The Interrogator

by J J Cooper

  Pat didn't acknowledge the comment, just kept sobbing.

  Maybe the shock of being shot had set in, or perhaps he was having a nervous breakdown. 'You have to get it together,' Jay said. 'I can't do this by myself. I need your help to rescue her. We need to make the drop and get her back.'

  The sobbing slowed to a whimper. Pat crinkled his eyes and clutched his shoulder. Jay could tell that the wound was stiffening already; at least it looked like it had stopped bleeding. The loss of blood, coupled with the emotional turmoil, couldn't have been good for him, especially at his age. Jay hoped he wouldn't have a heart attack.

  Another message came through on the phone and Jay dreaded checking it, but did. Marriott Hotel. Room key at reception in the name of Harpocrates. LOL. Bring the disc and the document or the bitch dies. Time's running out.

  'What ... what is it?' Pat asked.

  'The drop is at the Marriott.'

  'Was there another picture?'

  Jay looked across. Pat had turned white; he didn't look at all well. 'I'm dropping you at the hospital.'

  'No!'

  'It's on the way.' Jay took the turn-off toward the beach.

  'I said no. Not until I know she's safe.'

  'I'll call.'

  'It's not negotiable.'

  Jay shrugged and concentrated on the road ahead. 'OK, but you stay in the car when I go in.'

  A wheezing sound sent a shiver through Jay. He looked over at Pat. Shit. Pat's legs were straight, pushing him back into the seat. His left hand clasped the middle of his chest, beside the blood patch. Face crunched and jaw clenched. Veins popped out in the side of his neck. 'Pat. Pat, are you OK?'

  No answer, but he replied through his eyes. They begged for help. Jay reached across and grabbed Pat's wrist. He eyed the road, accelerated and changed lanes. An erratic pulse. Jay let the wrist go and grabbed the steering wheel with both hands. The hospital wasn't far away. He weaved through the traffic, put on his hazards and ran a red light. Tyres smoked at an intersection where a utility had to brake and swerve to avoid Jay. Horns blasted at his unpredictable driving. A sign indicated that they were close to the hospital. He dodged a couple more cars and pulled into an 'emergency vehicles only' driveway.

  Jay held a hand across Pat to stop him from flying forward as he pulled in hard at the emergency entrance. He hit the horn and leapt out of the vehicle. Not wanting to move Pat himself, he ran to the automatic doors and summoned a passing nurse. Within twenty seconds, a trolley sat next to Pat's open door and a triage nurse was leaning into the vehicle. A doctor came hurrying out.

  'What have we got?' the doctor asked.

  The nurse called from inside the car. 'Looks like a heart attack, irregular pulse, clammy skin and I think he's been shot.'

  The doctor ran around to the driver's side and climbed in with his knees on the seat.

  Jay opened the back door, leaned in and addressed the doctor. 'Nine millimetre gunshot wound to the shoulder. High stress levels, loss of blood and shock probably brought on the heart attack. Symptoms for the heart attack started just over a minute ago.'

  'OK,' the doctor said. 'Let's get him inside.' The nurse stepped out of the vehicle and brought the stretcher closer. He leaned back into the car. Although Pat wasn't a small man, the triage nurse lifted him with ease and placed him on the stretcher.

  The doctor approached Jay while the nurse strapped Pat in. 'What happened?' he asked.

  'He's the Director of the National Secret Intelligence Service. ID is on him. Some guy shot him. That's all you need to know.'

  The medic shook his head and started pushing the trolley toward the doors. The doctor looked Jay up and down. 'And who are you?' he asked.

  'Nobody important.'

  He sized up Jay again. 'You have to stay here. All gunshot wounds must be reported to the appropriate authorities.'

  Jay closed the passenger side door. 'Doctor, I am the appropriate authority. You do your job and I'll do mine. Run along and save a life.'

  The doctor stepped back, turned and hurried after the stretcher. As the automatic doors opened, Jay could see a security guard standing by the counter. The doctor approached him and the guard nodded. As the doors closed, they both looked at Jay. Something wasn't right. It was time to leave.

