Sleeper Cell Super Boxset (62 page)

“He’s scared of you. Congratulations.”

“Good!” Craig shouted. “Now we need to do this my way, or we might as well just stand here and wait for ISIS to hit us again.”

The room went silent. Normally Calderon would have responded in anger, accusing him of insubordination, but Craig’s words seemed to strike a chord.

“What exactly do you two have in mind?” Calderon said, with a hint of suspicion.

“Her son, Rasheed,” Craig said.

“What about him?” Calderon asked.

“I’ve learned something about Malaka. She’s smart and she’s dedicated, but she also has a temper. And when she gets angry, she tells the truth.”

Suddenly a knock came at the door. All heads turned. Craig seemed to be expecting it. He excused himself and went to the door, turning the handle and opening it. The other FBI agents in the room looked over to see who was there. Hicks looked on as if he knew what to expect.

“Gentlemen, let me introduce Rasheed Surkov.” Craig opened the door completely, revealing Rasheed sitting in a wheelchair with two armed guards at his side.

His face was covered with a dozen tiny bandages. His dark, shoulder-length hair hung in his face. He wore a neck brace and hospital gown and had a cast on his left leg, which was extended out straight and was propped on an elevated wheelchair leg rest. His right arm hung in a sling. He looked weary and sedated. They knew who Surkov was, but how did he get there, and by whose authority?

Calderon was as stunned, as was Craig’s immediate supervisor, Walker.

“How did you get him here? On what authority?” Calderon demanded.

“I had him airlifted here,” Craig said, “with Agent Hicks’s assistance, as a matter of national security.”

“And just what do you plan to do with him?” Walker asked.

“We’re going to use him to get the information we need,” Craig said.

Calderon shuffled and stammered. He pointed at Craig, obviously frustrated. “Last chance, Davis. Don’t screw me on this.”

“I won’t, sir,” Craig said.

Suddenly a woman walked in. She had long red hair and blue eyes and was wearing a medium-sleeved blouse and blue jeans.

“Agent Davis?” she said, shaking his hand. “I’m Amelia Robinson.” A temporary security badge hung around her heck.

Calderon took a step back. “Who the hell is this?”

“This is our translator,” Craig answered. He turned to her. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Robinson. Thanks for coming on such short notice.”

She nodded and remained in the room as Craig and Hicks left with the guards, pushing a barely coherent Rasheed ahead of them.

Hicks stood outside Malaka’s room as Craig examined Rasheed, who only a few days ago had fled from him with a backpack full of pipe bombs. Now he was a shell of his former self—pale, weak, and defeated. Craig had had to pull some heavy strings to arrange the transport. The two armed guards stood by him with indifferent expressions. They were FBI as well and wore identical hats, blue jackets, and jeans with pistol holsters at their sides.

“I can’t thank you guys enough,” Craig said. “This shouldn’t take too long.”

“The doctors heavily advised against it, I’ll tell you that,” the shorter of the two agents said.

“We’ll have Mr. Rasheed back in time for supper. Isn’t that right?” Craig asked, looking down at his former adversary.

Rasheed stared ahead, unresponsive.

Craig stood up straight and turned to Hicks. “You ready?”

“Sure am. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

With that, Hicks unlocked Malaka’s door and walked in. Craig told the guards to keep Rasheed in the hall as he went toward Husein’s cell. Everything was in motion for a risky plan that could either garner them the right information or collapse under its own weight.

Hicks approached Malaka, calmly took a seat at the table, and set a file down in front of himself, keeping one hand on top of it. In the file were a few sheets of paper, nothing more. But it made his presence look official. She wouldn’t make eye contact with him, even as he sat right in front of her. Hicks couldn’t explain how she did it. It was almost as if she were looking through him.

“Mrs. Surkov, I’d like to apologize to you for the actions of Agent Davis. We at the FBI don’t condone his behavior one bit. I understand that you might have said some things out of anger to get a reaction out of Agent Davis. We don’t hold you to your claims of being a part of ISIS, because frankly, the idea is preposterous to us.”

Hicks opened the file and displayed a typed memo, only for a second. “What I have here is a request to grant you full immunity and temporary asylum in the United States. This, we hope, will begin to make things right.”

