The Ethan Galaal Series: Books 1 - 3

by Isaac Hooke

  Andrei pulled at the hem of his T-shirt, straightening the colorful image depicted there. "You see this? That's me. I'm a Romanian knight fighting off the black dragon of the European Union and NATO oppressors."

  "Touching story," Ethan said. "You fancy yourself quite the hero of your people, don't you? A modern day Robin Hood?"

  "That's it exactly," Andrei said.

  "Well you're forgetting," Ethan said. "That Robin Hood robbed from the rich and gave to the poor. He didn't hoard the proceeds of his crimes all to himself so that he could impress girls and buy fancy cars."

  Andrei seemed speechless. Then: "Well, I always hired locals to work for me. So I was helping my countrymen, if you think about it."

  "Tell that to the beggar I saw outside the cafe down the street. Or the dumpster diver in the park. And tell that to the jury. Like I said before, you're going back to jail." He leaned forward. The set up was done. Time to dangle the hook. "Unless you help us."

  Andrei seemed dubious.

  "Tell me," Ethan continued. "What you did with the bitcoins you received from your arrows overseas."

  Thanks to Sam he already knew the answer to that, but the hallmark of a good interrogation was to ascertain the truth of the subject's responses by asking questions you already knew the answer to, so that when you asked something you didn't know, you could be reasonably certain the subject spoke the truth. Reasonably certain.

  But Andrei didn't answer.

  "You're not going to cooperate, are you?" Ethan said.

  "I want to speak to my lawyer first."

  Ethan laughed. "Didn't you hear what I just said? There are no lawyers here. No one can protect you from me."

  Andrei smirked, as if he thought he didn't need protection from Ethan.

  Bad move.

  Into his mic Ethan said: "I don't suppose we have any interrogation drugs handy?"

  "We can make a quick trip to the pharmacy," Jerry returned.

  "That won't be necessary." He glanced at Bretta. "Why don't you wait outside?"

  "I'm staying," Bretta insisted.

  "Are you sure you want to be present for this?" he said.

  "I'm more than capable of doing my job."

  "I don't want you to see anything that you might have to report as inappropriate."

  Bretta forced a smile. "You asked him what he did with the bitcoins. He answered without protest."

  Ethan nodded. "Good girl."

  He walked to the fridge and opened it. He grabbed a small plastic container of apple juice he found inside and offered it to Bretta: "Hold this."

  When she took the juice container, Ethan lifted the dragon shirt by the bottom hem and roughly pulled it over Andrei's face.

  He started to protest. "What are you—"

  Ethan slammed his palms into Andrei's shoulders.

  The chair fell backward and the ringleader toppled.

  Ethan knelt. "Open the juice," he commanded Bretta. "And give it to me."

  She complied.

  Ethan poured the liquid over Andrei's cloth-covered face, concentrating on the nose and mouth region.

  Andrei was obviously holding his breath, so Ethan jabbed him good in the diaphragm. Andrei spluttered, then hacked and gasped for air.

  Ethan poured for another three seconds for good measure, then he sat back and lifted the shirt.

  Andrei coughed up liquid frantically. It took him several moments to recover.

  "Tell me what you did with the bitcoins," Ethan asked again when the man had settled somewhat.

  "Fuck you," Andrei said between coughs.

  Ethan repeated the torture twice more, with similar results. Finally he righted the chair and took a seat across from him.

  "A resilient little son of a bitch, aren't you?" Ethan said. "I've dealt with religious fanatics who've broken faster than you."

  "We Romanians are a tough stock," Andrei said.

  "There it is again," Ethan said. "Romanian nationalism. Why won't you talk? You think those you are protecting would do the same for you?"

  "There is such a thing as honor," Andrei said. "When I give my word, I don't break it."

  "We'll see." Ethan retrieved the Px4 from his shoulder holster and casually directed the barrel toward Andrei's knee.

