by Tom Haase
“I do believe that some people from her past came after her. Do you know anything about this?”
“I hear you. You want information from me, but there must be something in this for me. If I help you, can I get out of this place?” Anywhere else, he might escape, but not from a twenty-four-hour confinement. “Otherwise, I see no motive to tell you anything. I’m looking at Guantanamo or some other fed site for years to come, according to the FBI guards.”
“Yes, you are,” Matt said, and he took his time before again speaking again. “Maybe I can do something about that.”
“I think I’ll require more than your word.” Karim decided to push a little to receive some type of assurance that his help would provide him some leniency, at least in the short term.
“No, you don’t, because you don’t get anything else, and this might be your one chance. Got that?” Matt went over and unplugged the security camera hanging on the wall that was recording the interview. He returned and slammed his fist on the table in front of Karim. Karim saw that Matt had hatred in his eyes, and he felt the anger radiating from the man, ready to explode.
Karim started to fear in earnest that the man might try to kill him. “Now that we have complete privacy, and from your actions I see that we’re off the record, what can I do for you?” Karim placed a smile on his face that stretched from chin to forehead.
“I need information on who might have put a hit out on her,” Matt said. “You told the guards you’d talk to me. So talk.”
“Well, for your word that you’ll assist me in getting out of here…”
“I didn’t say anything about getting you out of here,” Matt interrupted. “I said I might be able to help you.”
“I’ll take you at your word.” He decided to give something to get into the man’s favor in order to get something in return. He didn’t have any sure-fire bargaining chips. All his connections to the Revolutionary Guards and to the Russian arms dealers were now dormant, so why not tell him something he might want to hear? “Before the problems I had in Savannah, I heard rumors from some of my Iranian contacts that the Revolutionary Guards were pissed at the Donavans and were planning to take some type of action against them.”
“What type of action?” Matt asked.
“How should I know? I’m here in this fake prison. Get me out where I can make some contacts, and I can discover more. It’s the best I can offer from in here.”
“No, it’s not. As far as we could determine, you didn’t maintain any communication with your Iranian handler for months. So, you’re full of shit. I’m wasting my time here.” Matt stood up, preparing to leave.
“No, no. Please, I do maintain some connections in the Guards and I could find out more.”
Matt moved closer to the door.
“Matt, wait a minute. The other possibility is the Russians. You know I have acquaintances there. I met many of the Russki arms dealers during my travels around with some of the American cells. I also made contact with Mike Alexandro in Savannah on a few occasions, and his higher-ups know who I am. I can access them, but not from in here. They wouldn’t even know that you arrested me—they’ll just think I got away and went into hiding.”
“You’d say anything to get out of this place.” Matt stopped his progress to the exit, however, and refocused on Karim.
“I speak the truth. I have contacts with the Russians, and they know me,” Karim insisted. He needed Matt to believe him, to need his help.
“Can you still get in touch with them?” Matt queried.
“Yes.”
“Don’t go anywhere.” Matt smiled as he left the room.
16
Matt Summoned to New York
Matt received a call from Schultz a few minutes after leaving Karim. He answered it, expecting to hear news about the Russian connection Scott uncovered. Schultz didn’t waste time on pleasantries.
“Matt, would it be possible for you to come to New York? I want you to question the man my men captured at the cemetery. I brought him up here so I could, shall we say, supervise the questioning.”
This took Matt by surprise. What type of interrogation did Schultz have in mind? He wanted to be involved in Schultz’s “questioning,” because he needed all the information the sniper might possess.
“I’m sure your men are good at extraction techniques.” He sought to determine the motivation behind Schultz’s request.
Schultz seemed to hesitate before he commented. “Yes, but I believe you’re better trained than my men at this type of work. Mine haven’t learned much. Not sure they’re the right people for this job. Don’t you want to participate?”
“I’ll be on the next flight. Should I come to your apartment?”
“No, I’ll text you the address.”
Matt wrestled with the problem of someone other than the FBI questioning the suspect. Schultz’s men had captured the guy, and no evidence existed to point law enforcement to where the man had been taken. They assumed he had gotten away. The director might not like this, but Matt followed his gut. Bridget’s death erased any doubts—he might need to do some things that would bother him, but he knew he would do them anyway. Whatever he needed to do to find her killers would be worth it if Bridget’s death would be avenged. Even thinking of her caused a visceral reaction. He missed her. He’d been a fool. Now he would make it up to her, even though it would only be to her memory.
Hatred for the killer boiled in his blood. He headed for Reagan International to catch the next shuttle to New York.
Matt arrived at the address supplied by Schultz and paid the taxi. He went inside the dilapidated building on Long Island. Its red brick construction predated WWII. A smell permeated the place. The aroma reminded him of the stink emanating from dead camels he’d passed by in the Middle East during combat operations. Matt guessed, from some of the lingering fragrances, it used to be a leather-conditioning factory. On the plane ride, he’d wracked his brain about what to do in the coming hours. He could learn much about Bridget’s killing from this man, but he hated the shooter with a vengeance before he even entered the building.
