Monster (14 page)

“Are you sure you want to have a record of this? It could get pretty rough.”

“I realize that. It’s as much for our protection as it is to make sure we don’t miss something.”

“Okay, it’s your call.”

Five minutes after McDaniels and Reskova were seated at the table, the meeting room door opened. Cantrell led two uniformed guards with M16’s into the room. Between the guards walked the manacled Syrian. His face was swollen and a tightly taped bandage covered his nose. McDaniels walked over to the group.

“We’ll take it from here, guys. Mr. Cantrell will take you back to the entrance. We’ll bring the prisoner out when we’re done. Go ahead and take his manacles off.”

“Do you think it wise to do that, Sir?” The older looking Sergeant asked hesitantly.

“It’ll be fine, Sergeant. Leave the manacles and key with me.”

The Sergeant smiled. “Yes, Sir. I heard you gave our boy here his facial, Colonel. There’s only one way out of here as I understand it, so if I see him coming out by himself, he better have his hands behind his head.”

“That’s the ticket. If he makes it out there, he’ll be a hell of a lot badder than I think he is.”

Both soldiers laughed as they freed the enraged Syrian from his bindings. After Cantrell led the soldiers out toward the entrance again, McDaniels gestured for the Syrian to sit down opposite Reskova.

“Sit down in that chair. Keep your hands clasped in front of you on the table,” McDaniels directed.

The Syrian, who had been rubbing his wrists, instantly launched into an expert looking martial arts attack on McDaniels. Reskova yanked her 9mm out instantly. She kept silent while watching McDaniels counter every thrust and movement. He gave the Syrian a light slap on the nose each time the Syrian initiated an attack. Soon, the Syrian was circling McDaniels cautiously with fear replacing the enraged eagerness he had displayed at first.

“If you do not sit down quietly,” McDaniels said finally in Arabic, “I will make you scream in pain.”

Rage took over for good sense on the Syrian’s face. He launched into a deadly thrust with his edged hand towards McDaniels’ throat after faking a roundhouse kick to McDaniels’ head. McDaniels slapped the kick away with disdain before catching the Syrian’s hand thrust in one giant fist. Reskova turned away at the crackle of finger and hand bones snapping. The Syrian screamed. McDaniels released him to the concrete floor. While his adversary cupped his mangled hand and sobbed in pain, McDaniels lifted him casually up by the orange jumpsuit into a chair across from Reskova. The Syrian continued rocking back and forth in his seat. McDaniels smiled at Reskova and gestured for her to begin. Reskova holstered her handgun.

“I have some questions to ask you,” Reskova began.

“I…I am injured. I… must be attended to,” the Syrian gasped out haltingly as he cradled his hand.

“Answer our questions and we’ll see to your hand. Now…”

“I am tortured and you think to withhold treatment?” The Syrian shouted in pain filled anger, rising up from his chair.

McDaniels cut him off with a single wave of his finger in front of the Syrian’s face. “Sit down, dog. Do not make me show you what torture really means.”

Outrage and fear battled across the Syrian’s features as he continued to cradle his broken hand. Finally, he slumped down once again.

“Ask, but I will not tell you or your bitch anything.” The Syrian spat for emphasis.

McDaniels smiled as he saw anger in Reskova’s face for the first time.

“What is your name?” Reskova asked after a short pause. “You have Ahmed Al-Ashari on your passport. Is that your real name?”

The Syrian nodded his assent.

“Tell us about the flight.”

“We were traveling to play soccer. My… hand… it… this is torture.”

“So what do all you Syrian soccer players do with drop down wooden knives?” McDaniels asked. “Do you all play with each other in the locker room or something?”

Al-Ashri looked up at McDaniels with pure hatred but stayed silent.

The door opened and Rasheed marched into the room purposefully. He walked over where Al-Ashri could see him. He held out his hand stiffly to McDaniels who shook it. Reskova marveled at the complete change Rasheed had worked on his demeanor. Gone was the easy going Rasheed. Only contemptuous arrogance remained as he looked at Al-Ashri.

