The Trusted

by Michelle Medhat

  “Is that new?” asked Sam, pointing to the glass.

  “Yeah. Good, isn’t it?”

  “It is.”

  Sam stopped talking. Greene was suddenly bathed in a series of blue laser lights crossing over his body. Their movement was intricate, complex and rapid. In front of him was another pane of glass with no visible entrance. Inside, a faint red glow could be seen and a few seconds later, the glass parted.

  From the foyer, Sam hadn’t realized there were two panes of glass with just a meter in between. He stared out at Greene on the other side of the glass while the blue lasers danced over him. The glass in front infused with a red light and the glass opened. Sam stepped through.

  “What is that? I know it’s for security, but I’ve not seen anything like it before. What happened to the cubicles?”

  “Cubicles weren’t safe enough. These scanners work at the molecular level. They can detect nano-agents used for changing facial appearances, surveillance and munitions applications.”

  Sam nodded. “Incredible. How does the glass work?”

  “I’ll let you into a secret. It’s not glass at all. It’s a special crystalline mix developed using nano-technology. Inside are trillions of nano-bots. The crystal nano-bot’s program ensures they remain linked together giving the appearance of the glass being solid. They send a signal to each other to open when a scan has been affirmative.”

  Greene continued to walk. Sam followed at his side.

  “Intelligent glass. That’s cool.”

  “It’s more than that, Sam. It’s virtually unbreakable. The scientists say a cruise missile could hit and it wouldn’t break. It’s something to do with the oscillation frequency inside each of the crystal’s nano-bot pitching automatically to the vibration of the blast. So, in Einstein’s theory of relativity, if both the blast vibration and the bots oscillation frequencies are the same, the glass remains static and is thus unbreakable. We’ve already encased the Oval Office in it from the inside, and some parts of the Pentagon are going to be installing it soon.”

  “My God, that’s amazing, Morgan. Unbreakable, intelligent glass. Who thought of that one?”

  “Sorry, Sam. Protocol prevents me from disclosing that.”

  “You mean you nicked the technology?”

  Sam knew when words like ‘protocol prevents me’ were used, it invariably meant that the CIA had procured it from unofficial sources.

  Greene deftly avoided Sam’s insinuation. “Hadn’t we better get back to business?”

  “I was going to, but that glass blew me away. You know how I’m a sucker for technology. So, the prisoners, are they talking yet?”

  “Nothing. With their tolerance to NMS, it’s going to be difficult getting anything from them. Unless we use other means.”

  “So use them.” Sam headed with speed down a stark white corridor in the direction of the interrogation cells.

  “You know what I said.” Greene was concerned with Sam’s maverick approach to interrogation. It may work in MI6, but he was on US turf now, and out of his jurisdiction.

  “And you know what I said,” interjected Sam. “If you want answers, I’ll get them my way.”

  Greene nodded reluctantly. “Right. You do it your way. But make sure, Sam, you get those answers. Who do you want first?”

  “Rasheed.”

  “He’s down here.”

  Greene led Sam down to one of the small cells on the left. Sam stopped outside.

  “I think it would be better if you left now.”

  Sam’s meaning to Greene was clear. If it got complicated, he wouldn’t be implicated. MI6 could take the can.

  “Yes, I think you’re right.”

  Greene turned to leave. He didn’t like it, not one bit. But they needed answers, and Sam was a solutions man. Whatever way he arrived at the solution, he never failed.

  “Remember, Sam, get those answers.”

  Greene walked with haste up the corridor, away from the breach of human rights that Sam was about to commit.

  Chapter 94

  Sam opened the little window in the cell door and stared at Rasheed. He was wearing a CIA standard issue orange jumpsuit. He was cuffed, but his legs were free. Sitting on the metal bench, Rasheed looked fiercely back at Sam. He certainly had presence and was clearly powerful. In his late twenties, very tall, at least six feet three inches, extremely muscular, with black-brown eyes and handsome, swarthy features, he looked arrogant and rock hard. And he was going to take some breaking.

  “Get anything from him?” asked Sam to Taylor and the other agent. Taylor shook his head.

  “Not a peep.” His drawn face echoed his despondence.

  “Strip him.” Sam added with callous determination, “And get the cage.”

