Vince Flynn: Extreme Measures

“Mitch, we have to be careful.”

“Don’t worry, no matter how pissed off I look, it’s all part of the act.”

“Right. And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“No,” Rapp said with a smile. “You just do your fire-and-brimstone thing, and I’ll play the sadistic bastard who looks like he wants to tear his head off and piss down his throat.”

“That’s a real stretch for you. You sure you don’t want to switch roles this time?”

“I’m sure.” Rapp laughed. “I don’t have your ministerial zeal.”

“Fine. Just remember… no more marks.”

“I’ll do my best,” Rapp said, as if he was already admitting he couldn’t.

Rapp’s attitude gave Nash pause. “You’re looking for a fight, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Then maybe we shouldn’t go in there. Al-Haq is already talking. Let’s get as much out of him as we can tonight, have Irene bring it to the president, and if all goes well, he’ll be transferred to our custody, and we can spend the next thirty days debriefing him.”

“No,” Rapp said with conviction. “I want a shot at Haggani. I’ve wanted to get my hands on him for a long time. I want to hear from his own mouth how he thinks it’s noble to kill little kids, and then I want him to feel some real pain. I want him to understand what he’s put these people through. I want to break him down bit by bit, and then I want to suck his brain dry. And then I’m going to personally hunt down every person in his little pipeline of suicide bombers and put a bullet in their head.”

Nash had known Rapp long enough to know he meant every word of what he’d just said. “Mitch, it might take weeks just to get him to talk.”

“It might, but he also might break within an hour.” He jerked his head toward the interrogation room. “Let’s get started.”

Nash reached out and grabbed Rapp’s arm. “Mitch, I’ve been here all week. These senators put the fear of God into these air force guys. Let’s not give them any reason to call Washington.”

“I’m not going to back down from this fight, Mike. I’ve had it with these damn politicians who don’t have the stomach to take on these bastards. It’s only a matter of time before we get hit again and then you watch these pricks run for cover. Every single one of them who’s been handcuffing us is going to blame us for failing to stop these guys.”

“You’re probably right, but there’s a smart way to do this and then there’s the…”

Rapp held up a hand and cut him off. “You don’t have to go in there with me. You’ve got a family to worry about. I don’t. I’m free and clear. I’ve got nothing to slow me down. Nothing they can hold over my head.”

Nash was tempted to take him up on the offer, but they had been through too much together. He owed Rapp too much. “Just try not to leave any more marks.”

“I’ll do my best.” Rapp walked back down the hall and paused to look in on General Dostum and al-Haq. He took it as a good sign that the two men were talking. Rapp moved down the hall and opened the door to the other interrogation room. As he entered, he said, “Abu, I hear you’ve been playing dumb all week.” Rapp reached Haggani’s side and added, “We both know you understand English.”

Rapp expected it this time. Was waiting as the same feral look spread across Haggani’s face. With his arms and legs bound to the chair, the prisoner tilted his head back, cleared his throat and then lunged forward unleashing a gob of spit. Rapp held up the towel and blocked it.

“Bad move, Abu,” Rapp said as he draped the towel over Haggani’s head and reached into the right cargo pocket of his pants. He fished out a black stun gun and gripped it firmly in his right hand. Haggani was violently trying to shake the towel from his head, but was having little success. As soon as he stopped moving, Rapp placed the two charge electrodes against the wet towel in the general area of the terrorist’s mouth. He pulled the trigger and pressed firmly, holding it down for three long seconds. The high-voltage, low-amperage electrical charge crackled as it spread through the wet towel. Haggani’s body went rigid for a second and then convulsed several times.

Rapp withdrew the gun, grabbed the towel, and took a step back. A disoriented Haggani fought to keep his head up.

“Abu, have you ever heard of Ivan Pavlov?” Rapp searched the man’s still-dazed eyes. “Based on your limited educational experience, I doubt it. He’s a Russian, or I should say, was. He’s been dead for a long time, but that’s not important. The man was a genius… the father of classical conditioning. Most people know him because of the study he did with dogs. He’d ring a bell, wait a few minutes, and then feed the dogs. After a while the dogs would salivate in anticipation of being fed when they heard the bell ring… pretty basic stuff. It’s called conditioned response and it works with humans as well as dogs. Take your little nasty habit of spitting on people, for example. The guards should have broken you of the habit right away, but they didn’t, so I’m going to have to do it. Not a big deal, though. It shouldn’t take us more than ten minutes to cure you of the tendency.”

Haggani’s eyes blinked several times. He shook his head and then opened his mouth and flexed his jaw.

Nash watched, unfazed, from the other side of the table. He’d seen Rapp go through this with prisoners on four other occasions. The towel was used to both block the spit and spread out the charge so they wouldn’t leave any marks on Haggani. Nash had used stun guns himself on many occasions. Especially on the prisoners who were fond of throwing their feces and urine at the guards. Every human rights organization had released statements condemning the use of stun guns on prisoners as torture. Nash wondered how they would feel if they had someone throwing shit on them every day when they walked into work.

Rapp got the towel ready. He stepped a little closer and asked, “Are you done spitting?”

Haggani tilted his head back again and pursed his lips.

Rapp tossed the towel back over Haggani’s head and hit him with another three-second shot from the stun gun. The results were the same. Haggani’s recovery, though, took a good half minute longer.

Nash and Rapp exchanged a brief look. Between the two of them they’d had only one prisoner go beyond three hits in a sitting. Almost all required shocks a day or two later, to help cement the conditioning. A minute passed and Rapp pulled the towel off Haggani’s head. He didn’t speak this time. He stood within striking distance locked in a stare with Haggani waiting for him to decide which path he would take.

Nash stared at the cut and swollen bump above Haggani’s eye. The blood had run down his face onto his neck and was now soaking the collar of the orange jumpsuit. It showed no signs of slowing. Nash knew that sooner rather than later he would have to get a first aid kit and clean up the prisoner. There was no way of hiding the injury, though. That was going to create some major problems in the morning.

There was a knock on the door. Nash walked over and opened it. General Dostum was standing in the hallway, smiling. “He wants to talk to you.”

Nash did not want to talk in front of Haggani, so he said to Rapp, “I’ll be back in a minute.” He stepped into the hallway, and as soon as the door was closed he asked, “What’s up?”

Dostum rolled his eyes. “The man is a snake. He thinks only of himself. I knew he would want to strike a deal.”

“Did he give you anything?”

“He says he has information that would be very helpful and timely to the U.S.”

“You believe him?”

“He was in a position to know important things, but he is a liar. It is up to you to sort it all out.” Dostum grinned.