Ethan had only a moment to react, the scene imprinted in his mind as time seemed to stand still. The pistol was a 9mm Beretta M1951, licence built by the Iraqis as the Tariq. Ethan glimpsed the Arabic writing stamped down the side of the barrel as he twisted to one side, reached down through the sunroof and grabbed the barrel of the pistol with one hand before Hazim could pull the trigger.
The barrel mechanism was hot but Ethan gripped it tightly and prevented it from moving, effectively neutralizing the weapon. Hazim’s eyes widened as he tried to pull the pistol down from Ethan’s grip, but Ethan slipped his finger behind Hazim’s trigger and then pulled hard as he twisted his grip and pushed up from the sedan’s roof with all of his might. Hazim’s weaker arm was yanked upward and out of the sunroof as Ethan pulled him away from the steering wheel. Ethan hauled Hazim’s arm sideways across the roof and slammed it down, bent it at the elbow and pinned it in place as he reached out with his other hand and twisted the weapon from Hazim’s grip even as he heard shouts of pain from within the vehicle.
The sedan swerved toward the sidewalk and Ethan hung on grimly to Hazim’s arm to prevent himself from sliding off the roof as the car slammed into the sidewalk and shuddered as it slid to a halt.
The sound of a motorbike engine screamed alongside the vehicle as Lopez skidded to a halt in front of the sedan and leaped from the motorbike. She dashed to the driver’s door and saw Hazim’s face twisted in pain, his arm half in and half out of the sunroof and twisted at an awkward angle.
Ethan released Hazim and rolled off the vehicle onto the sidewalk as he aimed the pistol at the Iraqi doctor.
‘We need a word,’ he uttered grimly.
Even as he held the gun pointing at Hazim a pair of Iraqi military trucks rolled up alongside them in support, and Hazim’s shoulders sank in despair.
‘Start talking.’
The interrogation room of Basra’s police station in As — Saymar was one of crumbling, unpainted walls and a broken — tiled floor. Although in better repair than the old Jamiat station, which had been blown to pieces, it still reminded Ethan of some backwater KGB black prison where criminals and the innocent alike were sent to end their days in pain and seclusion, buried from sight of the world beyond.
That Abu Hazim knew of the reputation of Iraqi prisons was without doubt. He could barely keep his gaze from the two Iraqi prison guards standing beside the door, their rifles cradled in their grip.
‘Never mind them,’ Ethan snapped as he clicked his fingers in Hazim’s face. ‘Talk, now!’
Lopez leaned against the wall nearby, her arms folded as she watched Hazim with dark eyes devoid of compassion.
‘Why did you run?’ Ethan demanded.
‘Because I was afraid!’ Hazim shouted back finally. ‘Because I did not know who you were, because I didn’t know what you wanted with me!’
‘Who were the gunmen who opened fire on us?!’
‘I don’t know!’ Hazim insisted. ‘I have been followed often to and from work by men who watch me.’
‘They must be watching you for a reason,’ Lopez pointed out. ‘I’d say it’s because they know something about you, Abu, just like we do.’
Ethan leaned closer to Hazim. ‘You’ve heard of Guantanamo Bay, right? And Jamiat, the prison cells. You know what happens there, what they went through. We’ve already caught you Hazim. It’s over. Start talking and you might just avoid jail here. Waste my time and I’ll have you sent down for more years than you’ll survive in a jail that nobody’s heard of, where nobody will hear you scream and nobody will care what happens to you.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ Hazim almost screeched, his wrists manacled to the table top.
Ethan smiled without warmth as he sat down on a wooden stool opposite Hazim.
‘Yes, you do. If you want to have a life when you walk out of this room, start talking to us.’
‘About what?’
‘Start with Abrahem,’ Ethan said casually, taking a chance. ‘When did you last see him?’
Hazim looked up at the mention of that name, his dark eyes filled with foreboding.
‘Who?’
‘Don’t dick us around!’ Ethan snapped as he slammed a clenched fist down on the table, mostly to distract Hazim from his own attempts to formulate a convincing next line. ‘We know about the procedures performed here by Doctor Muller. We know about the implants and we know about Abrahem! He’ll sell you down the river, Abu, may already have done so! That gunfire, are you sure it was meant for us and not for you?’
Hazim’s eyes wobbled in their sockets and he swallowed, his skin sheened with sweat despite the cool air in the unheated stone room.
‘The hell with him,’ Lopez snapped as she pushed off from the wall and headed for the cell door. ‘Feed him to the damned Islamists or send him to the US, let them crucify his useless butt.’
Lopez yanked open the cell door as Ethan got up and grinned cruelly down at Hazim.
‘Have a nice life, what’s left of it,’ he said and turned for the door.
He was almost out of the cell when he heard Hazim’s voice call out.
‘They will kill me!’
Lopez spat a cold laugh over her shoulder at him. ‘Yeah sure, you would say that. This guy’s not worth anything.’
She kept walking down the corridor outside.
Ethan stopped at the door and looked over his shoulder. ‘That’s your problem, Hazim. We don’t need your testimony because you’re not a big enough player. We’ll get what we want, with or without you.’
Ethan turned away again and began walking as the guards moved to shut the door with grim smiles of anticipation. This time, Hazim’s voice shrieked in pursuit.
‘Abrahem Nassir!’
Ethan stopped as he heard the door to the cell close behind him with a metallic clunk that echoed through the corridor. Lopez raised an eyebrow as Hazim cried out again, his voice muted by the heavy door.
‘I’ll tell you everything, please!’ he yelled. ‘I know Abrahem Nassir!’
Ethan leaned against the wall for several long seconds, making Hazim sweat as much as possible before he turned back and opened the door. He walked back in, Lopez following and slamming the door behind her.
‘He’s making it up,’ she said without interest, ‘anything to save the coward’s ass.’
‘It’s true!’ Hazim shouted, directing a hurt look at Lopez.
‘Prove it,’ Ethan said as he re — took his seat. ‘Last chance, Hazim. You don’t give me something worthwhile right here and now you’ll disappear from history, understand?’
Hazim ran his hands through his thick black hair, his voice resigned as he spoke.
‘Abrahem Nassir is from Basra,’ Hazim explained. ‘He did a deal with foreigners for some technology that they wanted Doctor Muller to implant into American soldiers who passed through the hospital. They had money, lots of money, and they assured him that there would be no direct consequences. Abrahem hired us all on that basis.’
‘To do what?’ Lopez demanded.
Hazim stared at the table as he spoke, at his own manacled hands.
‘Doctor Muller inserted devices into their nasal passages, up into the brain,’ he said, ‘while they were under general anesthetic. That was all. We did not know what the devices were, only that we were to say nothing to anybody.’
Ethan leaned closer to Hazim. ‘Where is Abrahem Nassir now?’
‘I don’t know,’ Hazim replied. ‘I promise that I don’t know. He took off a few days ago and then the men in suits turned up looking for him. I don’t know who they were or who they worked for, but I know where they came from.’