Madrid

Notwithstanding General Alvarez’s arrest in Argentina and his extradition to Spain, Craig didn’t expect Alvarez to look beaten down and despondent. And Craig was right. When four Spanish soldiers led Alvarez into the interrogation room, the former powerful Defense Minister was dressed in prison blues and his wrists were cuffed behind his back. But he had the same arrogant, haughty expression Craig had seen on his face each time they had met, beginning with their initial encounter prior to the Spanish train bombing. Today, it was accompanied with a look of defiance.

This won’t be easy, Craig thought.

Craig, Carlos, and Elizabeth were seated along one side of the battered wooden table. According to the prearranged plan, the soldiers forced Alvarez into a chair on the other side.

“Take off the handcuffs,” Alvarez barked to one of the soldiers.

He didn’t respond. Instead the four soldiers left the room. “What is the purpose of this gathering?” Alvarez asked.

Carlos said, “We want to question you about your role in the events leading to the attack in Southern Spain.”

Alvarez was sneering. “I understand you managed to get my job, you despicable little worm.”

Carlos showed no emotion. Craig, who wanted to smack Alvarez, admired Carlos’ self-control. Carlos reached into his briefcase, removed a recorder, and placed it on the table. He didn’t press the start button. “Craig will begin the questioning,” Carlos said.

“I don’t care who begins it. I have nothing to say.”

“Are you certain of that?” Carlos asked.

“Yes. Very certain.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Carlos replied. He nodded to Elizabeth. She and Carlos stood and exited the room.

“Where are you going?” Alvarez called after them.

Neither responded.

For the next two minutes, neither Craig nor Alvarez said a word. The former Defense Minister was shooting poison darts at Craig with his eyes.

Then the door opened. A man wearing a suit and tie and carrying a black leather doctor’s bag entered. He was Philippe, the Director of the Science and Medical Section of Craig’s counterterrorism agency.

Philippe put the bag down on the table. Calmly, with quiet efficiency, he removed a syringe with a long needle at the end, then a liter bottle with a clear liquid. In an instant, Alvarez’s expression changed. The swagger was gone. He now looked worried. “What is this?” he demanded.

Craig replied, “We can do this interrogation the easy way or the hard. Either you answer my questions voluntarily or…”

Craig paused for a minute, letting his words sink in, while watching Alvarez squirm in his chair. “Or my associate will inject you with increasingly larger doses of a substance which will work on the nerve junctions in your body. Do you know what nerve junctions are?”

Alvarez shook his head.

“That’s where bundles of nerves come together. You’ll feel excruciating pain. More pain than you’ve ever experienced. And I will tell my colleague to increase the dose until you answer my questions. Traces of the chemical will disappear rapidly from your body. If you die, and you may hope for that, even a skilled medical examiner will conclude it was due to a spontaneous heart attack.”

Alvarez pulled back in his chair, a terrified expression on his face. He let out a blood curdling scream. “Help… help… help!”

“No point dong that,” Craig said. “No one can hear you. I asked Carlos to select a soundproof room.”

Alvarez sprang out of his chair, to a standing position. Craig immediately pushed him back down.

“You won’t get away with this,” Alvarez shouted.

Craig laughed. “Do you really believe that? You are now hated by the entire Spanish nation. Your powerful friends will have nothing to do with you.” Craig turned to Philippe. “Full body restraints.”

Philippe reached into his bag and pulled out two rubber straps. He hooked one around Alvarez’s chest, tying him to the chair, and the other around his legs. Alvarez was now locked in place.

“Skip the lowest dosage,” Craig said to Philippe. “Begin at the mid level.”

“The pain may be too much for him to bear.”

“I don’t care. He’s scum. If his heart gives out, it means nothing to me.”

“No,” Alvarez pleaded. “No. Don’t do this.”

Philippe rolled up the sleeve on the right arm of Alvarez’s blue shirt. He poured liquid into the syringe, picked up the needle, and approached Alvarez.

