She opened her eyes and grimly flashed her badge. “Keller! NCIS! Agent in charge! This man is a liaison from the Justice Department to see the prisoner!”
The ranking guard looked upon Keller with grave uncertainty. “Um…yes, ma’am?” The other unlocked the door. “Uh, sir? Just so you know, the prisoner is not currently under restraint but we are on suicide watch.”
“Thank you, Private,” Bolan said.
“And what shall I do?” Ous inquired.
“No one comes in or out, and I mean no one,” Bolan said.
The MPs looked on in alarm as Ous took one of their folding chairs beside the door, pulled a huge Khyber knife and began cleaning his fingernails. Keller just rolled her eyes. “That’s it. I’m dead.”
Bolan stalked into the holding cell and slammed the door shut behind him. There was nothing inside other than a single bunk and chair. Corporal Saulito Convertino jerked erect in his chair. His eyes widened in horror at the sight of Bolan. “Oh God! No!”
Bolan’s open hand cracked across Convertino’s face in textbook bitch-slap perfection.
“You—”
Bolan’s hand cracked across Convertino’s face once, twice, three times. The Executioner didn’t believe in pliers and blowtorch torture. He had been tortured himself, and all it had ever engendered within him was hatred. But crime and terror were slippery slopes that men could find themselves in against their will, sometimes finding themselves ensnared before they knew it, and Bolan could recognize a repentant sinner. Corporal Saulito Convertino’s salvation was between him and his Maker, but Bolan was perfectly willing to take him behind the woodshed and hear his confession. Minor pain and intimidation worked wonders.
Bolan’s blue eyes burned down on the traitor like the embodied anger of an Old Testament God of the desert with no sense of humor. Convertino was a good-looking man. His slightly hooked nose, high cheekbones, curvy lips and Kirk Douglas chin were all set in toffee-tinted skin that bespoke his Spanish, African and Taino Indian blood. His copper-colored hair was cropped into USMC regulation skull-hugging curls, and he was built like an NFL defensive end.
Tears streamed down his face as he pushed himself up to his knees.
“Where’s your girlfriend?” Bolan asked.
Convertino went slack-jawed in horror.
“Your girlfriend? You know, the one who put you up to this?”
“I can’t! They’ll kill h—”
Bolan bodily heaved Convertino to his feet and slammed him against the wall of the cell. “What’s her name?”
“Reema! Her name is Reema!”
The first admission in a situation like this usually opened the floodgates. “Tell me the whole story, Corporal.”
Convertino looked up in despair. “I love her…?.”
“And they’ll kill her if you talk?”
The Marine looked down miserably. Bolan’s eyes went cold. “Did you know I was in that tent?”
“No!”
“Mr. Ous?”
Convertino blinked through his tears. “Who?”
“You know there were Marine Corps medical personnel in that tent when you fragged it?”
Convertino sagged again. “I was hoping not.”
Bolan’s voice was merciless. “Dr. Early threw himself on that grenade to save everyone in that tent, including myself and your target. He’s going to get the Congressional Medal of Honor, presented to his widow. What do you think you deserve, Corporal?”
Convertino’s voice dropped to a dead whisper. “Court martial and death by lethal injection.”
“You deserve a lot worse than that. There’s a special place in hell for Marines who kill their own.” Convertino held his head in his hands and sobbed. “Now where’s the girl and who has her?” Bolan continued.
“They’ll kill her, they—”
“They already killed her!” Bolan’s voice thundered in the cell. “She’s the only link! The only chance she has is that a hot piece of tail is a valuable commodity and they might have sold her. That is, if she’s not in on it!”
A flicker of anger kindled in Convertino’s agonized eyes. “What?”
“Don’t you get it? She’s a whore!”
“What did you say?”
“You pussy-whipped son of a bitch! Afghan girls don’t put out! And if they do, they sure as hell don’t risk it for loser corporals like you! She’s Taliban!” Bolan spit, turning the provocation dial all the way up to high.
“No, she loves me! She said yes. She was going to be my wife.” Fresh sobs racked the conflicted young soldier. “She’s pregnant with my kid.”
Bolan relented, just slightly. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to you, Corporal. It’s been a long time since the U.S. Military put anyone to death, but you’re a prime candidate.
“But I’ll tell you this. If you’re the one who’s right, and she’s innocent like you say, I’ll save her, if I can. I’m the only chance either one of you has.”
“What do I have to do?”
“Three things,” Bolan said. “One, NCIS is going to get a sketch artist on a live feed and you’re going to describe Reema. Two, you are going to tell me everything, and I mean everything that happened right up to the point you pulled that pin.”
Convertino nodded. “And three?”
“Three? You’re busting out of here.”
NCIS temporary office, Sangin Base
“NO, NO, NO, and no.” Keller looked about to explode. Farkas stared out the window at the rain with a very unhappy “Don’t know, don’t have an opinion” look on his face. At that time of year Helmand Province averaged about two inches of rain. Right now they were getting three and on the tail of the dust storm it turned the world from a Martian landscape to gray floods and muck.
“Oh, come on, Keller,” Bolan cajoled, “What could happen?”
Agent Keller’s eyes flew wide in outrage. “He fragged a goddamn Marine Corps medical station! He killed a Navy doctor, and my suspect, and I’m personally going to see to it that the Navy reinstitutes death by firing squad! And if they don’t, I’m going to shoot Corporal Convertino myself!”
Bolan shrugged. “Give him to me.”
“No!”
“You can shoot him later.”
“What if he escapes?” Keller asked.
