Vince Flynn - Act of Treason

The task as Rapp saw it was to give Milinkavich a chance to come clean. To explain what he really did for a living, and then they could move onto the bigger question. Just what in the hell was the Belarusian mafia doing working with Arab terrorists, and who in particular had paid for this operation?

Rapp descended the stairs to the bunker with a general outline in his head of the questions he would ask, and how he would handle things if Milinkavich continued to lie. At the bottom was a small six-by-four-foot landing with a rusty floor drain in the middle. Above the heavy metal door to the right was a small TV. On the screen Rapp could see Milinkavich reclined on the cot. He was a big man. Rapp guessed six foot three and pushing three bills. Rapp, at six foot and a hundred eighty pounds, just might provide a tempting target for the big man and part of Rapp was hoping for just that. As much as Rapp did not like torture, he also wasn’t a patient man. There were too many things to do, and he wasn’t about to waste a week trying to get inside this guy’s head.

There was no handle on the door. Just a bolt. Rapp extracted a key from his pocket and slid it into the bottom of the large padlock. He hung the padlock on a hook next to the door, checked the TV one more time, and then opened the door. Milinkavich instantly sat up on his elbows. Rapp took one step into the room and closed the door behind him, leaving it cracked just slightly. Rapp watched Milinkavich’s eyes register the fact that the door was not locked. Other than the bed, there was a small port-a-potty in the corner, which smelled of disinfectant. A single light fixture was bolted to the ceiling and encased in a protective steel cage. There was no blanket or pillow on the bed. No sheet. Just a thin mattress. Milinkavich would have made a queen-size bed look small. The twin looked ridiculous under his girth.

Rapp moved over to the side of the door, leaned against the wall, and folded his arms across his chest. He’d taken off his suit coat and tie and left his gun in Coleman’s office. His dark eyes studied Milinkavich for a second. They’d stitched up his nose and ear and although they hadn’t taken X-rays, they were pretty sure his jaw was broken.

Rapp pointed to a book on the floor and asked, “Have you found time to read?” Rapp had left a copy of George Orwell’s1984 in the cell in hopes that the prisoner might read some of the torture scenes.

Milinkavich glanced down at the book and shook his head. “I do not need to read this book. I lived it.”

Rapp smiled. “Unfortunately, you were on the wrong team.”

“What do you mean?”

“You told me you worked for the KGB.” There was a doubtful tone in Rapp’s voice. “If you worked for the KGB, you were on the wrong team.”

“Not every person who worked for the KGB was a bad person.”

A true enough statement, Rapp supposed.

“We are not so different, you and I.” The big man placed one foot on the floor and sat up.

Rapp noted that he moved with difficulty. The combination of stress, confinement, and his sheer size would have left his muscles stiff. They had taken his shoes away as well. If he tried to make a move with his socks on he would find it difficult to get traction on the smooth cement floor.

“You know who I am?” Rapp asked with an amused expression.

“American…probably CIA. Maybe Defense Intelligence Agency. Definitely special forces training.”

Rapp was happy to hear that Milinkavich only had a generic guess as to who he was. He was tempted to tell him he worked for the Israelis. It was an old ploy that often put the fear of god into godless communists. Especially Belarusians, who had been cruel to the Jews.

“Maybe…maybe not.”

Milinkavich looked around the room. “Where are we?”

Interrogation 101: Confuse and disorient the subject. Rapp had tried to put himself inside Milinkavich’s head. He’d been drugged for most of the transport from Cyprus to Baltimore. There was a chance he sensed that they had landed midway in between, but there were no windows for him to look out. The most obvious conclusion he would draw was that they were back in America, but he would also think there was a chance that they had taken him from Cyprus to an Eastern Bloc country for interrogation, possibly even Belarus. It was no secret that the U.S. government outsourced some of the less gentile aspects of the war on terror to the former Soviet satellites.

“We are someplace very private. Someplace my own government knows nothing about. Just the two of us. I would prefer, as I’m sure you would, to solve this problem in a very unofficial way.”

Rapp watched as Milinkavich’s eyes darted to the unlocked door and then quickly away. He would be weighing his chances of escape.

“I did not know we had a problem,” Milinkavich said in an upbeat voice. “Our two countries are no longer enemies.”

Rapp seized his opening. “I’m sorry. I forgot. Which country did you say you are from?”

“ Russia.”

“And you used to work for the KGB?”

“Yes.”

“And you are sure about that?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“And you want to be my friend?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“And you seek to win my friendship by lying to me,” Rapp said casually.

“I am not lying to you,” Milinkavich said with great conviction.

“I want you to think long and hard about this, because I’ve got a lot of questions for you. You tell me you worked for the KGB, which means you know how this works. There is an easy way to do this and the hard way. If you want to do it the easy way you need to be absolutely honest with me. If you want to keep lying to me we’ll do it the hard way. Which means I’m going to have to string you up by your ankles and play baseball with your nuts.”

The Russian brought his hands together, clapped them, and said, “No problem. I only speak the truth to you.”

Rapp cocked his head to the side and his left eyebrow shot up. “I’m going to say it one last time. This is not a game and I’m not amused by your reassurances. You have two choices. You either tell me the absolute truth, or I will make things extremely painful for you.”

“Absolutely. I speak only the truth.”

Rapp wondered if maybe he hadn’t broken the man’s jaw. He was speaking without too much difficulty. “Where were you born?”

“ Moscow.”

Probably a lie, Rapp thought, but not absolutely provable at the moment. “Where did you grow up?”

“ Moscow.”

Most likely a lie.“And you work for the KGB?”

“Yes,” the big man said as he slid his other foot off the bed. “I have already told you that.”

Rapp watched him shift his weight and inch toward the edge of the bed. “I guess we’re going to have to do this the hard way.” Rapp turned over his left shoulder and pressed a white button on a gray intercom box. “Bring down the car starter and the alligator clips.”

Milinkavich sat up a little straighter. “What do you mean, car starter?”

“It looks like we’re going to have to run some electricity through your brain and see if it helps jog your memory.”

“No.” The man stood, waving his hands as he took a step toward Rapp.

“Sit back down,” Rapp said in a firm but calm voice.

“I speak only the truth.” He took another step.

Rapp pushed himself away from the wall and got ready. The only question left was whether Milinkavich would go straight for the door or try to take Rapp out first. Rapp was betting that the man would be misled by his size advantage.

“Sit back down right now, or you’re going to get hurt.”

Milinkavich, only six feet away, made his move. He charged straight at Rapp, his left arm out in front of him, reaching to grab hold of something, and his right arm cocked and ready to deliver a forceful blow. Time slowed down for Rapp. Everything so far was expected. Big men always attacked this way. They came in high thinking they could smother their opponent. The only problem was they left their legs and midsection open. Milinkavich had a hell of a tire around his waist. Rapp had noted this and knew that in these tight quarters it would be difficult to get enough force behind a blow to have much effect. That left two knees and two testicles. Rapp decided on the right knee.