister? Where are the loyalties, where are the weak spots? What can we exploit? We need a picture of their organization from the inside. He won’t tell us that while he’s sleep deprived.”
“What are you saying?”
“This quack and his crazy attempts to break Zahawi are only doing harm. Zahawi has given us what he knows.”
“Kris… Are you willing to put the lives of everyone in the US at risk for that statement? Are you positive,dead positive, that he’s said everything?” George sighed. His breath crackled over the scratchy cell connection. “Are you willing to risk another nine-eleven?”
Fire bloomed behind his eyelids, concrete dust and ash falling from the sky. Tumbling Towers, blocks falling down. The Pentagon, one side gone, and a tower of black smoke rising over DC.
He stopped, tipped his head back. Stared at the sky. It was gray, rolling with monsoon clouds that threatened torrents of rain, storms that would shake their world to the foundations.
“There’s a new directive that’s come from the White House. Straight from the lips of the vice president to Director Thatcher. ‘If there’s a one percent chance that something is possible, we act like it’s a certainty.’ There’s no room for error anymore. If it’s possible that Zahawi is holding back…” George trailed off.
“What they’re doing, George… It isn’t right. They’re on a dangerous path. How far will they go?”
George sighed again, long and low. “What else can we do? How can we know forsure?Reallyknow?”
He watched David run, watched his shoulders heave, his chest rise and fall, as the skies split open again and the rain started to pour.
Another jet landed on the rain-soaked runway. The tires sprayed an arc of water, sluicing over the wings of the jet. Rain pounded the soaked compound in a never-ending staccato drumbeat. It sounded like the rock music Dennis blared into Zahawi’s cell. Like Zahawi, they couldn’t turn it off.
Kris waited under the overhang. David wasn’t with him. They’d been by each other’s side for eight months straight, day in and day out, through combat zones and undercover operations, from Afghanistan to Pakistan to Thailand. But David had slipped away over the past week, disappearing from his side like the humid mist of the jungle bleeding away. Kris ached for him, felt his absence like a physical hole he might fall into.
Two familiar men came off the jet, running through the rain to meet Kris.
“George sent us. Said you might need some help.” Ryan shook his head. Water droplets went flying. His duffel was soaked, just from the run.
Dan, beside Ryan, smiled at Kris. His sunglasses had fogged from the humidity. He pushed them up, into his wavy black hair. Rain dripped from his jaw, highlighting the angles, the sharp square of his bones. Kris had never seen Dan out of a sport coat. His polo clung to his surprisingly broad shoulders. Raindrops traced down muscled forearms, raced over his smooth skin. He was a handsome man; Kris had never noticed.
“The prisoners are running the asylum.” Kris guided them through the compound. “Dennis, a psychologist who has never worked with Islamic radicals, or even interrogated anyone before, is in charge. He’s trying to break Zahawi.”
“What’s the problem?” Ryan, as usual, was gruff. “We’re not feeding this detainee milk and cookies.”
“No, but my interrogation was going just fine. I got mountains of intel through rapport building. This is bullshit.”
“We’re all on the same team here,” Dan jumped in as Ryan opened his mouth, a scowl on his face. “We all want the same outcome. Good intelligence. The homeland protected. Let’s figure out how we can all get that.”
Ryan’s mouth snapped shut. He glowered, but didn’t argue.
Dan smiled at Kris behind Ryan’s back.
Two giant security guards, SAD officers who hung out with Paul, stopped them outside the interrogation bunker. “You aren’t allowed in.”
“Excuse me?” Kris, though not actively involved in questioning Zahawi any longer, still was on the command team of the detention site. “What the fuck did you say?”
“Paul’s orders. You’re not allowed in today.”
Ice wrapped around Kris’s spine, a ribbon that twirled down his bones and squeezed. What were Dennis and Paul doing? What didn’t they want anyone to see? “Get out of my way,” Kris growled.
“Sir—”
“Sir! That’s right! Because I am fucking in charge of Zahawi, no matter what the fuck Dennis or Paul told you! Who are you to keep me out? Get the fuck out of my way!”
