She said nothing, her eyes revealed nothing.
Rhyme continued: “After that prelude, you set up Stefan over here, you and others in your team. And you went to work tracking the terror suspects, then kidnapping them and interrogating them in the farmhouse.”
Rhyme turned to Spiro: “Your pattern is now clear, Dante.”
“It is, yes. Finally. Now, that is our case. And it will all go before the court. Allora, Signorina McKenzie, we need the names of your associates. And we need you to admit that this is what has happened. Since no one died at your hand, and the kidnap victims were apparent terrorists, the punishments for you and your co-workers will not be extreme. But, of course, punishments there must be. So, what have you to say?”
At last, after a considered moment, she spoke. “I need to talk to you. All of you.” Her voice calm, confident. As if she were the person who’d convened this meeting. As if she were the one in charge. “Everything I am about to tell you is hypothetical. And in the future I’ll deny every sentence.”
Spiro, Rossi and Rhyme looked at each other. Spiro said, “I’m not agreeing to any conditions of any kind.”
“Agreement is not an issue. What I just said is a statement of fact. This is hypothetical and I’ll deny everything if asked.” Without waiting for any response she said, “Abu Omar.”
Rhyme didn’t get the reference but noted that Dante Spiro and Massimo Rossi both reacted. They shared a glance and a frown.
Spiro said to Rhyme, “Sì. An incident in Italy a few years ago. Abu Omar was the imam of Milan. He was abducted in an extraordinary rendition conducted by your CIA and our own security agency. He was taken to Egypt, where, he claims, he was tortured and interrogated. Prosecutors here brought charges against the CIA and our officers who conducted the operation. The incident, I’ve read, virtually closed down the CIA’s Italian operation for a long time, and resulted in prison sentences, in absentia, against some of your senior agents.”
McKenzie said, “The Abu Omar case is typical of the two problems that intelligence services face overseas. First, sovereignty. They have no legal right to arrest or detain anyone on foreign soil, unless that government agrees. If foreign governments find out, there are serious repercussions—like the CIA station chief being indicted. The second problem is finding a suitable means of interrogation. Waterboarding, torture, enhanced interrogation, imprisonment without due process—that’s not our policy anymore. And, frankly, that’s not what America is. We need a humane way to extract information. And a more efficient way. Torture doesn’t work. I’ve studied it.”
Begging the questions: How and where and against whom?
Sachs now spoke. “So your AIS sets up fictions, like theater, to kidnap and interrogate subjects?”
“You could say that.” Hypothetically.
Rhyme had a thought. “Ah, the amobarbital. I thought it was a sedative Stefan took for panic attacks. But you used it for its original purpose. Truth serum.”
“That’s right, though in conjunction with other synthetic psychotropics we developed ourselves. Combining the drugs and specialized interviewing techniques, we can hit an eighty-five to ninety percent cooperation rate. The subject has virtually no will to deceive or withhold information.” There was pride in her voice.
But Dante Spiro said, “You say humane but these men were at risk!”
“No. They were never in any danger.”
Sachs gave a faint laugh. “You know, the gallows were very shoddy.”
“Exactly. We designed them to fall apart before they’d do any damage. And in any event, an anonymous call would be made to the police reporting a crime and a victim held captive.”
“And Malek Dadi, the man killed outside Capodichino?” Rossi asked. “Ah, but he was killed coincidentally by robbers.”
“Stefan tried to save him. He was very upset that the man had died. He took it personally.”
Lifting his hands, palms up, Spiro said, “But one matter confuses me. The victims—”
“The suspects, the terrorists,” she corrected in a firm voice.
“—the victims would know about the interrogation. They could tell someone and word would get out about your operation.”
Sachs said slowly, “Except they didn’t. Maziq and Jabril didn’t remember anything that happened. And that seemed genuine.”
“It was.”
“Of course,” Rhyme said. Those in the room turned to him. “We assumed the electroconductive gel found at the first kidnapping site in Naples was from Stefan’s treatments. But, no, you gave the victims shock treatment. To destroy their short-term memory.”
McKenzie nodded. “That’s right. They might have fragments of memories, but those’d be like memories of a dream.”
Rhyme said, “But what happens to them afterward? They’re still terrorists.”
“We monitor them. Hope they change their ways. If not, we have a preemptive talk with them. At worst, relocate them where they won’t do any damage.” She lifted her shoulders. “What in life is one hundred percent effective all the time? We’re stopping terror attacks humanely. There’ll be speed bumps along the way, but on the whole our project is working.”
Spiro regarded her with his narrow eyes. “Your operation…The fake kidnapping in New York, the real kidnappings here, the release of a psychotic patient, exotic drugs…So very much work. So very complicated.”
McKenzie didn’t hesitate. She said evenly, “You could try to fly from here to Tuscany by balloon and, if the winds cooperated and with some luck, end up in the vicinity of Florence, after a day or so. Or you could get into a jet and be in the city, efficiently and quickly, whatever the conditions, in one hour. A balloon is a very simple way to travel. A jet much more complicated. But what’s the most effective?”
Rhyme was sure she had made this argument before—probably before a Senate or House finance committee.
McKenzie continued, “I’ll tell you my background…and the background of the director of our organization.”
Rossi said, “Intelligence officers usually come from the military or other branches of government. Academia sometimes.”
“Well, I was government service and he was army intelligence, but before that: I was a producer in Hollywood, working on indie films. He was an actor in college and worked on Broadway some. We have experience turning the implausible into the believable. And do you know what people buy into the most? The biggest fantasies. So outrageous that nobody thinks to question them. Hence, Stefan Merck, the psychotic kidnapper, composing waltzes to die by. How could he possibly be involved in espionage? And even if he told anyone, why, he’d be dismissed as crazy.”