  “We need authority to-” Taylor muttered nervously.

  The cage in question was a flat metal lattice cube, no more than three-feet square in size. The metal strips were five centimeters in width with a rough, sharp edge, thereby exacerbating the pain a captive would experience from being in such a confined space. Taylor thought the cage was inhumane and barbaric. Sam, however, had no qualms and was not going to accept any protestations to the contrary.

  “I’m your authority,” Sam shouted, glaring at the nervous agent. “Greene has green lighted it. You want answers? Do it.”

  Taylor and his colleague entered Rasheed’s cell. Sam stood behind them, watching, his hand resting on his Sig. They approached Rasheed. He snarled and backed against the wall. Taylor reached up and pulled apart the poppers on his jumpsuit. The other agent unlocked the cuffs for a second to remove his sleeves. Sam brought his gun up level with Rasheed’s face. He stared at the gun. Sam cocked it. Rasheed read Sam’s eyes. No tricks. Rasheed smirked into the barrel.

  Taylor pulled down Rasheed’s jumpsuit. The moment the material was clear of his arms, the other agent swiftly re-cuffed him. The jumpsuit dropped to the floor. Rasheed stumbled over the rough cotton material and out of the cell. He stared ahead indignantly. Taylor pushed him into the interrogation room. Sam followed behind. The cage was in the room. Rasheed looked down at it. Sam poked him in the back with his Sig.

  “Get in!” Sam pointed to the cage.

  Rasheed didn’t move.

  “I said, get in.”

  Rasheed still did not move. His eyes stared hard at Sam. He grinned.

  “Fine, we’ll play it your way.” Sam motioned to the agents. “Get him in there.”

  The two agents pulled Rasheed down to the height of the cage, removed the cuffs and pushed his huge naked body into the tiny space. The metal strips sliced into his skin like a cheese cutter. Rasheed grimaced but didn’t scream. He curled himself to accommodate his massive body into the miniature space, his neck muscles stretched, and deep pain shot through his spine. Rasheed’s hair poked through the lattice. His head, with nowhere to go but down, pushed into his chest, virtually restricting his breathing. His chin stuck deep into the socket of his breastbone. Thoroughbred legs pushed tight against his head. His knees slammed into his ears. The backs of his heels touched his testicles. His thick, powerful arms circled around him like a shield. In silence, Rasheed took in all the stunning discomfort. From the outside, he looked like he belonged to a contortionist's act.

  Rasheed had not been given any food or drink since he’d been captured. Sam knew he would be hungry and thirsty. He would stay that way. The light in the interrogation room was switched off. Complete sensory deprivation. Cramped in, hunched up, and in complete darkness, Sam left him.

  Chapter 95

  Inside the Observation Room, Aswa-da was fascinated to watch Treeborne. He wanted to know if the president knew about the theft of the quantum bomb. He focused on querying ‘President Treeborne current activities’ and stated March 22, 2017.

  The Screen lurched and images flowed of Treeborne sitting at a table in an opulent dining room. He was at the White House, entertaining influential business guests. Around him, people fawned and crawled, wanting
to gain favor with the leader of the free world.

  Treeborne put down his knife and fork and took a gulp of wine.

  “I tell you now,” the president started, and he looked up and down the table, eyeing everyone. All his table guests held their cutlery poised, waiting on his word. “I’ve got a way to annihilate those Al Nadir bastards for good!”

  The entire room gasped.

  Treeborne moved his ass around on the beige leather covered chairs, getting comfortable, and lent forward, placing his big elbows firmly on the table. He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes as he picked up his knife. A piece of meat from his beef medallion hung desperately to the blade, as he pointed it in Weitz’s direction.

  “They’re as good as dead, aren’t they, Frank?”

  Weitz shuffled awkwardly, aware that now the room had captured him in their eyes. “Yes, Mr. President,” he muttered.

  “What is it that you’ve got?” asked a billionaire arms manufacturer to the left of Weitz. On his face was immediate worry that his company’s number one position was about to be toppled.

  “Can’t say yet, boys and girls. But you’re gonna know soon enough. Testing’s all done. Just gotta get the UN’s approval under Resolution 8091. That’s happening at the Peace Summit in London in a few days’ time. Then we’re good to go.”