  He ran around to the driver's side and got in. Through the passenger-side window, he could see the automatic doors opening and the security guard stepping outside. He reached down to start the car. The keys were gone. Shit. He knew he hadn't taken them out of the ignition. The doctor.

  Jay stepped out of the car, sized up the situation and then brought his attention to the guard. A smile played across the guard's face. He had a chin the size of a brick, and probably as hard. About Jay's size except for the rolls that bunched at the bottom of his shirt. One hand was tucked into the front of his pants, the other held the car keys. Jay looked to the guard's belt. No weapon. Good. Should be over quickly enough.

  'National security, buddy. Don't be stupid, throw the keys over,' Jay said.

  'You need to come with me, sir. Gunshot wounds must be reported to the appropriate authorities.'

  'Think about it. Isn't there a chance I might have a weapon on me?' The guard's smile disappeared. 'Now throw the fucking keys over.'

  The guard looked up to the roof. Jay followed. CCTV cameras. Jay counted four. 'I don't give a shit about the cameras, mate. My melon is all over TV as it is.' Jay made his way toward the guard. 'I'm on a schedule and you're starting to piss me off.'

  The guard took a step back as the automatic doors opened and two of his colleagues burst through and took up a spot on either side of Jay, at a couple of arms' lengths. Precious time was being wasted. Jay took out his pistol and held it by his side. All three guards reeled back and placed their hands out to the front.

  Jay walked forward to the chorus of 'Easy, mister, put down the weapon and we can work this thing through.' He eyed the guard with the keys. He stepped forward, took the keys and turned away. He moved the pistol to his left hand, turned back and landed a ferocious jab in the guard's love-handles. The guard dropped and Jay trotted back to the car. The other two guards hadn't moved. Wise choice.

  He started the car up and burned rubber out of the emergency drop-off point.

  Jay pulled up at a red light a block down from the hospital. He checked his phone while he waited. One missed message. Must have come in when dealing with Pat and the hospital's rent-a-cops. The message wasn't good news. Not that he was expecting any. It simply told him to hurry the fuck up. At least he hadn't received any more pictures.

  The light changed to green. No more than five minutes from the Marriott. He started to wonder why Catherine was so desperate for the recording. If Mossad had taken the general, they would have had four years to extract the information he'd divulged during the interrogation. Catherine was originally after the document; they mustn't have known what the general had said. Why else would they need the document? Its existence wouldn't change any outcome for Mossad. They would have assumed Jay sent a report to the highest levels of government and allies alike. They must have known that the US was aware that the Israelis had taken the WMD. But they still wanted the document.

  Suddenly it hit Jay. They didn't know exactly what was said, just that Jay had some credible information. Something must have happened to the general after the Mossad agents took him and before they could get the information from him. Therefore, the disc would be priceless to them. And certainly a nice little career-booster for Catherine, or whatever her name was. Hypothesis would then have to be that the US was holding a big stick over Israel, knowing what happened to the Weapons of Mass Destruction, but probably not telling them about the document. Testing Israel, to see whether she'd lie to Big Brother. Israel was caught in the lie and came after the evidence to see exactly what the US and its allies knew. Jay shook his head as if to shake clear the confusion that calls itself politics. The world game of diplomacy driven by espionage at the highest levels. Conspir
acy reigning supreme, and sweeping aside anyone in its path. Betrayal lurking deep within its shadows. Catherine wouldn't let anything come between her and the disc. She would be ready for him.

  He rang Bill.

  'Hello,' Bill said.

  'Good. You're still there.'

  'Yeah, I rang the hospital and they said your dad will be out for some time. So I'm going to wait for their call before heading up to see him.'

  'Fair enough. Listen, I need your help again.'

  'What is it, boy?'

  'I'm heading to a meet to get Sarah back. It's at the Marriott on the Gold Coast. If I don't call you within the next hour call the police and tell them where I am.'

  'I'll come down.'

  'No. I'm almost there. Just wait there for my call.' He hung up and headed for the Marriott.

