by James Rosone
“The target of the raid was a Chinese national? I thought it was a money guy that was connected to the terrorist group that carried out the terrorist attack a week ago,” Joe said, forehead scrunched up in thought.
“It was the money guy. He just happened to be a Chinese national. Apparently, he worked at the Silk Road Bank of Macedonia. The military has him in custody now. I suspect we’ll find out what’s going on at some point, once they start publishing some intelligence reports on his interrogation.”
Joe got lost in thought for a moment. Something seemed off about all this. Why would a Chinese national fund an Islamic extremist attack on American soil? he asked himself.
“Ashley, before you leave, I want you to look into that voting angle you mentioned,” Joe requested. “Find out from those election officials what the stats are on Republican versus Democratic absentee ballots in those districts. Also, try and find out where the money is coming from that these postal workers suddenly seem to be acquiring. Have the field agents bring in all the postal workers and start squeezing them for information on the source of the money. Something just seems off. I can’t quite place it, but we need to move on this. Bring them in today, will you?”
“Sure thing, boss. I’ll get back to you tomorrow when I have more to report.”
*******
Kosovo
Camp Bondsteel
The weather had turned decidedly cold in the last twenty-four hours. The temperature had dropped down to forty-two degrees and it was threatening rain. Dark clouds rolled in ominously.
Lieutenant Colonel Seth Mitchell was sitting in the ops center, reviewing the latest dossier the NSA, DIA and CIA had put together.
What does a Chinese national have to do with funding an Islamic extremist group in the Balkans? he wondered.
Sensing someone walking up behind him, Seth turned to see Brigadier General William Lancaster approaching him. The general had that look on his face that said he was about to task him with a difficult project.
“Morning, sir. You got something for me?” he asked.
Pulling up a chair next to him, the general sat down and looked around to make sure no one was nearby or could be listening to them. He then leaned in and quietly said, “Look, Seth, the OGA interrogator has been questioning Rexhepi for nearly fourteen hours. We’ve had this Chinese nationalist stewing in a holding cell since his capture. We need to start questioning him and getting some answers.”
Seth nodded. “I talked with Smith, the OGA interrogator, last night. He’s ascertaining some peripheral information on the Chinese guy from Rexhepi first. Then he wants to question the Chinese national with what he’s learned from our Kosovar friend. He’ll get what we need, sir. I’ve worked with Smith. He’s really good at this job.”
“That may be so, but we’re getting a lot of heat right now from State Department, the FBI and now it appears the Kosovo government about holding this Chinese national,” Lancaster said glumly. “I’m not sure who this guy is, or what’s going on, but the Chinese government is apparently very interested in getting him back. The Chinese are making all sorts of waves in Kosovo and with the EU about the abduction of one of their citizens.” The general paused for a second before adding, “I’m not confident that we’ll be able to hold him much longer. I want you to find out from Smith what he has and go question him now.”
Seth shrugged. “I can, but I’m not sure how fast we’ll get answers. These types of things take time. It’s like peeling away the layers of an onion. If he’s had any sort of interrogation resistance training—”
Lancaster interrupted, “I know. Look, this doesn’t go any further than you and me. The President signed a secret order an hour ago and sent it over to the Director of the CIA and our boss, General Royal. We’re to use extreme measures to obtain the information we need. We don’t have a lot of time, and if there is another terrorist attack planned that’s going to coincide with the election, we need to know about it. We’re five days out from election day—we don’t have time to dawdle.”
Seth shook his head in dismay. “There’d better be some sort of immunity or top cover for me,” he asserted. “I’m not going through Yemen all over again.”
Lancaster placed his hand on Seth’s shoulder. “I’ve got your back on this one, Seth. I won’t leave you in a lurch. If anyone tries to hang this on your shoulders, they’ll have to hang it on mine as well.”
After taking a deep breath in and holding it for several seconds, Seth let it out slowly. “OK, I’ll do it,” he responded. “I was told you brought my kit with you in case we needed it—is that accurate?”
“We did,” Lancaster replied. “Tell your friend Smith about the order if his own people haven’t already. You guys don’t have long to get what we need, so get to it.”
Seth nodded, got up, and headed out to the small detention facility where they were holding their two guests. After the short walk, he neared the appropriate building but saw that there were now a couple of plain-clothes guards wearing body armor stationed outside, wearing M4s slung across their chests at the low ready.
One of them held his hand up, saying, “Sorry, sir. This is a restricted area.”
A second later, the door to the building opened up and Smith walked out. His eyes lit up when he saw Seth, and he walked past the guard toward him. “It’s OK, guys. He’s with me. He’s on the list.”
The guards nodded and then returned to their stoic stance, making sure their menacing stares warded off anyone that happened to walk near their facility.
Guiding them past the guards, Smith walked into the facility with Seth. They walked over to a table with a couple of free chairs next to some computers being manned by a couple of analysts.
“Let me bring you up to speed with what we’ve found so far. Oh, and before I forget, your kit is over on the other table.” Smith smiled a devilish grin. “It’s good to have you back, my friend.”
Shaking his head at the reference, Seth responded, “I keep trying to get out, but they keep pulling me back in.” The guys around him all laughed.
