64. Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter sixty-four
Noble closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. He wanted to curse but held back because of Sam’s policy on what she called potty language. Although, right now, he suspected even Sam might be on the verge of some potty language.
Fifteen people, fifteen Americans, were dead.
Noble had to resist the urge to yank Mehmet out of the trunk and stomp him. He put his back against the brick wall and focused on keeping his temper in check.
“We got several packets of intel from the hard drives,” Sam was saying. “The techs are working to decode the data dumps now, but I don’t know if it’s going to have any of the intel we need. Without the doctor’s research we have no way to synthesize an antibody.”
Noble rubbed his temple with the tips of his fingers.
This had gone from bad to worse. He had a special dislike of viral and chemical warfare.
Give him an enemy of flesh and blood, something he could shoot.
Viruses were a whole other level of fear.
You can’t see it and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.
Game over. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.
Burke’s voice came on the line. “Goodman? You with still with us?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” Noble heard himself saying. All things being equal, he’d rather be any place else. “What’s the play? Zeqiri and Kadare could be two hundred miles away by now?”
Sam said, “You’ve still got one of the terrorists in custody?”
Noble opened his eyes. Mehmet sat in the trunk, the used tire pinning his arms to his chest, with dry blood caked on his face and a weary expression. Noble said, “I’m looking at him.”
Sam spoke haltingly. “We may need to use enhanced interrogation techniques.”
“Wait one.” Noble put the phone on speaker and held it out. “Say that again.”
“We might need to resort to enhanced interrogation methods,” Sam repeated, a little more confidence in her voice this time.
Mehmet shrank back, cowering deeper into the trunk. A look of terror contorted the lines of his face. “No! No, please!”
Noble eyed him with cold indifference, took the phone off speaker and put it to his ear. “This coming from the top?”
There was a longer pause this time. Sam said, “If we need it, I’ll get the clearance.”
Burke broke in again. “I want this to be absolutely clear, Samantha. There can’t be any questions later. The CIA, and the federal government is giving my company and my contractor authorization to use enhanced interrogation?”
“I have to put you on hold,” Sam said.
The soft strains of elevator muzak came on the line. CIA actually had hold music. It was absurd. But that’s government for you.
While she was gone, Noble said, “You’re recording this right?”
“Of course,” Burke assured him.
“My identity is still intact?”
“You’re a ghost, my man.”
“Make sure it stays that way.”
“Roger that.”
The Muzak cut out and Sam’s voice came back on the line. “You are officially cleared by the United States government to use enhanced interrogation techniques on the subject in your custody in order to ascertain the whereabouts of the terror cell in possession of the LB426 contagion.”
Burke said, “I’ll need that in writing.”
“You’ll have it,” Sam assured him. “And Goodman, I have something that should help. Our computer cowboys have started to decipher the first of the intel dumps.”
“Finally some good news,” Noble said. “Lay it on me.”
“There is no cell service in the area of the virology lab. Too remote. Kadare’s group had their phones routed through a satellite dish.
A series of phone calls went out from that locale to a high-ranking intelligence official in the IRGC living in Zagreb.
We think he must be their buyer. That same cellphone pinged off a tower an hour ago, headed north, northwest, halfway between Belgrade and Zagreb, before going dark.
There’s a good chance Kadare is headed toward Zagreb now to make the sale. ”
“That’s enough to start,” Jake said. He turned his attentions back to Mehmet and his brows fixed into granite ridges. “I’ll call you back when I’ve got the rest.”
He hung up.
Mehmet let out a whimper. The man already looked pathetic, stuffed inside a tire, in a trunk, in the middle of the night.
Noble said, “Your captain just killed fifteen Americans.”
Mehmet’s face scrunched. “Please, I told you about the traps. I warned you to warn your men. This is not my fault.”
“Did you help set the traps?” Noble crowded close to the bumper, infiltrating Mehmet’s space.
“I was… just following orders,” Mehmet said. The last part came out in weak little bursts, as if even he knew how trite it sounded.
Noble took hold of Mehmet’s collar with his left hand and balled his right hand into a fist. “Me too.”
He rammed his fist home, snapping Mehmet’s head back. Bone crunched and blood spurted from Mehmet’s already broken nose. His eyes filled with tears as dark black rivulets piped down over his lips and chin.
“Kadare has a buyer in the IRGC,” Noble barked. “He’s on his way to Zagreb. I want to know where and when the buy is taking place.”
“I’m just a soldier,” Mehmet wheezed. “I’m not in charge of buying or selling.”
Noble let Mehmet go, took one vial of antivirus from his pocket and slammed it against the wall of the bakery. The syringe burst and the contents exploded over the brick in a wet patch.
“No!” Mehmet cried.
“That’s one member of your family dead, Mehmet.” Noble took another vial from his pocket. He held it up. “Want to go for two?”
“I’ll talk,” Mehmet said through tears. “I’ll tell you everything.”