I let John watch the whole process, up until the moment Ahmed takes his last breath. Even though John may be trained to withstand torture, I doubt he’s psychologically prepared to see his colleague taken apart piece by piece, all the while knowing that he, John, will be next. Few people are capable of maintaining their cool in a situation like that—and I know that John is not one of them when I catch his gaze dropping to the floor during a particularly gruesome moment. Still, I know it will take us at least a few hours to extract anything from him, and I can’t neglect my business for the rest of the day. John will have to wait until this afternoon, after I’ve had lunch and caught up on some work.
“I can start if you’d like,” Peter says when I tell him this. “You know I can do this on my own.”
I do know that. In the year that he’s worked for me, Peter has proven himself more than capable in this area. However, I prefer to be hands-on whenever possible; in my line of work, micromanaging often pays off.
“No, that’s okay,” I say. “Why don’t you take a lunch break as well? We’ll resume this at three.”
Peter nods, then slips out of the shed, not even bothering to wash the blood off his hands. I’m more fastidious about these matters, so I walk over to a bucket of water sitting by the wall and rinse the worst of the gory residue off my hands and face. At least I don’t need to worry about my clothes; I deliberately wore a black T-shirt and shorts today, so the stains wouldn’t be visible. This way, if I run into Nora before I have a chance to change, I won’t give her nightmares. She knows what I’m capable of, but knowing and seeing are two very different things. My little wife is still innocent in some ways, and I want her to keep as much of that innocence as possible.
I don’t see her on my way home, which is probably for the best. I always feel more feral immediately after a kill, edgy and excited at the same time. It used to bother me, this enjoyment I get out of things that would horrify most people, but I no longer worry about it. It’s who I am, who I was trained to be. Self-doubt leads to guilt and regret, and I refuse to entertain those useless emotions.
Once inside the house, I take a thorough shower and change into fresh clothes. Then, feeling much cleaner and calmer, I go down to the kitchen to grab a quick lunch.
Ana isn’t there when I walk in, so I make myself a sandwich and sit down to eat at the kitchen table. I have my iPad with me, and for the next half hour, I deal with manufacturing issues at my factory in Malaysia, catch up with my Hong Kong-based supplier, and shoot an email to my contact in Israel about the upcoming bombing.
When I’m done with lunch, I still have a number of phone calls to make, so I head to my office, where I have secure lines of communication set up.
I run into Nora on the porch as I exit the house.
She’s coming up the stairs, talking and laughing with Rosa. Dressed in a patterned yellow dress, with her hair loose and streaming down her back, she looks like a ray of sunshine, her smile wide and radiant.
Spotting me, she stops in the middle of the stairs, her smile turning a bit shy. I wonder if she’s thinking about last night; my own thoughts certainly turned in that direction as soon as I saw her.
“Hi,” she says softly, looking at me. Rosa stops too, inclining her head at me respectfully. I give her a curt nod of acknowledgment before focusing on Nora.
“Hello, my pet.” The words come out unintentionally husky. Apparently sensing that she’s in the way, Rosa mumbles something about needing to help out in the kitchen and escapes into the house, leaving Nora and me alone on the porch.
Nora grins at her friend’s prompt departure, then walks up the remaining steps to stand next to me. “I got the orientation packet from Stanford this morning and already registered for all the classes,” she says, her voice filled with barely suppressed excitement. “I have to say, they work fast.”
I smile at her, pleased to see her so happy. “Yes, they do.” And they should—given the generous donation one of my shell corporations made to their alumni fund. For three million dollars, I expect the Stanford admissions office to bend over backwards to accommodate my wife.
“I’m going to call my parents tonight.” Her eyes are shining. “Oh, they’re going to be so surprised . . .”
“Yes, I’m sure,” I say dryly, picturing Tony and Gabriela’s reaction to this. I’ve listened to a few more of Nora’s conversations with them, and I know they didn’t believe me when I said that Nora would get a good education. It will be useful for my new in-laws to learn that I keep my promises—that I’m serious when it comes to taking care of their daughter. It won’t change their opinion of me, of course, but at least they’ll be a bit calmer about Nora’s future.
Nora grins again, likely picturing the same thing, but then her expression turns unexpectedly somber. “So did they already arrive?” she asks, and I hear a trace of hesitation in her voice. “The Al-Quadar men you’ve captured?”
“Yes.” I don’t bother to sugarcoat it. I don’t want to traumatize her by letting her see that side of my business, but I’m not going to hide its existence from her either. “I’ve begun interrogating them.”
She stares at me, her earlier excitement nowhere in sight. “Oh, I see.” Her eyes travel over my body, lingering on my clean clothes, and I’m glad that I took the precaution to shower and change earlier.
When she lifts her eyes to meet my gaze, there is a peculiar look on her face. “So did you learn anything useful?” she asks softly. “By interrogating them, I mean?”