Kosinski was undeterred. “Why are you in America?” he asked firmly.
“I love surfing.”
Ryan chuckled but was brought back to reality by a sharp look from the much older Kosinski.
“Seriously, Mr Hawke, this is a big deal. I could charge you with about a hundred terrorism-related offenses and you wouldn’t see the light of day until the next millenium.”
“Do you think CIA agents will have evolved personalities by then?”
Kosinski ignored him. Hawke was sure if this turned into a battle of wits the CIA man would lose. Hawke had been interrogated before, and in far less savoury circumstances than this. He doubted the CIA would be resorting to waterboarding and electrodes in their case.
Kosinski continued. “You will answer my questions sooner or later, I assure you. In fact I have one particular question I’m very serious about getting an answer to.”
“I’m flattered, really I am,” Hawke said with a smirk, “but after my wife died I promised myself I’d never marry again.”
Kosinski sighed and shook his head. He looked more weary than disappointed. Clearly he had been around this block just as many times as Hawke. “You really want to play it this way?”
“What way?”
“Listen — it doesn’t have to be this complicated. I ask a few simple questions and you answer them, and then maybe we can smooth all this out. What do you want here in America?”
“Some black coffee and a doughnut would be wonderful, thanks for asking.”
“All right, we’re done.”
Kosinski turned to Ryan Bale. He looked like he would be easier to crack than a monkey nut.
“You’re in a shit load of trouble, young man,” he said. “You all are.”
“Whatever,” Ryan said. He was trying to sound defiant in front of Hawke and Lea but his wobbling voice broke the illusion.
“You guys are going to get broken up and taken to separate rooms. I’ll keep you up all night until I get some answers.”
“I know my rights,” Ryan said flatly.
“Yeah, sure you do.”
“What does that mean?”
“Your rights are malleable, let’s just put it that way. Besides, you’re not even American. What do you know about our rights?”
The young Londoner pushed his curly fringe out from his dark eyes and shifted confidently in the little plastic chair. “We could start with the fact you’ve already breached my sixth amendment right to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation,” he began, quoting the sixth word for word.
Kosinski raised his eyebrows. “So you’ve studied the Constitution — big deal.”
“I read it once when I was bored at a bus stop. That was ten years ago.”
“You read it once a decade ago and you can quote it verbatim?”
“Let’s just say I remember things.”
Kosinski studied the young man silently for a few moments before speaking. “Sure, fine. The accusation is that you are involved in a terrorist activity.”
“How absurd. I should just plead the fifth and demand a lawyer.”
Kosinski sighed. The young man wasn’t playing ball in the way he’d hoped. Hawke noticed this was the second time he had glanced at his watch. Maybe he had a dinner date.
“What about you?” Kosinski said, turning to Lea. “I know you’re here to make trouble,” he said. “I can smell these things.” He tapped the side of his broad nose. “I have a sixth sense for these things. Maybe you could fill in some of the blanks?”
“I don’t know anything.”
“Why are you in the US, Miss Donovan?”
“I’m on holiday.”
“I ran a check on your passport with the Irish Embassy. I see you were an officer in the Irish Army for several years.”
“So what?”
“So maybe there’s a terrorist link in here somewhere.”
Lea laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not getting the Irish Army and the Irish Republican Army confused are you, you silly man?”
“I’m aware of the difference, thanks. Just tell me why you were shooting up Manhattan Island and maybe we can speed this along. Seems to me something’s up, and I want to know about it.”
“I have a right to silence you know!”
“Oh, not another one! You’re just like these two. Can’t you see how much shit you’re in?”
Kosinski stared at her long and hard for a moment, wondering how to make her speak.
Then a middle-aged women with short, brown hair opened the door and gestured for Kosinski to talk to her. He rose from his chair and stepped out to the corridor.
“What is it?” he said as he closed the door gently behind him.
“Phone call.”
Kosinski left the room for a few moments and returned with a different expression on his face.
“I just had a very interesting conversation with my boss about you all. He had a very interesting conversation about you all with his boss. And you know what just happened to his boss’s boss?”
Hawke, Lea and Ryan said nothing.
“His boss’s boss just had an interesting chat with his boss — are you following me?”
Hawke frowned. “You lost me somewhere around the third boss.”
“Let me help you with that, the third boss is the Deputy Director of the CIA.”
“Ah, so quite bossy then?”
Kosinski smiled coldly. “He tells me that the British Government has instructed us to release you on national security grounds. Something about grave consequences for humanity. Ring any bells?”
Hawke studied Kosinski’s face. He was trained in neurolinguistic programming and knew how to read tells that might give away when someone was lying. A good way of telling, though not always accurate, was the direction the eyes looked in when a person was speaking.
As you faced the person you were talking with, if they looked to the right it meant they were remembering actual memories, things that happened, things they once said or heard or saw. If they looked to the left it meant they were constructing things — lying, in other words. Right now, Kosinski was looking to the right — telling the truth.
“A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do,” Hawke said. “And it sounds like you’ve got to take these handcuffs off, mate.”
Scowling, Kosinski had no option but to agree.
“You haven’t heard the last of this,” Kosinski said. “I know you’re up to something big and I'm going to start poking around.”
“Please, Eddie, not in front of the lady.”
“We’re not done, Hawke — not by a long shot. I have reach.”
“And we have a flight to catch.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Their arrival at the Richemond hotel was met by Sir Richard Eden himself, who had flown into Geneva an hour earlier. Switzerland felt small and claustrophobic after the United States, but they were glad to have some time to regroup.
They took the elevator to the top floor and followed Eden to his room. Hawke noticed that the Member of Parliament’s door was guarded by more security than he would expect, and was immediately suspicious.
“What’s with the goons, Richard?” he asked.
The two men with ear-pieces turned to look at Hawke with sour expressions on their faces, and took a step towards him before being ushered away by Eden.
“Inside, now.”
Hawke, Lea and Ryan followed Sir Richard Eden into the room where another two armed guards were standing in the hall area. They parted to reveal a man Hawke recognized immediately as the British Foreign Secretary. He stepped towards them.
“I’m James Matheson,” he said, shaking their hands.
“My name’s Joe Hawke, and this is…”