But Jacques Bennabi said not a word.
“You know how easy it was to kidnap you,” Andrew muttered. “We plucked you off the street like picking a chicken from a street vendor’s cage. You think your friends are any safer? The men who got you are back in Algiers, you know. They’re ready to do what I say.”
The subject only stared back at him.
Andrew grew angry for a moment. He cleared his raw throat and left the room, had a drink of water, struggled to calm down.
For three more hours he continued the interrogation. Bennabi paid attention to everything Andrew said, it seemed, but he said nothing.
Goddamn, he’s good, Andrew thought, struggling not to reveal his own frustration. He glanced at his watch. It had been nearly nine hours. And he hadn’t uncovered a single fact about the weapon.
Well, it was time to get serious now.
He scooted the chair even closer.
“Jacques, you’re not being helpful. And now, thanks to your lack of cooperation, you’ve put all your friends at risk. How selfish can you be?” he snapped.
Silence.
Andrew leaned close. “You understand that I’ve been restrained, don’t you? I had hoped you’d be more cooperative. But apparently you’re not taking me seriously. I think I have to prove how grave this matter is.”
He reached into his pocket. He pulled out a printout of a computer photograph that had been taken yesterday.
It showed Bennabi’s wife and children in the front yard of their home outside Algiers.
THURSDAY
Colonel Peterson was in his hotel room in the center of Rome. He was awakened at 4 a.m. by his secure cell phone.
“Yes?”
“Colonel.” The caller was Andrew. His voice was ragged.
“So, what’d he tell you?”
“Nothing.”
The colonel muttered, “You just tell me what he said and I’ll figure out if it’s important. That’s my job.” He clicked the light on and fished for a pen.
“No, sir, I mean he didn’t say a single word.”
“Not a…word?”
“Over sixteen hours. Completely silent. The entire time. Not one goddamn word. Never happened in all my years in this business.”
“Was he getting close to breaking, at least?”
“I…No, I don’t think so. I even threatened his family. His children. No reaction. I’d need another week. And I’ll have to make good on some of the threats.”
But Peterson knew they were already on shaky ground by kidnapping somebody who was not a known terrorist. He wouldn’t dare kidnap or endanger the professor’s colleagues, let alone his family.
“No,” the colonel said slowly. “That’s all for now. You can get back to your unit. We’ll go to phase two.”
The woman was dressed conservatively, a long-sleeved blouse and tan slacks. Her dark blond hair was pulled back and she wore no jewelry.
Since Bennabi wasn’t culturally or religiously conservative, worked with women at the University and had actually written in favor of women’s rights, Peterson decided to use Claire for the second interrogator. Bennabi would view her as an enemy, yes, but not as an inferior. And, since it was known that Bennabi had dated and was married, with several children, he was clearly a man with an appreciation of attractive women.
And Peterson knew that Claire was certainly that.
She was also an army captain, in charge of a prisoner of war operation in the Middle East — though at the moment she, too, was on a brief leave of absence to permit her to practice her own skills as an interrogator — skills very different from Andrew’s but just as effective in the right circumstances.
Peterson now finished briefing her. “Good luck,” he added.
And couldn’t help reminding her that it was now Thursday and the weapon would be deployed day after tomorrow.
In perfect Arabic, Claire said, “I must apologize, Mr. Bennabi…Jacques. May I use your first name?” She was rushing into the cell, a horrified look on her face.
When Bennabi didn’t reply, she switched to English. “Your first name? You don’t mind, do you? I’m Claire. And let me offer you my deepest apologies for this terrible mistake.”
She walked behind him and took the hand restraints off. There was little risk. She was an expert at aikido and tae kwon do and could easily have defended herself against the weak, exhausted subject.
But the slim man, eyes dark from lack of sleep, face drawn, simply rubbed his wrists and offered no threatening gestures.
Claire pressed the button on the intercom. “Bring the tray in, please.”
A guard wheeled it inside: water, a pot of coffee and a plate of pastry and candy, which she knew from his file Bennabi was partial to. She sampled everything first, to show nothing was spiked with poison or truth serum. He drank some water but when she asked, “Coffee, something to eat?” he gave no response.
Claire sat down, her face distraught. “I’m so terribly sorry about this. I can’t begin to describe how horrified we are…Let me explain. Someone — we don’t know who — told us that you’d met with some people who are enemies of our country.” She lifted her hands. “We didn’t know who you were. All we heard was that you were sympathetic to these enemies and that they had some plans to cause huge destruction. Something terrible was going to happen. Imagine what we felt when we heard you were a famous professor…and an advocate of human rights!
“No, someone gave us misinformation about you. Maybe accidental.” She added coyly, “Maybe they had a grudge against you. We don’t know. All I can say is we reacted too quickly. Now, first, let me assure you that whatever threats Andrew made, nothing has or will happen to your colleagues or family…That was barbaric what he suggested. He’s been disciplined and relieved of duty.”
No response whatsoever.
Silence filled the room and she could hear only her heartbeat, as she tried to remain calm, thinking of the weapon and the hours counting down until it was used.
“Obviously this is a very awkward situation. Certain officials are extremely embarrassed about what’s happened and are willing to offer, what we could call, reparation for your inconvenience.”
He continued to remain silent but she could tell he was listening to every word.
She scooted the chair closer and sat, leaning forward. “Mr. Bennabi…Jacques, I have been authorized to transfer one hundred thousand euros into an account of your choice — that’s tax-free money — in exchange for your agreement not to sue us for this terrible error.”
Claire knew that he made the equivalent of fifteen thousand euros as a professor and another twenty as a journalist.
“I can order all of this done immediately. Your lawyer can monitor the transaction. All you have to do is sign a release agreeing not to sue.”
Silence.
Then she continued with a smile, “And one more small thing…I myself have no doubt that you have been wrongly targeted but…the people who have to authorize the payments, they want just a little more information about the people you met with. The ones in Tunis. They just wish to be reassured that the meeting was innocent. I know it was. If I had my way I’d write you a check now. But they control the money.” A smile. “Isn’t that the way the world works?”
Bennabi said nothing. He stopped rubbing his wrists and sat back.
“They don’t need to know anything sensitive. Just a few names, that’s all. Just to keep the money men happy.”
Is he agreeing? she wondered. Is he disagreeing? Bennabi was different from anybody she’d ever interrogated. Usually by now subjects were already planning how to spend the money and telling her whatever she wanted to know.