“Matt, over here,” he heard Schultz call for him.
“I want to check up on my life insurance coverage before going any further in here.” He gave Schultz a warm smile as he said this. “I hope this isn’t one of your investments.”
“I assure you, this building will soon be worth a fortune,” Schultz said as he shook Matt’s hand. “Follow me.”
On approaching a dingy room filled with the remnants of leather leftovers from the industrial plant, Matt wanted to take out his handkerchief to cover his nose.
“Has he given any more information?” Matt asked.
“No. Just that he received all his instructions from the email address he gave us. But somehow I don’t believe that. He would have maintained some contact with his employer, if for no other reason than that the employer would want to monitor him. At least, that’s what I’m thinking,” Schultz said.
“What are your men doing?” Matt asked before they entered the room.
“Roughing him up. I’m not a big fan of torture,” Schultz said with a wink, “but I like it better than my daughter being dead. You know this animal is responsible for Bridget’s death. He has the info we need to get the man who ordered the hits. I think it’s worth inflicting a little pain to find out who. Can you handle this?”
Without waiting on an answer, Schultz pushed open the door. Matt observed a man hanging from chains with his toes barely touching the floor. With the hatred he felt overflowing into his mind, Matt walked over to where the man hung and gave him a vicious right cross.
“That’s for starters,” Matt said. “I’m here to ask you a few questions. These others can leave now.” He looked in Schultz’s direction, and the man signaled for his men to depart with a shake of his head.
Matt again approached to within striking distance of the man. “What’s your name?” When he received no response, his right fi
st connected to the man’s jaw with a bone-crushing impact. I now have a chance to find out who is responsible for killing Bridget. I’m willing to do anything to find out a name.
The man spat at him. “I won’t talk to you.”
Matt again punched him.
“What’s your name?” Matt repeated.
After Schultz and his men closed the door behind them, Matt saw the man raise his head. He appeared ready to say something.
“John,” he whispered as blood ran down from his nose. The man smiled at Matt. “Are you here to sweet-talk me?”
Matt again started to bash him in the face but said, “I don’t want to keep doing this, but I have to know who paid you to kill us.”
Twelve hours passed as Matt attempted to get the man to give up more information on who had hired him. In the morning, Matt felt exhausted. He wasn’t getting anywhere with the sniper. He needed to take a different tack. Physical pain hadn’t worked.
“I’m going to inject you with a truth drug. Then we’ll find out who paid you.” Matt didn’t know if they really possessed anything like truth serum to use on the man, but bluffing seemed like a reasonable idea right now. No response.
He stepped back from the man as Schultz’s two men entered the room and stared at the sniper, nodding their approval on seeing the condition of the victim.
After waiting a few minutes, Matt moved in close to look in the man’s eyes. They didn’t focus on him. The man appeared barely on the edge of consciousness. “Who hired you to do the hits? Where is he?” Matt demanded for the umpteenth time.
Schultz came into the room. “Matt, ease up. Calm down a bit. If I’d wanted him dead, my men could have handled that. We need information. Any progress?”
“Nothing more.” Matt looked at the sniper and shouted, “Who hired you?”
The response came as a glare of hatred from the man.
“It’s time to give him a truth drug. You mentioned that you have a doctor somewhere nearby. Can we get him to help?”
“Of course.” Schultz dialed his phone and said into it, “Come now.”
Matt moved beside Schultz where he addressed the man. “This is your last chance. Once the doctor gives you a shot that will make you talk. For the last time, who hired you?” Matt didn’t know if they possessed anything like truth serum to use on the man or if what they had would make him talk or kill him.
Matt took the opportunity to go to the restroom, relieve himself, and throw water on his face. After ten minutes, he returned to the room. Schultz’s men had inflicted more damage on the man hanging from the ceiling. They continued to pummel the sniper without respite for some minutes. Schultz waited for a few more minutes, and then he picked up a paper cup, filled it with water from the faucet, and took it over to the sniper.
“Drink this,” Schultz said. “You must be conscious to answer the questions. You don’t want to be punished any more, so why don’t you give us the name of the one who hired you?”
The man, his face battered, with a crusted-shut left eye and blood draining from multiple hits to his head, somehow nodded.
“He’s at the Vatican,” the man said in an audible mumble, scarcely discernable.
“What?” shouted Matt. “You’re full of shit.”
“He’s in the Vatican,” the sniper whispered again, and his eyes lost focus as his head dropped to his chest.
“Shit,” was the sole word that came from Matt.
“Get the doc in here,” Schultz ordered his men. He faced Matt and said, “He’s been on my payroll for years. Knows how to not talk.”
From another door, one of the Schultz’s men led a small, hunched-over ancient man into the room. The silver-haired doc carried a black bag seen on many doctors who make house calls. The physician approached the victim, taking his pulse and examining his eyes. He then looked at Schultz.