  "Do you know what a gunshot wound to the knee does? The bullet travels at over a thousand meters per second. Can you imagine that? A thousand meters, in one second. Guess what that will do to your knee. The bullet mushrooms upon impact. The impact shatters the patella, tearing through ligaments and cartilage as it passes through the notch at the bottom of your femur, getting lodged somewhere between the femur and the tibia.

  "You'll have to get a complete arthroplasty done. A full knee replacement. The surgeons cut off the lower part of your femur and the upper part of your tibia and file it down, then fit it with a titanium replacement. If everything goes well, after a year, maybe two, you'll finally be able to walk without a cane. Of course, I haven't even touched on the excruciating pain. Not just after the bullet strikes, but in the months to come. Getting your bones sawed off isn't the most pleasant experience."

  Andrei swallowed, obviously a bit squeamish. Still he made no comment.

  "Tell you what," Ethan continued. "I'll shoot you in both knees. Then I'll take your laptop and cellphone, and have my analysts crack them wide open. I'll find out everything I need to know. It'll take longer, sure, but the outcome will be the same." He tapped the pistol on Andrei's knee. "It's your decision. Choose the first path, answer my questions truthfully, and I'll let you walk out of here on your own two feet. I'll tell the prosecutor you were cooperative and urge her to be lenient. Choose the second path, and your life becomes a living hell of pain and suffering, not to mention extensive jail time, and I get what I want eventually anyway. So. What'll it be?"

  Andrei glanced at the Px4 but remained silent.

  Ethan pressed the tip of the pistol flush against his knee. He stared Andrei in the eye. "You've got five seconds."

  "Four."

  "Three."

  The man's eyes grew moist but he said nothing.

  "Two."

  "One."

  In another situation, where the lives of millions were at stake and time was of the essence, Ethan might have squeezed the trigger. But in this case such violence was entirely uncalled for. There were other ways to break a man. It would simply take a bit longer.

  Ethan removed the pistol with a sigh, and stood. He'd underestimated Andrei. If there was one thing he had learned in this business, it was that each man had a different limit. He would have never expected such a skinny guy to resist so fully. Then again, a lot of recruits back in SEAL training had similarly surprised him—the strongest-seeming men dropped out first, while many of the thin, almost geeky types made it through to the end. It was all about mental discipline.

  Andrei blinked and a tear rolled down his cheek.

  Though he didn't want to, Ethan found it hard not to respect the Yellowjacket in that moment.

  Bretta approached. "May I try?"

  "Be my guest." Ethan retreated a step and holstered the Px4.

  Bretta sat seductively in Andrei's lap and leaned forward to whisper in his ear. Ethan noticed that her cleavage was almost in his face.

  When she reclined in his lap, Ethan saw that Andrei had become very pale.

  He glanced at Ethan. "I'll talk."

  Bretta got up, shot Ethan a mischievous look, and beckoned toward Andrei. "All yours."

  "What the hell did you tell him?" Ethan said to her underbreath.

  She shrugged slightly.

  Ethan resolved to ask her later. For the moment, he returned his attention to Andrei. "Where did you send the bitcoins you received from the arrows?"

  "My accountant sent them to a Stealth address," Andrei said. "I have no idea who the recipient was."

  That matched up with what Sam had told him. So far, so good.

  "What happened after that? How would you receive the diamonds?"<
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  "Someone—I'm not sure who—would drop off the diamonds in exchange. Always in a random location in town. I'd get an anonymous message indicating the GPS coordinates. The locations varied, but it was usually a little sack stuffed underneath a mailbox, or taped under a park bench, places like that. I only received fifty percent of the value of the bitcoins in diamonds, but the method was completely untraceable."

  Diamonds were a far more permanent tool for money laundering than the volatile bitcoins. While the gems were slightly more difficult to carry across borders due to the physical nature of the goods, at least they kept their value, and they were far easier to smuggle than bigger commodities like gold or cash. Plus, all local black markets accepted diamonds. Bitcoins, not so much. Though that would probably change in the future.

  "You said you received an anonymous message indicating the GPS coordinates of the diamond stash," Ethan said. "What, through Tor?"

  Andrei shook his head. "I2P Messenger."