He noticed her eyes glance quickly down at the form, then jump back up. She then stared ahead with a straight-faced, icy glare. “I have been through the worst kind of pain a mother can go through.”

“We agree,” Hicks said.

“And I am too tired to play any more games with the FBI.”

Hicks leaned back and cleared his throat. “Again, I understand.” He shifted forward and placed his palms on the table. “We’d like to start over again. Press the reset button, if you will.”

“What do you want from me?” she asked.

“Agent Davis,” Hicks said, scratching his chin. “Why was it so important to speak to him?”

Malaka’s brows furrowed. “Is this some kind of game?”

“You seem to be involved in something you want nothing to do with, but there’s still time to turn back the clock.”

“My time is up,” Malaka said.

“That’s not true. We can help each other out. We’ll provide immunity on the guarantee that you’ll use discretion about what’s happened here today.”

Malaka’s mouth moved from a straight line to a near smile. “I see. So the FBI wants to play nice now?”

Hicks leaned back as the chair squeaked. “You’re a smart woman, Mrs. Surkov.”

Malaka turned away. “Doesn’t matter. I have nothing more to say. I regret even coming to this country.” She stared ahead, unblinking, with large black eyes full of conviction.

Craig leaned against the table at which Husein sat with his head down. “Your aunt is going away for a long time. Now you can join her or go a different route. The choice is all yours.”

Husein looked up. “My aunt is not who she says she is. Yes, she says crazy things, but she’s not a terrorist. She’s just confused.”

Craig moved in closer, staring him down, causing Husein to flinch. “Let me get straight to the point.”

Husein winced and backed away as he felt Craig’s hot breath in his face. His eyes closed, and he prepared for the worst.

“I believe you,” Craig said, backing away.

Husein opened his eyes. “What?”

Craig pulled a chair closer and sat across the table from him. “I said I believe you. I believe that you think your aunt has nothing to do with any of this, but I’m here to tell you she does.”

Husein looked down at the ground and bit his lower lip. “No, that’s not true.”

“It is, Husein. Look at me.”

Husein looked up, then shouted, “She took me in when I was five! When no one else would. My parents died when I was young. Murdered by terrorists. How dare you accuse us of being a part of such evil? Just because I’m a Muslim? I know that’s how your country operates, but I have nothing to do with my cousins’ actions.”

Craig raised his hand. “All right, calm down, Husein.”

Husein’s eyes watered. He rubbed them with his free hand. “I’m just so tired. I want to go home.”

Craig tossed a notepad on the table and pulled out a pen from his pocket. “I’m going to ask you three simple questions. Yes or no. After we’re done with that, I’ll think about removing those cuffs.”

“Okay,” Husein said, eagerly.

“Is your aunt the Black Widow?”

Husein seemed surprised at the question. “No?”

“Are you aware of any imminent attacks following the port bombings?” Craig asked, scribbling. He then looked up and studied the dilation of Husein’s eyes, having some background in deception detection.

“No, of course not.”

“Was your aunt sent here by ISIS to deceive us?”

Husein stopped, thinking to himself. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“One more question,” Craig said. “Is your name Husein?”

“Yes.”

Craig stood up quickly. The chair skidded behind him, rolling across the tile. “Excuse me,” he said, leaving the room.

Husein lifted his head in surprise. He pulled on his handcuffs. “Hey, wait!”

The door closed before he could finish.

Hicks was leaving Malaka’s room just as Craig was walking out into the hall. The two guards stood patiently with Rasheed nodding off in his wheelchair. Craig pointed at Rasheed and looked toward the guards. “How much time does he have left before the sedatives wear off?”

One of the guards shrugged. “Not sure. He’s pretty sedated as far as I know.”

“We don’t have much time,” Craig said to Hicks.

“No shit,” Hicks responded. “Momma Malaka isn’t talking.”

“Did you butter her up for me?” Craig asked.

“Best I could,” Hicks said.

The door to the viewing room suddenly swung open. Calderon stood there, arms folded with Walker standing meekly by.

“What was that all about?” he demanded. “Why are you making false deals with that woman?”

Hicks looked off into space as all eyes went to Craig.

“Well?” Calderon shouted.

Walker spoke quietly as he nodded along.

