“I’ll get the car,” Fahad said. “Meet you right here.”
Thirty seconds later they were loading their hostages into the backseat, Uzi wedged up against them. In the small vehicle, the pressure against Yaseen’s arm made him whimper. He started rocking back and forth, trying to head-butt Uzi, so Uzi elbowed him in the stomach, hard enough to send a message.
Aziz was comparatively docile, perhaps content to let Yaseen bear the brunt of their anger.
“Where we going?” Uzi asked.
Fahad looked up, his eyes gazing at Uzi in the rearview mirror. “Someplace quiet. We’re gonna have a little chat with our guests.”
58
Vail glanced over her shoulder at the person who had called after them. It was a man, standing alongside Dominique.
“We’re arranging refunds and transportation,” he said.
“No worries,” Vail said, forcing a smile. “We already have alternate plans.” She lifted her Samsung. “A friend phoned us, asked if we wanted to meet them for drinks.”
And then the device vibrated. She looked down and saw DeSantos reach for his.
Vail turned back toward the cruise staff. “Thanks for your help. It was a lovely dinner while it lasted.”
“Would you like a credit for a future—”
“We’re flying out tomorrow. Thanks anyway.”
“Honey,” DeSantos said. “It’s the Joneses. They have a question and I don’t know what to tell them.” He craned his neck around Vail and waved at Dominique. “Thanks again.” He took Vail’s hand and gave it a tug and they headed down into the Métro.
“The Joneses?”
“There are people named Jones, you know.”
Vail stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “We can’t take the train.” If they were under suspicion, their last known location would be reported as this particular Métro line, she explained. “That’d narrow down their search.”
“That cop mentality is handy to have around, you know?”
“Don’t get too used to it.”
He led the way to the nearest exit and they ascended to street level.
Vail wanted to read the message that had come through but it was more important to remain attentive to their surroundings in case something was amiss. Four eyes were better than two. “Did you happen to see who the text was from?”
“Uzi. He and Fahad have Yaseen and Aziz. He wants us to meet them at a building to be determined.”
“How can we meet them at a place when we don’t know where it is?”
“Because we’re going to find it and tell them where to go.”
“And how are we going to do that?”
“I’m calling our CIA buddy.”
“Creepy Claude?”
“He’s a spook, Karen. Most of the ones I’ve known over the years are a bit off. If you think about it, there has to be something wrong with them to do the work they do. You know?”
“I could say the same about you.”
“And I wouldn’t deny it.” DeSantos pressed the phone to his ear and waited for it to connect. They emerged near the Eiffel Tower and started walking along Quai Branly, where every ten yards men were thrusting miniature blinking light mockups of the monument at them as they passed.
“No,” DeSantos said, pushing the hucksters back as he waited for Claude to answer. He rotated the handset toward his lips. “Yeah, it’s me. I need a place where we can do some Q&A with a couple of guys … exactly.” DeSantos listened a second then said, “Perfect. Text it to all of us.” He lowered the phone and checked the street sign, then brought it back up and gave Claude their twenty.
Vail’s cell vibrated seconds later. She consulted the screen and realized they now had a location. She pulled it up on her GPS and made a quick assessment. “Only about three miles from here.”
“Tell Uzi and Mo we’re on our way.”
“And how are we getting there? You want to risk a cab?”
“No need. Creepy Claude is sending someone to pick us up.”
59
Uzi pushed open the rusted door and entered the pitch-black building. According to Claude, a fire had gutted it two months ago and it was tagged to be demolished. It still had the mildewed, carbon stench of burned timbers, fried electrical circuits, and fire brigade water.
Uzi pulled Yaseen, who was doing his best to resist, inside and yanked the door closed behind him. Aziz struggled as well, but it was not a serious effort and Fahad had no difficulty controlling him.
Claude was already there and locked the door behind them. He led them to the far end of the room with a powerful lantern. He stopped opposite two folding chairs.
The interior was high ceilinged and vast — at least seventy-five yards in length and width. Uzi turned on his phone’s flashlight and craned his neck up and around, checking out the charred rafters to make sure nothing was going to come crashing down on them. Satisfied that it was safe enough, he joined Claude, Fahad, and the two terrorists along the wall, which was made of brick and concrete.
There was also a medium-size gray metal toolbox on the ground that did not belong.
Uzi knew what it was. He hoped their guests would cooperate, tell them what they needed to know, then stand trial for mass murder under various terrorism statutes. Uzi figured there was little likelihood of that happening.
When Fahad pushed Aziz into one of the chairs — or threw him into it — the handcuffed terrorist fell backward and tipped it over. They watched him struggle to right himself, but he ultimately did and found the seat.
Uzi brought Yaseen over and stood by his side while the man sat down. Fahad pulled a couple of flexcuffs from his pocket and fastened Yaseen’s ankles to the chair legs. He ratcheted them tight, forcing Yaseen to lean forward. He then did the same with Aziz.
“So now what?” Yaseen said.
Uzi stepped in front of him. “You know what. We’re going to ask you some questions and you’re going to answer them. It can be very simple if you let it be. Or it can be painfully difficult if you make it that way.”
“How’s your arm doing?” Fahad asked. He walked over and squeezed it, feigning concern. Yaseen let out a loud growl. “You’re going to need to get that looked at pretty soon. Or they might have to cut it off at the shoulder.” He shrugged. “Sooner we get this over with, sooner we’ll get you over to a hospital.”
“Who’s that back there?” Aziz asked, gesturing with his chin.
“Oh, him?” Uzi said. “That’s just Claude. He’s here to observe. He’s an expert on …” He turned to Claude. “What is it that you call it?”
“Enhanced interrogation,” Claude said.
“Right,” Uzi said.
“How many young men and women did you strap bombs to?” Fahad asked. “How many did you incite to violence?”
Yaseen smiled. “That’s important to you, I can tell.”
“Answer the question.”
“Who keeps track of such things?”
With a broad stance and arms folded across his chest, Uzi said, “You do. It’s not about innocent children, it’s not about what you think an intifada, or a jihad movement, will do for the Palestinians. It’s what it will do for you. You’re a killer.”
Fahad drew back a boot and kicked Yaseen in the knee, sending the chair backward against the cement.
“How many of our people did you kill?” Fahad yelled.
Yaseen groaned as Claude and Uzi pulled him upright.
“Mo, I really think we should—”
“Answer me,” Fahad said.
Yaseen narrowed his eyes and locked gazes with Fahad. “Seventy-nine.”