Chapter Three

 

 

Hannibal Inn

Sousse, Tunisia

 

Soon after Marco and Alina left the room, Justin walked into the bathroom.

The detainee began to mumble and writhe as soon as he heard the sound of Justin’s steps. Marco had tied the detainee’s hands to the bathroom sink drain, and a black hood was still over his head. Justin crouched closer to the jihadist and gently removed the hood.

The man gave Justin a defiant gaze and shook his head. He shouted something, but the face cloth stuffed in his mouth made his words indistinct. “I’m going to uncuff you now, remove the towel, and we’ll go into the room,” Justin said. “No screaming, not even a sound, or I’ll bring you back here. You got it?”

The man nodded.

“Good.”

Justin lifted the man to his feet and slowly brought him into the room. He sat him down next to the wall, where the carpet had been folded back, so that the detainee would not stain it with his blood. Then Justin handed the detainee a plastic water bottle. He brought it slowly to his mouth with his right hand, while the arm trembled. He had injured it during a scuffle with Marco as the Italian agent dragged the detainee out of the safehouse. He drank almost half of it in one long gulp, then looked at his wounded leg. Marco had already wrapped it in bandages to stop the bleeding.

“We’ll get you a doctor, as soon as we’re done here,” Justin said. “I just have a few questions.”

The detainee locked eyes with Justin. “You think because you gave me some water I will betray my cause of true jihad?”

Justin shook his head. “I’ll let you make that decision. You’re a smart man, Taha Khazri. You can understand the severity of your situation. You’ve been in this position before, right?”

Khazri did not reply right away. His small dark eyes studied Justin’s face for a long moment. “No, I’ve never been captured before.”

“Right, but you’ve interrogated prisoners, foreign fighters?”

“Yes, infidels who came to kill our children and rape our women...”

Justin found it pointless to correct Khazri. “And they told you what you wanted to know, right?”

Khazri’s bloodied lips formed a small smile. “Yes, each and every one of them.”

Justin nodded. “So we agree, then. Torture works.”

Khazri’s smile froze as he realized his mistake. He shook his head and said, “You’re wasting your time if you think I will tell you anything.”

Justin leaned closer to Khazri. “Here’s the thing about torture: everyone breaks, everyone. Some people take longer, days. For others, it’s a matter of minutes. It’s all in the process, what some call the art of torture.” He cocked his head toward a black duffel bag near the opposite corner of the room. “Do you want to know what’s in there?”

Khazri unlocked his jaw to say only, “Your threats don’t scare me.” The intimidating glare remained in his deep-set eyes.

“I’m not trying to scare you but convince you to work with me. See, I hate doing this as much as you do ... But it’s the cost of inaction ... People that work for you or are connected to you have kidnapped the love of my life. Now, if that happened to your wife or your daughter, what would you do to get her back?”

Khazri did not reply. His eyes lost some of the menace, and Justin thought he noticed a glint of unease.

A brief, tense pause hung in the air.

Justin’s gaze never left Khazri’s face. The Tunisian had a blank emotionless look.

Justin shrugged. “I disagree with torture, not on the principle, but on the practice. Most times, people are brought in, beaten up, forced to confess and sign anything shoved in their face. Your case is different, though. From other, credible sources, I know for certain that you are related to her kidnapping. And you just told me you’re unwilling to work with me, because you’re not afraid, and you’re not going to betray your cause. Did I understand that correctly?”

Khazri remained silent. He dropped his gaze to the floor for a moment, then shrugged. His eyes flitted back and forth, and it seemed like he wanted to say something. Then, he shook his head. “Go ahead. Torture me. I will not say a word.”

Justin frowned and returned the headshake. “Wrong answer, Khazri. You’re putting yourself through so much pain ... And for what? That woman means nothing to you, but she means the world to me.”

“She came to my country as an enemy, and she will pay for what she has done.” Khazri spat out his words.

Justin barely stopped himself from punching the daylights out of Khazri. The Canadian agent drew in a deep breath, then stood up and walked toward the duffel bag. He unzipped it slowly without saying a word and pulled out a regular-sized claw hammer and a box of four-inch-long framing nails. He placed them on the carpet, then took a large plastic tarp out of the bag and set it on the floor along the farthest wall from the window and the door. He picked up the hammer and a handful of nails and walked back to Khazri. “It’s time you pay for what you’ve done.”

Khazri opened his mouth to shout, but Justin silenced him with his strong hand. Khazri tried to push Justin’s hand away, but the jihadist’s arms were weak. Justin easily overpowered him, then pulled the face cloth from his back pocket. He stuffed Khazri’s mouth, as he kept struggling. Justin handcuffed the jihadist’s hands in the front and dragged him to the plastic tarp. “I’m not going to blindfold you, because I want you to see as well as feel the pain.”

Khazri shook his head, but his face showed no other sign of terror.

Justin thought, That’s going to change pretty soon.

He lifted Khazri up and set him in a sitting position against the wall. Justin waved the hammer in front of Khazri, then dragged the forked side along the right side of Khazri’s face. “This is brand new. Just got it last night. Can’t wait to try it.”

Khazri mumbled something indistinct.

Justin said, “It’s designed to extract nails, but it will work.” He shrugged and said, “You know much about history, Khazri?”

Khazri returned a headshake.

“No? That’s good, so maybe you’ll learn a thing or two. I’m a history buff, especially of the ancient times. Carthage, Rome, that sort of thing. So Carthage, well, Tunisia nowadays, your home country, was the place that invented crucifixion. You know what that is, right?”

Khazri tried to move his arms and body.

Justin’s strong hand seized Khazri by the throat. “Don’t trouble yourself. It’s of no use.” Then Justin grabbed Khazri’s cuffed hands and lifted them over the jihadist’s head. “I was saying the crucifixion is the nailing of the condemned man to a cross and leaving him there to die. We don’t have a cross, so the wall will do.”

Khazri attempted to writhe away from Justin’s hold, but it was a vise-like grip. He spread one of Khazri’s palms, then placed the tip of the nail against the skin. “Your last chance: Will you tell me where the girl is?”

Khazri hesitated for a moment, then shook his head.

“Wrong answer.” Justin brought down the hammer.