The air conditioning in the van worked hard to keep the furnace-like heat at bay. Driver thanked herself for having had the foresight to pack water in ice inside a large cooler. Rios was the first to dig a hand inside the cooler. Baptiste made a joke about the water being poisoned. Driver saw the funny side. A van full of natural enemies – who would risk the first drink?
‘I’m dying of thirst anyway,’ Rios said, grabbing the bottle and taking a slug. She sighed in relief and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth.
Pope snatched the water off Rios and drank like a camel.
Driver can’t have been the only one watching the rivulets of water running off his chin and down his throat. Her mouth was drier than the Bonneville Salt Flats. Yet like the others, she was waiting for any sign of an adverse reaction.
Pope shook his head. ‘Bloody spies. You’re all paranoid.’
‘Oh yeah?’ Wells replied. ‘You know what they used to call our friend at the wheel?’
‘Lady Cyanide,’ Baptiste said. ‘Among other things.’
Lim looked over a shoulder. ‘That was when I was MSS.’ She steered the minivan along the winding road. ‘And we prefer nerve agents to toxins.’
Driver smiled to herself as Pope looked again at the bottle.
‘Don’t worry,’ Lim said, glancing in the rear-view mirror. ‘Nerve agents are too dangerous without protection.’
‘No wukkas,’ Pope said, putting on a front. ‘I wasn’t worried.’
‘Arsenic is what I’d use,’ Lim continued, smiling to herself.
Baptiste grabbed the bottle off a newly concerned Pope. ‘If it was poisoned, you’d be showing signs already.’
Driver took hold of a second chilled bottle, took a hearty gulp and passed it to Lim. She pulled the satphone from the glove box and dialled the number she’d memorised before the mission. ‘I’m with the courier company,’ she said, as Gilmore answered. ‘We’re at the gate. We’ve got your package.’
The tyres of the minivan rumbled over the lumpy, sandy road through miles of desert scrub. It was a long, isolated road through a perimeter fence leading to a house that resembled an abandoned motel. Lim slowed the minivan as it neared a high steel gate. It slid aside and they accelerated through towards the house.
‘Is there any damage to the package?’ Gilmore asked over the satphone. ‘It’s delicate and I don’t want it to break.’
‘Don’t worry, it’s still in one piece,’ Driver said, looking over her shoulder at Serik.
He was awake now, but held at gunpoint. A squirming, trembling, naked mess. Driver couldn’t wait to get him in a room. Sure, the mission was critical. But there were other answers that needed knocking out of him.
‘You’ve got two hours until next pickup,’ Gilmore said, as if reading her mind. ‘Try not to damage the package in the meantime.’
Driver bit back. ‘You want answers or not?’
‘Just remember what we talked about,’ Gilmore continued, his voice grave with concern. ‘This is bigger than any of us.’
‘Two hours, got it.’ Driver ended the call.
Lim brought the van to a stop in front of the safe house. Driver jumped out and slid the rear door open with a hand on her pistol. Lim joined her with her weapon drawn. Wells hopped out of the back of the van with his rifle poised. Pope and Baptiste moved to bring out Serik.
‘Wait,’ Driver said, holding out a hand and beckoning Wells along.
They met two members of the safe-house security team between house and van. One was a squat man with razored black hair. The other, a rangy blond man. Both had greying beards and faces wrinkled from the sun. They wore wraparound sunglasses, jeans and T-shirts, with .45 rifles strapped over their shoulders. Their fingers lingered on their triggers, taking no chances.
‘Hot one today,’ the blond man said with a Dutch twang.
‘Could do with a lemonade,’ Driver replied.
The security men nodded at each other.
‘This all of your unit?’ Driver asked.
‘Two more inside,’ the dark-haired man replied in a German accent. He gave a thumbs up to a security camera nestled under the roof of the front porch. The front door opened, as if operated by remote.
Driver gave Lim the signal. They brought Serik around the side of the van and ran him inside, weapons trained in all directions.
The dark-haired guard seemed amused. ‘Seriously? There’s no one in ten miles of here. Nothing but goat herders.’
‘One of those herders killed my mate with an IED,’ Pope said, pushing the naked Serik inside.
The guards brought up the rear. Driver didn’t like either of them. They seemed too complacent when it came to the enemy, softened by months of inaction.
‘Who’s under that hood?’ the Dutchman asked.
‘Better you don’t know,’ Wells said, as they jabbed a button on the wall next to an internal security door.
‘If you’re staying here, we need to know who we’re hosting,’ the German said.
