Rapp stood and circled the prisoner. He looked at the blood and the misshapen nose. He knew Nash would flip, but he didn’t care. He was sick of all the bullshit. “You’re not getting any virgins,” Rapp barked at Haggani. He thought of Nash’s words; how he used their religion to dismantle their twisted ways. “Djinn,” Rapp uttered, the one word that seemed to drive the ones like Haggani nuts. “You are a Djinn, and you don’t even know it. You know the Koran forbids suicide and yet you have convinced dozens and dozens of Allah’s children to throw their lives away. You have killed thousands of Allah’s followers. The seventh sura, Abu, do you remember?” Rapp switched to Arabic and began reciting the verse from the Koran, “Many, moreover, of the Djinn and men we have created for hell. Hearts have they with which they understand not, and eyes with which they see not, and ears have they with which they hearken not. They are like brutes: Yea, they go more astray: these are the heedless.”

Rapp switched back to Dari. “That is you, Abu. You believed those twisted Wahhabi clerics, and now you will have to answer to Allah. Before the sun rises I am going to kill you.” Rapp paused, grabbed Haggani by the chin, and forced him to look him in the eye. “That’s right, I am going to kill you, and unless you repent you’re getting on an express elevator to hell.”

CHAPTER 10

NASH entered the interrogation room and set a pack of Marlboro cigarettes and a lighter on the table. The cigarettes had started out as a device; something for him to do during the long pauses that inevitably punctuated the interrogation sessions. Many of the prisoners eventually partook, and it helped build a sense of fellowship that Nash was more than happy to exploit. Unfortunately, it was now much more than a device. After six years, he was using them on a daily basis, sneaking one or two, here and there. His wife had caught on and wasn’t happy – both for his health and for the message it might send their teenage daughter should she find out. He tried his best to limit his smoking to these overseas jaunts, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to separate his job from his personal life. The stress, he had to admit, was getting to him.

Nash picked up the pack and offered a cigarette to al-Haq. The Afghani took one eagerly. Nash held the flame a foot in front of the terrorist. Al-Haq hesitated and then leaned forward. Little things mattered in these sessions. Getting a man to take a cigarette was good but getting him to lean across the table and meet you halfway was even better. Nash lit his own cigarette, sat back, crossed his legs, and exhaled a big cloud of smoke.

“I would like to make a deal,” al-Haq said in a businesslike tone.

Nash hid his surprise – studied him for a few seconds. Thought to himself, This one is different. In all the time I’ve been doing this, not one of them has started the conversation, much less announced that they were ready to deal. “Let’s hear it.”

“I have information… very valuable information that I think your government would be willing to pay for.”

“Pay for?” Nash said in a voice that lacked any emotion even though he was fighting to suppress his excitement.

“Yes.”

“What makes you think they would be willing to pay for it?”

“I think considering the political climate in your country it would be much easier to make a business deal with me.”

They study us more than we think, Nash thought. Al-Haq was right about the leaders in Washington, but Nash wasn’t willing to admit it. At least not yet. Instead he said, “Why would I give you cash when I can have General Dostum squeeze the information out of you?”

Al-Haq took a pull off his cigarette and answered, “For many reasons, but most importantly, the information I have for you is very time-sensitive. If I am forced to endure the humiliation and pain that will no doubt be employed by the general, I am likely to be less than forthright. Eventually, you will get most of what you want, but it might be too late.”

“And why should I believe you?” Nash watched as al-Haq considered the question. He got the sense that the man was contemplating how much he should divulge.

“You picked up a cell in Mauretania seven weeks ago.”

Nash’s face gave away nothing. They had in fact intercepted an al-Qaeda cell in Mauretania with the help of the French. It had been kept very quiet. Not a single mention of it had been reported in the press. Most of the men had been thoroughly debriefed, but there were a few holdouts, including the cell’s leader. Nash looked al-Haq calmly in the eye and said, “Go on.”

“There was a second cell.”

Nash nodded.

“Intercepted in Hong Kong. We think by the British.”

Nash was intimately familiar with the incident. It was in fact the British who had picked up the group. He’d spent the week before last in London being briefed by his counterpart at MI6. The cell was composed mostly of Pakistanis who spoke very good English. “I am familiar with the situation.”

“Well, there is a third group.”

“I’m listening,” Nash said calmly, even though he wasn’t calm. His worst fears were being confirmed.

“I need assurances.”

“We can work that out.”

Al-Haq exhaled a cloud of smoke and laughed. “I am going to need more than the word of a professional spy.”

“What would satisfy you?”

“I have a lawyer in Bern. I will need a letter from your president guaranteeing me the following…”

Before he could list his demands, Nash cut him off. “That’s not going to happen. There is no way the president is going to get anywhere near something that even remotely makes him look like he is negotiating with a terrorist.”

“The letter will only be used if you fail to follow through on your part of the bargain.”

“It’s a nonstarter, Mohammad.”

Al-Haq ignored him. “There is a two-million-dollar reward for my arrest. I want that money for turning myself in, and I want a new identity. If we can agree on that, and a few more things, I will cooperate fully with you. I will tell you everything I know, but you must report…” His voice faded.

“Report what?”

“That I am dead.”

Nash understood immediately. He wanted to protect his family. Nash stuffed his cigarette in his mouth to hide his deep satisfaction. He was staring at what amounted to their first high-level defection. This could be huge, he thought to himself. Nash leaned forward and pointed his cigarette at al-Haq. “Mohammad, I think I can make this work, but the agreement will have to be between the director of the CIA and you. If I get any politicians involved, they’ll screw it up.”

Al-Haq thought about it for a long moment and in a voice filled with doubt and anxiety said, “I need assurances.”

“I will get you assurances. I know I can get you the money, but this is the type of thing that has to be handled in the dark. There is no other way.”

Al-Haq didn’t like what he was hearing. He had no faith in this man or the organization he represented. He shook his head, his face showing his discomfort.

“Mohammad, if you want to go public, there’s a way I can sell this,” Nash said in a reasonable tone. “The president would love nothing more than to announce that you’ve defected. Have you stand up in front of the cameras and repudiate al-Qaeda and the Taliban, but if you do that your family is going to be slaughtered.”

The words hit al-Haq like a knife in the side. After a moment he said, “I do not want that.”

“Then the only option is to do this in the dark. In fact we might even want to announce that you’ve been killed.”

“That would be very convenient for you.”

“I think it is a mutually beneficial solution.”

“But can I trust you?”

“You’d better.”

“Why?”