  Treeborne returned back to his unfinished plate and began shoveling the rest of his food into his mouth. Aswa-da smirked, deeply amused by the president’s posturing, especially knowing that the quantum bomb was in Salim’s hands.

  Another dinner guest, an investment banker, asked, “Mr. President, what is UN Resolution 8091? I haven’t heard of it before.”

  “Sure you haven’t. I just drafted it a few days before with my secretary of state, Dick Cowl. But this is gonna change everything. Trust me. Al Nadir are over.”

  “But, Mr. President, you haven’t-” began the investment banker, but one of the president’s security services officers pushed on his shoulder. The banker looked around sharply and read the message in the officer’s face. He pulled his shoulder away from the officer’s touch, but refrained from further enquiry.

  Treeborne clocked the move and sneered. Then he moved back so that the serving staff could remove his plate and glanced across the room.

  “Lovely dinner, huh?” exclaimed Treeborne to his guests.

  His gaze fell upon a gorgeous red-headed woman sitting next to the annoying banker. She was petite but perfectly formed. The wide belt she wore attenuated her waist, making her appear waif-like. He wondered if just his single hand could encase around her. Or would he need both?

  He signaled to his aide, who jumped to his attention.

  “The red head next to the prick banker. Who is she?” Treeborne asked directly into his ear.

  “That’s the prick banker Cuthbert Jones’ wife, Emily. Would you like to speak to her?”

  “Yeah,” whispered Treeborne, staring hard at the woman, willing her to react. He couldn’t help licking his lips as he watched her slender frame move like human harmony.

  The aide edged up to Emily and murmured in her ear. Her prick banker husband was engrossed in conversation with a bald-headed guy. He’d virtually ignored his beautiful wife all evening, who regarded the rest of the table with disinterest. She swept her soft blue eyes across the room and sipped her wine with languid ease. On her face, Treeborne recognized utter boredom.

  Immediately, on Treeborne’s aide giving her the message, she looked up in his direction and smiled. Gently, she pushed her chair back, slipped out between the other diners and walked with the president’s aide. Treeborne was aware her husband hadn’t even noticed she’d gone.

  Another aide came to Treeborne’s side.

  “Excuse me, Mr. President, but there’s something that needs your attention.”

  Aswa-da watched on and laughed, knowing what was happening.

  Treeborne stood up, making his apologies swiftly about ‘state business’ and the fact that he ‘never has a moment’s rest’.

  He followed his aide, walking hastily and holding down a smile of exhilaration.

  The aide directed Treeborne into one of the side rooms. He opened the door, and saw, sat demurely on the white chaise long, Emily.

  Treeborne grinned then closed and locked the door.

  “I saw you looked bored earlier. I reckon I’ve got something to raise your interest.”

  Chapter 96

  Sam entered with the two agents, switched on the light, opened the cage and pulled out Rasheed. Four hours had passed since Sam had left him in the cage, but his surly expression remained unchanged. The experience hadn’t even dented Rasheed’s formidable stamina. A small metal-topped table and two metal chairs stood to the right of the cage.

  Sam hurled Rasheed into one chair and sat down in the other. He glared at his captive. The steel table was cold to touch, but Sam’s words were colder.

  “It’s going to get harder from here. You know that. We know about the new nano-bomb, how it works, and who it was targeting.”

  Rasheed looked scornfully at Sam.

  “Kinley was a good friend. I suggest you talk and save yourself a lot of pain.”

  Rasheed stared at Sam. Then he spat at him from across the table. The spit landed on Sam’s cheek as a hot, stale fluid. Sam took a tissue from his pocket, reached up and wiped the spit away. He looked back at Rasheed.

  “Now that wasn’t very nice. You’re going to get another four hours in the cage for that.”

  Sam stood up, walked behind Rasheed, grabbed his arm and wrenched it back with a savage force. A click indicated that Rasheed’s shoulder had dislocated. Rasheed bit down hard on his lip to stop from screaming. Sam thrust him back down on the table. Sandwiching Rasheed’s cheek between his hands and the cold steel table, Sam pulled his dislocated shoulder back further. Rasheed didn’t make a sound. One tough son of bitch, thought Sam. His arm came down tight and heavy on Rasheed’s neck. In parallel, he pushed his knee into the small of his back, forcing him to arch painfully.