‘We’re not staying,’ Driver replied. ‘And sorry, but you don’t.’
The Dutchman stood his ground. ‘It’s our house.’
‘And it’s Geneva’s show,’ Driver said, holding out the satphone. ‘Or do you wanna call home and argue with Mom and Dad?’
‘You can at least tell us who you are,’ the German continued. ‘We’ve got to log all visitors.’
Driver found her patience wearing thin. ‘I assume you’ve been briefed?’
The Dutchman nodded.
‘Then we were never here.’ Driver said, holding the German’s eye.
After a moment’s pause, the security team stepped aside.
Driver let the others run Serik through the door. ‘Ninety minutes and we’ll be dust in the wind,’ she continued. ‘In the meantime, do me a favour. Keep an eye out front for those goat herders.’ She pulled the security door shut in the guard’s faces and followed the rest of the team along a narrow corridor over cracked stone tiles.
The safe house had its own interrogation room. Two metal chairs and a table screwed into the floor and a two-sided mirror on the left-hand wall. Driver also noticed a camera shaped like a black bulb in the right corner of the ceiling, angled towards the centre of the room.
Pope and Baptiste forced Serik into the chair facing the door. He was wide awake now, struggling and attempting to shake them off.
‘What is this?’ Serik said from under the hood. ‘Who are you?’
The UN wasn’t in the habit of torturing the people they questioned. But they did have duct tape and a steel cable bicycle lock, both left out on the table as requested. While Pope pinned Serik’s calves to the legs of the chair, Baptiste wound the tape around his ankles. Next, Pope held Serik’s arms behind his back. Baptiste pulled the cable tight around the man’s ribcage. As the cable locked with an audible click, Driver stepped forward to remove the hood.
Wells dragged her back by an arm. He shook his head, put a finger to his lips and beckoned everyone out of the room. She went to pull away. Wells stood firm, his eyes wide and fixed on hers. Driver looked from Wells to Serik. She relented. As they left the room, Wells kept a firm grip of Driver’s elbow. They turned left and headed into a cramped soundproof observation booth.
‘So how do you want to do this?’ Baptiste asked.
‘Let him sweat a few minutes,’ Wells said. ‘Then I’ll go in and get the ball rolling.’
‘No, I want first bite,’ Driver said.
Wells held up his hands in apology. ‘Afraid you’re gonna have to sit this one out. Gilmore’s orders.’
That son of a bitch. All that bullshit back in Geneva about trusting her. He’d gone behind her back and given Wells a different order. Driver had forgotten how manipulative her old boss could be. ‘Gilmore isn’t here,’ she said, staring through the window at Serik. ‘And I’m team leader. My plan. My playbook.’
Wells looked at his watch. ‘Only for the extraction. And the clock’s ticking. Let’s get on with it.’
Driver shook her head as Wells pulled his rifle over his head and set it down. ‘Anyone bring in the cooler?’ Rios stepped forward with the cool box. Wells removed the last bottle of chilled water and left the observation booth.
As they waited for the show to start, Driver rolled the tension from her shoulders. Rios flexed her fingers.
‘How’s the hand?’ Pope asked her.
Rios shrugged. ‘It’s getting better.’
‘I’d say it works fine,’ Pope said. ‘That was some bloody shot back there.’
Rios held up her good hand. ‘I used the other one.’
‘Really?’ Driver asked, her attention torn from Serik.
‘Sure,’ Rios said, wiggling the fingers of her left.
Pope turned angry. ‘You mean you shot with your wrong hand when my head was in the way?’
‘Then you shouldn’t have such a massive head,’ Rios said.
‘You’re a liability,’ Pope grumbled, wagging a finger at Rios.
‘You know what does work?’ Rios said, extending the middle finger of her right hand.
While Rios and Pope exchanged sneers, Wells appeared on the other side of the two-way mirror. He closed the interrogation room door behind him and crossed the floor. Driver watched as he set the bottle of water down in the middle of the table. He walked around the back of Serik’s chair and yanked the hood off his head. Serik blinked and looked around him, eyes adjusting to the light. With a middle-aged body and wild, thinning hair, Serik looked more like a homeless man than the world’s leading professional terrorist.
Wells perched himself on the table in a relaxed manner. ‘Hi, I’m Michael. Your name’s Nurian, right?’
Serik didn’t respond. But he did wheeze under the pressure of the restraint.
‘Sorry it’s a bit tight,’ Wells said. ‘It’s the best we could do.’
Serik broke into a hoarse, violent cough. He groaned as the cable dug into his ribs.
