Prepared For Rage

The intel still coming in from ongoing interrogations in Toronto confirmed that initial impression. Sadiq's new wife, in a tearful accounting of their life together, stressed his loving nature. So did all the other women with whom he'd had significant encounters over the past six months. His boss spoke highly of him at work, his neighbors praised his friendliness and willingness to pitch in on communal chores. A few of them were a little snide about the parade of women in and out of the apartment and it would have been only a matter of time before his wife got to hear of it, but on the whole a good report was given by most of the people who knew him. They were certainly to a man and a woman shocked to hear that he was a terrorist-in-waiting.

But not a career terrorist. He'd never been arrested before, never been interrogated before. An amateur, in fact, with the barest veneer of trade-craft and no detectable inclination toward fanaticism. Patrick frowned through the glass at Sadiq, now sobbing with his face buried in Mary's breast, a Mary who winked at them over Sadiq's head. Next to him, Bob chuckled. "This isn't going to take much longer."

Patrick was inclined to agree with him. Sadiq was an amateur, a terrorist of opportunity even, joining Isa as a way out of personal difficulties at home, with a natural inclination toward women curbed by a Muslim upbringing, and then sprung on an unsuspecting Western world. He was just settling into his new lifestyle when they had kidnapped him.

On the other hand, he had been apprehended at Pearson International, waiting to board a flight to Mexico City. No one among his Toronto acquaintances, including his wife, had been aware of his travel plans. This argued either dedication to duty or fear of Isa. Probably the latter.

"Come on," he said, out loud this time, "come on, you little bastard, give it up."

"Relax, Patrick-"

"Don't tell me to relax," he snapped. "That little fucker's the only lead we've got to a man who is responsible for the deaths of hundreds if not thousands of people all over the goddamn Asian continent! A terrorist who is now walking around the United States like it's his own backyard! How many Americans stirring half-and-half into their morning coffee or taking the bus to work or ru

Surprised, Ahmed maintained a prudent silence. Patrick Chisum, the king of calm, was not known for outbursts of any kind. For a moment there, he had sounded a little bit like Harold Kallendorf.

Meanwhile, Mary was mopping the tears from Sadiq's face, and holding her scrap of lacy handkerchief-where on earth had she come up with that?-so he could blow his nose. "I wish I could help you," she said, her breath catching. "But I can't, I just can't."

She pushed him back in his chair and looked up earnestly into his face. "He'll hurt me," she said, her voice breaking. She squeezed out another tear. Her head drooped. "He's done it before. He can do anything. Anything." Her voice broke again on the word.

She looked up at Sadiq and shook his shoulder. "Tell him what he wants to know," she said urgently. "Tell him!"

"I don't know anything!" Sadiq said, his voice panicked.

She sat back on her heels. "Then I don't know what to say to you," she said sadly. "Unless…"

"Unless what?" When she didn't say anything, Sadiq said, bending forward as far as the cuffs would let him, "Tell me! Unless what?"

"There may be another way." She bit her lip. "I probably shouldn't tell you this, but…"

"What? Tell me what? Please, please help me!"

Mary looked over her shoulder at the closed door. "Is it true you're from Germany?"

"Yes, yes, I'm a German national! I want to contact my embassy!"

Mary looked uncertain. "I think they already have."

Sadiq looked confused. "What?"

"It's why Bob is so angry," she said, eyes huge wells of sympathy. "He might have to let you go before…" She made a vague, all-encompassing gesture, and they shuddered in unison. "You'd be sent back to… is it Düsseldorf? There's a man there, a Rashid Somebody?"

Sadiq froze, like a deer in the headlights. "Rashid Nurzai?"

"Yes!" Mary said excitedly. "That's him! He's vouched for you, says the government can release you into his custody to wait for the investigation. At least you'll be home. You'll be protected by the laws of your own nation." She sat back on her heels. "You can tell Bob you know that your embassy is looking for you. You can demand repatriation." She beamed at him. "He can't touch you once you're on your way home, and you're on your way home from the moment your embassy knows you're being detained."

He stared at her for a moment. Patrick held his breath. "Come on," he said, "come on, talk. Talk!"

Bob slammed back into the interrogation room-Patrick hadn't even noticed he had left the observation room-and snarled, yes, an actual baring of teeth, followed by the utterance of a loud, menacing growl that sounded like nothing so much as an infuriated and very hungry tiger. Sadiq actually cowered.

Mary leapt to her feet. "I-I was just-"

"Get out," Bob said.

Mary cast a scared glance at Sadiq and scurried out, giving Bob a wide berth.

Bob started toward Sadiq and Sadiq started to tremble. "Please-" he said, stammering. "Please, don't, I'll-"

"Shut the fuck up," Bob said, disgusted. "Jesus, if there's one thing I can't abide it's a sniveler. You're going home, asswipe." He unlocked the handcuffs and hauled Sadiq to his feet.

"Wait-" Sadiq said.

"What, you want to stay? You've had such a good time you want more? What are you, some kind of sicko?"

"No! I mean, wait! I mean-" Sadiq's feet scrabbled for purchase on the cement floor.

But Bob had him firmly in tow. "I can't see what a self-respecting freedom fighter like Isa saw in you anyway. What a waste of space. Still, there's someone back home who'll vouch for you, so you must be worth something to someone."

"Wait!"

"Oooh, nice little rent boy likes it rough, is that it?" Bob said, and gave Sadiq a shake, hard enough to rattle his teeth. He got him nose to nose and said, his voice a deep purr, "I'd love to have the schooling of you, pretty boy. Too bad."

He got Sadiq to the door and Sadiq, by a superhuman effort, managed to get his feet flat against the wall on either side of it. "Wait!" he said, almost screaming the words. "I'll talk! I'll tell you anything you want to know! Don't send me home! Please don't send me home! He'll kill me! He'll kill me!"

THE INTERROGATION HAD TAKEN LESS THAN TWO HOURS. SADIQ WAS even now babbling every detail, from his first meeting with Isa at the coffeehouse to packing his bag yesterday morning, into the interested microphones of three recording devices and two even more interested agents.

"How the hell did you know that would break him?" Patrick said. He and Ahmed were waiting for transportation to the Gitmo airfield.

Mary smiled. "Nurzai is an Afghan name. Afghans treat adultery as a capital crime, and the longer and more painful the death of those found guilty, the better. It was a calculated risk."

"But not that much of a risk," Bob said, looking very relaxed. "He's not what I'd call a pro."

"No kidding," Patrick said. "Well done."

"Wait until we see what we get," Ahmed said.

"You're very cautious."

"Sadiq's a weak vessel," Ahmed said. "If I were Isa, I wouldn't have told him anything worth knowing."

If it wasn't anything Patrick in all his urgency to find and stop Isa wanted to hear, he knew deep down that it was true.