They had injected Ghazal with a mild sedative supplied by Rodman on the side of the road, just outside the district. They blindfolded their prisoner, then with Rodman seated beside him, they drove an hour into a sparsely populated area of Spotsylvania County. During the ride, Vail had an opportunity to read through a dossier Knox and Tasset had assembled on Ghazal and Aziz. It was incomplete, but she hoped it would be helpful.
From the exterior, the building was a nondescript, cheaply constructed tilt-up warehouse with a loading dock in the rear and a faded black-and-white aluminum sign that read, Newman Industries. Uzi pulled the SUV into the parking lot, which was well shielded by hedges, shrubs, and trees.
Inside, however, after passing through a solid steel door, the structure was a highly secured lockdown facility.
Uzi, Vail, and Rodman led their prisoner along a cinderblock lined corridor. DeSantos was waiting at the end, arms folded across his chest.
“I don’t like the road we’re headed down,” Vail said. “Been there. Done that. Didn’t enjoy it.”
They handed off Ghazal to two stocky men in jeans and sweatshirts, who took him inside an adjacent room.
“What happened in London was extraordinary because of the circumstances,” DeSantos said. “We’re on US soil here. This is going to be an interrogation, but it’s going to be clean.”
Vail knew that “clean” was a relative term; she took it to mean that they would only use standard interrogation methods, nothing that would cross the line. That said, with the known threat of imminent attacks hanging over the country, just how aggressive they got depended on how close DeSantos felt they were to the information — and if he felt Ghazal was holding back. She and Uzi were bound by procedure and law. DeSantos was not.
Vail and Uzi walked into the room, where DeSantos had already gotten started. Rodman remained outside to observe.
Their prisoner was seated at a stainless steel table that was bolted to the cement floor, Ghazal’s wrists secured to a thick ring in the center of the sparse, metal surface. Two rather conspicuous cameras were mounted on the walls.
“There’s no point in denying involvement here,” DeSantos was saying as they entered. “We saw you at the safe house. We’ve got your fingerprints there.”
“You know nothing,” he said in heavily accented English.
DeSantos laughed. “That’s why we’re sitting here in this room. Because there are things we don’t know. Things we want to know.”
“There’s also a lot we do know,” Vail said. “We know about Sahmoud. We’ve talked to him.”
Ghazal’s eyes narrowed. That was apparently news to him. Good; keep him guessing. Throwing him off balance increased his unease, made him less sure of himself.
Uzi stepped in front of the table. “Look, asshole. We’re not interested in wasting time. Tell us where and when the next attack is gonna be.”
Ghazal seemed to consider that for a moment. “I don’t know. That’s the truth. Sahmoud and — we’re given orders two hours in advance. We do what we’re told.”
“We know you’re one of the planners,” DeSantos said. “So cut the bullshit of being out of the loop.”
“I plan, yes. But they decide when it’s gonna be. I always plan for a lot of targets but they choose which ones.”
“Who else is working with Sahmoud?” Uzi asked.
“No one.”
“Bullshit. Who is it?”
“If Sahmoud wants you to know, you’ll know. You’re not going to get that from me. I don’t care what you do to me; this is not something I will tell.”
Vail glanced at DeSantos. She could tell by his smirk that he was willing to bet money against Ghazal’s last proclamation.
“We’ve been analyzing the explosives and paraphernalia in your bomb-making factory.” Uzi paused, then said, “We also found sniper rifles. That makes us think this isn’t a one-dimensional attack.”
When did he find out about the sniper rifles? When he was on the phone with Hoshi? Why didn’t he tell me?
Ghazal smiled.
Uzi studied his face a moment. “What do you think you’re going to get from launching these attacks?”
“We’re fighting the enemy. Infidels, nonbelievers. Anyone who is not Muslim. Anyone who does not follow the laws of Allah. Anyone who does not follow Sharia law.”
Vail came up alongside Uzi, gently nudged him aside, and took a seat opposite Ghazal. She had an idea. She twisted in the seat and looked at Uzi and DeSantos. “Would you two mind giving me some time?”
They hesitated, but clearly not wanting to break their unified front — and trusting Vail’s sensibilities — left the room.
When the door thumped shut, she turned back to Ghazal. “Sharia law is all that matters.”
Ghazal nodded.
“Okay,” Vail said, “I get that. See, I’ve studied Islam. There are some wonderful things in the Koran.”
Ghazal looked at Vail, a look that said he was unsure of what to make of her, of where she was going. Trying to determine why she was being nice to him.
Truth is, Vail wanted to ram her fist into his nose, then gut his stomach with the Tanto Uzi had given her. This bastard had killed innocent men, women, and children whose only “crime” was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Well, that and the fact that they did not have the same religious beliefs as him and his ilk.
Vail pushed the animosity from her thoughts. There was no place for it right now. Later, maybe. But not now.
“Was Tahir with you at Metro Center?”
“No. He’s busy with other things.”
“You were only there to observe, right? To make sure the plan you set out went the way it was supposed to go. And if your martyr did not have the courage to set off his vest, you had the failsafe, the switch, to detonate remotely. Right?”
Ghazal nodded.
“Sahmoud told us about the dirty bomb.”
Ghazal’s mouth dropped open.
She made a huge guess — and based on Ghazal’s raw reaction, she hit pay dirt. “I’m concerned about that,” Vail said. “Because we’re not talking about a hundred people dead in a Metro station. We’re talking about thousands of deaths, if not more. And a significant portion of a city left uninhabitable.”
“That is not my concern.”
Vail pursed her lips. “Depends on how you look at it. If you’re nearby when it goes off, you’ll be poisoned too. And your job is to plan the attacks, not be martyred. There are others for that.”
Ghazal did not object.
“Were you involved in planning the release of the dirty bomb?”
Ghazal dropped his gaze to the table.
“Esmail, I’m pragmatic. We can’t stop the attack. You know that. I know that. But I have a son who’s innocent in your jihad—”
“There are no innocents in America.”
Vail shook her head disapprovingly. “I know that’s the line. I know that’s what you’re brainwashed into believing. But my son is a believer. He’s been asking about converting to Islam. That’s why I know about the Koran and the beauty it contains. He and I discuss it almost every night. He’s not an infidel.”
Sell it, Karen, keep steady eye contact.
Ghazal leaned back and nodded approvingly. “Then he can be a martyr. If he dies for our cause, that is a great honor.”
Dammit, you asshole, I need to find a way to reach you. Connect with you.
“You have a daughter,” she said, subtly changing tactics. “I know that as a father you’re just looking for her to have the good things in life.” Truth was, Vail knew that these extremists did not value the lives of their children the same way Americans did. But she was trying to reach Ghazal on a level he was unaccustomed to being talked to. It was bad enough he was being questioned by a woman in power. If she could appeal to him as a mother would appeal to her child, she might, perhaps, be able to access some humane part of him he had buried long ago.