“I have to give him some morphine to relieve his pain, and you must let him rest. He’s barely alive.”
He gave the man an injection, then picked up his kit and departed. In less than a minute, Matt watched as the man went into violent convulsions. He jerked back and forth trying to free his arms from the restraints and flipped his head into an extreme contorted position.
Schultz stared at the scene but didn’t move.
Matt approached the limp man and checked for a pulse. He found none.
17
Matt After Conducting Interrogation
Outside, after he watched the man die, Matt felt personal failure. He had participated in torture, knowing he shouldn’t have, but it had achieved a result. The doc couldn’t save the sniper, and now there remained the statement by the dying man that his contract for the killings came from someone connected with the Vatican. Matt’s mind told him this information contained the lead they needed to follow. He had obtained nothing else concrete to go on, but he had a dead man’s confession.
Bridget had repeatedly told him that she’d made peace with the Vatican on all counts, but then again, maybe they hadn’t made it with her. There existed one obvious motive—revenge—and that might be a reason for someone there to take action against the Donavans. The man, when he’d broken, had conveyed certainty about who had hired him. There was no reason for him to lie in his condition, nor with his last breath.
Schultz came up behind him, patted him on the back, and walked him to the car.
“What’s on your mind?” Schultz asked.
Matt thought he should arrest Schultz and turn himself in, but he needed to get to the bottom of this. He stopped and faced Schultz. “We have a dying man who told us that someone at the Vatican is the culprit we’re after. I think I need to go over there and find out who could have ordered these attacks. It’s the only clue we’ve obtained about the perpetrator of these assaults.”
“My primary concern is to get this solved. I can send a team to take out whomever you find responsible,” Schultz said.
“We need more information as to the specific target,” Matt said. “I’d like to be on my way to Rome tomorrow to run this lead down, and to take whatever action I deem necessary to avenge Bridget.”
“Wait a second. Let me provide you with my plane. It’ll be my pleasure, and it’ll get you where you need to go on your own schedule. You’re going to be helping my daughter by your actions, so take it.”
Matt shook his hand and said they would be ready to go in the morning if the plane could be in D.C. to pick them up. Schultz nodded.
Matt took the next shuttle back, and when he arrived at his Alexandria apartment, he found Scott waiting there for him.
“What’s up?” Matt asked.
“When I called you to ask you if I could meet you here, I told you that I had a tentative location of the email sender. I needed to get in touch with an old friend of mine, a superb hacker, in order to acquire better software than what I have. He uses TOR.”
“What the hell is TOR?” Matt asked.
“Later. You won’t believe it, but he’s a hacker from the university where I worked. He befriended me while I taught there, and always thought I got screwed by the way they fired me. So he helped me on some previous occasions with computer problems. We did some coding together. Anyway, I contacted him, and he sent me one of his programs that can go deeper into tracking the origins of emails than anything I have.”
“So what did you find?” Matt injected. “Just tell me. Then I’ve got some news for you.”
“The software led me from the initial position in Russia to a new location somewhere in the city of Rome,” Scott said.
Matt stared at him in amazement. His mind stopped for a few seconds as it digested this information. The sniper’s words were now corroborated. I have something to go on, a real lead.
“You may find this hard to believe, but today someone else told me the trail leads to Rome,” Matt said.
“How? When?” Scott asked, as he showed wide-eyed amazement at hearing this.
Matt gave him the details of the sniper’s revelati
on. He left out the method of extraction.
“What are we going to do?” Scott asked.
“All trails now lead to Rome. We’re going to get the man behind this. I suggest you call our friend Monsignor McGregor and tell him we’ll be there tomorrow.”
“What should I tell him?”
“Tell him that we obtained information giving us a good reason to believe that someone connected to the Vatican murdered Bridget. We’re coming to kill the bastard.”
18
Rome, Italy
The imperial Roman sky sparkled blue as Matt and Scott walked out of the Fiumicino Airport, where they took a taxi into the Eternal City to reach the Vatican. After showing their passports to the Swiss Guard at the side entrance, they were escorted to the office of the assistant to the Cardinal Secretary of State. Before their arrival, Monsignor Jonathan McGregor had requested they meet him in his office. Jonathan rose from his desk and came around to greet them when they entered.
“My condolences on the loss of Bridget. I pray for her soul every day,” he said, his Scottish accent present in every sentence he uttered. He had a handsome face and still had a full head of sandy hair, and his steel-gray eyes saw everything, the trademark of a former spy. He indicated for them to take seats around a small conference table. “Would you like coffee?”
“Please,” Scott responded. Matt wanted to get moving and not waste time drinking coffee. He wanted to tighten his hands on the culprit that contracted for Bridget’s murder. That’s why they we’re here. But while they waited for the drinks to arrive, Matt took the opportunity to look around. The office provided a view of the Vatican gardens. The walls, a dull gray in color, held paintings of various saints, and a large crucifix hung behind Jonathan’s desk. The woodwork around the windows displayed a high gloss shine.