“Good day, Agent McDaniels. Is this the one you wished me to interrogate?”

“He’s the one, Major,” McDaniels confirmed. “This is Special Agent Reskova from the FBI.”

Rasheed shook hands formally with Reskova before returning his attention to the prisoner who looked at Rasheed with uneasiness.

McDaniels gestured at Rasheed. “Let me present Major Kumar Rasheed, formerly of the Iraqi secret police. The Major, since changing sides after Saddam fell, has been very helpful in our information gathering.”

“This… this is… unacceptable. I am under the protection of the United States. What of the Geneva Conventions? I…”

“Shut up, little lamb. Stop this bleating,” Rasheed cut him off, leaning down only inches from his face. “You are not an American. You were not in the uniform of any country. You were in the process of committing an act of terrorism against innocent civilians in a time of war. You have no rights!”

Rasheed stood up and faced McDaniels again. “May I have this man?”

“I don’t know, Major. Let me check. How about it Ahmed? Want to talk with me and my boss here or go with the Major for a little chat?”

Al-Ashri gestured in supplication to Reskova. “You are in charge. Surely, your government does not condone this travesty.”

Reskova shrugged with a rueful smile on her face and gestured at McDaniels. “Don’t look at me, I’m just his bitch. Do you wish to cooperate or not?”

Al-Ashri turned away still gripping his broken hand.

“Major, why don’t you take Ahmed next door. Show him what you have in mind for your questioning phase so we’re all on the same page.”

“Of course, Agent McDaniels.” Rasheed took Al-Ashri’s broken hand by the wrist, causing the Syrian to scream.

Al-Ashri, gasping breathlessly, jumped to his feet next to Rasheed.

“Listen carefully, little lamb,” Rasheed said in Arabic, “come along quietly or I will dance on your poor hand. Do you understand?”

“Yes… Yes… I…I… understand,” Al-Ashri murmured, grimacing at his injured hand.

McDaniels followed the pair out, motioning for Reskova to stay where she was. Al-Ashri began squirming as soon as McDaniels reached around where Rasheed held Al-Ashri by his wrist and opened the door leading to the penned pigs. Inside the room, Rasheed gestured at the table where the cutting implements were displayed, gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

“Have you ever seen a man fed to hungry pigs, little lamb?” Rasheed asked Al-Ashri, who cried out as Rasheed tightened his grip on the Syrian’s wrist. “First, I will hamstring you so you can do no more than flop around. Then, I will slice you at your groin, belly, and buttocks, before I throw you into the pen.”

Al-Ashri cringed, trying to back away from the pen, looking from the pigs to Rasheed. “If…if you kill me, I can tell you nothing.”

“Why should I care. You are merely the example I will show the rest of your group. We will let the pigs eat a bit before we pluck your dead body away from them. Your comrades will still recognize your face, if not your body. I believe they will talk.”

Rasheed peered into Al-Ashri’s face, smiling almost gleefully. “I get paid for information. It matters not what vehicle I use to obtain it.”

“No…no…no… you… you… cannot…” Al-Ashri whimpered over the squealing of the pigs.

“Yes, yes, yes, I can and I will,” Rasheed mocked him. “Many of my countrymen were killed because of you Al Queda dogs. I would feed you all to the pigs.”

Rasheed released Al-Ashri. “Strip, little lamb, or I will strip you myself and I will do it with my knives.”

Al-Ashri fell to his knees, head down, and his hands up in supplication. “I will tell you everything… please… do not do this.”

“He will not tell the truth, Agent McDaniels,” Rasheed said nonchalantly to McDaniels. “Let me feed him to the pigs. The next ones will surely tell the truth.”

“No…no… I will be truthful… as Allah is my witness!”

“It’s your call, Major,” McDaniels replied.

Al-Ashri continued to beg for his life while Rasheed pretended to be considering it. “We do know much of what he intended. Very well, take him and intersperse much of what you know to be true. If he balks, or tells an untruth, I will simply throw him into the pen.”

McDaniels helped the sobbing Al-Ashri up.

