W Griffin - Hunters

"No, sir," Kenyon said, quickly.

"The Florence ADMAX confines very bad people-and I mean really confines: Prisoners are not allowed contact with any other prisoners and are released from their one-man cells for exercise for one hour per day. They are allowed one-hour family visits every other month, provided, of course, their behavior has earned them that privilege.

"And by very bad people, I mean, for example, Robert Hannsen, the FBI agent who was caught spying for Russians, and-of special interest to you-both Omar Abdel-Rahman and Ramzi Yousef, the Islamic terrorists who bombed the World Trade Center in 1993. They are all going to spend the rest of their lives without the possibility of parole in the Florence ADMAX. Personally, I think all traitors and terrorists, or those who help them, should be executed, but the court showed those scumbags leniency. Perhaps they will, too, in your case.

"I wouldn't bet on that, though, Tubby. You're an Aggie. You were an Army officer. You knew better than to do what you did. I really can't see a jury-especially a Texas jury-recommending clemency for you. Question?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Kenyon said, having mustered just a little more bravado.

"The next time he volunteers a mistruth, Yung, Taser him."

"Yes, sir."

"Tubby, you're not actually going to deny, are you, that you sent $1,950,000 from accounts you probably thought no one knew you have in the Caledonian Bank and Trust Limited in the Cayman Islands to the Aari-Teg mosque in Easton, a religious group with known connections to Muslim terrorists?"

Kenyon's skin paled. His eyes widened.

"Are you?" Castillo pursued.

Kenyon sat up abruptly and vomited on the floor.

"Jesus H. Christ!" Edgar Delchamps said, disgustedly.

"Go back to the bathroom, Tubby," Castillo ordered. "Get some paper towels from the cabinet and clean up your mess."

Kenyon raised his handcuffed wrists.

"I noticed," Castillo said, as the vile smell spread. "So what? Hurry up. You're stinking up my aircraft."

Kenyon struggled to his feet from the low couch and walked to the rear of the fuselage.

"Looks like something stung Tubby on the ass, doesn't it?" Delchamps asked.

The others laughed.

Kenyon came back down the aisle with paper towels in his hands, dropped to his knees, and started to mop up his vomitus. No one said a word.

Yung, a handkerchief over his mouth and nose, went aft and into the head, came out with an aerosol can of air freshener, then emptied it as he came forward in the cabin.

When Kenyon thought he had finished, he looked at Castillo, who shook his head.

"Clean, Tubby, means clean," Castillo said.

It took Kenyon three more trips to the toilet for paper towels and a lot of scrubbing before Castillo nodded and said, "Sit down."

"Okay, where were we before Tubby disgraced himself?" Castillo asked.

"I didn't know those people in Philadelphia were terrorists," Kenyon blurted.

"I didn't say you could speak," Castillo said. "The next time you speak without permission…"

He mimed shooting the Taser.

Kenyon recoiled as if Castillo's finger were the real thing.

"Are you going to talk to us, Tubby? Or wait for the people waiting for you at Florence?" Castillo asked.

Kenyon remained silent.

"Your choice," Castillo pursued. "What's it going to be?"

Kenyon looked off in the distance, thinking. Then he looked long and hard at Castillo.

"I'll tell you anything you want to know, but you've got to believe me, I didn't know the people in Philadelphia were terrorists."

"Well, we'll listen to what you have to say," Castillo said. "Can I have your recorder, Jack?"

Doherty handed Castillo a small tape recorder.

Castillo went to Kenyon.

"Put your knees together, Tubby," he said, and when Kenyon had complied, Castillo laid the tape recorder on Kenyon's legs. "If that falls to the floor…" he said and mimed shooting the Taser again.

Kenyon quickly put his hands out to hold the recorder in position on his knees.

"Now, before I switch that on," Castillo said, "there's something I want to tell you in case you're thinking that your civil rights have been violated and therefore it doesn't matter what you tell us, it would not be admissible in court.

"You're sitting in a sort of a court. We are your judges and the jury. Let me tell you who we are. You know Fernando, of course, and you remember me, and may even know I'm an Army officer. Special Agent Yung is with the FBI. That's Edgar Delchamps of the CIA. That's Inspector Doherty of the FBI. Those two are George Feller and Sam Oliver of the Secret Service. The airplane is being flown by Colonel Jake Torine of the Air Force. The copilot is an Army officer, Major Dick Miller.

"You're probably wondering why I'm telling you this. The reason is-presuming you ever get back to Midland or when your lawyer is finally admitted to Florence and you could tell him-that neither your lawyer nor anyone else is going to believe that you were kidnapped by your classmate at Texas A amp;M and hustled aboard a G-III piloted by an Air Force officer and an Army officer, where you were threatened and humiliated by another Army officer with whom you were once in the Boy Scouts, and then interrogated by a very senior FBI agent, two Secret Service agents, and a CIA officer.

"Think about it, Tubby. The only chance you have of not spending the rest of your life in a cell at Florence ADMAX is to come clean with us. Do we understand each other?"

"I told you I'd tell you anything you want to know. But you have to believe me when I tell you I had no idea that was a terrorist group or mosque or whatever in Philadelphia."

"So you keep saying," Castillo said. "He's all yours, Inspector."

Doherty moved from the forward-facing chairs in which he had been sitting and sat down on the couch facing Kenyon. He took out a small notebook and a ballpoint pen, then reached across the aisle and switched on the tape recorder.

"Interview of Philip J. Kenyon III," Doherty began, "begun at five-fifty p.m. central standard time, 12 August 2005, aboard an aircraft in the service of the United States somewhere above Texas en route to the Florence ADMAX, Florence, Colorado, by Inspector John J. Doherty, Office of the Director, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Washington, acting under Presidential Authority. Present are Colonel C. J. Castillo, team chief, Mr. Edgar Delchamps, Office of the Director, Central Intelligence Agency, Special Agents George Feller and Samuel Oliver of the Dallas Office, United States Secret Service, and FBI Agent David W. Yung, Jr.

"State your name and occupation, please."

Kenyon swallowed and then, as if he was having trouble finding his voice, finally announced that he was Philip J. Kenyon III, chairman of the board of the Kenyon Oil Refining and Brokerage Company of Midland, Texas.

"Mr. Kenyon," Doherty said. "It is my understanding that you are making this statement voluntarily, without either coercion of any kind or the promise of immunity from prosecution or the promise of special consideration because of your cooperation. Is that true?"

Kenyon's eyes glanced at Castillo, then looked at the floor. He exhaled audibly and said softly, "Yes."

"A little louder, please?"

"Yes, that's true."

"Let's start at the beginning," Doherty said. "How did you first become involved in illegal transactions connected with the United Nations oil-for-food program?"

Kenyon exhaled again.

"They came to me," he said, finally, "I didn't go looking for it. They came to me."

"Who came to you?"

"A man named Lionel Cassidy," Kenyon said. "He came to me and asked if I would be interested in some thirty-two-dollar-a-barrel oil."

"Do you have an address for Mr. Cassidy?"