Brad Thor - The Athena Project

The Iraqis under Saddam did unspeakable things to their male victims. There was a definite line Casey would not cross. Instead, she preferred to heighten the subject’s fear by going in a completely different and more terrifying direction, something worse than what he thought was coming.

She reached into the bag she was carrying, pulled out a roll-up tool pouch and laid it on the floor. “Do you like the ballet, Mr. Kojic?” she asked as she unrolled the twenty-five-pocket organizer.

The man stared at the hypodermic needles, screwdrivers, medical instruments, and other items arrayed inside.

“The reason I ask,” Casey said as she examined her interrogation apparatus, “is that I love the ballet. I mean I really, really love it. I have since I was a little girl. Isn’t that nice?”

Kojic had no idea if it was nice or not. In fact, he found it a rather bizarre question considering the circumstances. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to make her any angrier than she already was. So, he nodded that it was nice.

Casey saw him nod and she smiled. “I like that you agree. The ballet is nice.”

“Very nice,” said Kojic.

“Do you know which ballet is my favorite?”

The man watched as she selected an instrument from one of the pockets of her organizer and shook his head.

“The Nutcracker,” Casey replied with a smile as she withdrew a pair of pliers.

Kojic nearly fainted.

Casey pointed at his ankles. “Spread his legs,” she ordered Ericsson.

“No. No. No. No. No,” the man begged, but Ericsson did what she was told. Letting go of his neck, she reached down, grabbed his ankles, and pulled so hard she almost split him like a wishbone.

With no one keeping his face pressed into the bidet, he immediately rocked back on his knees and raised his head. Casey took care of that, though.

Standing up, she pushed his head back down so that his chin hung over the edge of the bidet. She kept him there with her forearm so she could snap on a pair of latex gloves.

“Please,” he begged. “Please don’t do this.”

Casey opened the pliers and began fishing for what she was looking for.

Kojic frantically twisted his head, first to the left and then to the right. “You don’t need to do this. We can make some sort of a deal.”

She found his testicles, got hold of one with the pliers, and applied pressure. Kojic’s body stiffened.

“Mr. Kojic, I now have one of your you-know-whats in a literal vise. I suggest you tell me everything you know about Radek Heger.”

“But, if you will only allow me to-” he began, but Gretchen applied even more pressure and cut him off.

“We’re a little squeezed for time, Mr. Kojic,” she said. “No more games, please.”

“I have many clients. I deal with many people ,” he said, but the word people came out as a shriek as Casey squeezed even harder.

“Listen to me, Branko. I’ve got a pair of nice, rusty scissors with me. I’d be happy to cut off your eggs and put them all in one basket for you, if you’d like.”

Kojic shook his head back and forth. “No, please, no.”

“I’m giving you one last chance,” she said. “Tell me what I want to know, or after I get done with the pliers and the scissors, I’m going to get out my scalpel and we’ll play chop goes the weasel.” She tapped the corresponding piece of his anatomy to make sure the man was suffering from no delusions as to what part of his nether regions she was talking about.

“Radek Heger,” he said, as if the name had just come to him. “Of course. Radek Heger the Czech!”

So what are you offering?” asked Kojic. The ladies had him sitting propped up against the wall of the walk-in shower stall, his hands still bound behind his back.

Ericsson couldn’t believe her ears. “This guy has a real set on him, doesn’t he?”

“Actually,” said Casey, shaking her head, “he doesn’t. But that’s beside the point.”

Kojic, a man who was anything but charming, tried to be. “Ladies, this is a negotiation, so let’s negotiate. ”

“This isn’t a negotiation, my friend,” said Ericsson as she reached for the pliers. “It’s an interrogation. You’re not in a position to negotiate anything.”

Casey took the pliers from her. “My colleague doesn’t like lawyers very much.”

“Who does?” replied Kojic with a shrug.

“You were going to tell us about Radek Heger,” prompted Gretchen.

The man appeared concerned as he chose his words. “I did a transaction with him. Yes.”

“When?”

“I’d have to check my files, but within the last year,” he said.

Casey studied him closely for any sign that he might be lying. “What did the transaction entail?”

“I was hired to purchase several items we believed were buried on Mr. Heger’s property.”

“And what were these items?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied.

Casey looked at him. “Mr. Kojic, you just lied to me.”

“No, I didn’t. Honestly,” he argued.

Casey reached into her tool organizer and removed a syringe and a small vial. Kojic’s eyes widened as she began to prepare them.

“Okay,” he admitted. “It was equipment.”

Casey continued to prep the syringe. She didn’t look at him. Instead, she focused on what she was doing. “What kind of equipment?”

“Scientific equipment.”

“Be more specific,” she ordered.

“I don’t know,” replied Kojic. “It was leftover junk from World War II. My job was to offer him enough money to dig it up and let us truck it out of there.”

“How much money?”

“Twenty million, U.S.,” he said.

“That sounds like a lot of money for scientific junk left over from the war, don’t you think?”

The man shrugged once more. “I have learned not to ask questions.”

“Let’s hope you’ve learned how to answer them,” replied Casey. “Who hired you to approach Heger?”

“I had never met him before.”

“That’s not what I asked. I asked who hired you.”

Kojic shook his head. “Now, you and I are back to our negotiation.”

“Give me the pliers,” said Ericsson.

Casey held up her hand. “Mr. Kojic, you are going to tell me. How much pain you endure before then is up to you.”

“I need protection.”

“From who? The man who hired you?”

“Yes,” he said. “You are Americans, correct? You can give me protection in America.”

“Maybe,” said Casey. “But it would depend on how much you cooperate.”

“He’s going to want immunity too, aren’t you?”

The man looked at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

With his hands behind his back, he was unable to adjust his robe, which was falling off one of his shoulders.

“See his tattoo?” Ericsson asked.

Casey nodded.

“Arkan’s Tigers. They were a Serbian paramilitary group. One of the most violent in Kosovo.”

Kojic stared at her, and the look of pure hatred in his eyes confirmed her suspicions. “I’ll bet the war crimes prosecutors would love to have a chat with you, wouldn’t they?” Ericsson said.

“So maybe we do have something to negotiate after all,” stated Casey. “Who hired you?”

“What about protection?” he asked, before looking at Ericsson, then adding, “ And immunity.”

“You tell me what I want to know and we’ll discuss it.”

“No deal,” said Kojic.

Casey grabbed a fistful of his chest hair and pulled his face to hers. “You tell me who hired you or I’m going to cut your balls off and leave you here to bleed to death. Better yet,” she said, letting go of him, “I’ll call some people we know with the Kosovo Liberation Army. I’m sure they wouldn’t let you bleed to death; at least not right away.”