  FORTY-SIX

  The Marriott stood around thirty floors high, or so Jay guessed as he looked at it from across the street. He'd parked in a no-standing zone, beachside of the Gold Coast hotel. Figured it wouldn't matter if the government car got towed. He noticed that, no doubt due to the hotel's linear shape, it would offer ocean views from all rooms. Not a cheap night's accommodation. A safe assumption it wasn't the first time here for the Mossad agent calling herself Catherine Primrose.

  Jay grabbed his bag and trotted across the road to the hotel. He had one stop to make before checking in. Avoiding the front entrance, he moseyed around the corner. After scaling a six-foot fence, he edged around a striking blue lagoon. The familiar smell of coconut oil reminded him of his younger years. He thought of times spent playing cricket on the beach with his dad while his mum tanned on a towel. God, he missed those days of innocence.

  Every second deckchair on the man-made beach was occupied with tanning beauties while their significant others either lazed in the shallows drinking boutique beer or were propped up at the pool-side bar watching the horse races on the big screen. The sun bit down hard into Jay's leather jacket. He stopped next to a palm, removed his jacket and left it out of sight behind the tree. Out of place in jeans and a T-shirt, he continued to edge his way around to the rear of the hotel.

  In two minutes he was at his destination: the loading dock. He looked around and found two large industrial bins in the open, under the hot sun. Perfect. The bins were placed beside a gutter for easy access. He followed the gutter until he came to the first drain. A quick inspection proved he had hit the jackpot. He sat on the gutter over the drain and lit a cigarette. Looked around to make sure nobody was watching and heaved off the grille. Smoke stung his eyes as he bent over so he tossed the cigarette on the grass behind him. He opened his backpack, quickly scanned the area, then took out Pat's pistol and placed it down the front of his pants. He left the backpack open, beside the drain. Another check and he was right to go. He cupped both hands together and put them into the drain, up to his wrists. He reached up to the underside of the concrete and pulled his hands out, dragging his fingers on the roof of the drain. He withdrew at least a hundred cockroaches. He scooped them into his bag and repeated the process another couple of times. After zipping the backpack closed, he stood and shook off a rogue creature aiming for the inside of his jeans. The cigarette was still good for a few more puffs and he picked it up, moved back a couple of feet and scanned the area again. He flicked the butt into the drain, replaced the cover and brushed a few stray cockroaches from his backpack. He was ready to save Sarah from the deranged Mossad agent.

  He entered the lobby less than two minutes later by retracing his route around the lagoon, stopping only to retrieve his jacket. He had to pause in the lobby to admire its elegance, figuring everyone did. Marble floor with matching pillars blended well with the high ceiling. The large spiral staircase was covered in a chocolate-coloured carpet and fresh flowers were strategically placed throughout the large expanse. Lounges that probably cost more than Jay earned in a year invited him to curl up and sleep. He was reminded of how tired he felt. Shrugging off his fatigue, trying to get the adrenalin pumping, he thought of Sarah and the hurt he would inflict on Catherine. The hurt, he thought. He'd never hurt a woman in anger before. Hoped he never would.

  His heavy boots echoed off the marble floor tiles as he made his way toward reception.

  If he'd thought Shannon's smile could stop traffic, this woman's welcoming grin could stop the nation watching the Melbourne Cup.

  'Good afternoon, sir. What may I do for you today?'

  'Hello...' he checked the nametag, 'Zoe. I have a room key waiting in the name of Harpocrates.'

  The smile didn't waver, although her eyes quickly averted to her computer screen. Jay placed his backpack on the floor. Somehow, a cockroach had found an escape route and made a dash for freedom. Jay quickly pounced, squishing it into the tiles with his boot. He looked up to see Zoe gazing at him, the smile gone. He shrugged and took the key from her outstretched hand.

  'Can I leave my jacket in your cloakroom?' A strange request considering he just got a room key, but he figured hotel staff were used to strange requests.

  'No problem.' Zoe held out her arm and he handed over the jacket. She raised her eyebrows. 'Bag as well, sir?'

  'No thanks. I need to take this up with me.' He gave Zoe a wink and headed for the lifts.

  The twenty-first floor was his destination. He took the lift and got off at the twenty-second floor. In his experience, the bad guys always expected the good guys to get off at their floor or the one below. He took the stairwell down a floor and removed his pistol. He kept Pat's pistol tucked into the front of his pants. With the backpack on his back, he hoped no more cockroaches had escaped.

