Geiger’s eyes never left the monitor.
The American pressed a button on the gurney and raised it to a sixty-degree vertical position. “So you’ve been telling us, Nari-which is why we decided to bring in someone new, someone who might encourage you to be a little more forthcoming.”
“This is wrong!” cried the prisoner. “I am an elected official of an ally of the United States!”
“Yes, you are,” said the American, “and that should help you see the nature of the situation-which is that we will do whatever we have to do to protect our interests. So if you don’t cooperate with the new interrogator… Well, you know what they say: Mess with the great Satan and you end up with his pitchfork up your ass.”
The American looked out of the frame and gave a “come in” wiggle with his hand. “Nari, meet your new friend-the Inquisitor,” he said, and stepped out of camera range.
The man who now stepped up to the gurney was dressed all in white-white T-shirt, loose slacks, sneakers. It was Geiger.
“Holy shit,” Harry said, standing up. “Where?”
“Cairo,” Geiger answered. “Black site.”
The video Geiger put two fingers to his new charge’s neck to measure his pulse rate.
The prisoner’s eyes smoldered as he spoke. “I cannot tell you any more than I already-”
Geiger’s hand shifted, grabbing the man’s neck tightly, his thumb and forefinger digging deep into the flesh beneath the corners of the jaw. Nari choked down into silence.
“You’re right, Nari,” said Geiger. “You will not tell me anything-now. Later you will, but it isn’t time yet. For now, it’s best that you don’t speak at all.”
Nari’s eyes registered surprise and confusion. “But peace is what I was trying to-”
Geiger’s grip tightened, rendering the man mute. “Not a word, Nari.” His fingers dug deeper, and the prisoner’s grimace stretched so wide it looked like a smile. “Nod if you understand me.”
Nari nodded.
Geiger leaned toward the DVD player and pressed the “pause” button. Then he went back to the chair and sat down, as frozen as his image on the screen.
Harry remained standing. He started nodding as the pieces began to fall into place. “Black site. CIA. Cairo. Someone hides a camera behind a wall and secretly records the sessions. Does the CIA know? Maybe, maybe not.” He frowned. “Probably not. The stuff sits somewhere for years. Someone digs it up and gives it to Matheson. Or he finds it himself-whatever. But why Matheson?”
“Because Matheson runs Veritas Arcana.”
“The outfit that leaks all the classified stuff? That’s him?”
“Yes.”
“Okay-that works. So Matheson gets ahold of the discs, but before he can break the digital lock and get them online, Langley or someone else in Washington finds out he’s got them and then lets the dogs loose. Hall and friends go to work-and we know the rest. Okay, I get it. So what’s in the videos, Geiger?”
Geiger looked at Harry impassively for a moment before answering. “I used applied pressure-a lot of it. Acupuncture, headphones, audio loops, deprivation-neither of us slept for two days. Before he broke, there was a lot of… howling and screaming.”
“Geiger, Nari Kaneesh was the number two guy in the Egyptian Parliament!”
“Harry, keep your voice down.” Geiger spoke without heat. He was staring at the freeze-frame, recalling his countless acts of cruelty, his pragmatic embrace of violence. He could feel the muscles in Nari’s throat constricting beneath his fingers. He could feel the flesh of hundreds of other victims in his hands, tightening in fear and flinching in pain and yielding in despair…
Harry leaned toward the DVD player and hit “eject.” He took the disc out of the tray and gazed down at the piece of plastic.
“Put it back in the bag, Harry.”
“We’re not destroying them?”
“No. I’m going to do what I told Matheson I would do. I’m going to call Hall, tell him I have the discs, and promise that as long as they leave Ezra alone, no one will ever see what’s on them.”
Harry blinked. “You’re out of your mind, Geiger. You hold on to these and you’ll have to spend the rest of your life in a cave. Even if they leave Ezra alone, they’ll come after you-and like you said, they don’t stop.”
Geiger took a deep breath. He could feel his whole body expanding with it, millions of molecules drawing strength from the oxygen. Then, slowly, he let the breath out and nodded.
“I know.”
The kitchen was the heart of the house, with entries from the central hall and living room and two round skylights. Harry found an unopened box of Ritz crackers and a jar of peanut butter and began making miniature sandwiches on the speckled granite counter, piling them on a plate.
Lily sat at the oval oak table, hands clasped before her, humming softly. Ezra sat next to her, one brow tilted up.
“I like her,” Ezra said. “I never met a… you know, a crazy person before.”
“No?” said Harry. “Well, take your pick. You got a house full of ’em.”
Harry brought the plate to the table and put a hand on Lily’s shoulder. She tilted her head, as if she’d heard a sound instead of felt someone’s touch.
“Who’s there?” she asked.
“Me. Harry.”
Ezra grabbed a handful of the cracker sandwiches and popped one into his mouth.
“I know something,” said Lily. Her voice was like fingertips on satin.
Harry grinned and sat down beside her. He took her hands in his. “Okay, sis,” he said, “so what do you know?”
“I know why Harry’s sad.”
Her soft declaration pushed him back in his chair. He let go of her hands.
Lily reached over to Ezra and closed a hand around his wrist. “Let’s sing,” she said.
“Okay, sure,” said the boy.
“Rock-a-bye baby, in the treetop…”
Ezra joined in: “When the wind blows the cradle will rock.”
The song rang in Harry’s ears like a mournful bell. “Ezra,” he said. “Stop. Don’t sing.”
The boy stopped singing but gave Harry an uncertain look.
Lily continued: “When the bough breaks the cradle will fall…”
“Lily, be quiet now.”
“And down will come-”
“Lily!” Harry shouted.
Her lids dropped shut, and a tear slipped out of each eye.
“Harry,” Ezra said. “What’s-what’s going on?”
“Nothing. She’s crazy, remember?”
“But she’s crying. Why’s she crying?”
Wearily, Harry got up from the table. “She’s crying about a girl,” he said, and walked out of the room.
Upstairs, Geiger stood in the shower, head bowed, palms flat against the wall. He had run the water cold to inhibit fresh bleeding, but as the water circled the drain it had a light pink tint. The shower tiles were a bilious green, and Geiger idly wondered if Corley had chosen the color, or acquiesced to someone else’s desire, or declined even to take part in the process.
Geiger stepped out and dried himself carefully with a towel. In the oval mirror above the sink, he could see a full-length glass on the door behind him. He turned around to his reflection.
The extent of the damage made it difficult to take in the whole body at once-the separate wounds all competed for his eye’s attention. The garish red circle with the central puncture in his left cheek; the ugly welts across his chest and quadriceps; the trio of long, stitched gashes in his thigh, their puckered edges already gleaming with fresh blood. His gaze bounced from one to another, and a hot sweat pushed its way up through his
