Abbot moved towards the sink and Blout towards the generator.
‘
I’ll tell you anything
,’ Callo yelled.
Sykes nodded as he rubbed his forearm. ‘We know that, everyone does. But that’s the problem right there. You’ll tell me anything. And anything is no good. Which is why we have to go through certain
procedures
to ensure what you do say is the truth.’
Callo spoke quickly. ‘It will be, I promise.’
Sykes nodded again but didn’t say anything. He looked at Abbot, who picked up the hose from the floor and aimed it at Callo. He turned on the tap and a jet of icy water struck Callo in the face. It was so cold Callo stiffened and exhaled sharply, face contorted, and head shaking from side to side, trying to get away from the painful blast.
Abbot redirected the spray down over Callo’s body until he was drenched with water. He bucked and screamed, kicking his legs out wildly. The chair, bolted to the floor, didn’t move.
Sykes said, ‘That’s enough.’
Abbot turned off the tap. Callo sat shivering uncontrollably in the chair, teeth chattering, goose pimples covering his body, lips blue. He tried to speak, to beg for mercy, but he couldn’t form any coherent words.
Abbot grabbed Callo’s hair and wrenched his head to one side so he was looking at the table.
‘You’re going to want to watch this,’ Abbot snarled.
He let go of Callo’s hair and moved to the table. There was a brown paper bag lying on the tabletop into which Abbot reached. He removed two oranges, set them down so they were touching, and taped both to the table.
‘Think of these as a representation of what’s most valuable to you.’
Abbot took a black marker pen from a trouser pocket. He drew some little black lines on each orange. He laughed to himself. He then took the cables, which had crocodile clips at the ends, and clipped one to the skin of each orange.
‘Ready then?’ Abbot asked Callo, but didn’t wait for a response. He gestured to Blout, who thumbed a switch on the generator.
The oranges started to glow and then vibrate. After a few seconds a warm citrus odour spread around the room. The vibrations intensified and the skin of one orange split open. Steam rose from the opening and juice bubbled through.
‘Here we go,’ Abbot said, slapping his hands together.
A split opened in the second orange. Other splits appeared and Callo watched with wide eyes as the oranges burst open and hot juice and pieces of flesh exploded outwards.
Abbot clapped his hands together again. ‘
Oh yeah
. That’s the money shot.’
Blout flicked the generator switch. What was left of the oranges sat steaming on the table. Juice dripped from the edge. Chunks of orange flesh and skin lay scattered across the floor. A hot piece had landed on Callo’s naked thigh, making him wince.
‘Look,’ Abbot said, laughing and pointing, ‘bastard’s pissed his pants.’
Callo’s underpants were already soaking wet but the yellow colouring at the front was obvious.
Sykes took a step towards Callo. ‘Get the point?’
Callo nodded. ‘
Yes, yes, I’ll tell you the truth
.’
‘Good,’ Abbot said, ‘because if you think this bad boy makes a mess of the oranges you wouldn’t believe what it will do to a pair of bollocks.’ He took the crocodile clips from the skin of the destroyed oranges. ‘Whoa, these babies are hot.’
Blout opened out a folding knife and stepped towards Callo, who screamed at the sight of the blade. Blout used the knife to cut away Callo’s underpants.
Abbot laughed. ‘Guess that water is colder than I thought.’
Callo yelped as the crocodile clips bit into his scrotum.
Sykes walked forward. ‘You see, Xavier, we’re underfunded out here and we can’t afford a polygraph. But you can see how we’ve improvised our own. Sure, it’s not as sophisticated, but it works just as good. Better even.’ Sykes gestured to Callo’s groin. ‘Would you like a more accurate demonstration of how our lie detector works?’
Callo shook his head as hard as he could. ‘
No, no, no …
’
‘Okay,’ Sykes continued, ‘I can see you’re convinced that it works, but we’ll start off easy. Tell me, how’s business?’
A confused look passed over Callo’s face. ‘Business?’
‘Yeah,’ Sykes said. ‘Business. You know, the diamond trade. How is it? You making lots of money?’
‘I … I guess. It could be better.’
Sykes laughed. ‘Could be better?’ He glanced at Abbot and Blout. ‘You hear that guys?
