A moment of truth. Yes, we are all in this together.
Then something dark intruded. What?
Amid the bright chatter, the ship drifted across the horizon of his conscious again.
Oh, yeah. The Syrena.
Figuring that this was as good a time as any to tie up the last loose end, he found Bahrami discussing the qualities of horse breeds with Waleed and pulled him aside.
“You think you can get me in to see the captured kidnappers?”
“Do you know anything about horses, Mr. Crocker?” the colonel asked back.
“Beautiful animals. But I need to talk to the kidnappers.”
“You want to do this now?”
“That’s correct.”
“But why?”
“I continue to be concerned about the ship.”
The colonel’s eye glistened as he lifted a thick eyebrow. “You’re an interesting fellow, Mr. Crocker. Are you always this focused and driven?”
“Most of the time, yes.”
“And you’re convinced that the ship is still relevant?”
“Haven’t my instincts been accurate so far?”
The colonel’s laughter sounded like hiccups. “I can’t argue with that. Follow me.”
Up they went to the dimly lit fourth-floor hallway, where they stopped at a door guarded by two sleepy Omani soldiers holding AK-47s. The colonel from the Internal Security Service spoke to them in Arabic, and the two soldiers saluted and stepped aside.
At the door Bahrami whispered, “I’m sticking my neck out for you, Mr. Crocker. And in return, I expect you to act within the bounds of reasonable behavior.”
“I appreciate that, Colonel,” the SEAL leader answered, wondering what he meant by “reasonable behavior.” “I’ll make it brief.”
The hospital room was dark and smelled sharply of ammonia. A man’s snores echoed off the walls. As soon as Crocker saw the kidnapper’s profile in the moonlight through the window, his anger started to rise.
He leaned over and slapped the prisoner on the cheek. “Cyrus? Hey, asshole. Wake up.”
Crocker switched on the light over the bed.
The young man stopped midsnore and opened his eyes. They were black and defiant, immediately expecting trouble.
“Cyrus, remember me? You tried to shoot me in the hotel suite.”
Fear froze the skin around the man’s eyes.
“Here’s the situation,” Crocker explained firmly. “Your days of kidnapping girls-of doing much of anything-are over. But if you cooperate with me, I can help your family.”
The prisoner’s hoarse breathing quickened as he turned his head toward the wall.
“Cyrus. Look at me. Listen…”
When the wounded kidnapper slowly turned his head back, Crocker noticed that his right cheekbone had been broken and his nostrils were stuffed with cotton.
“I’m not going to lie to you. You’re either going to hang, or spend the rest of your life in jail. That you can count on.”
The corners of the young man’s mouth curled into a kind of grim recognition.
Crocker continued, “As a man, a son, maybe even a father, your responsibility now is to your family.”
“I have no family,” the prisoner mumbled.
“What’d you say?”
“I have no family.”
Crocker realized that he was at a certain disadvantage. Though Oman was an Islamic country, it maintained a deep respect for the rights of all of its citizens, even prisoners. In Pakistan, Saudi Arabia, or Iran, Cyrus would have had the truth beaten out of him. But not here. As long as he was in Omani custody, he couldn’t be forced to talk.
“We all have families, Cyrus,” Crocker said authoritatively. “We come from somewhere. People I know will find them. That’s what happens in cases like this.”
“Go to hell.”
“Why should your relatives suffer for the things you’ve done? Like kidnapping innocent girls and torturing them.”
Cyrus gritted his teeth.
Crocker’s anger broke to the surface; he pushed it down again.
“Why should they suffer for you, Cyrus? Think about that.”
The kidnapper responded in a grim, unsteady voice. “Our fates are, and always will be, in the hands of Allah.”
“Doesn’t Allah condemn torture and kidnapping? Doesn’t he show mercy to those who show compassion to others?”
“You’re an infidel. What do you know about Allah?” Cyrus spat back.
“I suspect that you have a wife somewhere. Maybe a young child.”
“I have nothing!”
“Think about them.”
“We are at war, you and me! That’s all we need to know about one another.”
“But now you’re of more use to me than you are to your own side.”
“We will win in the end. You’ll see!” The kidnapper’s eyes threatened to pop out of his head.
“You failed, Cyrus. Didn’t you?”
This struck like a bullet.
“No.”
“You were caught. Now Zaman would prefer that you were dead.”
Sadness crept into the corners of the kidnapper’s eyes. “What do you know, infidel?”
“Any promises he made to you before, to protect your family, don’t mean anything now.”
“Go away.”
“Think of them. Think of the burden they’ll have to bear. Their son, their father, their brother has put them in danger. He failed his cause.”
The skin around Cyrus’s mouth started to tremble. “Imshi!” (Leave me alone.)
Sensing a tiny opening, a moment of vulnerability, Crocker pressed on. “Tell me about the ship you arrived on and I’ll make sure your family is given money and moved to a safe location.”
Cyrus’s dark eyes grew darker as he considered.
“The ship, Cyrus. Be smart.”
His head shook slightly.
“I know it’s being used for some sinister purpose. If you don’t talk, my air force will blow it out of the water.”
“No.”
“Help your family.”
“Kill me!” the prisoner snarled, turning toward the window. “Make me a martyr. Mush mushim.” (I don’t care.)
Crocker couldn’t see the kidnapper’s face past his shoulder but sensed that the conversation was over.
“Cyrus, the next group of people you see won’t be so reasonable. They’ll start by breaking your toes and fingers, and pulling out your teeth.”
“Allah will show mercy.”
“The pain will be real. And your family will suffer. All you need to do is tell me about the ship.”
As the American leaned closer, Cyrus turned with great energy and Crocker saw that his right hand held a pointed object aimed at his neck.
“Allahu Akbar!”
The SEAL countered fast, throwing his right elbow and forehead into the bridge of the kidnapper’s nose and using his left to block his hand.
Cyrus’s nose snapped, and another punch to the neck loosened his grip on the weapon, which Crocker pulled free. A ballpoint pen that a careless doctor or nurse had left behind or dropped.
Crocker smashed the bloody terrorist powerfully in the mouth. “That’s for trying to fuck with me, Cyrus!” Then he unloaded on his face again. “And that’s for the girls you kidnapped and abused!”
Back in the hallway, Bahrami saw the blood on Crocker’s hand and threw his arms up in disgust. “I asked you to be reasonable! This is an outrage, sir. Totally unacceptable!”
“He tried to stab me,” Crocker explained, handing him the bloodied pen.
Fortunately, Cyrus’s colleague down the hall wasn’t as well informed about the protections of Omani law. This young man, who was recovering from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the right foot, a shattered collarbone, and a dislocated shoulder, claimed he was a poor former Pakistani policeman who had been hired by Cyrus in Karachi to provide security for Sheik Rastani.