The Inquisitor: A Novel (32 page)

“And we believe that. But we still think maybe you saw the faces of the Qaeda operatives you met with, maybe even saw where they brought you, and that you just need some help remembering.”

Nari’s head started shaking side to side in fervent denial. “No, no, no,” he said, the gurney rattling.

“Jesus Christ,” said Harry. “It
is
him.” He turned to Geiger. “This guy is the Egyptian minister who secretly met with al Qaeda and then disappeared.” Harry thumped his thigh with his fist. “This is fucking
huge
.”

Geiger’s eyes never left the monitor.

The American pressed a button on the gurney and raised it to a sixty-degree vertical position. “So you’ve been telling us, Nari—which is why we decided to bring in someone new, someone who might encourage you to be a little more forthcoming.”

“This is wrong!” cried the prisoner. “I am an elected official of an ally of the United States!”

“Yes, you are,” said the American, “and that should help you see the nature of the situation—which is that we will do whatever we have to do to protect our interests. So if you don’t cooperate with the new interrogator … Well, you know what they say: Mess with the great Satan and you end up with his pitchfork up your ass.”

The American looked out of the frame and gave a “come in” wiggle with his hand. “Nari, meet your new friend—the Inquisitor,” he said, and stepped out of camera range.

The man who now stepped up to the gurney was dressed all in white—white T-shirt, loose slacks, sneakers. It was Geiger.

“Holy shit,” Harry said, standing up. “Where?”

“Cairo,” Geiger answered. “Black site.”

The video Geiger put two fingers to his new charge’s neck to measure his pulse rate.

The prisoner’s eyes smoldered as he spoke. “I cannot tell you any more than I already—”

Geiger’s hand shifted, grabbing the man’s neck tightly, his thumb and forefinger digging deep into the flesh beneath the corners of the jaw. Nari choked down into silence.

“You’re right, Nari,” said Geiger. “You will not tell me anything—now. Later you will, but it isn’t time yet. For now, it’s best that you don’t speak at all.”

Nari’s eyes registered surprise and confusion. “But peace is what I was trying to—”

Geiger’s grip tightened, rendering the man mute. “Not a word, Nari.” His fingers dug deeper, and the prisoner’s grimace stretched so wide it looked like a smile. “Nod if you understand me.”

Nari nodded.

Geiger leaned toward the DVD player and pressed the “pause” button. Then he went back to the chair and sat down, as frozen as his image on the screen.

Harry remained standing. He started nodding as the pieces began to fall into place. “Black site. CIA. Cairo. Someone hides a camera behind a wall and secretly records the sessions. Does the CIA know? Maybe, maybe not.” He frowned. “Probably not. The stuff sits somewhere for years. Someone digs it up and gives it to Matheson. Or he finds it himself—whatever. But why Matheson?”

“Because Matheson runs Veritas Arcana.”

“The outfit that leaks all the classified stuff? That’s him?”

“Yes.”

“Okay—that works. So Matheson gets ahold of the discs, but before he can break the digital lock and get them online, Langley or someone else in Washington finds out he’s got them and then lets the dogs loose. Hall and friends go to work—and we know the rest. Okay, I get it. So what’s in the videos, Geiger?”

Geiger looked at Harry impassively for a moment before answering. “I used applied pressure—a lot of it. Acupuncture, headphones, audio loops, deprivation—neither of us slept for two days. Before he broke, there was a lot of … howling and screaming.”

“Geiger, Nari Kaneesh was the number two guy in the Egyptian Parliament!”

“Harry, keep your voice down.” Geiger spoke without heat. He was staring at the freeze-frame, recalling his countless acts of cruelty, his pragmatic embrace of violence. He could feel the muscles in Nari’s throat constricting beneath his fingers. He could feel the flesh of hundreds of other victims in his hands, tightening in fear and flinching in pain and yielding in despair …

Harry leaned toward the DVD player and hit “eject.” He took the disc out of the tray and gazed down at the piece of plastic.

“Put it back in the bag, Harry.”

“We’re not destroying them?”

“No. I’m going to do what I told Matheson I would do. I’m going to call Hall, tell him I have the discs, and promise that as long as they leave Ezra alone, no one will ever see what’s on them.”

