‘I guess.’
‘What did I say about modesty?’
‘Okay, I’m good at what I do.’
‘Then just facking say so, prick,’ Abbot spat.
‘Excuse my friend here,’ Sykes said. ‘He’s pissed because the coffee machine doesn’t work. I’d offer you a water, but I guess you’ve had enough from the hose.’
Callo shook his head. He had been in a constant state of thirst for two days. ‘No, some water would be good.’
‘Okay,’ Sykes said. ‘Answer a few more questions and I’ll have a cup brought in for you, how does that sound?’
‘Thank you,’ Callo said.
‘Don’t mention it.’ Sykes put his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘Tell me about your relationship with Baraa Ariff.’
Callo hesitated. ‘What about him?’
‘Just what I said. Tell me about your relationship with him. And don’t forget about the lie detector.’
‘I… I sell his diamonds for him.’
Sykes tilted his head to one side. ‘You mean you fence his diamonds for him that he receives as payments for arm sales in Africa?’
‘I don’t know where they come from. I just-’
‘You’re a clever boy, take a guess. What else would an arms dealer trade for diamonds?’
Abbot scooped out some flesh from one of the destroyed oranges and ate it. ‘Hot orange ain’t that bad.’ Juice dribbled down his chin. ‘Fancy a bit, mate?’
Callo shook his head. Blout threw some anyway. It hit Callo on the cheek.
‘I’m waiting,’ Sykes prompted.
Callo said, ‘He gets the diamonds for arms.’
‘That wasn’t so hard,’ Sykes said. ‘I know you’re afraid that word might reach Ariff that you ratted him out, but that problem only exists if you ever leave this place. Get the subtext? So make right now your priority and start answering my questions faster.’ Sykes’s eyes narrowed. ‘Now, we’ve established that you fence Ariff’s diamonds for him, so you profit from the illegal arms trade.’
‘But I didn’t know.’
‘I don’t give a shit whether you knew or not. I don’t give a shit about who you are. I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you’re not a very important individual. Does anyone even know you’re gone? Would they care if they knew?’
Callo averted his eyes.
‘That’s what I thought,’ Sykes said. ‘Back to Ariff. What else do you know about him?’
‘I’m not sure.’
Abbot gestured angrily. ‘You’re not sure what you know? What kind of bullshit answer is that?’ His face was red. He looked at Sykes. ‘We should cook his testicles right now. That will make him sure what he knows.’
‘ No, no,’ Callo pleaded. ‘I’ll tell you anything you want to know.’
‘Where is Ariff?’ Sykes asked.
‘I don’t know. Why would I know?’
Abbot slapped Callo across the face. ‘Because you were seen in Antwerp a week ago selling a large amount of uncut ice.’
‘Which you got from Ariff,’ Sykes added. ‘So we know you’ve seen him recently. Are you really so dumb you do not get that some of the questions we ask you we already have the answers to? You tell me one more lie or try to be even the slightest bit evasive when answering and we’re going to turn on the lie detector and go get your water. That’s a two-minute round trip. Think what your nuts are going to look like after one hundred and twenty long seconds.’
Tears streamed down Callo’s cheeks and he blinked to clear his eyes. ‘Ariff’s living in Lebanon now. He has a house in Beirut.’
‘Where in Beirut?’ Sykes asked.
‘I don’t know where exactly, I’ve never been. I last saw him in Cairo. It must be in the hills above Beirut because he said he had a great view of the city below and the sea. On the slopes of Mount Lebanon, because he said he had to get some cedar trees cut. They grow up there.’
Sykes turned down the corners of his mouth and nodded. ‘That’s pretty damn good deduction there. I’m impressed. Genuinely. Now, you sold his diamonds and you’ve got his cash and we know Ariff doesn’t like to use banks. So how were you going to give it to him?’
When Callo hesitated, Sykes gestured to Blout. ‘Flick the switch.’
Callo screamed, ‘ NO.’
‘Then tell me.’
‘It’ll be somewhere in Europe or the Middle East. It always is. But I won’t know until I get word. Then I’ll go and hand over the cash. It’s how it always works.’
‘Will you meet Ariff himself?’
‘Or his business partner,’ Callo said. ‘Gabir Yamout.’
‘When will you get that message?’
‘It’ll be soon. Maybe this week.’
‘Good boy,’ Sykes said with a smile. ‘You’re doing great. Keep this up and you’ll even get to see the sun again. Now, tell me how you’ll receive the message.’
Sykes questioned Callo for a further hour before getting him his water as promised. It couldn’t have gone better. Procter was going to be thrilled with the information Sykes had collected. It had been clear to Sykes just from reading about him that Callo would talk without the need for too much encouragement, or coercion as the CIA liked to call it. Sykes had read the torture bible of permissible interrogation techniques in the run-up to Callo’s arrival, and knew what was allowed and what wasn’t. Ball frying definitely fell into the latter category, but then this wasn’t as it seemed.
The set-up Sykes had fixed for Callo had been perfect. They were in an abandoned Cold War bunker that served admirably as a CIA black site. Some rented locals had played the parts of prisoner and interrogators for the little vignette Callo had just happened to witness, with pork chops over a camping stove providing the smell of burnt testicles. The generator was real, though, the exploding oranges were real, but Sykes wasn’t going to flick the switch. He just wanted Callo to believe he would.
Sykes’s orders had been explicit. Callo was not to be harmed in any way, which was better than he deserved, but good because Sykes had some experience of violence and he knew he didn’t have the stomach for real torture. Scaring Callo shitless was necessary, however, and a bit of roughing up was allowed so long as it left no marks. Callo was a career criminal and a fence with fingers in lots of illegal pies, so hurt or not, today’s unpleasantness was a bit of karma for his long list of sins.
And, Sykes was surprised to admit to himself, it had been a lot of fun watching Callo squirm and beg.
CHAPTER 11
Berlin, Germany
The first of Farkas’s entourage arrived alone. Victor spotted him easily enough, walking with a certain level of arrogance, expecting others to move out of his way, giving hard stares to anyone who didn’t. The man looked about thirty with pale skin and dark hair that reached below his ears. He wore a poorly fitting suit and talked into a cell phone, shouting in Hungarian to someone Victor guessed was a wife or girlfriend.
Victor’s grasp of the language was passable at best. He’d been refreshing his understanding of Hungarian since he’d first received the assignment, but there was still a long way to go. The Hungarian kept the phone wedged between his head and shoulder as he fumbled for his key to open the door. Sipping his orange juice outside the cocktail bar, Victor couldn’t see whether the man was armed. He wrote a number one on a fresh page in his notebook and next to it listed the man’s physical attributes and tactical awareness — None.
It was an hour before he made any more notes. The man left the building and returned thirty minutes later, this time laden with shopping bags and carrying a tray of five coffees. A supply run then, getting essentials in for the boss’s arrival. Victor added the time the trip took and the brand of coffee purchased to his notes as well as writing Unarmed.