  He spoke in Rasheed’s ear. “The new nano-bomb. Tell me!”

  “Kiss um muk,” Rasheed snarled. I fuck your mother.

  “Ibn el gha’bar,” Sam answered instinctively. You son of a bitch.

  “Kiss um muk,” Rasheed repeated and spat again at Sam.

  “Oh, fuck you,” said Sam, pulling Rasheed off the table. He wasn’t going to get any answers from the bastard yet. He needed more treatment.

  Sam kicked him hard in the back of his knees, forcing Rasheed to the ground. He dragged Rasheed like a ragdoll by his arm across the floor. His dislocated shoulder stuck outwards grotesquely, translucent skin pulling taut like cling-film over the dislodged bone. Sam signaled at the two agents to return Rasheed to the cage. They pushed him inside and his body coiled into an uncomfortably tight ball. The agents could see Rasheed’s shoulder was still out. They knew he must be in pain, but he didn’t scream at all. He was silent. His head turned slightly as it buried in his chest and he displayed one insolent eye at Sam. The agents locked the cage door.

  They felt out of their depth engaging in such barbaric torture. Although Rasheed was a terrorist, they were ashamed at the way he was being treated. He was, after all, a human being. They doubted they could have treated an animal the way that Sam was treating Rasheed.

  “See you in four hours. By that time, you may feel like talking. And if you don’t, well, we’ll try something new. Maybe 5,000 volts up your ass will do it. Think about it, fuck head.” Sam laughed, and moved away to turn the light off.

  “Your friend Kinley,” began Rasheed.

  Sam flinched at the mention of Kinley, his finger resting on the light switch. But he didn’t turn around.

  Rasheed’s voice, muffled and wheezing, continued, “We knew about him. We played him. We played your intelligence agency. We fed him shit and, like the dog he was, he ate it greedily.”

  Rasheed’s one eye stared cruelly at Sam’s back and he let forth a
muted laugh. Sam whirled round, his anger burning. Rasheed’s face, although buried in his torso, was full of impudence and disdain.

  “You fucker,” hissed Sam, and he kicked the cage hard.

  But Rasheed continued his strained laugh.

  “That’s good,” said Sam. “You carry on laughing until I come back. Then we’ll see who laughs.”

  Sam hit the switch and darkness prevailed again.

  Chapter 97

  One thing, two words, that’s all Salim ever wanted in life. He kept it simple.

  Except those two words were: the world.

  It wasn’t a dream or a fanciful notion. He was Salim Al Douri, and he didn’t even know what a fanciful notion was. No, wanting the world was a future reality Salim knew he could shape. It was all down to the right combination of people, resource and opportunity. Bringing those components together meant Salim would soon be on the right trajectory to achieve his goal.

  After an outstanding array of academic accolades from Eton, Cambridge and Harvard, Salim was approached by the CIA, who made him an offer. Salim accepted. Eight years in, Salim could see it wasn’t working. The Company was losing more often than winning. And Salim wanted to be a winner. Counter-intelligence taught Salim a crucial lesson. Everything is connected. Only very, very few step back far enough to see the bigger picture.

  Salim, even then, was already several miles out of the earth’s atmosphere. The bigger picture was seared on his eyeballs.

  A globally connected terrorist collective. That’s what was needed. No more agency constructs, nut jobs or religionist fundamentalists. Just a dose of good old fashioned, no-holds-barred evil.

  When the revelation hit Salim, he was still stuck in the middle of Langley. He’d just got back from a mission and was in debrief. The mission hadn’t gone well. Salim witnessed his fellow agents gunned down in front of him. It was the fifth mission in as many months that had gone southwards. Salim knew he was lucky to escape with his life. Salim’s CO had been concerned about what this latest episode would do to him. She’d mentioned trauma and stress. The truth was, Salim had watched as his colleagues, or those he regarded endearingly as ‘total imbeciles’ die in front of him, and felt no sadness. Salim knew it was inevitable. They had it coming. They’d been too slow, never read situations properly and never listened, believing they knew everything. They’d paid for their narcissism with their lives.