  He held the pistol to his front, in both hands, and checked the hall before exiting the stairwell. Not wanting to wave the pistol around at unsuspecting guests, he held it under his shirt. Still able to draw it quickly if Catherine sprung any surprises.

  A door opened ahead and Jay paused. Two bikini-clad women ran out holding their backsides. An amorous male followed, making snapping movements with his hands, trying to pinch their rears. The man stopped in the hall when he saw Jay. He looked familiar in only shorts, no shirt. Jay tried to place the face. Dark-skinned with dreadlocks. Of course. He used to play rugby league for Jay's favourite team until he switched codes. Had a history of chasing the ladies too; it seemed the tabloids were right for once. Jay gave a nod as if to say, 'I'm not the paparazzi.'

  'There a problem, mate?' the footballer said.

  Jay could have ditched the pistol and still kicked this bloke's arse. Although the footballer stood over six foot, washboard stomach and biceps the size of newborns, Jay considered it less than a match. His unarmed combat training with the SASR, regular boxing sessions and a similar physique would have had him using practised skills to bring the ego-maniac to his knees. He looked at the girls and asked, 'You two all right? I've an appointment to keep for the next half-an-hour or so. When it's finished I could come back and kick this rock ape's arse if you like.'

  The football player shook his head, ushered the women back to his room and took a couple of paces toward Jay. He turned his head from side to side like a boxer who'd just entered the ring. 'You want to make something of it?'

  Jay looked into the bloodshot eyes. The footballer was obviously high on something. Probably ecstasy tablets. 'Like I said, I've got an appointment. When I've finished I'll come and see you. You really pissed me off changing teams a few years back. That in itself deserves a punch in the nose.'

  The footballer shaped up ready to charge. But Jay didn't have time for playing games. And he certainly didn't want to use the pistol before he had a chance to get to Sarah. Last thing he needed was the boofhead calling the police to report a weapon in the hotel. Jay dropped his shoulders. 'Look, I'm sorry mate. My wife just left me and took my kids. I've had a prick of a day and I just want to go to my room. I apologise for the outburst.'

  The footballer relaxed a little, a smug look on his face. 'That's better. You need to show a little respect. Now ge
t out of my sight before they need to call an ambulance for you.'

  Jay moved forward. The footballer gave him a shove in the back and chuckled as he passed. He heard a door close behind him and edged forward, found the room to match his swipe card and put it into the slot. He went down on both knees, held the pistol in his master hand and pushed the door open.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Jay remained at the door, kneeling on the lush green carpet, expecting an ambush. His eyes and hands moved as one, scanning the room. Drawn curtains allowed natural light to stream in from the bay window and gave him a perfect ocean view. A nightstand stood in a small hall in front of him. To his right was a beige-coloured kitchenette, leather lounge and plasma television with a cable box balancing on top. Three dark-stained chairs sat around a glass table by the bay window. One chair missing. A laptop computer was open on the table. To the left of the table was an entrance to another room. The bedroom. A mirror had been propped by the bedroom doorway and Jay aimed his pistol at it. Target in sight. Catherine stood in the bedroom, pistol with silencer in one hand by her side and a mobile phone in her palm held to her front. She looked into the mirror at Jay and shook her head.

  'I half-expected you to come abseiling down onto the balcony, Jay. Would have had a better chance at me then. Not to worry.'

  He kept aim at the mirror, trying to judge just how far into the room she stood. Trying to figure out how accurate a shot would be through the wall. Too many variables she had probably already figured out.

  She smiled into the mirror as if guessing his thoughts. 'No point. Thick walls that would send a nine millimetre round tumbling off its trajectory. You could always try cartwheeling over to the table, but I'll have you covered. Take a moment, step inside and throw the fucking weapon toward the table.'

  He didn't move. 'Where's Sarah?'

  She lifted the phone so he could get a better view of it in the mirror. 'One push of the button and a measured amount of C4 wrapped around your girlfriend's neck will tear it off her shoulders. Throw the weapon toward the table and step inside.'