Tanner saw a slight uncertainty in Hassan's eyes. "Where's your proof?"
"Proof?" Stephen said. "We don't need proof, Kamal. We're not the police."
"I can pay triple what you're earning right now," Hassan said, a tinge of fear setting in. "I'm just a businessman with connections to some very important people — people who are now looking for me."
"Not interested," Tanner said. "What was on the Northstar Venture?"
"Nothing that concerns you.”
“Does keeping all of your fingers concern you?” Tanner asked matter-of-factly, removing a folding Kershaw knife from his pocket and clicking open the blade.
Stephen continued after letting that sink in for a moment. "What is your connection with the Islamic Caliphate Army?"
"Who?"
"Why did you try and have us killed?" Tanner asked.
"I didn't.”
"Why did you send Wahid Tamrez to kill us?" Stephen said.
"I did no such thing! My associate was there to do some business."
"You sent at least a dozen men to kill us in the hotel," Tanner reminded. "I'd like to know why."
They continued questioning Hassan, who replied with denials, threats and offers of money. They circled him, like sharks around a meal, firing off questions, Stephen asking several of them in Arabic. But Hassan kept his cool.
After fifteen minutes, the sound of a phone made Tanner and Stephen stop. They looked around and saw a phone on the wall near the stairs.
"Upstairs calling," Mandlenkosi's nephew said, pointing his spear at the ceiling.
Tanner went over to the phone and picked up the receiver.
"Sorry to bother you," Ashcroft said. "How's the interrogation going?"
"He still has all of his body parts, and we still have a lot more that we want to know," Tanner summed up, looking back at Hassan, who quickly lost his smug look.
"That well, huh?" the British spy said. "Why don’t you and your partner come up. There's been a few developments you should hear about. Might give you a wedge against our friend, there."
"All right, we're on our way." Tanner hung up and turned to Stephen.
"We need to get upstairs."
He glanced at the Zulu guard. "Put the hood on him. We'll be back in a few minutes."
The African nodded, stepped forward and slipped the hood back over Hassan's head. Hassan started cursing in English, Arabic and Afrikaner.
Tanner and Stephen climbed the stairs into the kitchen, where Ashcroft sat, but instead of his book, he was looking at photos spread out across the table.
"What do you have?" Tanner asked, pulling the balaclava off his head.
"A few things. After my conversation with Stephen and Naomi yesterday, I contacted some of my old sources at the airport and told them to keep an eye out for any suspicious groups flying in."
He flipped around one of the photos and pushed it across the table to Tanner. "These gentlemen arrived this morning by business jet from Turkey."
A sequence of photos depicted a dozen young men in good physical shape walking in small groups toward the camera. Tanner noticed that they didn't look like weary businessmen. Their eyes were alert, each scanning in a different direction, generally looking as if they were on high alert.
"Military-trained," he said.
Ashcroft nodded. "Stephen," he said, handing the former CIA agent a photo. "I think you'll recognize this gentleman leading the group."
Stephen took the photo, looked at it, and nodded. "Colonel Ramin Rezael, senior member of the Iranian Quds Force. Their best field commander."
"Which means we must be dealing with more than the usual cargo."
Ashcroft nodded. "He's here to find out what happened with the Northstar Venture, and he's not going to be very bloody happy when he finds out what happened. I think it might be a good time for your team to…as they say in the American cinema…'get the hell out of Dodge.'"
Tanner shook his head. "Not just yet. What else do you have?"
"The police are looking for Hassan, and not only because he was kidnapped. Seems that one of the few structures you didn't destroy on your little midnight walk contained enough heroin and cocaine to overdose every single man, woman and child within a fifty-kilometer radius. Street value, in American dollars, is between six and seven hundred million dollars. No telling what else they'll find."
"That's not going to endear him to his 'friends,'" Stephen said.
"Oh no, they'll run from him like scalded dogs," said Ashcroft cheerfully. "Assuming he manages to escape your clutches, he's going to be a hunted man, by both the Iranians and the South African Police. He'll have no friends, no money, and no power. Couldn't happen to a more deserving chap!"
Tanner frowned. Stephen looked at him. "What's wrong?"
"I think I know how to make him open up." He pointed to the pictures and eyed Ashcroft.
"Can I borrow these, a TV, the police scanner, and a tape recorder?"
Tanner and Stephen returned to the basement an hour later, this time along with Liam. Wearing a balaclava like the others, he carried a small table. Stephen had a small TV from an upstairs room, while Tanner brought a manila folder. He looked at the guard and motioned for him to remove Hassan’s hood. The African snatched off the hood before retreating into his corner.
Hassan blinked and smiled at Tanner. "Ready to let me go?"
"Not yet," Tanner replied. He turned to consider the basement, then spoke to Liam and Stephen. "Put the table over there and the TV on top of it.”
"Do I get entertainment?" Hassan asked.
"Actually, you are the entertainment right now," Tanner said. "And I will be making a one-time special offer that you're going to take. But first, an update on what's going on since your unfortunate disappearance. Take a look."
The TV displayed an aerial view of Hassan's estate, with a news crawler running along the bottom and a graphic above the crawler reading, "DRUG WAR."
The uncertainty was back in Hassan's eyes. "What did you do?"
Tanner turned up the volume and stepped aside. The female reporter doing the voice over sounded breathless."…men killed and fifteen wounded. We have been told by several SAPS sources that the drugs were found in a bunker-like building located on the estate grounds, and that it has since been removed and stored in a secured location for further investigation and processing. Police are not providing details on what happened here overnight, only to say that it appears a drug war has started between two rival gangs. The police are asking for any information on Kamal Hassan's whereabouts. Anyone with any information is asked to call—"
Tanner muted the TV and faced Hassan. "You’re a wanted man.”
He took out a digital voice recorder and turned it on. "Here’s what's on the police channels."
The first transmission was an SAPS officer asking for additional crime scene technicians and officers to search the estate and to guard the "massive amount of drugs" that had been located. The second communication was a detailed description of Hassan, wanted for questioning in connection with the attack on his estate, as well as the disturbance at the Cape Africa Hotel. The third highlighted a report that Hassan was seen at the Capetown airport.
Tanner turned the recorder off. "You're public enemy number one."
"You fake that," Hassan said, voice quavering with uncertainty.
"No need to. The police know you're a drug lord."
"You planted that evidence!"
"Bullshit. They found your warehouse, Kamal, with tons of cocaine and heroin. We didn't get a chance to blow it up, so the police found it when they went through the place looking for bodies.”
Hassan began straining against his bonds. "I have powerful friends."
"Who have suddenly forgotten your name," Stephen joined in. "Right now, you are radioactive."