Morrison and Staelin then dragged the Mafioso into the house.
In the room that had been outfitted for his interrogation, they patted Vottari down, relieved him of all his personal effects, and secured him to a chair. All of the other furniture had been removed.
Heavy black moving blankets had been affixed over the windows, halogen lights rested on adjustable stands, and three video cameras sat atop tripods at different angles. The room looked like it had been set up for a terrorist video.
There was also a large medical bag and five plastic Storm cases of varying sizes that contained the rest of Vella’s equipment.
It was now time for the doctor to take over.
After making sure Vella had everything he needed, Harvath stepped into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.
Because of the nature of the operation, Harvath and Argento had agreed to a very specific division of labor. Argento and his men would be responsible for the security of the safe house and Harvath and his men would be responsible for securing Vottari. This way, the Italians could ostensibly deny knowledge of what had taken place. Technically, none of them had even seen La Formícula’s face outside the nightclub.
While Barton pulled security outside the interrogation room, Staelin and Morrison had already turned in. Most of Argento’s men had too.
Filling a mug, Harvath grabbed his backpack and headed upstairs to the roof. He wanted to get some work done. Back at Langley, McGee would be expecting an update.
Stepping outside, he saw Argento sitting at a table. He had lit a few of the Citronella candles to keep the mosquitos away, had his feet up, and was smoking a cigarette. When he saw Harvath, he motioned for him to join him.
Setting his backpack on the table, he pulled out a chair and sat down. The view of the town, all lit up at night, reminded him of a lot of the time he’d spent in Greece.
The Italian offered Harvath a cigarette. Harvath declined.
“So, how long will the interrogation take?” Argento asked as he exhaled a cloud of smoke.
“Hard to say.”
“Does he always travel with a hood?”
Harvath nodded. “It’s a designer hood.”
“What’s so special about it?”
“There’s a pocket in the front that holds strips of cloth soaked in a unique chemical. It’s supposed to make subjects more cooperative.”
“Does it work?”
“Vella thinks so.”
“Have you ever tried it?” Argento asked.
“I watched him do one interrogation with it and it worked. The one time I tried to do it in the field, it didn’t work.”
“What happened?”
“The subject had a heart attack. I haven’t tried it again since then,” said Harvath. “That’s why I wanted to bring Vella in to do this.”
The Italian nodded and took another drag on his cigarette. When he exhaled, he asked, “Your tech people blocked La Formícula’s phone, correct? None of his people can trace it here?”
“Correct. I texted my guy as soon as we grabbed him. There’s no trail. It’s as if Vottari’s phone never left The Beach Club,” replied Harvath.
“And there will be no marks on him, correct? No needle punctures. No bruising.”
“Just as we agreed.”
Argento seemed content and had no further questions. He went back to smoking his cigarette and looking up at the stars. Harvath took out his laptop and began typing up an update for McGee.
After it was complete, he powered up his encrypted satellite phone, attached it to the computer, and sent the update back to the United States.
With that task checked off his list, he put his feet up as well and relaxed as he sipped his coffee.
Though Lovett might not agree, nor would he blame her, they had gotten off easy tonight. He had planned for a much more difficult extraction of Vottari. Argento’s men had been armed with Tasers to take out the bodyguards and Harvath and his team had smuggled in flashbangs and smoke grenades to create a diversion in order to smuggle out the Mafioso during the chaos.
Looking at his watch, he saw that it was well after midnight, which meant that locally, it was Saturday. He couldn’t believe that it had been only a week ago that he met with McGee and Ryan at the blue lockhouse.
Eight days ago, the attack at Burning Man had happened. Since then, the Spain and Paris attacks had happened. So many people were dead and so many more were wounded.
Quietly, he hoped that the attack at the Tuileries was the big one that the CIA had been worried about. He hoped that whatever ISIS had been planning that required a chemist, had been stopped dead in its tracks when Mustapha Marzouk had drowned.
He knew better than that, though. He knew that ISIS hadn’t gone to this much trouble over a chemist for nothing. Whatever they had planned, they were going to keep pursuing it, no matter what the cost.
Harvath also knew that if he didn’t figure out what it was, and find a way to stop it, many more people were going to die.
? ? ?
For the next two hours, Harvath sat on the roof, not thinking about anything. He spent most of that time with his eyes closed, giving his mind a rest and trying to recharge his batteries.
When he suddenly heard footsteps on the roof, his eyes snapped open and he was wide awake.
Turning in his chair, he saw Vella with a tablet in his hand. “What’s going on?”
“Vottari broke,” the doctor replied. “You need to see this.”
“What is it?” Argento asked.
Vella set the tablet on the table in front of them. The portion of the interrogation he wanted them to view was already cued up. Tapping the Play icon, he then took a step back.
Harvath and Argento watched. The horror of what Vottari had done built with each passing second of his confession.
Before La Formícula was even finished speaking, Harvath was already scrambling for his satellite phone.
CHAPTER 81
* * *
* * *
The Grande Senegal was a Grimaldi Lines container ship that had left Rome’s Civitavecchia Port en route to Baltimore, Maryland.
The ship was almost two and a half football fields long and, according to Vottari, was carrying crates containing two cases of fragmentation grenades, six Russian mortars, and twelve binary chemical weapon shells designed for mixing highly deadly sarin gas in flight.
Ever suspicious of his ISIS clients, Vottari admitted to having hidden RFID tags in the weapons’ crates to make sure the contraband material did in fact leave Italy. There was an app on his cell phone actively tracking the tags.
“But your ISIS contact told you that the final destination for Mustapha Marzouk, and the weapons, was outside Italy, somewhere in Europe,” Vella had pressed during the interrogation.
“They lie,” Vottari had responded. “It’s what they do.”