Harry blinked. “You’re out of your mind, Geiger. You hold on to these and you’ll have to spend the rest of your life in a cave. Even if they leave Ezra alone, they’ll come after you—and like you said, they don’t stop.”

Geiger took a deep breath. He could feel his whole body expanding with it, millions of molecules drawing strength from the oxygen. Then, slowly, he let the breath out and nodded.

“I know.”

*   *   *

The kitchen was the heart of the house, with entries from the central hall and living room and two round skylights. Harry found an unopened box of Ritz crackers and a jar of peanut butter and began making miniature sandwiches on the speckled granite counter, piling them on a plate.

Lily sat at the oval oak table, hands clasped before her, humming softly. Ezra sat next to her, one brow tilted up.

“I like her,” Ezra said. “I never met a … you know, a crazy person before.”

“No?” said Harry. “Well, take your pick. You got a house full of ’em.”

Harry brought the plate to the table and put a hand on Lily’s shoulder. She tilted her head, as if she’d heard a sound instead of felt someone’s touch.

“Who’s there?” she asked.

“Me. Harry.”

Ezra grabbed a handful of the cracker sandwiches and popped one into his mouth.

“I know something,” said Lily. Her voice was like fingertips on satin.

Harry grinned and sat down beside her. He took her hands in his. “Okay, sis,” he said, “so what do you know?”

“I know why Harry’s sad.”

Her soft declaration pushed him back in his chair. He let go of her hands.

Lily reached over to Ezra and closed a hand around his wrist. “Let’s sing,” she said.

“Okay, sure,” said the boy.

“Rock-a-bye baby, in the treetop…”

Ezra joined in:
“When the wind blows the cradle will rock.”

The song rang in Harry’s ears like a mournful bell. “Ezra,” he said. “Stop. Don’t sing.”

The boy stopped singing but gave Harry an uncertain look.

Lily continued:
“When the bough breaks the cradle will fall…”

“Lily, be quiet now.”

“And down will come—”

“Lily!” Harry shouted.

Her lids dropped shut, and a tear slipped out of each eye.

“Harry,” Ezra said. “What’s—what’s going on?”

“Nothing. She’s crazy, remember?”

“But she’s crying. Why’s she crying?”

Wearily, Harry got up from the table. “She’s crying about a girl,” he said, and walked out of the room.

*   *   *

Upstairs, Geiger stood in the shower, head bowed, palms flat against the wall. He had run the water cold to inhibit fresh bleeding, but as the water circled the drain it had a light pink tint. The shower tiles were a bilious green, and Geiger idly wondered if Corley had chosen the color, or acquiesced to someone else’s desire, or declined even to take part in the process.

Geiger stepped out and dried himself carefully with a towel. In the oval mirror above the sink, he could see a full-length glass on the door behind him. He turned around to his reflection.

The extent of the damage made it difficult to take in the whole body at once—the separate wounds all competed for his eye’s attention. The garish red circle with the central puncture in his left cheek; the ugly welts across his chest and quadriceps; the trio of long, stitched gashes in his thigh, their puckered edges already gleaming with fresh blood. His gaze bounced from one to another, and a hot sweat pushed its way up through his pores.

Growing dizzy, he found the sink with a wavering hand and lowered himself onto the toilet seat. The mechanism of memory was turning slowly, grabbing moments from his mind’s black room and hauling them up into the light: a fire-lit blade in a swollen fist, droplets of blood on a rough-hewn floor, lupine silhouettes ripping flesh from bone …

For a moment, Geiger focused all his energy on the tile floor’s mosaic of small octagons. The maze of black lines held fast, anchoring his sight, and the maelstrom faded away.

*   *   *

Hall found a spot where he could turn off the road. He pulled fifty feet into the woods, cut his headlights, and turned off the engine. He and Mitch pushed their window buttons and the dark glass slid down with a hum that was instantly overridden by a wave of cicada whirs and cricket chirps. A hoot came down from a nearby branch.

“Jesus,” said Mitch. “When was the last time you heard a fucking owl?”

Hall reached into the glove compartment, took out a silver earbud with a two-inch-long stick mike, and fit it in his left ear. Mitch dug into a shirt pocket, pulled out his bud, and did the same. Then they took out their guns and checked the clips. Hall ran down the to-do list in his head and nodded.

