Carly looked at her feet. “I don’t want my husband to find a photograph of my red Danskos in some magazine.…”
“We’re going to get through this,” he said, but wondered if it was just another lie. He couldn’t help himself and looked across at Mattie’s shoes.
Every commercial airliner is required to carry not only a first aid kit containing bandages, aspirin, and other basic supplies, but an enhanced medical kit as well. These EMKs contained the equipment that trained medical personnel from EMTs to thoracic surgeons would be able to use to treat an emergency while at altitude. There was nitroglycerin for heart issues, scopolamine patches and Zofran for acute nausea, epinephrine for shock, and several medications for pain. Quinn opened the soft duffel case and looked through the items inside until he found the diazepam.
It was common knowledge that a physician on American Flight 63 had dosed Richard Reid with a shot of Valium from just such a kit after Reid attempted to ignite a bomb in his shoe on the Paris to Miami flight. His attorneys argued that the drug was what caused him to confess to the FBI when they’d landed in Boston.
Quinn was counting on it. He peeled the backing off two scopolamine patches and stuck them under each of Gao’s ears for good measure, leaving him facedown on the carpet.
“Can you watch him for a minute?” he said to Foss.
“Happy to,” she said, moving to take a position at the prisoner’s head so she’d be able to stop him if the need arose.
Quinn took Mattie aside, and knelt down beside her next to the curtain on the opposite aisle. He was grateful to be on an aircraft large enough to get her away from his interrogation.
“Daddy,” she said. “Have you ever been really scared and really excited at the same time?”
He kissed her on top of the head. “Many, many times, Sweet Pea.”
“That’s how I feel right now,” she said. “I don’t think Mom would like this very much.”
“I expect not,” Quinn said.
“Did he murder the man on the stairs?” Mattie asked.
“It looks that way.”
“Okay.” She nodded, mulling this over. Since she’d been old enough to talk, Mattie had been one to ruminate deeply on things. “I wish I could help you.”
“Someday,” Quinn said, thinking of how Kim would kill him if she knew about this conversation. “You’re a tough kid. I’m going to have you sit with Agent Foss. This is important. Okay?”
Quinn gave his little girl another quick kiss and left her in the care of a woman he’d punched in the face exactly nine minutes before. The only thing that had kept him alive over the last few years was his ability to compartmentalize thoughts about his family when things heated up on a mission. That was going to be doubly difficult with Mattie sitting behind a curtain fifteen feet away. Well-adjusted as she was, it could not be healthy for a seven-year-old to hear her father do what Quinn was about to do.
Quinn drew twenty CCs of Valium into a syringe, and then held it sideways in his teeth while he hauled Gao to his feet and slammed him back on the bottom steps of the stairs. A few feet above, Professor Foulger’s body lay ghostly pale in the pool of drying blood.
Gao groaned in pain as his tailbone impacted the hard wooden step. Quinn used the opportunity to jab the needle into the man’s belly and inject him with all twenty CCs.
“What was that?” Gao said, eyes wide now. It was the first time he’d spoken.
“Something to make you feel a little better,” Quinn said in Mandarin. “Let’s get started.”
“Your Chinese is remarkable,” Gao said, honestly impressed.
“What is your name?” Quinn asked, peering over the top of Gao’s open passport.
“You know my name,” Gao said. His speech began to slur just moments after the injection. The fire of contempt bled from drooping eyes as the powerful sedative took control of his body.
Quinn had used scopolamine combined with other drugs before during interrogations. He wasn’t sure how it would react with Valium in the long term — but the mutilated body of Foulger and the fear in his daughter’s eyes made it hard for him to care.
“To be honest with you,” Quinn said, sitting beside Gao on the stairs, as if they were old friends, “I’m accustomed to hurting people to get information. But I thought we might try something different here.”
Gao’s head lolled. He caught himself, as if startled out of a dream. He gazed at Quinn, trying to focus.
“Who are you?”
Quinn patted him on the knee. “I’m wondering that about you,” he said. “Where are you from, Gao Jianguo?”
“Shanghai,” Gao said, nodding off again.
Quinn gave the tender flesh on the inside of the man’s thigh a sharp pinch to get his attention.
“I am familiar with Shanghai,” Quinn said. “What part?”
Gao glared at him, blinking stupidly. Drool poured from the corner of his mouth.
“You know what I think?” Quinn chuckled like they were compatriots talking over a drink. “I think your accent tells me you’re from the northwest. Xinjiang maybe.”
Gao gave a silly smile, but held his tongue.
“They have good food in Xinjiang,” Quinn said. “Plov, suoman, pamirdin… I miss good pamirdin…” His voice trailed off. Pamirdin were baked meat pies with lamb, carrot, and onion — a popular halal dish. “I would walk across the desert to Kashgar if I could get good pamirdin.”
Gao licked his lips. “Pamirdin,” he said.
Quinn rested his hands on his knees, letting his gaze slide over the prisoner.
“So,” he said, “you’re not from Shanghai after all?”
Gao shook his head. “Not really.”
“I notice a little tan line on your forehead,” Quinn said. “Like you might have if you wore a Hui hat…”
“So what if I do?” Gao frowned. “Do you have something against Islam?”
“Not at all,” Quinn said. “There are plenty of Hui Chinese who have contributed much to the world.” He stooped lower to look Gao in the eye. “But you are not one of those Hui.”
“I think you pick on me because I am a Muslim,” he said.
“I’m picking on you because you’re covered in the blood of the man whose throat you cut,” Quinn spat. He softened immediately, keeping the drug-addled man off balance. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter.” There was no time for a lengthy interrogation — so he guessed. “We have located the bomb. You may go ahead and have a rest.”
“You joke,” Gao said. His eyes shifted to the base of the stairs, trying to lean out so he could see what might be happening. Facial tics, the dilation of his pupils — known as micro expressions — told Quinn he was on to something real. The Valium suppressed his emotions, but it did not yet mask them. Gao chewed on his tongue as if trying to hold back the words. “You have found nothing.”