  I2P was an anonymous network layer, similar to Tor, but supposedly more secure. Like Tor, it was used by journalists, whistleblowers, activists, the oppressed, government agencies, and criminals to access the Internet anonymously.

  "After you sent the bitcoins," Ethan said. "How long would it usually take for the diamond smuggler to respond with the location?"

  "Usually the same day."

  "So your smuggler is in the city, too," Ethan reflected. "How did you set up all of this anyway?"

  "When I was in prison I met another inmate. He promised he could teach me how to launder without getting caught. That he could hook me up with a diamond smuggler who would take a cut."

  "Who was this inmate?"

  "He called himself Abu Yazid Al-Tunisi. Said he was Tunisian."

  "You get that, Eight-Blue?" Ethan said into the mic.

  "On it," came Jerry's voice in his earbuds. "Abu Yazid Al-Tunisi. So far nothing is showing up in any searches."

  "Keep going," Ethan told Andrei. "This Al-Tunisi hooked you up with a diamond smuggler..."

  "Yes, the inmate gave me a gmail account to contact, and when my prison term was up I sent a message to the account. The smuggler responded with instructions on how to exchange my bitcoins into diamonds, which included a public key I could use with the I2P Messenger program."

  "So do you have this gmail account written down somewhere?" Ethan said.

  "I have it in my contact list, yes." Andrei nodded toward the laptop on the main desk.

  Jerry spoke over the earbuds. "If the smuggler in question accessed the gmail account via I2P, the IP addresses we subpoena from Google will be useless."

  "But there might be some useful message exchanges," Ethan said into the mic.

  "They're probably encrypted," Jerry sent. "But we'll check anyway of course."

  Ethan tapped his lips as he studied Andrei. He fetched the laptop from the desk and sat down again. "I want you to send a message to your diamond contact."

  Andrei hesitated. "Okay."

  "You have no idea who he is?" Ethan said as the laptop booted up. "No home address? No face?"

  "Nothing," Andrei said. "Other than that initial gmail account. And like I said, we talk through I2P Messenger. It's completely anonymous."

  "So what you're saying," Ethan said. "Is that we have to draw this guy out."

  "He won't come out," Andrei stated flatly. "Would you, if you were him? By now he knows I'm a fugitive. Everyone knows."

  "There's always a way to draw a man out. By the way, did Al-Tunisi get out of prison before you?"

  "He did."

  Ethan glanced at Bretta. "How much do you want to bet this Al-Tunisi guy and the smuggler are one and the same?"

  Bretta nodded. "I'd say there's a good chance they are."

  Ethan returned his attention to Andrei. "How well did you know Al-Tunisi?"

  "After I got out of prison I went to his house a few times," Andrei admitted. "But he moved a while ago. I don't know where. And his phone number stopped working."

  "Was there anyone else who lived with him at the time? A wife? Mother?"

  Andrei nodded. "Yes. He had a sister. Eighteen, back then. Quite cute even with a hijab. She moved out to live with roommates a month before Al-Tunisi left town. Again, I don't know where."

  Ethan nodded. That little tidbit might just work for what he had planned.

  10

  The laptop made the beam-up sound from Star Trek, indicating a successful boot. Ethan made Andrei log in and then he deleted the administrator password.

  "How do I launch your I2P Messenger app," Ethan asked Andrei.

  "You'll need to start the local VPN," Andrei said. "And connect to a Wi-Fi hotspot. I usually tether to my prepaid burner phone."

  Ethan unlocked his own cellphone and turned on the personal hotspot. He logged into the network with the laptop and had Andrei walk him through the task of connecting to I2P. Then he launched the Messenger application.

  "You'll want to click on DiamondMan," Andrei said.

  Ethan selected the indicated nickname from the list and a message box popped up.

  "How do I view the message history?" Ethan said.

  "There isn't any," Andrei answered. "What would be the point of encrypted communication, otherwise?"

  Ethan typed in the following and hit "send:" I'm back in business. -Yellowjacket.

  "How long does it usually take for your contact to answer?" he asked Andrei.

