Vengeance

57 GLEN ALLEN, VIRGINIA

Jake Harrison swerved his car into a parking spot in front of the Virginia State Police Division One, Area 1 office. Harrison and Khalila had been notified shortly after Craig Daniels’s detention, and the CIA’s National Resources Division had requested Daniels be held at a local Virginia State Police office for interrogation. The state troopers had been happy to comply, and Khalila and Harrison had made the trip down Interstate 95, using the Express Lanes, of course.

Inside the office, they were met by state trooper Alex Martin, who escorted them to the interrogation room where Daniels was being held. Along the way, he passed on what little they had discerned thus far.

“He hasn’t told us anything about the C-4 and detonators yet. Daniels knows he’s screwed and is still trying to figure out what to do about it. Basically, he’s out of his depth. Just a guy with an occasional side hustle who thought he’d never get caught, as far as we can tell.” When they reached the door to the interrogation room, Martin added, “Put the pressure on, and he’ll crack.”

Khalila and Harrison entered the room, which contained only a table and three chairs. Daniels sat in one chair, his hands in cuffs attached to a fixture on his side of the table. Harrison and Khalila took their seats in the other two chairs, across from Daniels.

During the drive from the NCTC, Harrison had agreed to let Khalila take the lead interrogating Daniels, since he hadn’t received any training in that area. Harrison had made one stipulation: Khalila would not employ the interrogation tactic she had used in Sochi, Russia, when she had driven one of her knives through the suspect’s forearm, pinning it to the table while she pressed her other knife against the man’s neck, threatening to slice it open if he didn’t start talking.

However, they had been in a CIA safe house in Sochi, not a Virginia State Police office, and Khalila armed herself with knives only when on a field assignment. Like Harrison, she carried only a single pistol today, strapped to her hip. She had offered to pick up some knives along the way to the state police office, mostly in jest, Harrison figured.

Khalila commenced the interrogation. “Craig, I’m agent Khalila Dufour and my partner is agent Jake Harrison. We’re here to help you understand the mess you’ve gotten yourself into, and what’s going to happen unless you cooperate with us.”

Daniels did his best to pretend he was unconcerned while Khalila continued. “We know what you’ve done, selling C-4 and detonators on the black market. With your assistance and a quick resolution to this matter, you could be looking at a few months in a minimum security prison — practically a college campus. But if you fail to help us and the man you sold the explosives to commits a crime with that material, you can be charged with those crimes as well. If anyone dies, you’ll be charged with murder, and you’ll end up doing time in a maximum security prison with hardened criminals and gang members — large, burly blokes enjoying bedtime benefits with their new cellmate each night, if you catch my drift. Is that what you want?”

Daniels swallowed hard, and Harrison could tell Khalila was getting to him. A thin sheen of perspiration appeared on his face.

“Cooperate with us,” Khalila said. “Help us catch whoever you sold the explosives to before anyone gets hurt. Tell us everything you know about this transaction, and we’ll ensure you don’t spend the rest of your life in prison.”

Harrison could see the indecision in Daniels’s eyes and considered engaging the man, but Khalila was doing an admirable job, employing psychological coercion instead of her typical brute-force tactics.

Finally, Daniels responded. “I don’t know much.”

“Tell us what you know,” Khalila replied.

The dam broke and the information flowed, with Daniels describing how he had connected with a man named George Banks, to whom he had sold the fifty pounds of C-4 and three dozen wireless detonators.

“Did he say what he planned to do with the material?” Khalila asked.

Daniels shook his head. “He didn’t offer and I didn’t ask.”

“Can you describe him?”

Daniels glanced at Harrison. “A well-built guy about the same size as your partner. I got the impression he was former special forces, but he never said, either way.”

Harrison pulled his phone from his pocket, then selected a photograph of Lonnie Mixell.

“Is this who you sold the explosives to?”

Daniels squinted his eyes, studying the photograph. “I don’t think it’s him, but it could be his brother. The guy I made the deal with had a different hair and eye color, and his facial structure was a bit different.”

Khalila turned to Harrison, their eyes meeting. She was probably thinking the same thing — hair and eye color were easy to change, and Mixell could be using temporary facial implants to alter his appearance; he’d done so before.

Harrison asked Daniels, “Can you help generate a sketch of what this guy looks like?”

Daniels nodded.

Khalila stood and knocked on the door. After Martin answered, she asked for a forensic artist, and one soon arrived. Not long thereafter, Harrison and Khalila were examining a sketch of the man Daniels had sold the explosives to.

Harrison locked eyes with Khalila. “That’s Mixell,” he said.