“OK, enough chitchat,” said Smith good-naturedly. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, and from what my boss tells me, we don’t have a lot of time. We’re going to have to cut this joker loose soon, so we need to squeeze him for as much as we can.” Smith shook his head in dismay. “I’m not sure who this guy’s related to, but he’s got some serious pull with the Chinese government. They are hooting and hollering for his release back in D.C., here in Europe, and in Kosovo too.”
“So I’ve heard.” Seth leaned forward. “So, what do we know about him?”
“Sadly, not much. We know he works as a bank executive for the Silk Road Bank in Skopje. The bank itself is headquartered in Baar, Switzerland, just south of Zurich. He’s been employed there for roughly six years and spent most of that time with the company here in the Balkans, mostly doing banking services in Macedonia, Greece, Kosovo, Albania, Serbia, and Bosnia—so you can bet he’s met with a lot of folks in this region. Now, while we don’t have a lot of data on him, we do have his passport stamps, and his electronic devices are starting to yield some interesting information.”
One of the nearby analysts plopped down in a chair next to Seth. “Yeah, like one of the two laptops he was captured with appears to be linked to that large Gmail and White House hack from two years ago. You remember—that KHS group that supposedly pulled off the hack.”
Seth rubbed at the five-o’clock shadow that was already growing on his face. What does this hack from two years ago have to do with Islamic extremists from the Balkans? he wondered.
“OK, so what exactly do you want me to ask him?” Seth asked. “I suspect you want me to question him while you keep focusing on Rexhepi, right?”
Smith nodded. “Now that we’ve been green-lighted to use the other tools in our bag, yeah. I want you to figure out who he’s really working for, and what type of support he’s providing to Rexhepi’s group. Does he know of any other terr
orist attacks against our country? What is his connection to the KHS hacker group, and what did he have to do with the Gmail and White House hack from two years ago?”
Seth snorted at the request. “You want me to find out who he dated when he was sixteen while I’m at it?”
Smith just shot him a dirty look as he shook his head. “You have your marching orders, soldier. Get to it!” His tone suggested that he spoke in jest but meant every word of it.
Without saying anything further, Seth nodded and got up. He grabbed his gym bag and pulled out a pair of 5.11 pants and shirt. He proceeded to change out of his military uniform into the civilian attire. He wasn’t going to let this guy know he was military if he could avoid it. Best the man think he was CIA and believe the rules were lax or nonexistent.
Ten minutes later, Seth opened the door to the hallway that led to the four interrogation rooms in the small facility. Rexhepi was in one room, and their Chinese mystery man was in another. Walking up to the appropriate door, Seth turned the handle and walked in.
Strapped to a chair in front of a small table was a man, roughly five feet seven inches tall. He looked to have soft, manicured hands—the hands of someone who doesn’t do a lot of dirty work. Seth observed that he still had on the sensory deprivation equipment. He nodded toward the guard standing behind his new Chinese friend to take it off.
Once the goggles and headphones were off the prisoner, the man blinked several times and briefly shook his head, looking around the poorly lit room to get a sense of where he was being held.
When the Special Forces soldiers had captured him, they’d injected him with a drug that had knocked him out for nearly twelve hours. Once he had awoken five hours ago, they’d immediately placed the sensory deprivation equipment on him. The combination of the induced sleep and the disorienting effects of the equipment he’d been wearing would have caused the man to be completely unaware of how long he’d been in their custody. He would likely think that he’d been held for three or four more days at this point.
Sitting down in front of the prisoner, Seth pulled the man’s passport out and held it up. He opened it and read the name aloud: “Wen Zhenyu.”
The man looked at him cautiously and then nodded. “That is my name. Who are you? Why am I being held?” he asked angrily in excellent English. Seth detected a hint of a Midwestern accent, as if he’d spent some time in the Chicago area.
Dismissing the prisoner’s question, Seth asked, “Who are you working for?”
Scoffing at the question, Wen replied, “I work as a bank executive for the Silk Road Bank in Skopje. I specialize in business and construction loans.”
Wen continued to look around the room, searching for clues that might help him figure out who was holding him and where he was.
Seth shook his head. “I know that’s your official cover. What I want to know, is who do you really work for?”
Seth observed the man’s eyes darting around the room a bit more, searching for something but apparently not seeing what he was looking for.
“I’m a Chinese citizen. You have no right to hold me. I have done nothing wrong. I demand to speak to someone from my consulate!” Wen said angrily.
Seth shook his head. Then he opened the manila folder he had and placed it on the table. Wen looked at the folder, almost surprised by its sudden appearance.
Holding a picture of Rexhepi up for him to look at, Seth asked, “Who is this man?”
Wen looked at the picture and shook his head. “I have no idea who that is. I demand to speak with someone from my consulate,” he said again indignantly.
Maintaining a calm demeanor, Seth held up Wen’s cell phone. “This is your phone, isn’t it?”
Wen looked at the phone nervously but nodded.
Pulling out a small digital recording, Seth proceeded to play the recording of the intercepted phone call between Wen and Rexhepi. When Wen heard his voice and Rexhepi’s on the other end, his eyes grew a little wider before he quickly regained his composure.
