Brad Thor - The Athena Project

Casey had seen enough of them to know what the interior looked like. It would be monitored by video and be outfitted with strobe lights and Dolby surround-sound speakers. There would be an eye hook in the center of the floor to restrain the prisoner in stress positions. Not only would the prisoner have no idea where he was, but the play place was completely soundproof. Access was via yet another heavy security door and card reader. On the outside, someone had taped a picture of an evil Ronald McDonald.

There were two desks and a bank of closed-circuit monitors to watch what was happening inside the cell. Right now, Nino Bianchi was eating.

He looked worse than Harvath. His clothes were soiled and his hair was unkempt. He probably hadn’t bathed or shaved since Casey and her team had handed him over.

“Well,” said Scot. “He’s all yours. Do you want me to go in with you?”

Casey shook her head. “I’d rather go in alone.”

“Understood.”

“And no video, okay? I’m not here and this never happened. Are we good?”

“We’re good,” replied Harvath as he walked over to the cell door and swiped his card.

When the lock released, he pulled it back so Casey could walk in. Once she had entered, he closed the door behind her and waited for the lock to reengage before walking over to one of the monitors to watch her interrogation unfold.

“Hello, Nino,” Casey said as Bianchi looked up from his food.

If he was unhappy to see her, she couldn’t tell. The man had a drawn expression. Gone was the arrogance of only a few nights ago. He looked broken, but broken didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. Despite his being shackled to the eye ring in the middle of the floor, she still made sure not to get too close. Caged animals were just as dangerous as those roaming freely in the wild.

“Have you come back to throw me out another window?” he asked.

“No,” she replied as she pulled a chair from the corner and straddled it. “I want to talk about weapons.”

“I sell computer parts. I don’t know anything about weapons.”

“What did they give you to eat?” she asked, trying to figure out what he was scooping up from his plate with a piece of bread.

Bianchi made a face and set the plate aside. “For an Italian, this is true torture.”

“I think the chef has a bottle of Dom Perignon White Gold outside. Would you like me to check?”

“Considering that it may be a very long time before I taste champagne again, I made a good choice,” he replied, a bit of a smile forming on his mouth.

“Have you been cooperating?”

“Are you the good cop, then? The other man who has been in here with me certainly isn’t.”

Casey had seen Harvath in action before. He had issues. He most definitely wasn’t the good cop. In answer to the man’s question, she said, “That depends.”

Bianchi sighed. “Of course it does. It always does.”

“You understand that because of your involvement in the bus bombing in Rome-”

“I wasn’t involved,” the Italian insisted.

“You sold the explosives to the terrorists,” stated Casey. “That’s involvement enough. More than twenty Americans died. At your trial, the United States will push for the death penalty.”

She expected some fervent defense, felt certain that he would stand up for himself and justify what he had done, but instead he just hung his head. She had no idea what Harvath had done to him. There wasn’t a mark on the man, at least not that she could see, but it was as if someone had gone to work on him with a hammer. There was no resistance, no fight in him.

“I’ll give up the people involved. I’ll make a deal. Is that what you want?” he asked.

Casey needed to be careful and not screw up whatever Harvath was trying to achieve with Bianchi. “That’s not why I am here, Nino. That’s for you to discuss with the other man.”

“The bad cop,” he said dejectedly.

“Yes,” she replied. “The bad cop. I need to talk to you about something else.”

He looked up and said, “You have come to talk to me about Thomas Sanders.”

Because,” said Bianchi, “for however long I have been down here, I have been waiting for bad cop to ask me about it. But he hasn’t. Instead he has asked me about all of my other business dealings. He has asked me about Hamas, Hezbollah, al Qaeda, the Taliban, ELN, FARC, Abu Sayyaf, and on and on and over and over.”

“You sold computers to all of those organizations?” asked Casey. “You must be a very good salesman.”

He smiled. “I can get anything people want.”

“So what did Thomas Sanders want?”

“Let’s talk first about what I want,” demanded Bianchi.

“And what would that be?”

“I want to walk out of here, wherever this is, a free man.”

Casey started to speak, but he raised the index finger of his shackled right hand and continued. “I also want a guarantee that no one will come after me. That I will be safe.”

“Nino, you are directly involved in the murder of more than twenty Americans in Rome alone. I can’t even begin to imagine how many U.S. soldiers and Marines have been killed because of the people you have helped equip. You just expect us to let you go free? After all that you have done?”

“If you don’t make a deal with me, millions of people in your country are going to die. I can help you stop that from happening.”

“How?”

“First things first,” he said. “You are here because of Mr. Sanders, aren’t you? Everything else was to soften me up, to make me more cooperative.”

Casey didn’t care what the guy thought, as long as it kept him talking. She nodded.

“I knew it,” said Bianchi. “How did you find out? About Sanders and what he has planned?”

“Listen, Nino,” stated Casey, “I’m the one who will ask the questions. Now, as to Mr. Sanders. What is it you know that might be of value to us?”

“I want some sort of a guarantee. In writing.”

Casey patted her pockets before saying, “I must have left my pen on the subway. You’ll have to take my word for it.”

The Italian shook his head. “No. I want something from your president. Something signed.”

Casey laughed. “You’ve been watching too much television, Nino. Our president doesn’t do that sort of thing. Even if he did, we would need to know exactly what you were offering.”

Bianchi thought about that for a moment. “Mr. Sanders wanted bombs from me. A very special, very specific type of bomb.”

“What kind?”

The Italian shook his head again. “A man has to have some secrets.”

“You know what I think, Nino?” said Casey as she stood up. “I think we overestimated your usefulness. I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

Casey walked over to the door. Just as she was about to rap on it to be released, Bianchi said, “EMP bombs. Electromagnetic pulse. Are you familiar with those?”

Gretchen turned around and leaned her back against the door. “I’ve heard of them.”

“Well, that’s what Sanders wanted.”

“And that’s what you got for him?”

Bianchi nodded.

“How many?” asked Casey.

“He wanted three at first.”

“At first ?”

“Yes. Then he contacted me and said he needed more. That he wanted them quickly. He told me he would purchase whatever I could get my hands on.”

“And you being you,” said Casey. “You had no problem finding more of these things.”

He smiled. “There are a few countries that see EMP devices as the weapons of the future. They are producing certain EMP devices in quantity. In most of these countries, the scientists and members of the military are poorly paid. They are easy to come by. The hardest part is getting the bombs to their destination.”