The woman lifted her sunglasses over her hair as soon as they stopped in front of the van, revealing her almond-shaped blue eyes. The man waited until the team leader rolled down his window. At that time, he folded and placed his shades in his inside jacket pocket, before his small brown eyes gave the man a piercing glance.
“My name’s Magnus Torbjorn. I’m a Special Agent with the Politiets Efterretningstjeneste. This is my colleague, Agent Valgerda Hassing.”
Valgerda flashed her badge to the escort team. Magnus did not bother, since both the team leader and the driver were busy examining hers. Instead, he nodded at the two officers in the back, who were nervously staring at him. Then, he found Sargon’s face and nailed him with an intimidating smirk.
“I’m Inspector Bruin Roby, in charge of taking a detainee back to his cell. Your intervention has threatened the safety of my men and of the detainee.” Convinced of its authenticity, Bruin handed Valgerda her badge.
“Inspector, I believe we’re starting with a wrong impression,” Valgerda’s voice rang out soft and smooth. “We don’t intend, in any way, to interfere with your assignment.”
“Well, your actions indicate a strong interest in my detainee.” Bruin toned down the roughness in his voice.
“True. We need to have a chat with Mr. Beyda.”
Sargon’s face froze, in apparent recognition of his last name. Magnus was still staring at him, like a starving cat drooling underneath the canary’s cage.
“Of course.” Bruin nodded. “You can talk to him upon our arrival at Horsens Pen. And, if I may add, with Mr. Beyda’s consent and in the presence of his defense counselor.”
Bruin’s reply distracted Magnus from his prey. His look told Sargon he was not off the hook, but at least he could breathe easier for a few moments.
“Inspector Roby.” Magnus held Bruin’s black eyes long enough to have his full attention. Then, he dropped his gaze to the officer’s badge on the inspector’s chest. “Since you seem to be an expert in our rules of engagement, I’m sure you’re familiar with the structure of our national security. Anything that falls under the jurisdiction of the Service, like terrorism in this case, takes precedence over daily routines of the local police.”
“You don’t have to remind me of my job, Special Agent.” Bruin frowned and his voice resumed its earlier gruffness. “And of our work relationship with the Service. May I see a court order that allows you to interrogate my detainee?”
Magnus smiled politely and tapped his jacket’s outside pockets, as if to remind himself where he had placed the court warrant. Finding what he was searching for, he produced a BlackBerry and handed it to Bruin, who stared bemused at the palm-size device. They’ve started to hand out court orders electronically?
“The judge’s number is on speed dial.” Magnus encouraged Bruin to pick up the phone.
Valgerda contributed a big smile to contribute to Bruin’s persuasion. “All you’ve got to do is dial 7.”
Bruin hesitated. Are they bluffing or has Judge Handel really authorized this interrogation, illegal as it is? Bruin turned to the driver, but he just shrugged.
“The judge has already given us the go ahead,” Valgerda said, “but if you must check…”
Bruin looked at the BlackBerry again and sighed. I don’t think they’re bluffing. “Fine,” he conceded with a grunt, “but only five minutes. And we’re supervising the interrogation.” Setting those terms translated into a small victory for Bruin. He did not want to appear beaten in front of his men.
Bruin stepped outside the van, followed by the driver. The two officers opened the doors and brought Sargon out. Bruin’s head gesture ordered Sargon to walk in front of them. They stopped about thirty feet away from a white pickup, the only other car in the parking lot.
“Not here.” Magnus shook his head and looked across Gammel Århusvej, the street separating the parking lot from park land alongside Lake Søndersø. “We’ll talk by the water. More privacy.”
Bruin shrugged and took Sargon by his arm, leading him to the curb. Magnus stepped closer and coughed, in order to attract Bruin’s attention rather than to clear his throat. “Inspector, I’ll take over from here. You’ll supervise from a distance.”
Bruin opened his mouth to protest against such an idea. He wanted to listen to the secret agents grilling of Sargon, not babysitting while they played in the park. But before he could utter a single word, Bruin realized their conversation had to remain secret. Magnus and Valgerda would use the judge or some other jurisdiction trick to force him into obedience.
“We’ll bring him back in five,” Valgerda said, following Magnus, who already was shoving Sargon ahead of him.
They cut through the green-yellowish lawns, where tiny tufts of grass were struggling for revival after the long winter. Rows of apple, lime, pear, and chestnut trees surrounded the low, grassy shore, where small waves broke gently with quiet splashes. A little farther, a solitary boat was lazily crossing the ice-cold waters.
“Mr. Beyda, take a seat,” Magnus said in English, a language Sargon spoke with difficulty, while pointing at the bench by a narrow pathway. Valgerda stood to their left, observing the parking lot where Bruin paced impatiently by the police van. Magnus sat next to Sargon, leaning close to his ear. Bruin could not see any facial expression or body gestures, neither of the interrogator, nor of the detainee.
“How are things going, Sargon?” Magnus asked with genuine interest.
“Good,” Sargon said, his face giving a hint he was lying. “You worried for me?”
“No, we’re worried about your future.”
Sargon snorted and cleaned a few imaginary specs of dust from his gray suit. “Where’s my lawyer?” he asked after a brief pause.
“You don’t need one.”
“You recording my words?”
“No. Our business with you is secret. Top secret. No records. No witnesses.” Magnus gestured with his head toward the parking lot.
Sargon nodded his understanding.
“You won’t say a word to your lawyer or your family about our meeting. But we want you to talk to your friends about it.”
Sargon frowned and snorted at the same time. “What friends?” he asked gruffly.
“Yildiz, your brother. Saleh, your best friend. Fatimah, the landlady.” Magnus was counting their names using his right hand fingers. “Ibrahim, the explosive expert. Bill, the computer techie.”
Sargon kept his long face, showing indifference, annoyance, and contempt. Still, Valgerda noticed a tiny crack in his defensive façade. Sargon’s left eye twitched slightly before he could control it, and his right hand turned into a fist, even if for a brief moment. A seasoned psychologist, Valgerda was trained to spot, read, and interpret the slightest clues of body language. She decided to exploit her advantage and placed a hand on Magnus’s shoulder.
“I know nothing and say nothing to you.” Sargon raised his shoulders and feigned disinterest.
“That won’t be necessary,” Valgerda said after Magnus gestured with his eyes that it was her turn. “We just want you to listen, listen very carefully.”
“Eh, OK.”
“We know about the Århus cell. We have detailed information about your associates and your plans. During the trial, in case you’re wondering, it wasn’t necessary for us to reveal this information. First, because your friends would hear about it and go underground.”