“You fabricated that recording,” he said, seething. “I have no idea who that other voice belongs to. I demand you allow me to talk with someone from my consulate. I will not say another word!” he shouted angrily.
Enough is enough, Seth thought.
He slammed his hand on the metal table, his wedding ring slapping the metal with a hard crack as he lurched out of his chair. In one swift motion, he grabbed the right side of the table and hurled it onto its side, causing the guard standing behind Wen to jump back slightly. Seth was on Wen before he even knew what had happened.
Seth grabbed Wen by the throat, lifting him right out of his chair. He used the force of his forward momentum to shove Wen past the guard, who had moved out of the way just in time for Seth to slam Wen’s body against the back wall of the interrogation room.
The man couldn’t have weighed more than one hundred and forty pounds; Seth effortlessly manhandled him. As he lifted Wen off the ground, choking him, Seth leaned in close to his face. Looking him in the eyes with burning anger and hatred, he shouted, “Enough games! Your cover’s blown. You’ve been caught aiding and abetting a known terrorist who attacked our nation. You’re either going to talk to me, or so help me God, you’re going to wish you were dead!”
He threw Wen down and let him sink to the floor as he gasped for air.
Seth looked at the guard, who only raised an eyebrow at what had just unfolded. “Fix the table and sit him back in his chair,” Seth ordered. “Put the restraints back on him. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.” Then he proceeded to leave the room.
He wants to play hardball, that’s fine—I’ve got plenty of tools left in my toolbox, he thought. A maniacal grin spread across his face.
Walking out into the hall, Seth made his way back to the outer room where he had his kit waiting for him. When he walked inside, he saw Smith standing there with his hands on his hip.
“It’s good to watch you in action, Seth,” he said with a smirk. “You have him on tilt for sure.”
“I hate letting that side of me come out,” Seth replied rather glumly. Deep down he hated allowing that inner animal out. It wasn’t who he was—it was a trained response and not something he felt he could always control. Yemen had taught him that much.
Just then, General Lancaster walked into the room and approached Smith and Seth. “Have you guys found anything yet? I’ve got a call with the Pentagon in about two hours and I’m going to need to give them a reason to stall us handing Wen over to the Chinese. A special envoy from the Chinese government is landing here in Kosovo in three hours. They’re flying in directly from Beijing.”
“We must really have someone big if they’re sending a special envoy to fetch this guy. You best move right to the good stuff, Seth,” Smith added. They had hoped to have more time to question him, but that wouldn’t happen now unless they uncovered something big.
Seth nodded and grabbed his small back of tricks and headed back in.
Walking back into the room, he noticed Wen didn’t seem quite as confident in his situation as he had just a few minutes prior.
Good, maybe I’ve gotten his attention, Seth hoped.
“You can’t do this to me. I demand to speak with someone from my consulate.”
Seth placed his small bag on the table and proceeded to pull some items out of it, placing each small box on the table in front of Wen, doing his best to make a show of each one of them.
Wen squirmed a bit, unsure of what was about to befall him.
“You’re an American—you can’t torture me,” Wen insisted. “It’s against your laws.” He was clearly nervous now.
For added fear factor, Seth pulled out needle-nose pliers, a ball-peen hammer, a cigar cutter, and a small battery-powered bone saw. Wen’s eyes were now truly ready to bug out of his head.
Seth gave a wicked grin as he flicked the safety switch on the bone saw off. He gave it just enough juice to spin the blades, producing a horrifying whine as the
metal saw began to spin hundreds of revolutions a second. All color drained from Wen’s face. Seth then turned the saw off and placed it back on the table, staring at the man sitting before him.
“Look, Wen, this is going to go one of two ways,” Seth explained. “You’re either going to answer my questions and tell me what you know, or this is going to get painful. It’s not going to hurt me in the least, but I can guarantee you, you will feel pain like you’ve never felt before in your life—the kind of pain you didn’t know existed. Do you understand me, Wen?”
For the first time since they had started talking, Wen truly looked scared. Seth leaned in. “Wen, I can tell you’re thinking you’ll try to hold out as long as possible. You’re telling yourself to fall back on your training, that what your instructors taught you will help you evade my questions, that if you hold out long enough, someone from your government will come get you.”
Wen turned his head up to look at Seth with a surprised expression, as if Seth had just read his mind.
“Wen, you are all alone…and no one is coming to save you. Don’t make me hurt you. Don’t make me do this to you,” Seth said as he waved his hand across the items on the table.
Seth leaned forward so that he was looking into Wen’s eyes. “Let me tell you a secret, Wen. No matter how strong a person is, no matter how much training they’ve had, they all break. It’s just a matter of time and patience, but eventually, everyone breaks. The only question is, how much pain do you want to go through before you decide you’ve had enough? Please, Wen, don’t make me use these tools on you,” Seth implored.
Wen shook his head in anger and frustration. “You can’t do this. It goes against everything your country stands for, every law you’ve passed. You can’t torture me like this. I didn’t do anything, and I demand to be let go.”