  "Depends," Andrei said. "Whether he's near his computer or not."

  When no response came after a few minutes, Ethan tried again.

  Still nothing.

  "I told you he wouldn't answer," Andrei said.

  The laptop abruptly played the communicator sound from Star Trek, indicating a reply.

  Ethan read the message:

  You think I'm some stupid gypsy? How do I know you aren't with LE at this very moment?

  He glanced at Andrei. "LE?"

  Bretta answered for him. "Law enforcement."

  Ethan responded:

  No LE. Look, I have sixty thousand dollars, CASH, with your name on it. Can you give me diamonds or not? I'll leave the cash at a drop.

  Because of your legal problems, came the response. I will only accept bitcoins from you. No drops. Exchange the money, then send the bitcoins to the agreed address. Do this, otherwise you are LE.

  Ethan typed: Fine. But I want to renegotiate my cut. Fifty percent is too low for the risks I take. I want at least seventy.

  Two minutes passed before the reply came: You are LE.

  Time to use the trump card.

  If you don't meet me to pick up the cash and renegotiate my take, Ethan typed. I'll cut off the fingers of your cute little sister.

  He waited another three minutes, and when still no response came, he added: Would LE make a threat like that, Al-Tunisi? Yes, I know where she lives. I'll bring her to a pigsty. Feed her fingers to the pigs one by one. Then let the swine rape her.

  "Classy," Bretta commented.

  "Hey, gotta invoke religious sensibilities if you want to properly threaten these guys," Ethan said.

  "Sometimes I wonder if you've been undercover too long." Bretta shook her head. "Feeding fingers to pigs."

  After five more minutes he still hadn't received an answer.

  "Maybe it wasn't Al-Tunisi after all," Bretta said.

  Ethan nodded slowly. "It was a gamble. And it failed."

  "So what now?" Bretta asked.

  Ethan stared at the laptop, hoping a message would finally come up. He double-checked the Internet connection. Everything was running.

  He sighed, then pressed the transmit button on his radio. "Eight-Blue, do we have a nearby black site where we can take the suspect for further interrogation?" The DIA had one in Bucharest, adjacent to the CIA black site, but Ethan was hoping for something closer.

  "We do," Jerry's voice came back. "We scouted out a temporary site a few days ago in a small town thirty kilometers to the southeast."
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  "Perfect." Ethan released the transmit button. He stared at the display a moment longer, then reluctantly powered the laptop down.

  Ethan scooped up the other portable computers and headed outside, handing them to a support operative waiting by the entrance. Ethan pointed out Andrei's laptop. "This one belongs to the Yellowjacket. I've deleted the admin password. I want you to put an analyst on it ASAP."

  "Yes sir."

  Bretta emerged with Andrei and delivered him to another nearby operative. Then she followed Ethan back inside and the two proceeded to search the shack.

  "You know," Bretta said as she examined the undersides of the folding chairs. "Eight-Blue is going to call in a dedicated team to scour this place all over again."

  Ethan tapped different sections of the door, listening for a hollow sound. "That's fine." Satisfied that the door contained no hidden compartments, he proceeded to the fridge.

  "You really are used to working alone," she said.

  Ethan opened the fridge and checked an egg carton: he lifted each egg individually, and then cracked the shells in turn. "So you have to tell me, what did you say to get the Yellowjacket to open up back there?"

  Bretta smiled. "I used my womanly wiles."

  "Womanly wiles," Ethan said flatly. He shoved the fridge forward to search behind it.

  She smiled. "I simply told him that I had some good friends incarcerated in the Romanian prison system. Friends who could either make his prison term a walk in the park, or a living hell, and if he didn't want to become the go-to bitch in prison, he would answer your questions. I mentioned the names of, oh, you know, certain Romanian gang members he might happen to recognize, and I guaranteed him that these were men who would not back down, as you did."

  "I didn't back down," Ethan said.

  "Yes, you did," Bretta answered.

  "I wasn't going to shoot him in the knee for no reason," Ethan said.