Deion took the seat across from Asad Hassan. They were in low-ceilinged gray steel room inside the Peleliu, a room Deion had the Marines clear out until there was nothing left but two steel chairs.
Hassan’s head was covered by a black hood. Chains from his hand restraints looped around the chair and fastened to his ankle restraints.
Deion smiled. Hassan was effectively hog-tied. The hood was an effective tool. Removing the subject’s sight went a long way to removing any sense of power. The interrogation was going to be all about the balance of power.
Hassan has none, and the sooner he realizes that, the better
He reached across and yanked the hood from Hassan, who shook his head and squinted in the sudden light. Normally Deion would begin questioning the subject before he could gather his bearings, but in this case he let the man adjust to his situation.
Hassan let loose with a string of unintelligible profanity.
Deion let him wind down. When the man’s anger had subsided, Deion shook his head and said, “You speak English?”
Hassan stared at him and said something in Somali.
Deion nodded. “So, you don’t. That’s fine.” He spoke calmly and evenly, “I’m going to cut your tongue out and make you eat it.”
The pirate’s eyes widened and his eyes darted toward the door.
“So you do speak English,” Deion said with a smile.
The man glared at him, then nodded. “Yes, I speak English.”
Deion’s smile grew wider. “I already knew you did. That was the first test. I don’t have to hurt you. Yet.” He paused, giving Hassan time to digest that. “Your name is Asad Hassan.”
Hassan glared at him, but nodded. “You are American.”
The old pirate was sharp and showed no sign of fear, even though Deion knew he was alarmed at his predicament. “Now that we know who we are,” Deion said, “I have a few questions. You must speak truthfully. Do you understand?”
Hassan’s eyes narrowed. “I say nothing.”
“I’m going to offer you a deal,” Deion continued. “It’s one chance to get off this ship and back to your home. I’m not here because you’ve been pirating ships for the past eight years.”
“I am not a pirate,” Hassan said. “I am leader of the Coast Guard—”
“You are a pirate,” Deion said calmly. “Don’t pull that Coast Guard bullshit on me.” He leaned forward and stared straight into the pirate’s eyes. “I don’t care about your fishing problems. I don’t care about your pirating. I only care about one thing. Do you know what that one thing is?”
Hassan stared back, defiant, then his eyes slid to the floor and he nodded. “You want to know about the bomb.”
“Yes. I want to know about the bomb. Tell me about the bomb and I let you go free. Do you understand? I don’t care about what you’ve done. That’s for someone else. I only care about the bomb. How did you get it?”
The pirate considered Deion’s deal, then nodded and spoke, “It was an American. He came to us, offered us money. Paid for safe passage for his friends. Good Muslims. They paid us to take them to a boat. They unloaded the crate and we brought them back.”
“When was this?”
Hassan squinted, considering. “Four days ago?”
If the pirate was telling the truth, and he had no reason to suspect he wasn’t, the bomb had arrived about the time they were in Nashville. “Did they say who they worked for? Who was their leader?”
Hassan shrugged. “The American?”
“Not the men’s leader. The American. Who did he work for?”
“I don’t know. The American. His name was Al-Hakim.”
Deion sighed. “I know that. You need to give me something worthwhile if you want me to cut you loose. Something valuable. Tell me what else you remember about the bomb.”
Hassan squirmed in his chair. “I know nothing. He paid us. I used the money to pay my men. I kept money for myself. That is what I did.”
Deion leaned back in his chair. “You’ve got to give me something to work with. Tell me something I don’t know.”
“There is nothing else,” Hassan said with a shrug. “The men came and helped unload the crate. One man left. The others stayed with the crate.”
That was news to him. “A man left?”
“He drove a motorbike.”
“Where was he going?”
Hassan shook his head. “They did not say.”
He stored that piece of information for later. “Tell me about the ship.”
He saw the flicker of something in the old pirate’s eyes. “I saw the ship. It was a big ship. Many men. Some wore rubber suits. I saw things. You will let me go if I tell you?”
Deion nodded. He wasn’t lying to Hassan — he truly didn’t care about his pirating. Others did, but the OTM wasn’t interested in the old man’s activities. “Tell me what you saw and I promise you we will return you to your village. I can’t promise that ships won’t return if you keep hijacking vessels and taking hostages. I can only promise you that if you tell me what you saw, I will personally see to it that you’re returned.”
Hassan’s mouth curled up in a smile. “I believe you, Mr. American. I will tell you, because I am a good Muslim and I do not like that they used us. They put us at great danger, and we are good Muslims.”
Sure you are. You just want to save your ass. “Tell me.”
“I saw something inside the ship. A symbol. Three circles centered on another circle. You know this symbol?”
Deion’s heart sank. He did know that symbol. That symbol — combined with the men in rubber suits — could only mean one thing.
Biohazard.
When the atmospheric disturbances finally subsided, Deion initiated the video call. Eric appeared on the screen and Deion shook his head. Eric was haggard, stubble on his chin, his eyes dark and brooding.
“You look like shit,” he said.
Eric managed a half-hearted smile. “I’m not the one who took a swim in the ocean. How are you?”
Deion took a deep breath. “Running on adrenaline.”
“I just read John’s hot wash. It sounds like he’s performing above expectations, but how is he really?”
“He’s the least of our worries,” Deion said. “He’s tired, yeah, and he needs downtime. His arm and leg wounds need time to heal and his prosthetic hurts more than he’s letting on. Now that we got a connection, maybe you could activate the Implant. A little pain medication might take the edge off.”
Eric’s smile faded. “Worried about John’s well-being? That’s not like you.”
Deion chose his words carefully. “He’s starting to grow on me. I still can’t forgive what he did, and I still want to strangle him sometimes, but he tries, man. He’s not the stupid little punk we interrogated in Guantanamo. He tried to rescue the copilot of that Sea Knight. Was pretty broke up about it when he couldn’t. Did you see his hot wash, about the boy in Ely? He could have shot that kid. He didn’t. That’s a damned site better than I expected, given what he was like when I first met him.”
“When you beat the hell out of him, you mean.”
“I don’t feel bad about it, either.” He hesitated. “Doesn’t mean he hasn’t changed. A little.”
“I’m not saying you should. It’s hard to be objective when you’re working directly with him.”