“We’re close, sir. I can feel it,” Craig answered. His hair was standing up on end. His shirt was wrinkled, and his tie hung loosely around his neck. Craig looked like a wreck. But then again, everyone did.

Calderon looked at his watch. “Whatever Columbo shit you have planned, I’m giving you five minutes to get some info. Then the entire family will be Homeland’s problem.”

Dismayed, Craig looked at both Calderon and Walker. “No, you can’t do that.”

Calderon spun around and shouted to the other agents in the room. “Donaldson, Rivers. Get Homeland on the line, now.”

Both agents typed wildly on their phones. Calderon and Walker went back into the viewing room. Calderon pulled the door halfway shut, stopped, and held out his hand. “Five minutes, gentlemen. I want to see some progress.”

The door slammed shut.

Hicks looked at Craig.

“Well,” Craig said. “Let’s give ‘em what they want.” He gently opened Malaka’s door as Hicks went toward Husein’s.

Malaka stared at Craig with unadulterated anger. She seemed honestly surprised to see him.

“Miss me?” Craig said. He received no response. Her eyes looked away and locked on the glass window in front of her, where she was sure that they were watching.

“Not the talkative type today?” Craig continued.

Cool, calm, and collected, her eyes met his. “Why do you keep wasting your time on me, Agent Davis? Don’t you have anything better to do?”

Craig paced around the table, walking in circles around her. “It’s funny how much your English has improved.” He held up his wristwatch. “In the past five hours.”

“I’m a quick learner,” she responded.

Craig completed another full circle, then stopped on the other side of the table, across from her. His shadow cast a reflection on the wall behind. “Malaka Surkov. The Black Widow.”

She said nothing.

“Isn’t that what you called yourself when you confessed to being involved with ISIS?”

He took in her steady silence, then smiled slightly. “Don’t worry, your nephew is going to take the rap.”

Her head shot up. Craig seemed to have gained her interest. “Husein? What about him?”

“He confessed to everything. Got caught up with the wrong people. A shame, really. He seemed to have such a bright future ahead of him.”

Malaka laughed. “The boy is no terrorist. He knows nothing.”

“He’s protecting you. And if not him, then who will take the blame? You?” Craig leaned back and howled with laughter. “You think our government wants to disclose that some seventy-year-old woman is the face of terrorism? Think again. Husein makes the perfect poster boy: young, foreign, and deadly. Maybe you can visit him before the sentencing.”

Malaka looked confused. Craig could see that she was getting flummoxed. Finally, she looked at him. “This is ridiculous. Not two minutes ago, an FBI man offered me immunity. What is your game here?”

“Transport truck is on its way now to take Husein to a secure prison.”

Suddenly a knock rattled the door. “Yes?” Craig said.

Hicks opened the door. Husein stood next to him, shackled at his wrists and ankles, tears slowly tracking down his face. “Sorry to interrupt,” Hicks said. “We’re going to take him down to processing now.”

Malaka looked shocked. “Husein!” she shouted. Before the boy could respond, Hicks closed the door.

Craig stood over her with a satisfied smile on his face. She sneered at him with utter contempt. Her face contorted in anger—a deep frown creased her forehead, and her lips were drawn into a tight, intensified line.

“It’s too bad about Husein. At least there’s always Rasheed.”

He waited for a response and got none. “He’s right out in the hall.”

Malaka refused to look at Craig. He knew she was done talking. However, once she saw her son, he believed things would be much different. With leisurely steps, he went to the door and opened it. There, outside the room, sat Rasheed in his wheelchair, looking as if he had been through some horrible car accident.

Malaka gasped in shock and apparent relief. Tears welled in her eyes. Craig half expected her to leap up from the table and run to her son, but she remained seated. He signaled for one of the guards to push Rasheed in, and when they did, Malaka held her folded hands in front of her face as her handcuffs clanked.

“Thank you, Agent Thomas,” Craig said as the guard turned and left the room. Craig walked behind the wheelchair and pushed it a small distance from the table, across from Malaka.

“Rasheed,” she said in an excited, quiet voice.

Craig stood between them with his hands on the table. “Rasheed is going away for a long time, too. I’m giving you this opportunity, Mrs. Surkov, because I have children too. This is your chance to say goodbye to your son before we put you on the plane back to Chechnya.”