“No,” Alvarez cried out.

Perspiration was dotting his forehead, running down the sides of his face, wetting his mustache. Craig saw that his shirt was wet under the arms.

“No. I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

“Hold up.” Craig said to Philippe. “We’ll give him a chance. Personally, I doubt if he’ll answer my questions so be ready to shoot him up.”

Philippe moved away and sat down. Craig pressed the record button on Carlos’s machine. Then Craig gave today’s date and the place, Madrid, Spain. He continued. “This is an interrogation of former Defense Minister General Alvarez being conducted by Craig Page. General Alvarez has voluntarily agreed to answer my questions. Is that correct, General Alvarez?”

Craig was staring at Alvarez.

“Yes,” Alvarez said softly.

“Please speak louder. I want to make sure the recorder picks up your words.”

“Yes,” Alvarez replied in a louder voice.

“When did you first meet General Zhou?”

“Saturday, March 21. This year.”

“And the occasion?”

“General Zhou invited me to his house in Cap d’Antibes in the south of France.”

“What did you discuss?”

“He offered to make a payment to me of ten million euros if I agreed to provide China with an opportunity to compete for a Spanish Air Force order of planes.”

“And did you accept his offer?”

Alvarez hesitated. Didn’t respond.

Craig pressed the off button on the recorder and pointed to Philippe who picked up the needle.

“Give him an injection,” Craig said, sounding exasperated.

Alvarez looked ready to cry. Craig noticed his pants were wet in front, liquid dripping from his chair onto the floor.

“No. I’ll answer,” Alvarez stammered.

Craig pressed the play button and repeated the question.

“Yes,” Alvarez answered in a soft voice.

“Louder,” Craig said. “The recorder has to get it.”

“Yes,” Alvarez repeated in a louder voice.

“Did you receive the payment?”

“It was deposited into a Singapore bank account in my name.”

“What else happened at that meeting?”

“General Zhou’s girlfriend, Androshka, had a friend named Masha in the house. Masha and I spent time together.”

“So General Zhou provided a woman for you for sex in addition to paying you money?”

“Correct,” he mumbled.

“Speak up,” Craig said.

“Yes. That’s right.”

“When was the next time you saw or spoke with General Zhou?”

“The following day, Sunday. I was in Paris for a meeting of EU Defense Ministers. Afterwards, I went to his apartment. I had dinner with him and Androshka. And Masha.”

Craig was confident he knew what meeting Alvarez was talking about. But he had to nail it down. “That was the meeting at which I urged the EU Defense Ministers to take action against Musa Ben Abdil in Morocco. And you argued successfully against it. Am I correct?”

“Others were against it as well.” Alvarez’s tone was hostile.

“Did you report to General Zhou what happened at that meeting?”

“Yes.”

“Did you tell him that I named a young French woman, Lila, as a witness who identified the voice of the perpetrator of the Spanish train bombing?”

“Yes,” he muttered.

“Are you aware that Lila was savagely murdered shortly after that meeting?”

“I read something about it.”

“Then you realize that you are responsible for her murder?”

Craig had never expected to establish responsibility for Lila’s murder today, but it was now perfectly clear.

“I deny that,” Alvarez said.

“But you told General Zhou. And he told Musa Ben Abdil.”

“I don’t know who General Zhou told.”

Craig didn’t take issue with that. He moved on. “When was your next meeting with General Zhou?”

“Saturday, March 27th. He summoned me to a meeting at Parque de Retiro in Madrid at seven in the morning.”

“What happened there?”

“He threatened to disclose that I took a bribe in connection with the airplane purchase order unless I—bastard had made a secret tape at Cap d’Antibes…” Alvarez was growing red in the face.

“Unless you what?”

“Unless I agreed to move troops from Southern Spain to the north.”

“Why did he want you to do that?”

