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“Bullshit. You know as well as I do that you were taught the suras by some twisted Wahhabi cleric who told you only what he wanted you to know. Kill all the Jews. Kill the infidels. Cover your wives and daughters. Beat them if they disrespect you. The West is evil. We are just and good, blah…blah…fucking blah. I am so sick of the hate you pieces of shit teach each other and your children.”
“You know nothing.”
“I know All
ah,” Rapp screamed, “is going to send your ass to hell for killing His children!”
“You have no right being in my country. You are infidels and Allah will punish you and your nation for this war.”
“You ever think maybe it’s the other way around?” Rapp brought his face within inches of Haggani’s. “That God is punishing your nation for how you have twisted and misused the words of the prophet? America hasn’t been at war. We’ve suffered the one attack. Your nation has been at war for almost forty years. Over a million people have died. Allah is mad as hell with you sick fucks. He’s been punishing you and he’s going to keep punishing you.”
Haggani unleashed a gob of spit, hitting Rapp square in the face.
Rapp didn’t bother to wipe away the spit. He didn’t bother to grab the stun gun. His head reared back and then snapped forward; the hardest part of his forehead striking Haggani on the soft bridge of the nose. It was like a hammer hitting a banana. Haggani’s nose flattened and blood began oozing from his nostrils.
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.”