“Okay, once things take off, you follow my lead.”

“Right.”

They slapped their clips into place, got out of the car, and headed west.

“When we go in, guns out,” said Hall. “But no triggers unless we have to.”

“Right.”

They walked through the woods in silence. As they approached Corley’s house, they came to a clearing and stopped. From this point on, it was comparatively open ground—a meadow two hundred feet in diameter dotted with a dozen trees and large bushes, and the house perched in the middle. Light from the windows and the ground lamps leading up to the front entrance created an apron that stretched thirty feet from the house.

“Okay,” said Hall, and pointed. “Phone lines come in the back. Get them before you go in, just in case.”

“Right.” Mitch winced and smacked his neck. “Fucking mosquitoes.”

“Let’s make sure the buds work before we go. Stay put.”

Hall headed off, staying inside the tree line. While sitting in the car, he had made up his mind about how to play this. He would walk right up the front steps. If the door was locked, he’d ring the bell. No tough stuff, no gun—better to keep the temperature down, at least at first. He’d tell Geiger to get everyone together, and then he’d ask for the discs; they were stolen property, and he needed them back. And if this didn’t fly, well, there was always Plan B.

He waved off a mosquito. “Mitch, you hear me?” he said softly.

“Crystal. You hear me?”

“Just fine. Okay, when you take out the phones, let me know and I’ll move.”

“Right.”

“Go tree to tree, Mitch. There are a lot of windows.”

“Richie, I’ve done this kind of thing before, you know?”

“Go.”

Hall watched Mitch slip from the trees and start for the back of the house in a crouch, moving across the clearing from one isolated tree or bush to the next. Hall took his earbud out, put it in his shirt pocket, and closed his eyes. He wanted to bring his pulse down before he made the call, so there would be no bumps in his voice, not even a ripple of concern.

He pulled out his cell and dialed a number.

“Yes?” said the voice.

“It’s Hall, sir.” He took the silence as a prompt to continue. “We’re on target. An isolated house in Cold Spring, New York. I’m looking at it now. The discs and four people inside. We’re about to move in. We’ll have the discs very soon.”

Hall felt a chill before he understood why. As he spoke, he’d heard a faint echo of his own voice coming back at him through the line, meaning that the phone on the other end was on speaker. The man had others with him in the room; they were listening in, most likely because he wanted them to advise him about a decision he was mulling. Hall knew that couldn’t be good.

“Four inside?” asked the man.

“Yes, sir. Four.”

“This started as a single-target event, Hall. You’ve turned it into something very different. You’ve got five in the mix now, including Matheson. That’s a big number.”

Hall stared at the house; its many windows were growing brighter as the night grew darker. “You’re right, sir.”

“Five X’s walking around when this is done,” said the man. “That’s too many. Everything has to finish clean on your end tonight. No loose ends. And then we’ll find Matheson. Understood?”

Hall saw Mitch dart across open ground to an unkempt bush near the house. “Yes, sir.”

“And, Hall … if there
are
any loose ends, that makes you one, too.”

“Yes, sir.”

The call cut off. Hall put his cell away and stuck his earbud back in place. He could hear Mitch’s huffing, but it was almost drowned out by the thumping of his own pulse at the base of his skull.

They wanted everyone in the house dead.

*   *   *

Geiger and Ezra leaned on the porch railing. In the west, beyond the river, the sky just above the darkened hills showed a faint trace of coral where the sun had disappeared. Geiger had found a pair of Corley’s gray sweatpants in a bedroom dresser and put them on. Ezra looked down at the row of ground lamps beneath the porch. Mosquitoes and moths spiraled around the spikes, smashing themselves into the bright glass.

“Ezra,” Geiger said. “I saw your father today.”

Ezra jackknifed up straight. “When? Where?”

“Just before I came back. In Central Park.”

“How did you—?”

“It’s a long story. But he’s all right.”

“Did he ask about me?”

“Yes.”

“Then why didn’t he come back with you?”

“He wanted to see you. I wouldn’t let him.”

“Why not?”

“I told him that from now on he couldn’t see you without your permission. That it was up to you.”

“You did?”

“Yes. So when this is all over, you’ll decide when you want to see him—
if
you want to see him. Okay?”