“He told me to say I had learned of a Basque threat in the north.”

“Had you?”

Alvarez looked away. “No.”

“What did you understand to be his real motive?

“I didn’t know.”

“But you ran away from Spain to Argentina. So you must have known he was involved in a plan to launch an attack on Southern Spain.”

“I went on vacation.”

“The Defense Ministry travel office has told us you didn’t make your plans until that morning. My advice is that you don’t use the vacation lie in front of a judge. He’ll never believe you.”

“Fuck you.”

“Let me ask you this. In hindsight, do you believe that General Zhou wanted you to move the troops to the north to facilitate Musa Ben Abdil’s attack in the south?”

Alvarez didn’t respond.

“What’s the point of covering for General Zhou? When it all turned to shit, he let you swing. Made no effort to protect you. Hung you out there alone in Argentina while he escaped.”

Craig sensed that Alvarez was close to turning on General Zhou, but he wasn’t quite there.

Time for the carrot, Craig decided. He turned off the machine.

“If you give me what I want, what I need to nail General Zhou, I will tell the prosecutor that you cooperated. I’m certain he’ll take that into account in deciding how aggressive to be in proposing your punishment.”

Alvarez blinked his eyes. “Okay. Repeat the question.”

Craig did. And then he turned back on the recorder.

Alvarez took a deep breath and said, “I believe that scheming bastard General Zhou concocted the bribery for the airplane purchase to get me hooked so he could later use that to blackmail me and secure the troop movement. He had this whole thing orchestrated from the get go. I fell right into his trap.” Alvarez paused for a moment, then added, “Truth is, General Zhou is as guilty in all of this as Musa Ben Abdil. By getting me to move our troops from the south to the north, he was facilitating the attack.”

Craig had gotten exactly what he hoped for. He wanted to shout, “Yes!” but he remained still. Amazing what can be accomplished with water in a syringe.

Craig followed Elizabeth and Carlos into the office of Spanish Prime Minister Zahara. Standing next to the Prime Minister’s desk was a tall, thin, baldheaded man with wire frame glasses who Craig recognized as Justice Minister Garcia.

Zahara immediately took charge. He walked over to his desk and picked up one of three burgundy boxes. With a dramatic gesture, he opened it and removed a gold medal suspended by a purple ribbon. Zahara held it in front of Craig so he could read the inscription: “With gratitude from the Spanish people.” Zahara hung it around Craig’s neck then kissed him on each cheek.

Craig was deeply touched. He recalled a similar ceremony in the Oval Office when President Brewster presented him with the Medal of Freedom for stopping a terrorist attack in Madison Square Garden when it was filled to capacity for a Knicks game. At that ceremony, Craig was accompanied by his beautiful and talented daughter Francesca. Then a second time when Brewster presented the Medal to him as well as Elizabeth and Francesca, posthumously, she wasn’t there because General Zhou was responsible for her murder. Thinking about her intensified Craig’s hatred for Zhou.

Zahara returned to his desk, picked up a second box, and repeated the presentation to Elizabeth, who had worked with Craig in exposing and defeating the plot by Musa Ben Abdil and the general against the Spanish nation. Craig saw tears in her eyes. Zahara’s presentation was sincere and unexpected. He was confident Elizabeth was as startled as he was.

Zahara then presented the third metal to Carlos.

Afterwards, the Spanish Prime Minister said, “If it weren’t for the three of you, I believe that we would have lost control of the southern portion of our country to the man calling himself Musa Ben Abdil and his co-conspirators.”

Craig said, “I’m rarely speechless, Mr. Prime Minister, but I cannot think of adequate words to express my appreciation.”

After Elizabeth and Carlos added their own thanks, Zahara pointed to the conference table in the corner of the large office. While the others settled in, Zahara returned to his desk and picked up what Craig recognized as the transcript of Craig’s interrogation of Alvarez.

