CHAPTER 69

Kurdistan, Iraq

October

LANDRY’S BLINDFOLD WAS REMOVED to reveal his worst nightmare. He had been dragged out of the sterile interrogation room and was in some type of storage building. It was hot, and he was beginning to sweat out what little moisture his body had left. He was naked, standing on an uneven, rickety wooden stool with his hands cuffed behind his back. A piano wire had been tied to the rafter above and looped around his genitals in a way that ensured it would tighten like a noose if more downward force were applied. He had to stand on his toes to prevent the wire from tightening painfully, which was exhausting after days without food, little water, and constant cold. One slip from the stool and he would be instantly separated from his testicles and penis.

He was familiar with the technique because it was one of his favorites. He had used it against more than a few Iraqis and Syrians, both militants and civilians, over the past decade. One night, after more than a little gin, Landry had used it on a suspected insurgent as the man’s wife was forced to watch. When the man refused to admit to any wrongdoing, Landry shoved him off the stool and forced his wife to watch him bleed out. It was later determined that he’d been snatched from the wrong house. Landry had murdered an innocent man, radicalizing his wife in the process and ensuring their children would become the next generation of determined jihadis.

“It’s just you and me, Landry. No soft Western interrogation room. No water and temperature fluctuations. No Americans. No supervisors. No doctors. No CIA. No rules. ”

Landry’s eyes darted around the room as he struggled for balance.

“I don’t have to tell you how this could end, Landry. I need you to tell me everything there is to know about General Qusim Yedid: where he lives, how you contact him, security, everything, or I’m going to turn you into a woman. ”

“Mo, please don’t do this. I’ll draw you a map. I’ll take you there myself. I’ll do anything. I’ve got money, Mo, lots of money that the Russian gave me. We can go to Switzerland. I’ll give you all of it. It’s enough money to disappear on, Mo, and it will all be yours. Yedid lives in Athens but spends a lot of time on a boat in the Med. He’s still brokering jobs. ”

“Why didn’t you tell us any of this back in the official interrogation cell? ”

Landry stayed silent, focusing on his balance. Apparently he was more afraid of Yedid than he was of years of incessant gang rape in prison.

“What kind of jobs? ” Mo continued after he’d given Landry enough time to think.

“Whatever someone needs: kidnapping, hits, car bombs, you name it. ”

“Like sending my old unit to XXXXXX to attack a CIA compound? ”

Landry’s mouth went dry. “Yeah. ”

“Tell me more. ”

“There are Syrian refugees in every city in Europe, former fighters, and General Yedid has connections to all of them. ”

“What’s the next target? ”

“I honestly don’t know, Mo, I swear to God. Grey asked to be put in touch with him, and I told him where to find him. ”

“Why would Grey want to do that, Landry? ”

“I don’t know. I figured it was none of my business, ” Landry squeaked as he caught his balance.

“Take an educated guess for me. ”

“It’s got to have something to do with the Russian. ”

“The one in Switzerland? ”

“Yeah, that’s him. He and Grey have got to be behind all of this. I’m just a small part. I’m a nobody. ”

“Oh, I know that, Landry. What was the last thing Grey asked of you before he took over comms with Yedid? ”

“He asked me to have General Yedid track down a sniper. ”

Sweat poured from the former CIA man as he did everything he could to steady his quivering legs on the shaky stool.

“A sniper? ”

“Yeah, the best in Syria. ”

“Who is that? ”

“I don’t know, exactly. They call him the Shishani. It means like ‘day-shooter’ or ‘day-Chechen’ or something. Red beard. That’s all I know. I swear to you, Mo. I’d tell you if I knew anything else. Please cut me down! ”

Mo took notes as Landry continued to talk, wobbling on the decrepit stool, almost losing his balance and begging for Mo to cut the wire that encircled his manhood. He explained details of the operation, providing descriptions of those involved along with dead-drop locations and security practices. Landry was becoming increasingly helpful the longer he balanced.

Mo left the room, walking outside to make a phone call, leaving Landry trembling on the stool.

“I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere. ”

“Mo! Mo! Don’t leave me here! ”

Mo dialed Reece’s number and conveyed the new information from Landry. Minutes later, the analysts at the CIA were adding Landry’s information to the growing target package they were putting together on one General Qusim Yedid.

Mo ended the call and walked back into the room where Landry’s muscular and tattooed physique was perched on the tiny stool like a circus elephant.

“Please, please, ” Landry pleaded, looking into the deep, dark, unforgiving eyes of his former asset. “I’ve told you everything I know. ”

“I believe you, ” Mo stated, before quickly kicking the stool across the room and sending Jules Landry straight to the ground.

All two hundred and fifteen pounds of him hit the gravel-strewn concrete floor with a brutal thud, less a few ounces of tissue that hung for a moment on the wrong side of the piano wire until landing beside his body. An animalistic scream followed. With his hands secured behind his back, Landry could do nothing to stop the massive bleeding from what was left of his groin. As the bright red arterial blood pulsed out in spurts, the volume of his screams decreased, eventually becoming a mere groan. He lost consciousness within a minute and was clinically dead before Mo had his truck in drive.

PART THREE

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