Could be better
. I heard about your little trip to that Greek bar. You were throwing cash around like it was going out of style. And that villa overlooking the beach; bet a week’s rent on that is a month’s take home for me. So don’t be modest. I don’t know how you do it. Uncut diamonds look like shitty little rocks to me, but you’ve got the magic eye, don’t you?’
‘I guess.’
‘What did I say about modesty?’
‘Okay, I’m good at what I do.’
‘Then just facking say so, prick,’ Abbot spat.
‘Excuse my friend here,’ Sykes said. ‘He’s pissed because the coffee machine doesn’t work. I’d offer you a water, but I guess you’ve had enough from the hose.’
Callo shook his head. He had been in a constant state of thirst for two days. ‘No, some water would be good.’
‘Okay,’ Sykes said. ‘Answer a few more questions and I’ll have a cup brought in for you, how does that sound?’
‘Thank you,’ Callo said.
‘Don’t mention it.’ Sykes put his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘Tell me about your relationship with Baraa Ariff.’
Callo hesitated. ‘What about him?’
‘Just what I said. Tell me about your relationship with him. And don’t forget about the lie detector.’
‘I … I sell his diamonds for him.’
Sykes tilted his head to one side. ‘You mean you fence his diamonds for him that he receives as payments for arm sales in Africa?’
‘I don’t know where they come from. I just—’
‘You’re a clever boy, take a guess. What else would an arms dealer trade for diamonds?’
Abbot scooped out some flesh from one of the destroyed oranges and ate it. ‘Hot orange ain’t that bad.’ Juice dribbled down his chin. ‘Fancy a bit, mate?’
Callo shook his head. Blout threw some anyway. It hit Callo on the cheek.
‘I’m waiting,’ Sykes prompted.
Callo said, ‘He gets the diamonds for arms.’
‘That wasn’t so hard,’ Sykes said. ‘I know you’re afraid that word might reach Ariff that you ratted him out, but that problem only exists
if
you ever leave this place. Get the subtext? So make right now your priority and start answering my questions faster.’ Sykes’s eyes narrowed. ‘Now, we’ve established that you fence Ariff’s diamonds for him, so you profit from the illegal arms trade.’
‘But I didn’t know.’
‘I don’t give a shit whether you knew or not. I don’t give a shit
about who you are. I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you’re not a very important individual. Does anyone even know you’re gone? Would they care if they knew?’
Callo averted his eyes.
‘That’s what I thought,’ Sykes said. ‘Back to Ariff. What else do you know about him?’
‘I’m not sure.’
Abbot gestured angrily. ‘You’re not sure what you know? What kind of bullshit answer is that?’ His face was red. He looked at Sykes. ‘We should cook his testicles right now. That will make him sure what he knows.’
‘
No, no
,’ Callo pleaded. ‘I’ll tell you anything you want to know.’
‘Where is Ariff?’ Sykes asked.
‘I don’t know. Why would I know?’
Abbot slapped Callo across the face. ‘Because you were seen in Antwerp a week ago selling a large amount of uncut ice.’
‘Which you got from Ariff,’ Sykes added. ‘So we know you’ve seen him recently. Are you really so dumb you do not get that some of the questions we ask you we already have the answers to? You tell me one more lie or try to be even the slightest bit evasive when answering and we’re going to turn on the lie detector and go get your water. That’s a two-minute round trip. Think what your nuts are going to look like after one hundred and twenty long seconds.’
Tears streamed down Callo’s cheeks and he blinked to clear his eyes. ‘Ariff’s living in Lebanon now. He has a house in Beirut.’
‘Where in Beirut?’ Sykes asked.
‘I don’t know where exactly, I’ve never been. I last saw him in Cairo. It must be in the hills above Beirut because he said he had a great view of the city below and the sea. On the slopes of Mount Lebanon, because he said he had to get some cedar trees cut. They grow up there.’
Sykes turned down the corners of his mouth and nodded. ‘That’s pretty damn good deduction there. I’m impressed. Genuinely. Now, you sold his diamonds and you’ve got his cash and we know Ariff doesn’t like to use banks. So how were you going to give it to him?’
When Callo hesitated, Sykes gestured to Blout. ‘Flick the switch.’
Callo screamed, ‘
NO
.’
‘Then tell me.’
‘It’ll be somewhere in Europe or the Middle East. It always is. But I won’t know until I get word. Then I’ll go and hand over the cash. It’s how it always works.’