‘I can help you out there, if you’re willing to help me,’ Wells continued.
Serik kept his silence, so Wells put his hand on the bottle of water. ‘Not even for a drink?’
Pope laughed to himself. ‘As if he’s gonna break that easy.’
‘He’s just drawing attention to it,’ Driver replied. ‘Making him notice how thirsty he is, how dehydrated.’
‘I could knock his front teeth out,’ Pope said. ‘He’ll notice that.’
Driver continued to simmer as Wells stretched his legs around the room. ‘You know why you’re here?’ he asked.
Again, Serik didn’t answer.
‘I mean, you know you’re a terrorist. And you know we know you’re a terrorist,’ Wells continued, strolling around the table. ‘But more specifically… Do you know why today, of all days?’
‘Today what?’ Serik spat.
‘That the gods came down from Olympus and snatched you out of your shoes.’
Serik looked away from Wells, eyes locked on the floor.
‘No?’ Wells continued, taking a seat across from him. ‘Do you think it could be because of the car bombing in Washington? Or the embassy attack in Moscow?’
Driver kept a close eye on Serik for a reaction.
Wells leaned forward on his chair. ‘Cards on the table, Nurian, we already know you were responsible.’
‘So what’s your plan?’ Serik said, breaking his silence. ‘You beat me up? Waterboard me? Lock me in a box? You know nothing. And neither do I.’
‘I’m not interested in hurting you, Nurian,’ Wells said. ‘And quite frankly, advanced interrogation doesn’t work. People will say anything to stop the torture. So what’s say we skip the formalities? All we want is the truth.’
‘What truth?’
The gall of the man, thought Driver. It made her want to punch through the inches-thick glass.
On the other side of the window, Wells remained calm. ‘You know exactly what I’m asking for, Nurian.’
Serik huffed. ‘Why would I tell you anything?’
‘Because today we’re running a special offer,’ Wells said, consulting his watch. ‘And right now, it’s happy hour. Not only do you get this tall bottle of cool, refreshing water, we’re throwing in a generous relocation package.’
‘What is this package?’ Serik asked.
‘Money, immunity and a new life.’
Serik didn’t answer. Driver couldn’t believe it. They were offering this scumbag a deal?
‘Come on, Nurian, what do you say?’ Wells cracked the top off the bottle of water. ‘You in or you out?’
Serik laughed to himself. ‘Why do you keep calling me Nurian? Who is this person you think I am?’
Wells’ head dropped in defeat. He put the bottle top down on the table. He slapped his hands on his thighs as he stood from his chair. ‘Why don’t I give you a few minutes to think about it?’ He tapped his watch face. ‘Don’t think too long.’
As Wells returned to the observation booth, Driver bridled at the thought of Serik strolling away from his crimes and into the sunset. She squeezed a fist and counted to ten.
Wells slapped Pope on the shoulder. ‘You’re next, buddy. No real names, remember?’
‘Righto,’ Pope said, stretching. ‘Watch and learn, kids.’
Driver refocused as Pope appeared moments later in the interrogation room. She might not have been allowed in there, but she could watch the man for ticks and tells. Suss out the truth as the others tried to extract information.
‘G’day, mate,’ Pope said to Serik as he picked up the water bottle. ‘Aw yeah, I’m thirstier than a camel in a jumper.’ Pope took a slug of water and offered the bottle to Serik. ‘Want some, Mr Serik?’
Serik strained his neck, his lips an inch from the bottle.
Pope pulled the bottle away. ‘Shit, I forgot. You’re not Nurian Serik are you? How about I just call you Phil?’ Pope angled his head, as if staring at Serik’s groin. ‘Strewth, Phil, I’ve seen bigger dicks on a baby dingo.’
Inside the booth, Driver turned to Wells. ‘What’s the plan with Pope? Annoy the truth out of him?’
Wells shrugged.
‘If it is, I give him two minutes,’ Baptiste said. ‘No human can withstand that kind of punishment.’
Back in the interrogation room, Pope slammed the bottle on the table. ‘Anyway, my name’s Michael as well.’ He roamed around the room, limbering up as if ready for a morning run. ‘Mates call me Mick. I like arm-wrestling, table tennis and long walks along the coast.’ Pope rolled out his neck and shoulders. ‘Shall we get started?’
‘Started with what?’ Serik asked.
Pope cracked an incredulous grin. ‘With the torture, you big galah.’
He plunged a fist deep into Serik’s midriff. Serik bucked in his chair, the cable digging into his ribs. A smile flickered on Driver’s face.