Foreign Agent

CHAPTER 45

You really messed him up,” Vella said as Harvath joined him in his office. “His knee is shattered. He’s probably going to walk with a limp for the rest of his life.”

Harvath picked up the scan and looked at it. “Do you offer dental exams too?”

“We work up each one that comes through. We don’t want any unforeseen medical conditions tanking an interrogation.”

Despite some of its stomach-churning practices, the Solarium was highly scientific. Harvath understood the need to give prisoners work-ups. It not only helped identify potential problems but also provided baselines, which allowed them to identify when techniques were working.

“Did Malevsky give you anything useful?” Harvath asked.

“A couple of things,” Vella replied. “Mostly background, but I think it could be helpful. In the meantime, I need updated proof of life. Can you get your contact to take photos?” Consulting his notes, he added, “He wants a picture of each girl in the kitchen near her favorite appliance.”

“What does that mean?”

“He says the girls will know.”

Harvath removed his phone to text Alexandra. “What’s the password for your Wi-Fi?”

Vella gave it to him, Harvath entered it into his phone, and sent the message. “I’ll let you know as soon as I get something back from her. Now, what about Sergun?”

Vella picked up a remote and clicked on one of the TVs hanging on the wall. A hooded figure sat with his feet chained to the floor and his wrists cuffed to a track that ran down the center of a stainless steel table.

“What are you waiting for?” Harvath asked.

The interrogator opened a drawer in his desk, removed what looked like a small pill bottle, and handed it to Harvath. “Open it.”

The moment Harvath did, he regretted it. He only caught a small whiff of what was inside, but it was enough to cause his chest to tighten and his pulse to race.

Replacing the cap, he handed it back to Vella. “That’s awful.”

“Now you know what fear smells like.”

Harvath shook his head to get the lingering odor out of his nostrils. “What are you talking about? What is that stuff?”

“It’s a synthetic.”

“Synthetic what?”

Vella thought for a moment and replied, “Certain species are capable of excreting chemical factors which can trigger social responses.”

“Pheromones,” Harvath stated.

“Precisely. And when these chemical factors are released, they impact the behavior of the receiving individual. There are many different kinds of pheromones in the animal world that affect behavior and physiology. There are alarm pheromones, sex pheromones, and even fear pheromones.

“This last pheromone is particularly interesting, especially as it relates to human beings, both in groups, as well as in individuals. Essentially, what we have learned is that fear can be chemically induced. And it can be done so via smell.”

These guys were way too into their work. They were always developing new interrogation techniques, ways to break people and get them to comply.

“Let me guess,” said Harvath. “You’re pumping the interrogation room full of it right now.”

“Are you kidding me?” Vella replied. “I wouldn’t be able to work in there if I did.”

“So how are you introducing it?”

Vella walked over to the monitor and pointed to the hood Sergun was wearing. “See this part here? Right around his nose and mouth?”

Harvath looked. The fabric appeared darker. “What about it?”

“That’s actually a pocket. We placed pieces of fabric inside, soaked with the synthetic pheromone.”

“So he’s breathing it.”

Vella nodded.

“Does that actually work?” Harvath asked.

“We’ll see.”

Fifteen minutes later, Vella turned up the volume on the monitor and excused himself. Harvath remained behind in the office to watch.

Moments later, he heard the heavy bolt on the interrogation room door being pulled back and then the squeal of hinges as it was opened.

One of the guards closed and locked the door behind him after Vella had entered.

It was interesting for Harvath to watch how someone else conducted an interrogation. Normally, he was the one doing it. He didn’t usually get to observe other people work.

Vella took his time. He moved quietly to the far corner of the room, leaned back against the wall, and watched his prisoner.

By now, the earmuffs and the blindfold would have been removed from Sergun. The only deprivation he was suffering was due to his restraints and the hood over his head.

During his medical workup, adhesive sensors had been placed at different points on his skin. Now, somewhere in the Solarium, a tech had hit a button and the man’s vital signs could be seen across the bottom of the TV monitor.

Sergun’s heart rate had gone up since the door had opened and Vella had entered the room. He was keenly aware of the man’s presence. Vella, though, did nothing. He remained in the corner, leaning against the wall, watching.

Harvath could only imagine what was going through Sergun’s mind at the moment. Most likely, he was trying to remember all of his training. Deny, deny, deny and launch counteraccusations. That’s what all good spies were taught.

After five more minutes, Vella approached. He stood very close, almost on top of him. Harvath leaned forward to figure out what he was doing. Then Vella carefully removed the hood and stepped away.

The fifty-eight-year-old Sergun was a good forty pounds overweight. His pasty white face was round and puffy. His jowls shook as his eyes adjusted to the light and he twisted his head left, and then right. His gray hair was cut in a buzz cut, military-style.

“I understand that you speak English,” said Vella.

As his eyes focused, they came to rest on his interrogator and he nodded.

“Good,” Vella continued. “Do you know where you are?”

Sergun shook his head.

“It has many names. Some have compared it to Dante’s seventh circle, where the violent are bathed in a boiling river of blood and fire. Others, though, have compared it to Paradise. A place where their prayers are finally answered. Where they find release.”

The Russian remained still. His face was stony and impassive. His eyes, though, told a different story. Harvath could see it even on the CCTV footage. And if he could see it, that meant Vella did too.

“What would you like to accomplish here?” Vella asked.

It was a bizarre question, almost better suited for a job interview or a self-help seminar.

Vella moved back to his corner of the room, leaned back against the wall, and waited. He was in no hurry.

Harvath glanced back at the graphic with Sergun’s vitals. His heart rate had increased.

Sergun eventually summoned the will to speak. “What do you want?” he asked.

Vella smiled. “I want you to answer for your sins.”

“I have no sins.”

The interrogator’s smile never wavered. “We all have sins, Viktor. We all must atone. I’m here to help you.”

“You are not here to help me,” the Russian insisted. He was growing more agitated. His voice cracked as his vitals climbed. “Let me go. I want to leave.”

“Everyone wants to leave.”

“Let me go!”

Harvath watched the monitor as the man became more distraught. He could see the whites of his eyes, wide with fear. The pheromone was working.

Vella moved off the wall and reached for a spare chair. Drawing it gently over, he sat down next to the prisoner. “I understand that in Russia, you read Dante. Do you recall The Inferno?”

Sergun began to tremble.

“Who was in the ninth circle, Viktor?”

“The devil,” he whispered. “Lucifer.”

“That’s right. You’re with the devil now. And no one knows you’re here. No one is coming to save you,” said Vella. “You can scream. You can cry out. But only I will hear you.”

Removing a pair of pliers, he then ordered, “Spread your fingers.”

The stainless steel table Sergun was shackled to was like a medieval rack. The track down the center was mechanical.

When the Russian refused to comply, Vella depressed a button that pulled his wrists forward while his ankles remained chained to the floor.

He began screaming almost immediately.

Twenty minutes later, the Russian had been broken. Vella looked up at the interrogation room’s camera in a subtle acknowledgment of Harvath.

Then, returning his gaze to Sergun, he said, “Tell me about the GRU, Viktor. Let me help you leave. Let me help you go home.”