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After briefing Hoskins, Henry hung up the phone, and started to gather up his gear for the flight to Germany. As he was packing, the Batumi police officer, that did the translating during the interrogations, walked up to him and asked, “You’re leaving with the others?”
“That’s right, we got the cesium, that’s what we came for.”
“I thought that you might be going to find Tafar.”
Henry looked at the man quizzically and said, “Tafar, who or what the hell is Tafar?”
“Before you killed him, Mustaf told whoever called him on his cell phone that Tafar got away.”
“That’s too bad, if we’re lucky, maybe we’ll get him next time.”
“Don’t you find it peculiar that Mustaf was more intent on telling his associates that Tafar got away than he was in letting us know that this Tafar person was even involved in this?”
“Now that you mentioned it, one of my men did see someone kill one of the sailors on the freighter last night. Maybe he was the man they’re talking about, let’s go back in and see if our friends know anything about this, you’d better come with me.”
Henry stormed into the interrogation room where Karim, who was Mustaf’s last remaining man, and the two sailors had their hands tied behind their backs and were sitting around a table. He looked at the two local policemen who were guarding the men and said to the translating officer, “Tell the guards to leave us alone in here.”
After they left, Henry paced around the table and asked aloud, “Who’s Tafar?” The translator interpreted the question in Arabic for the men.
The three men looked at each other but said nothing.
Henry pulled out his silenced pistol and said,
“If you tell me who Tafar is and where he has gone, I promise that you will live.”
Again, the men said nothing.
Henry noticed that Karim, who was sitting at the head of the table, had a defiant look on his face and was always eyeing the other two men when the questions were asked.
Karim tried to put up a strong front, but he knew that he was powerless to do anything but watch as the American agent walked around the table. He was well aware that any employee of Abdula Nassir that did anything to undermine an operation was generally killed along with as many members of their family that Abdula was able to round up. Karim was determined not to give the American the satisfaction of getting any more information.
“Uncuff this one,” Henry said to the officer.
With his handcuffs off, Karim wrung his hands to return the circulation and continued to sit back and follow Henry with his eyes.
As Henry paced around the table he noticed that Karim now had his hands out on top of the table and was still staring up at him with a smug look on his face that all but said that he was not going to give up any information.
Henry asked again, “Please tell me who Tafar is and why he killed that sailor last night.” He slowly walked around the table patiently waiting for an answer. When Henry got to a spot in the room where he thought he had the best possible angle, he fired a shot from his pistol down at the table that nearly severed the index finger on Karim’s left hand. The two crewmen screamed after the shooting and looked on with horror as Karim held his bleeding hand with his other hand.
“Who is Tafar?” Henry asked as he continued to pace about the room acting like he had no intention of leaving the room until he got the answers. The two crewmen now speak nervously among themselves until Karim, whose hand is bleeding, grimaces in pain and tells them to be quiet. Henry wasted no time and silenced Karim with a shot to the head.
“Who is Tafar?” Henry asked as he pointed his pistol at the nearest sailor, “If you tell me, you will live.”
The two men immediately started pleading for their lives and the translator nodded to Henry that they will cooperate.
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