* * *

When Reskova saw Al-Ashri shuffle into the room with his head down, she looked up with a smile at Rasheed. Rasheed nodded his head at her as he guided the dejected Al-Ashri to the chair opposite Reskova. Over the next two hours, Reskova carefully took the Syrian through his history from the time he became an Al Queda operative.

She recorded everything, stopping each time the Syrian hesitated or paused. Reskova would at that time take Al-Ashri back over the ground they had just covered at least three times until she was satisfied with his answers. McDaniels clarified the more language intensive questions in Arabic. The Syrian explained reluctantly his cell only received specific directions and expenses for each mission, large or small.

Reskova saw McDaniels glance uneasily at Rasheed when Al-Ashri mentioned a future mission involving a school in Washington D.C. The Syrian told them the airliner incident had been a dry run to attract attention back to airline safety and misdirect resources. Al-Ashri explained his man, McDaniels had killed, was never to have taken his belligerence to the point of altercation.

“Did you know there were Air Marshal’s on board?” Reskova asked.

“We could not be sure. Our objective was to attract attention and gather information. It was the first test in bringing aboard the wooden knives.”

“But you were not to cause an incident?” Reskova asked with skepticism. “Your man seemed hell bent on launching a takeover. It seemed to us you had signaled your approval.”

Al-Ashri started to speak, but then shook his head no. Reskova glanced at Rasheed, who bent down next to Al-Ashri.

“Little lamb,” Rasheed whispered in Arabic next to Al-Ashri’s right ear, causing the Syrian to cringe away, startled at Rasheed’s nearness. “I am hearing the little pigs calling for your blood next door.”

Al-Ashri rocked in his chair, pain and fear etched into his features. “We…we were to seize the plane if an opportunity arose,” the Syrian blurted out finally.

“Then you did signal your man?” Reskova pressed, to confirm on tape what McDaniels had claimed.

When Al-Ashri nodded, Rasheed nudged him.

“Speak up,” Rasheed ordered.

“Yes,” Al-Ashri said fearfully. “I signaled for the operation to begin.”

 “What would your objective have been?” Reskova asked. “The cockpit was sealed. What could you have done other than take control of the passenger area?”

“In the second phase… we would have killed passengers to see if the pilot would open the cockpit door.”

“And if they didn’t open the cockpit?”

“We would have blown the hatch and thrown passengers out, one by one, after making them plead for their lives to the pilot.”

“The Air Marshals would have stopped you.”

“We were well trained. We… we knew your mindset on hostages. There were many of us. We would have grabbed many hostages.”

“Some training,” Reskova muttered, anger getting the best of her. “Cold Mountain here ate your boys’ lunch. Hell, the stewardess in coach was a match for your men. I…”

“Boss,” McDaniels interrupted gently, “better get on with the questions.”

Reskova paused, with a visible struggle to control her anger.

“Okay. What about this school operation you mentioned? Was your incident supposed to trigger it?”

“I only know it would happen soon, whether we were successful or not,” Al-Ashri replied dejectedly. “Our failure may even speed up the school mission. We are in need of a victory to bring in money and new recruits to the cause.”

“Massacring children is now a victory?” Rasheed suddenly screamed in Al-Ashri’s ear, yanking the Syrian’s head back by the hair. “Tell all you know quickly. I tire of you, oh brave little Terrorist.”

“That is all,” Al-Ashri pleaded. “I swear to Allah… that… that… is all I know. Please… I…I… have told you the truth.”

Rasheed looked at McDaniels. McDaniels shook his head in the negative and Rasheed released the Syrian with disgust.

“We should feed this brave child killer to the pigs anyway.”

“If we don’t get to work on this school deal, we’ll be too late to stop it, Major,” McDaniels replied. “We’ll come see our homeboy later if he left anything out.”

“I agree,” Reskova added. “Let’s turn Al-Ashri and the rest over to Homeland Security. They’ll need to hold them incommunicado from each other as well as keep them separated from the outside world. Homeland Security can finish the interrogations using what this shit-head has given us. I’ll call Tom and Jen. They’ll need to meet us in Washington.”