Daniel Silva - The Fallen Angel

“You were expecting someone else?” asked Gabriel calmly in English.

“I have no idea who you are,” Massoud responded in the same language.

“Bullshit.”

“You won’t get away with this.”

“We already have.”

Three items lay on the table in front of Gabriel: a manila file folder, a BlackBerry, and a loaded Beretta 9mm. He moved the Beretta a few inches with studied care and then pushed the BlackBerry across the table so Massoud could see the screen. On it was the front page of the BBC’s mobile news site. The lead story was about a bold kidnapping in the heart of Berlin.

“You have committed a gross violation of the Vienna Convention on Diplomatic Relations,” Massoud said after a moment.

“Your abduction was carried out by the Iranian Liberation Army. It says so right there on the BBC,” Gabriel added, tapping the screen. “And as you know, the BBC is never wrong.”

“Well played,” said Massoud.

“It wasn’t that hard,” replied Gabriel. “We just borrowed a page from your playbook.”

“Which one?”

“Taqiyya . ”

“There’s no such thing as taqiyya . It is nothing but a slur spread by the enemies of Shia Islam.”

“You engage in taqiyya every day when you assure the world that your nuclear program is strictly for peaceful purposes.”

“Is that what this is about?”

“No.” Gabriel retrieved the BlackBerry and then flipped slowly through the contents of the manila file folder. “You stand accused of masterminding multiple acts of terrorism that have resulted in the deaths of hundreds of innocent people. You also stand accused of conspiring to commit future acts of terrorism and of providing material support to a group that has as its goal the physical annihilation of my people.” He looked up from the file and asked, “How do you plead?”

“I am a third secretary in the consular section of the Iranian Embassy in Berlin.”

“How do you plead?” Gabriel asked again.

“You are in violation of all diplomatic norms and customs.”

“How do you plead?”

Massoud raised his chin and said, “I plead not guilty.”

Gabriel closed the file folder. Court adjourned.

They brought him back for two more hearings that night, each with the same result. After that, they kept him awake with regular bastings of freezing seawater and recordings of ear-shattering noise that were piped into the soundproof chamber for Massoud’s private listening enjoyment. Gabriel was reluctant to employ physical coercion—he knew that with enough sleep and sensory deprivation, Massoud would admit to being the Cat in the Hat—but he had no choice. Two clocks were now ticking. On one was the time they had left before the attack; on the other, the time they had left before they were discovered. Gabriel had set a deadline of seventy-two hours to be out of Denmark. The chief of the Danish security service was a friend, but he wouldn’t be for long if he found out Gabriel had brought a man like Massoud Rahimi onto Danish soil.

And so, as that second day dragged on, they gradually turned up the pressure on their prize. The noise grew louder, the water colder, and the threats whispered into his ear became ever more terrifying. When he asked for food, they offered him a bowl of sand. And when he pleaded for drink, they drenched him with a bucket of briny water straight from the sea. Sleep was out of the question, they assured him, unless he agreed to cooperate.

Slowly, with each passing hour, Massoud’s strength ebbed, as did his will to resist. More than anything, though, he seemed to realize that this unfortunate episode did not necessarily have to end with his death, that perhaps there was a deal to be made. But how to convince him to accept the outstretched hand? And who to extend it in the first place?

“Why me?” asked Eli Lavon incredulously.

“Because you’re the least threatening person in this house,” Gabriel said. “And because you haven’t laid a finger on him.”

“I don’t interrogate people. I just follow them.”

“You don’t have to ask him anything, Eli. Just let him know that I’m willing to discuss a generous plea bargain.”

Lavon spent five minutes alone with the monster and then came back upstairs.

“How did it go?”

“Other than the part about threatening to kill me, I thought it went as well as could be expected.”

“How long should we give him?”

“An hour should be enough.”

They gave him two instead.

The next time Massoud was escorted into the makeshift courtroom, he was shivering uncontrollably, and his lips were blue with cold. Gabriel seemed not to notice. He had eyes only for the file that was open before him on the table.

“It has come to our attention that during your time in Berlin, you have been less than forthright in your use of VEVAK operational funds,” Gabriel said. “Obviously, this is of no concern to us. But as fellow tradesmen, we feel duty bound to report it to your superiors in Tehran. When we do, I’m afraid they’ll want to secure your release for reasons other than your personal well-being.”

“More Jewish lies,” Massoud responded.

Gabriel smiled and then proceeded to recite a series of account numbers and corresponding values.

“Those are all legitimate accounts used for legitimate purposes,” Massoud replied calmly.

“So you have no objection to us telling your superiors at VEVAK about them?”

“I don’t work for VEVAK.”

“Yes, you do, Massoud. And that means you have a way out of your current circumstances.” Gabriel paused, then added, “If I were in your position, I’d take it.”

“Perhaps I’m not as talkative as you, Allon.”

“Ah,” said Gabriel, smiling, “so you recognize me after all.”

“You do have a way of getting your face into the newspaper.”

Gabriel turned a page in his file. “You face serious charges, Massoud. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty.”

“How do you plead?”

“Not guilty.”

“How do you plead?”

Silence . . .

Gabriel looked up from the file.

“How do you plead, Massoud?” he asked gently.

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you to answer a few questions.”

“Then what?”

“If you tell me the truth, you’ll be released. If you lie to me, I’ll tell your superiors in Tehran that you’ve been stealing money from them. And then they’ll put a bullet in your head.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Because at this moment, I’m your only friend in the world.”

The Iranian made no reply.

“How do you plead, Massoud?”

“What do you want to know?”

THEY GAVE HIM A HOT shower at gunpoint and dressed him in a blue-and-white tracksuit, extra large to fit his bulky frame. A plate of food awaited him in the dining room, along with a cup of sweetened Persian tea. Despite his intense hunger, and the fact that they gave him no utensils other than a harmless plastic spoon, he managed to eat with dignity.

“Nothing for you?” he asked, nodding toward the empty table in front of Gabriel.

“I wouldn’t be able to keep it down.”

“Don’t be so judgmental, Allon. We’re professionals, you and I.”

“You’re a murderer.”

“So are you.”

Gabriel glanced at Yaakov, and the food was removed. Massoud showed no anger.

“First rule of interrogation, Allon. Don’t let the subject get under your skin.”

“Second rule, Massoud. Don’t piss off the interrogator.”

“I’d like to smoke.”

“No.”

“Then perhaps you would be good enough to allow me to pray.”