Splinter Cell

Damn, my shoulder hurts. It could be a sprain, but I don’t think it’s a bad one. I’ve taken some pretty hard knocks in my time and this is nothing.

When I’m away from the complex and back in the Pazhan, I send Lambert a message:

URGENT — FIND OUT ALL YOU CAN ABOUT NAMIK BASARAN, ALBERT MERTENS, AND ANDREI ZDROK.

22

Lieutenant Colonel Petlow was tired. He had overseen the interrogation of the prisoners for nearly twenty- four hours. After the “Iraqi prisoner abuse” scandal that had rocked the world several months ago, the U.S. government was being overly cautious with regard to what could or could not be done during interrogation sessions. As a result, interrogations became matters of time. A lot of time.

The prisoner Petlow was most interested in, of course, was No-Tooth, whose real name was supposedly Ali Al-Sheyab. Petlow preferred to call him No-Tooth.

Although no one had realized it at first, No-Tooth had been wounded during his capture. He had taken a bullet in the side, but it hadn’t damaged any vital organs. The round had entered and exited, leaving a bloody hole that wasn’t noticed until No-Tooth had been booked and placed in a prisoner holding pen. Then the man fainted and was taken to a mobile army surgical unit to be stitched up. That’s when the doctors saw that the prisoner was already feverish and hosting a bad case of pneumonia. Such were the hazards of living as a nomad in an unstable country.

Petlow thought that No-Tooth’s condition might work to an advantage. The man was fairly drugged up and probably more comfortable than he had been in months. Armed with new directives from Central Command to find out the identities of specific individuals, Petlow decided to give No-Tooth a try before going to bed.

The surgical unit was housed in an air-conditioned portable building that had clean running water. Things had improved immensely since the days of Vietnam, when an army hospital was just as filled with deadly bacteria as the jungle itself. Depending on the seriousness of the wounds, an injured soldier or prisoner could find it pleasant staying in the hospital.

Petlow was aware of this when he entered with his interpreter. He filled out the necessary paperwork and asked the sergeant in charge to give them some privacy. After checking with the doctors, a folding screen was placed around No-Tooth’s bed and Petlow and the interpreter took seats beside him.

“Mr. Al-Sheyab, do you recognize me?” Petlow asked. The interpreter translated the questions and answers as the two men spoke.

No-Tooth grinned and nodded. They didn’t call him No-Tooth for nothing.

“I’d like to ask you some questions. Will you talk to me?”

No-Tooth grinned wider and shook his head.

“Why not?”

No-Tooth cursed in a language that Petlow didn’t understand. It wasn’t Arabic. Maybe Farsi? The interpreter left the prisoner’s words to Petlow’s imagination.

“But, Mr. Al-Sheyab, we’ve saved your life. You would have died. You had pneumonia. You’d been shot. Aren’t you comfortable now?”

No-Tooth shrugged.

“I suppose then, if you’re feeling fine, that we can move you back to the prisoners’ holding area,” Petlow said.

No-Tooth’s eyes widened and he shook his head.

“Why not? You seem to be doing better. I think I’ll have the doctor release you so we can interrogate you properly.”

“No,” the prisoner said. “What is it you want? Please, I feel terrible and I am in a lot of pain. Don’t move me.”

Petlow almost smiled. “All right. I want you to look at some photographs. I’m going to ask you if you can pick out a certain person, would you do that?”

The prisoner stared at Petlow and almost snarled. But he didn’t say no.

Petlow plowed ahead. He opened a folder containing several black-and-white photos of various Middle Eastern men. “Does the name Ahmed Mohammed mean anything to you?”

Again, No-Tooth grinned.

“I understand that Ahmed Mohammed is one of the leaders of your organization, is this correct?”

No-Tooth shrugged, but he did it coyly. Petlow took that as a yes.

“How about Nasir Tarighian?” Petlow asked. “Do you know Nasir Tarighian?”

This time No-Tooth’s eyes widened and he stopped smiling. He shook his head.

“Is it true that Nasir Tarighian is the man who provides the money behind the Shadows?”

No-Tooth refused to respond.

“You do know him, don’t you? Nasir Tarighian? Well, we know that Tarighian is the financial leader of your group, which calls itself the Shadows. I understand that you confessed to being a member of the Shadows when you were arrested.”

No-Tooth spoke in a monotone. “I am proud to be a Shadow. We will liberate the Middle East from Western oppression and return it to its Islamic roots.” He said it as if he was repeating a mantra.

“Mr. Al-Sheyab, I don’t believe you are a Shadow,” Petlow said.

No-Tooth’s eyes became fierce. He didn’t like being called a liar. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“I’m saying you don’t know if Tarighian is your leader or not. You can’t be a Shadow.”

“I am a Shadow! I am proud to be a Shadow! We will liberate the Middle East from Western oppression and return it to its Islamic roots!”

Petlow showed the prisoner the first photo. “You can’t say that this man is Nasir Tarighian, can you?”

No-Tooth scowled at the photo and said, “That’s not him! You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Petlow switched to the next photo. “We think this is Tarighian. Do you?”

“No! You stupid Americans don’t know a great man when you see one. That is Ahmed Mohammed.” Petlow knew that. Mohammed’s face had been well known to the authorities for some time.

Next picture. “Then I guess this can’t be Tarighian, either.”

“That’s not him.”

They went through seven photographs with negative results. On the eighth shot Petlow asked, “Well, we know this isn’t him.”

No-Tooth held up a hand. A visible change came over the prisoner’s facial expression, as if he had just looked upon his Lord and Savior.

“Nasir Tarighian,” he whispered reverently.

Petlow nodded and marked the back of the photo.

“Thank you, Mr. Al-Sheyab. Get some rest now, all right?” Petlow said.

No-Tooth looked at Petlow with confusion. He knew he had somehow been tricked into revealing something and his foggy mind allowed it to happen. He cursed once again at Petlow and the interpreter as the two men got up and left. The prisoner shouted at them, “I am a Shadow! I am proud to be a Shadow! We will liberate the Middle East from Western oppression and return it to its Islamic roots!”

Petlow hurried out of the hospital and ran toward his quarters. He had to get this information to Washington as soon as possible.

* * *

Sarah’s stomach growled for the sixth time since she began clocking the noises. She didn’t care, though. She was determined to see her hunger strike through. No matter how starved and weak she became, Sarah resolved not to eat the food they brought her. They had been consistent. One of them had brought her a separate meal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but until they let her go, she wasn’t eating. To hell with them. If