‘Will you meet Ariff himself?’
‘Or his business partner,’ Callo said. ‘Gabir Yamout.’
‘When will you get that message?’
‘It’ll be soon. Maybe this week.’
‘Good boy,’ Sykes said with a smile. ‘You’re doing great. Keep this up and you’ll even get to see the sun again. Now, tell me how you’ll receive the message.’
Sykes questioned Callo for a further hour before getting him his water as promised. It couldn’t have gone better. Procter was going to be thrilled with the information Sykes had collected. It had been clear to Sykes just from reading about him that Callo would talk without the need for too much encouragement, or coercion as the CIA liked to call it. Sykes had read the torture bible of permissible interrogation techniques in the run-up to Callo’s arrival, and knew what was allowed and what wasn’t. Ball frying definitely fell into the latter category, but then this wasn’t as it seemed.
The set-up Sykes had fixed for Callo had been perfect. They were in an abandoned Cold War bunker that served admirably as a CIA black site. Some rented locals had played the parts of prisoner and interrogators for the little vignette Callo had just happened to witness, with pork chops over a camping stove providing the smell of burnt testicles. The generator was real, though, the exploding oranges were real, but Sykes wasn’t going to flick the switch. He just wanted Callo to believe he would.
Sykes’s orders had been explicit. Callo was not to be harmed in any way, which was better than he deserved, but good because Sykes had some experience of violence and he knew he didn’t have the stomach for real torture. Scaring Callo shitless was necessary, however, and a bit of roughing up was allowed so long as it left no marks. Callo was
a career criminal and a fence with fingers in lots of illegal pies, so hurt or not, today’s unpleasantness was a bit of karma for his long list of sins.
And, Sykes was surprised to admit to himself, it had been a lot of fun watching Callo squirm and beg.
Berlin, Germany
The first of Farkas’s entourage arrived alone. Victor spotted him easily enough, walking with a certain level of arrogance, expecting others to move out of his way, giving hard stares to anyone who didn’t. The man looked about thirty with pale skin and dark hair that reached below his ears. He wore a poorly fitting suit and talked into a cell phone, shouting in Hungarian to someone Victor guessed was a wife or girlfriend.
Victor’s grasp of the language was passable at best. He’d been refreshing his understanding of Hungarian since he’d first received the assignment, but there was still a long way to go. The Hungarian kept the phone wedged between his head and shoulder as he fumbled for his key to open the door. Sipping his orange juice outside the cocktail bar, Victor couldn’t see whether the man was armed. He wrote a number one on a fresh page in his notebook and next to it listed the man’s physical attributes and tactical awareness –
None
.
It was an hour before he made any more notes. The man left the building and returned thirty minutes later, this time laden with shopping bags and carrying a tray of five coffees. A supply run then, getting essentials in for the boss’s arrival. Victor added the time the trip took and the brand of coffee purchased to his notes as well as writing
Unarmed
.
Farkas must be arriving soon, otherwise his coffee would get cold, so Victor finished his drink, gathered his things, and walked slowly along the street, a casual pace, just a local in no hurry to get to where he was going. He took out his phone, pretended to answer it, and engaged in small talk with the fictional person of reasonable wit.
The phone gave him a reason to loiter on the sidewalk outside the apartment building. He stayed a few yards away from the front steps. He wanted to be close when Farkas arrived but not close enough to smell his cologne, or lack thereof.
It didn’t take long. A black Mercedes sedan pulled up outside the building and Farkas climbed out after one of his underlings held open the door for him. Farkas appeared fit and healthy, just shy of six feet and around one hundred and seventy-five pounds. The dossier listed him as both a couple of inches taller and some ten pounds heavier. Not too important intelligence to get wrong, but it didn’t say much for Victor’s sources. Unlike the other men who arrived with him, Farkas had a tan, probably fake. Too dark and too even. He wore an expensive-looking black suit with a red shirt and red tie. It was a stylish combination, or would have been without the chunky gold chain hanging above the shirt.
Victor continued his fake conversation and drew only a passing glance from one of Farkas’s men. Three arrived with Farkas, one in his forties and the other two in their thirties, un-athletic physiques, all in suits, each with a suitcase, one with two, all armed. Handguns in underarm holsters by the way their jackets hung. They were relaxed but watchful. Victor detected no special training, military or otherwise.