‘Then, Mr Munro,’ said Perrotta, his head slightly bowed, ‘you are to come with me.’
Myles was shocked. He made eye contact with Roosevelt, who looked like he was about to explode.
Roosevelt put himself between Perrotta and Myles. ‘Do you have a warrant to arrest this man?’
Perrotta’s expression said he didn’t care.
Suddenly Myles and Roosevelt felt their wrists being pulled from behind. Roosevelt was just held in place while Myles was handcuffed with a plastic snare.
Roosevelt was only released once Myles had been marched out of the room and along the corridor. Myles heard the American shout as he was led away by the policemen. ‘I’ll get you a lawyer, Myles. The police will have to release you soon…’
Myles tried to call out a ‘thank you’ back to him, but he was halfway down the stairs when he said it. Roosevelt probably didn’t hear him.
‘Can you say why you’re taking me?’ asked Myles, as they walked outside.
Perrotta just shook his head.
Although Myles was baffled by his arrest, he wasn’t worried. He knew he hadn’t committed any sort of crime, and he assumed that as soon as the Italian policemen realised that fact, he would be released. Even when he was being led into the Carabinieri police van he assumed he’d be treated properly.
He hadn’t expected what was to come.
Twenty-Nine
Myles was transported in a police van from the conference venue along the crowded streets of Rome. It was scenic, even pleasant. Perrotta, sitting next to him, pointed out some of the city’s landmarks as they passed: the National Gallery of Ancient Art, the San Paolo ‘within the walls’ church, the Opera House, the National Museum of Rome… If his hands hadn’t been bound, Myles could have imagined he was being given a guided tour.
After a few minutes the vehicle pulled into the modern courtyard of an office building. Perrotta made sure Myles could climb out safely, helping him with his balance, and Myles was led inside: a police station. After being signed in by Perrotta, Myles was guided through two sets of secure doors, and finally into an interrogation suite. ‘We have some English teabags. Would you like a cup?’ offered Perrotta.
‘That’s kind. Thank you. I’d prefer coffee if you have any.’
Perrotta nodded respectfully and departed. Myles was left alone in the room.
He took in his surroundings. Natural light was coming in from a skylight in the ceiling. There were small posters and notices on the walls. Myles tried to decode the Italian and guessed they were advertising events in the city. He even had a comfortable chair. It was a room for polite questioning — not interrogation.
Myles had experience of interrogation from his short time in the military — from the other side of the table. He guessed Perrotta would ask what he had to ask, find out what he needed, then probably let him go free. Myles had nothing to hide, so he assumed it made sense to talk freely — to clear up the confusion which had led to his arrest, and get back to stopping Juma.
He studied the room some more. The only thing which marked it out as a place of questioning was a camera above the door.
Myles stared at it. Nothing happened. Was someone watching him, or was it just recording?
Myles stood up and moved to the side of the room. When the camera swung sideways with him, he knew he was being watched.
Perrotta returned, opening the door with his back to avoid spilling the two coffees he held in his hands. Myles, his wrists still bound, held the door for the Italian until he could put the drinks down on the table.
‘Thank you, Myles,’ said Perrotta. ‘May I call you Myles?’
‘Certainly. Myles is fine.’
Myles was impressed by Perrotta’s English, even though the policeman’s accent clearly marked him out as an Italian.
‘Myles, have you lost your computer recently?’ asked the policeman.
Myles thought for a moment. He’d taken his laptop to America, and he had it with him at West Point, but had left it with Helen. He’d not brought it with him to Rome. ‘No. No, I left my computer in the United States. Why do you ask?’
Perrotta raised his eyebrows with a shrug. He gave the impression that the question didn’t really matter. ‘It’s OK. And you work in Oxford?’
‘Yes.’
‘How long have you worked at the university?’
‘I’ve been a lecturer there for about five years.’
‘But you also visit warzones?’ asked Perrotta, trying to clarify things.
‘Sometimes I do. History of war — it’s what I teach.’
Perrotta nodded. His style of questioning was very relaxed, more like a conversation than police questioning. Certainly not an interrogation. ‘And, in Oxford, you teach about new forms of warfare, too,’ continued the Italian. ‘Unconventional warfare.’
‘That’s right. Old-style warfare — big tank battles, infantry marching towards capital cities — doesn’t happen much anymore. Wars are different now.’
Perrotta could see Myles becoming animated. Clearly the Oxford lecturer was passionate about his subject, and probably a popular teacher, too.
‘Is that asymmetric warfare, Mr Munro?’
Myles paused before he answered. ‘Some people call it asymmetric warfare, but that’s a bad description,’ he explained, trying to be careful with his words. ‘All war is about asymmetry. An asymmetry is just a difference. All generals seek an asymmetry — more men, more force, better tactics. The ultimate asymmetry is when one side wins and the other side loses. Wars which aren’t asymmetric just become stalemates. Usually very bloody.’
Perrotta nodded respectfully. He pulled his hand over his beard as he framed his next question. ‘So you’re not an expert in terrorism?’
‘I don’t teach it, if that’s what you mean, no,’ answered Myles squarely.
Perrotta nodded again, leaning back. Myles could see him wondering whether to keep up on this topic or switch to another. ‘And you did your undergraduate degree at Oxford?’ Perrotta was changing topic again.
Myles explained how he’d read history and philosophy. It wasn’t a normal course at the university at the time, but they let him study both.
‘It must have been interesting for you, Myles.’
‘Yes. Both subjects — fascinating.’
Perrotta had got Myles relaxed again. Myles knew from his own experience as an interrogator this was good practice. It meant the questioner could register the reaction when they moved back to more sensitive questions.
‘And you knew Juma’s wife, Placidia, when you were at Oxford.’
Myles tried not to react, but he found his mood change involuntarily. ‘I did know her, yes.’
Perrotta probed further. ‘How well did you know her?’
Myles hesitated.
‘You would have liked to know her more?’ offered Perrotta.
Myles paused again. Silence. It was an answer in itself.
Perrotta moved his head to confirm he wasn’t going to press Myles on it. Instead he moved on again. ‘So, you weren’t in touch with Placidia after she left Oxford, all those years ago?’
‘No. Not until I saw her again in Libya last week.’
‘And you’ve not been in touch with her since then?’
Myles found the question disconcerting. ‘No, not at all.’ Of course he hadn’t been in touch with her. Placidia had become a terrorist.
‘You’re sure, Myles? Not at all?’
‘Yes, I’m sure.’ Finally Myles was starting to get a little angry as he wondered where Perrotta’s questions were leading.
Perrotta remained silent, waiting for Myles to say something else. The silence invited Myles to speak. But Myles knew the tactic. He just stayed silent too.