Rapp threw a twenty down on the bar and grabbed his bottle of Summit Pale Ale. “So, Ralph,” he said casually, as his eyes looked at everyone except the person he was talking to, “what’s on your mind?”
“Ah…” Wassen was caught off guard. “Thank you for coming.” There was no apology for being nearly forty-five minutes late. No acknowledgment, really. Just a nod.
“Should we take that booth over there?” Rapp pointed to an empty one on the far wall.
“Sure.”
Rapp left the bartender a buck and picked up the rest of the bills. Both men slid into the high-backed booth, Rapp facing the front door and Wassen the back. Wassen clutched his small drink with his long fingers and thanked Rapp again for coming.
“It’s not a problem,” Rapp said in an easy tone. “What can I help you with?”
“You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
Rapp shrugged as if to say that it was bigger for some than others.
“My boss is pretty keyed up.”
“I’m sure she is. A nationally televised hearing is a lot of free advertising for them.”
“Yes it is, and you seem,” Wassen said with a grin, “very calm for a man who is about to be grilled on national television.”
Again, Rapp shrugged his shoulders. “Let’s just say I’ve been in worse spots.”
“Oh… I’m sure you have, but this is different.” Wassen took a sip. “This group won’t play fair. They will stack the deck in their favor.”
“I’m sure they’ll try.”
Wassen noticed a bit of cockiness. “That doesn’t worry you?”
“I can take care of myself,” Rapp replied with a grin.
Wassen studied him for a moment; the alert eyes, behind the handsome rugged face. Sitting here in the bar he seemed like a decent fellow. Not the immoral animal some made him out to be. Although, it was not difficult to imagine that he was capable of extreme violence. “Why do I get the feeling that you know something that no one else does?”
Rapp grinned, a lopsided dimple appearing above the scar on his left jawline. “I know a lot of things that others don’t, Ralph. That’s my job.”
“But you’re supposed to pass all of those secrets on to the Intelligence Committee, aren’t you?” Wassen asked in a sarcastic tone.
“We both know that would be a mistake.”
Wassen nodded and then stared into his drink for a long moment.
Rapp watched him intently and then said, “You’re going to have to put your cards on the table. You’re not the one in a vulnerable position. I am.”
“Do you want to bet? If Babs found out I was here, she would pluck my testicles out with her pretty little French manicured fingernails.”
“That might be true,” Rapp laughed, “but no one is looking to indict you.”
“Fair enough.” Wassen took another sip and then in a slightly embarrassed tone said, “You know not all of us think you’re a monster.”
“Just your boss.”
“She can be passionate at times.”
Rapp said nothing.
“I got a call this afternoon from a friend in New York. He asked me, ‘What makes your boss think that we Americans want to extend our constitutional rights to a bunch of homophobes who recruit retarded children to be suicide bombers?’”
“Did you pass along the message?”
“No.”
“You should.”
“I might,” Wassen said without much enthusiasm. “Maybe in the morning… which, by the way, they are talking about closing the morning session.”
“I heard.” The Judiciary Committee Meeting Room was secure, and it was not uncommon for them to shut the spectators and the cameras out when they didn’t know what to expect.
“Why are you doing this?” Wassen blurted out.
“Doing what?”
“Testifying. Any sane man would take the Fifth and make it hard on them.”
“One could argue my sanity, but I think taking the Fifth makes it easy on them. It’s the game they are used to playing. Being open and forthright is something this town is not used to.”
“You’re right, there. That’s why they’re moving to close the morning session. They’re nervous you might say something that will embarrass them.”
Rapp took a sip of his beer and smiled.
“I think you’ve got something planned.”
“The only thing I have planned is to go before the committee tomorrow and answer their questions.”
Wassen nodded and then finally admitted, “I have tried to convince her to drop this whole matter.”
“I can’t see that happening.”
“No.” Wassen shook his head. “As much as I’d like to see her do it, I don’t think she will.”
“Then she and I will be locking horns in the morning.”
Wassen nodded sadly and then said, “I would like to help, if there is a way. This infighting is bad for all of us.”
“Agreed,” Rapp said, “but we appear to be pretty far apart on some major issues.”
“Which brings me to my main question – why?”
“Why what?” Rapp asked.
“Why risk your entire career on an operation like this?”
Rapp smiled. Wassen was the first person to get it. “Ralph, that’s the million-dollar question.”
CHAPTER 53
KARIM finished tying the gag around the man’s mouth and then removed his shoes. He held the tip of the knife a few inches from the man’s eyes and said, “Toenails can grow back, but toes will not.”
It was a line he had heard an Afghan use on a British paratrooper they had captured one night during a battle. He had learned much that evening watching the Afghani methodically wear the man down. He had always assumed there was a real skill to torture, but he’d had no appreciation for it until he’d seen it firsthand. There were several truisms. The first was that everyone broke. No matter how tough they were, eventually they cracked. The only time that wasn’t true was if the subject was overstressed and died prematurely of a heart attack. The other truism was that you could get anyone to say anything. In this instance Karim thought that was the more important lesson to keep in mind. The subject was fit and looked to be under thirty. His heart would be able to handle a great deal of pain.
He did not want to start out asking the man if he worked for the CIA, because eventually he would admit to it only to stop the pain. He needed to get him to flatly admit who he worked for. No leading questions.
“I have found in these situations it is best to show the subject that I am serious.” Karim looked up at Aabad, who was standing behind the man, and said, “Hold him tightly around the chest.” Karim grabbed the man’s right foot and placed the tip of the knife under the nail of the big toe. Looking into the frightened eyes of the man, he said, “I can make this one toe last for hours.”
The man began to fight. Karim held the foot firmly and jammed the tip of the knife under the nail bed. The man went stiff with pain and his eyes rolled back into his head. Fifteen seconds later he stopped fighting them and his breathing became labored.
“Take off the gag,” Karim ordered Aabad. After it was removed he asked the man, “Your name, please. The one you used when you were a Ranger.”
“Tony… Tony Jones.”
Karim smiled. “I don’t believe you, but we will check.” He stood and grabbed a mobile phone from a shelf, and he dialed a number and then gave the person on the other end the name.
“Put the gag back on,” Karim ordered.
“No,” the man screamed. “You haven’t even found out if I’m lying to you.”
“I know you are lying.” Karim smiled.
“No, I’m not,” the man pleaded.
“Really… tell me then why you were trying to get into the storage room across the hall.”
“I…” the man stammered, “was looking around… that’s all. I swear. It’s my job to know what’s going on around here.”
Karim nodded for Aabad to put the gag back on. The man struggled and fought him every step of the way. When it was secure, Karim stuck the tip of the knife back under the nail and slid it back and forth. The man bucked and writhed in pain. Karim waited for it to pass and then asked him, “Who do you work for?”