“Yes.”
Mashburn was already trying to rethink his previous assumptions. His mind jumped to “intelligence personnel.” He knew there might be no negotiation under an intelligence scenario. Compared to robbery, the thought of surviving an intelligence capture made him sick to his stomach. He asked himself why he wasn’t already dead, and whom he might have infuriated. The list was too lengthy to comprehend, but he kept coming back to his recent assignment in Spain.
Wade allowed the silence to continue. He knew exactly what Mashburn was thinking. The list of intelligence sources that might capture him was growing. Wade could tell that the silence was getting to Mashburn, but he let him stew before he finally spoke.
“The reason you’re not already dead is because I want information. My assignment is to get truthful information from you — or eliminate you as I see fit, so you’re no longer a problem to my current employer. Do you understand that?”
The pillowcase bobbed up and down acknowledging his agreement.
“I want you to understand that I may still eliminate you after you give me the information I need. You’ll just have to take that risk. If you choose not to provide me with truthful information, I can assure you that your death will be drawn out and very painful. You will never leave this room alive. Do you understand me?”
Mashburn’s head once again bobbed vigorously up and down. To emphasize the point Mashburn also muttered a squeaky, “Yes.”
Robbers could often be paid off, but covert intelligence operatives have different agendas, including torture. Mashburn had concluded he was at the mercy of a covert hit man, which actually made him quiver in his chair. The thought sent cold chills down his warm body. He gritted his teeth, shivering as though a sudden blast of arctic air had blown over him. Wade’s message was clear enough.
The irony of his life ending at the hands of a covert black ops agent using torture techniques raced through his mind. Mashburn saw the faces of people he’d terminated pass before him. His mind kept coming back to the simple option before him. If I don’t cooperate, I’m dead the hard way. I may be dead anyway, but at least I have a chance of living longer if I keep talking.
With a shaking voice, Mashburn mustered enough courage to ask, “Are you an American?”
“My nationality is not important. Let’s just say we work for similar employers. No more questions on your part. I want you only to listen and answer the questions I’m going to ask. If I find you’ve lied to me about anything, you’ll make my job of eliminating you quick and easy. As long as you give me truthful and complete information, you’ll live. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“In my hand I’m holding the 9mm Walther P-38 that was taped behind your nightstand.”
The next noise Mashburn heard was the unmistakable sound of the breach of his pistol sliding a round into the chamber. The cold, hard barrel of his own gun pressed against his head.
“Your gun has a round in the chamber, and the safety is off. It also has a silencer. In case you’re wondering about noise, I also have a pillow from the living room in my other hand, and I’ll place it between the barrel and your skull to muffle the sound even further.”
Wade slapped Mashburn in the head with the pillow. Mashburn recoiled from the blow like it had been an anvil. He nervously racked his brain, trying to determine which agency sent this man and what his fate would be, no matter how he answered. He was even more convinced than ever that the longer the questions kept coming, the longer he’d stay alive.
“We’re going to start our discussion with a little history. You were in Vietnam between 1971 and 1973 for two tours of duty as a medic. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“I want you to tell me how you went from being a medic to a spy.”
“I was serving under Colonel Mark Baker in a forward Medivac command unit on the border of Cambodia and Vietnam. It was bad. We couldn’t keep up with the wounded. We didn’t have enough medical staff or supplies on hand to help everyone. It got to the point where I couldn’t take the stress anymore.
“One of my wounded men told me about a supply of morphine derivative drugs that was available out of Cambodia. He put me in touch with an intelligence officer by the name of Daniel Spencer. At least, I think he was CIA, not Army intelligence.”
Mashburn paused, hoping Wade was listening to the details.
“Continue.”
“I connected with Spencer, and he put me in touch with a local Vietnamese source that had access to those drugs. Spencer took care of the payments to the supplier. We started giving the drugs to the patients with the worst wounds, to ease their pain.”
Reliving the experience, Mashburn had to take a breath. His anxiety was affecting his speech. Vietnam had been a long time ago. During the pause, Mashburn wondered if his captor had something to do with Vietnam. He regained enough composure to tell himself, Just keep talking.
“After a while, Spencer had me distribute drugs to some infantrymen who weren’t wounded. These guys were paying me the money, and I was delivering it to Spencer. The next thing I know, my commander and Spencer got me transferred out of my medic unit to an Army intelligence unit, where I reported directly to Spencer. I soon got to the point where I was delivering drugs and picking up money full time for Spencer and my commander.
“I believe Army command knew all about it. No one seemed to be asking me any questions or bothering me. One day, Spencer came to me and said that Command was doing an illegal drug trafficking investigation. They were looking for scapegoats in a military drug scandal, and I was one of the targets.”
“Spencer told me I could no longer stay in my current unit. He got me transferred to another Army intelligence special ops unit that reported to someone in the States. The next thing I knew I was transferred out of Vietnam and doing intelligence work in different countries. At that time it was mainly document drops for CID command.”
“What happened next?”
“When my Vietnam tour ended, I was sent to CID training school and then back into the field in different countries. With my background as a medic, they trained me on the use of a new line of ‘wonder drugs’ Army intelligence was using.”
“Was Spencer the same guy who sent the Army recon mission out on patrol that got them all killed?”
“Yeah, he’s the one.”
“Is that where you met Lockhart?”
Mashburn hesitated. Lockhart’s name hadn’t been mentioned before, but he assumed his interrogator already knew about Lockhart and Spencer by the way he asked the questions.
“Yeah. He never really recovered from Vietnam. He blamed Spencer and my commander for the deaths of his platoon. He claimed he knew everything about the drugs coming in from Cambodia and how Spencer was obtaining them and making a fortune.”
Wade thought Mashburn’s story was too rehearsed and defensive about his own role. He changed the subject to throw him off guard.
“What was your assignment in Spain?”
“I was assigned to covertly assist the Franco government.”
“You’re lying to me.”
“No, I’m not.”
Wade put the 9mm against Mashburn’s temple. “Let’s go over that last question again, unless you want to die now. Franco has already killed 300,000 of his own countrymen. He’s perfectly capable of killing anyone he wants to in his country. Why would he need you or the U.S. to do his killing for him?”
“These were special assignments when he didn’t want his men involved in the terminations.”
“That doesn’t sound right. You’d better come up with a good example.”