Clutching it tightly, Zahara took a seat at the head of the table. Craig recalled the first time he had been seated at this table. Hard to believe it was only seven months ago when he and Elizabeth had been summoned from Paris by Zahara to provide advice to the Spanish Prime Minister about how to deal with the threat of a train bombing planned by Musa Ben Abdil. That had been the opening salvo in Musa’s effort to reestablish Muslim control over a portion of Southern Spain.

While Justice Minister Garcia pulled the transcript out of his
briefcase, Zahara slammed his copy down on the table. He looked squarely at Garcia. “I’m so furious at Alvarez. I want him to get the maximum punishment. The death penalty.”

“Under our law, he can’t get that.”

“Well then, life in prison and no chance of parole.”

“I agree. I’ll make sure it happens.”

“I still can’t believe he did it. I thought I knew the man. Well anyhow, Carlos, you said we have some unfinished business.”

“Yes, Mr. Prime Minister. General Zhou has to be brought to justice for his role in this conspiracy.”

“I agree. I’m not a lawyer, but when I read Alvarez’s testimony, it seems absolutely clear to me that General Zhou has criminal responsibility for the Spanish people who died in the invasion of Southern Spain and the march to the Alhambra. Am I correct?” Zahara was looking at the Justice Minister.

“Yes, sir. You are,” Garcia replied in a subservient tone.

“Good. Then we have to make Zhou pay for his crimes.”

“First, we have to find General Zhou and seek his extradition,” Garcia said. “I doubt very much that he’s still in Spain.”

Craig spoke up. “I know precisely where General Zhou is. Even the location of the house he’s occupying.”

“Where?” Zahara asked eagerly.

“He’s on the island of Bali in Indonesia.”

“How do you know that?” Zahara said in a voice suggesting both admiration and disbelief.

“Before I made the prisoner exchange between Elizabeth and Androshka in Gibraltar, I slipped a powerful tracking device into Androshka’s bag. Thanks to a friend in the CIA, I now have precise coordinates for where they’ve been the last three days.”

Zahara smacked his right fist into his left palm. He turned back to the Justice Minster. “How long will it take you to draw up a petition for extradition?”

Garcia was squirming in his chair, a frown on his face.

Uh-oh, we have a problem, Craig thought.

“Unfortunately,” Garcia said in a halting voice. “We do not have an extradition treaty with Indonesia.”

Zahara reddened with anger. “You damn lawyers. Always telling me what I can’t do.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

“So we’re stymied. Stuck.” Zahara sounded outraged. “I can’t believe that.”

“Unfortunately, that’s the situation.”

“Suppose we negotiate an extradition treaty with Indonesia right now. Let’s do that.”

Garcia was shaking his head. “Won’t work.”

“Why not?”

“Even if Indonesia would be amenable, which I doubt, it’ll take too long. Also, it couldn’t be applied retroactively.”

Zahara turned away from Garcia, toward Craig and Elizabeth. “Have you ever noticed that lawyers always tell you what you
can’t do?”

Craig was in agony. His great plan for bringing Zhou back to Spain to stand trial never got off the ground. It was D.O.A. His successful interrogation of Alvarez was all for naught. He was right back where he started. Nowhere. But he couldn’t accept that. Zahara was willing to try Zhou. A Spanish court would convict him. Craig couldn’t let this opportunity disintegrate. He had to find a way to get Zhou back to Spain to stand trial.

Then it hit him. There was a way. Risky to be sure, but Craig was willing to gamble everything, even his own life, to get revenge over Zhou. Life had no value for Craig unless Francesca’s murderer was made to pay for his crime.

“Here’s what we should do,” Craig said. He coughed and cleared his throat. Through the corner of his eye, he saw trepidation on Elizabeth’s face. He could guess what she was thinking: you should discuss this with me first. But there was no time for that.

All eyes were on Craig.

