"Yes." Soraya Medhi. Like Hachemi, Soraya's mother was of Afghan descent. Her father was Iranian. Unlike Hachemi, Soraya was born following her parents' emigration to the States. Twenty-six years later, she'd graduated from medical school and joined the US Army. Hachemi had run into her at Bagram's hospital five months ago and fallen for the woman—hard. Unfortunately for the translator, despite Soraya's recent breakup, she was still hung up on Captain McCord…the same Special Forces captain who'd been framed for the cave murders.
Regan reached for the voice recorder as the ship surged more forcefully than it had since the Griffith had completed her underway refueling, only to come in second to John's reflexes as he caught the recorder before it slid off the table.
He held it out, the disconcerting heat in his fingers warming hers as she accepted it.
Like her, John must have felt Riyad's interest sharpen as she set the recorder on the table. And, like her, John ignored that interest as he leaned back in his chair and resumed speaking.
"During his arrest, Hachemi had all but admitted he'd set McCord up to get him out of the way. Jihad was never part of the plan—not on his part. Hachemi figured that with Mac in prison for murder, Soraya would turn to him for comfort."
Regan leaned into the table as John's strategy became clear. "You lied to him."
"Flat out. I told him Mac and Soraya had reconciled. He didn't believe me at first, so I pulled a page from your book and improvised. I reminded him that Mac's kid was the only baby to survive that slaughter. With the biological mother dead and Mac no longer framed for murder and in danger of spending his remaining days on death row, he needed someone to care for his daughter. Especially since Mac had ten years to go 'til retirement. I said Soraya had volunteered for the job—that the wedding was in three weeks. Hachemi knew the woman was solidly US Army first; her ethnicity was a distant second. I told Hachemi that if he really loved Soraya, he'd give her a gift she'd actually appreciate: the name of the traitor he was withholding. For a good ten seconds, he waffled."
Regan couldn't help it. She smiled. As interrogation fiction went, it was good. From the way Riyad had straightened off the wall unit, even he was impressed.
For some reason, Corporal Vetter had left that part of the exchange out of his version of events, a version she'd elicited personally following her canvas of the crime scene. Perhaps the Marine didn't understand the significance of what John had managed to do. Because it was significant.
John had made it personal. At least for the translator. During an interrogation, that was everything.
The curve of the table cut into Regan's torso as she leaned even closer. "What happened?"
"He bit, just not the way I expected. Not only did he finally admit his involvement in the cave slaughter, he bragged about it. Claimed that while Durrani had sliced the women's throats, he was the one who'd cut the kids from their wombs. So I swallowed my disgust and shifted tactics again. This time, I nailed him on his incompetence. In light of his earlier waffling, I told him if he'd done his part right, Mac's kid would've died with the others. And once Mac discovered that Jameelah and his child were among the dead, Mac would've been so rattled, he might not have fought the charges against him—and you might not have realized it was all a set up. Not only would he and Durrani have escaped capture, Soraya would've been his for the taking."
"But?" Because there was one. Even if she hadn't shared a past with John, she'd have been able to hear it.
He shoved his hands through his hair before clapping them onto the table. "I miscalculated. I'm still not sure how. All I know is the man did another one-eighty. He admitted he'd lied after getting to the ship. He doubled down on his original story. He swore there was another traitor in our midst, but he still refused to ID him. So I played my last card. I told him that was our final meet. That I was leaving the ship when we were done. And then I told him he was leaving the ship too—for Pakistan. I said our side had agreed to turn him over, so their intel specialists could…question him. That's when he lost it. He tossed his coffee at me, then shot to his feet and got down in my face. He started yammering about that chimeral virus, claiming that, though Durrani had been the one to infect Mendoza's team, he was the one who'd targeted my men in the first place. The bastard wouldn't let up. He started chortling over my men's deaths like a hyena in heat. And then he started bragging that it was his idea to inject the contents of the last vial of that goddamned psycho-toxin into you so that Durrani would have it for the trip to Iran. That's when I just—"
Regan kept her torso fused to the curve of the table as John broke off. The trio of scars on his neck tightened as he swallowed hard. His account had converged back into the statement she'd taken from Corporal Vetter, right down to the maniacal laugher that had spewed from the translator's lips. She knew what was next.
She waited for John to finish it.
But he didn't. Couldn't.
That, too, was obvious. Even Riyad knew why, because though the spook had settled back against the wall unit, his entire body was on alert, waiting for the rest.
It didn't come.
John dropped his gaze. It landed on the photo lying on the table between them. His stare drifted from Hachemi's shattered features to the blood staining his hand. Lingered.