“Mr. Prime Minister, I’d like to request you to authorize Carlos to assemble a strike force of four special ops troops. Carlos will remain here in Madrid. I’ll head up the unit. Our mission will be to go into Bali, under the cover of darkness, abduct General Zhou, and bring him back to Madrid to stand trial.”

As Craig’s words sunk in, an eerie silence settled over the room.

“You really think you can do that?” Zahara asked, the doubt evident.

“I executed similar missions when I was with the CIA.”

“But you had a great deal more technical support for those. Didn’t you?” Elizabeth interjected, disapproval in her voice.

“Technology only goes so far,” Craig said.

“But you’d be exposing yourself to great danger,” Carlos added.

“I won’t deny that. In selecting your special ops men to join me,” Craig said, “you should seek volunteers. No one should be compelled to do this.”

Carlos nodded.

Craig turned back to Zahara. “It’s up to you, Mr. Prime Minister. Whether you wish to authorize it. I’m afraid the operation may provoke a major diplomatic incident for Spain with the government of Indonesia, the largest Muslim country in the world.”

“I’m prepared to accept that,” Zahara said. “They’ve granted sanctuary to this criminal responsible for killing so many of our people.”

“Are you certain?” the Justice Minister asked. “The fallout could be serious. Perhaps you should analyze our commercial dealings with Indonesia before you give this risky operation a green light.”

“There comes a time,” Zahara said boldly, “for any leader when principles trump business. For me, this is one of them.”

Craig’s high opinion of Zahara was raised a notch.

Zahara turned back to Craig. “If your abduction gets into trouble, don’t hesitate to kill General Zhou.”

“Thank you, Sir. I appreciate having that authority. Now I’ll go with Carlos to plan the operation.”

Carlos, Elizabeth, and Craig left the Prime Minister’s office. None of them said a word until they hit the street. Then Elizabeth, eyes
blazing, said, “Are you crazy? Out of your fucking mind.”

Carlos backpedaled. “You two should talk about this by yourselves. I’ll be at the Defense Ministry.”

“You don’t care what I think, do you?” Elizabeth cried out. “That’s the most insulting part.”

People passing by were staring at them.

“Can we at least go somewhere private to talk,” he said.

“Whatever you want.”

He led the way to a nearby park. They sat down next to each other on a bench.

“Loving you is about the stupidest thing I ever did.” She was crying. She pounded her fist against his chest. “We’re not even married, and I feel like a widow already. That’s quite a trick.”

“You don’t have to worry. I’ll come back alive,” he said displaying a bravado he didn’t feel. “This operation won’t be riskier than many I undertook with the CIA.”

Of course, she was right in what she had said in the meeting. In his CIA operations, he’d always had lots of high tech support which made a difference. Also he knew that Carlos’s special ops troops wouldn’t have had much, if any, experience in the field. The odds of him coming back alive were long. The odds of abducting General Zhou even longer. But he couldn’t admit that to her.

“What really upsets me,” she said, “is that I know I’ll be responsible for your death. If I hadn’t been taken prisoner in Paris, you would never have let General Zhou get away.”

“Totally irrelevant. All that matters now is he’s eluded me twice. He was responsible for my daughter, Francesca’s, death. It’s time for my revenge.”

“That’s absurd. It’s time for you to forget the past. Time for you to move on.”

“I wish I could.”

He reached for her hand. She pulled it away, then stood up and left the park.

Watching her walk away, he had no second thoughts about what he planned to do. Yes, he loved Elizabeth, but he rejected her opinion on this issue. She never had a child. She couldn’t understand the pain of losing one. Perhaps he was a fanatic. And obsessive. Call it what you want, but all that mattered to him right now was getting Zhou for Francesca’s murder. This was the best chance he’d ever had. Perhaps he’d never have another once Zhou was safely back in China. Either he’d bring Zhou back from Bali to stand trial or he’d kill him. Not with a gun. But with his bare hands, so he could watch Zhou die. Painfully and slowly.