4:50 p.m.
116th Precinct House - Queens, New York
It took over an hour to process Ali Nassar and bring him downstairs.
While he was waiting, Luke talked to Becca on the phone.
"You're a wonderful man."
Luke pressed his forehead against the grimy wall in the basement of the precinct house, and listened to the musical sound of his wife's voice in his ear. The police station was a harsh environment. The overhead fluorescents were too bright. Voices and footsteps echoed around him. Someone down the hallway laughed, a deranged cackle.
"I don't feel very wonderful," he said.
"But you are. You saved the President today. It's incredible. It's a miracle."
Luke sighed. He didn't feel like a hero. And it didn't feel like a miracle—it felt like a nightmare, still unfolding.
"You're just tired, Luke. That's why you feel down. When was the last time you slept, over thirty hours ago? Listen, Gunner and I are both really proud of you. When you get back to DC, why don't you go back to the house, get a good night's sleep, and then come out here. It's beautiful here right now. We'll just take a few days, we'll turn the clocks off, we'll all be together. How does that sound?"
"It sounds really good."
"I love you so much," she said.
Luke loved Becca too, and he wanted to see her. He wanted to spend a few quiet days at the country house with both her and Gunner. But as much as he wanted it, he didn't see how it could happen.
He couldn't tell her anything. All he told her was that, after the briefing with the President, he had flown back to New York to track down another lead. He didn't tell her about the helicopter attack. He didn't tell her about leaping onto the roof of a moving car at a hundred miles per hour. He didn't tell her about killing two men. He didn't tell her that this case seemed nowhere near over.
A young detective with thinning hair, his tie pulled askew and his sleeves rolled up, came down the hall toward Luke.
"Agent Stone?"
Luke nodded.
"They're about to start the questioning."
Luke signed off with Becca and followed the detective to the observation room. The room was dim, with half a dozen men in it. Luke welcomed the half-darkness after the harsh light of the hallway.
The detective introduced Luke to three men in dark suits and ties.
"You probably want to meet these guys. This is Agent Stone with the FBI, these are Agents Stern, Smith, and Wallace."
"We're with Homeland," one of the men said, while shaking Luke's hand.
"Begley send you here?" Luke said.
The man's smile faltered, just a touch. "Begley?"
"Yeah. Ron Begley." Luke made the shape of a basketball with his hands. "Round guy? He runs a unit over there, don't ask me what. He and I had a little misunderstanding this morning about whether or not Ali Nassar was worth pursuing. I guess he changed his mind."
The three men laughed. "We don't work for Ron Begley."
"Good for you. You're probably happier that way."
On the other side of a large false window, Ali Nassar sat a metal table. He sipped from a white coffee mug. His ankle was cuffed to the table leg, which itself was bolted to the floor. It didn't matter. Ali Nassar didn't look like he was going anywhere.
He was utterly and completely disheveled. His dress shirt was torn and rumpled, and unbuttoned halfway to his stomach. His hair stood on end. There were black half-moons under each eye. His jaw hung open. His hand trembled whenever he lifted his coffee mug.
An NYPD detective loomed over him, a big, brawny, red-haired Irishman. Everything in the observation room went quiet when Nassar started to talk.
"Where is my daughter, and her mother?" he said.
The cop shook his head. "They're fine. You don't need to worry about them. We brought them back to the Iranian mission. They didn't do anything. They have no idea what's going on. Nobody's even interested in them."
Nassar nodded. "Good."
"Right," the cop said. "It is good. They're safe. Now let's put them out of our minds for a minute. I want to talk about you."
Now Nassar shook his head. "You have no right to hold me here. I want to speak to a lawyer."
The cop smiled. He was relaxed. Luke recognized a guy who heard that lawyer demand every single day, and then found a way around it.
"Why do you want to do that?" the cop said. "You have something left to hide? You already talked to the FBI agent in the car."
"He put a gun to my head."
The cop shrugged. "Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. That's the first I heard of it. I wasn't there, so what do I know?"
"It's illegal for you to hold me here," Nassar said.
"Ali, let me tell you something. We're not actually holding you here. That's the thing. You're not under arrest. We couldn't arrest you if we wanted to, you know that. We've got that leg iron on you for your own safety. These halls out here are crawling with violent criminals. Sometimes they get loose. Believe me, you're safer in this room. But if you want to leave, you're free to go at any time."
Nassar seemed about to speak. He hesitated, maybe expecting a trick.
The cop raised a meaty hand. "Now let me tell you why leaving is a bad idea," he said. "You've been involved in something. It's something bad. You know that and I know that, so there's no sense pretending. People tell me you blew up the White House. I don't know if I believe that."
"I didn't do it," Nassar said.
The cop pointed at him. "Right. That's what I believe. I believe you didn't do it. But it seems like maybe you know the people who did do it. And if I were those people right now, you know what I'd be looking to do? Clean up loose ends. A guy like you walks out that door, how long do you really think you're going to live? Twelve hours, if you're lucky? Personally, I doubt you'll make it that long."
Nassar stared at him.
"Your friends from the Iranian mission?" the cop said. He shook his head. "I don't think they're coming back for you. They lost four men today trying to get you to the airport. You're a liability for them. You're an embarrassment. If they do come back, I think it's to put a bullet right here."
The cop tapped Nassar on the forehead.
Nassar shook his head. "They weren't involved. They have no reason to kill me."
"Yeah. That's what you told the guy from the FBI." The cop referred to some notes on a clipboard. "You told him you were working for an agency of the U.S. government, something called Red Box. You don't think the Iranian government would kill you if they knew you were working for the Americans? Come on, I think you're a little smarter than that."
Nassar's eyes briefly widened.
The cop nodded. "Yep. You're smart enough. You see it. You don't have too many friends left, Ali."
Luke thought back to that moment in the car. Cops were all around them. "I work for you," Nassar said. Then he did say Red Box. Luke barely remembered it. He had jumped out of a helicopter. He had crashed the car. He had shot two men in the head only seconds before. He was as shaken up as anyone. At that moment, he almost couldn't process what Nassar was telling him.
Now, as he watched, Nassar and the cop stared at each other for a long moment.
"I want to share something with you," the cop said. "I know exactly what you're going through. I have a younger brother. Maybe fifteen years ago, he gets involved in something, like you did. It was a mistake, like you made a mistake, and he got in over his head. Turns out he's smuggling guns to the Irish Republican Army out of a bar up in the Bronx. I tell him Mikey, you're stupid. You're not Irish. You're American. But by then, everybody's on to him. He's wanted by the American government. He's wanted by the English government. And if his buddies in the IRA find him, they're going to drop him in the river. They have to. What else are they gonna do, let him talk?"
A couple of cops in the observation room laughed. Luke glanced at them.
"This guy and his younger brothers," one of the cops said. "My brother the rapist. My brother the arsonist. My brother the terrorist. You want to know the truth? He has three sisters, and they're all older than he is."
Inside the interrogation room, Ali Nassar said, "I think I'm in a bad position."
The cop nodded. "I'd say you're in a very bad position. But I can help you. You just have to tell me what's going on."
Nassar seemed to have come to a decision. He shook his head. "Red Box is not an agency. It's a program, an operation. Operation Red Box. I didn't know what it was for. I knew what they wanted me to do, and that was it. They wanted me to buy some drones from China. They told me to pay some jihadis, men who wanted to commit suicide for God. I made the payments from an offshore account they themselves set up for me. It wasn't my account. I didn't hire these men. I didn't even know what they were going to do until two days ago."
"You keep saying they, they, they," the cop said. "Can you be a little more specific? Who are they?"
Ali Nassar sighed. "The Central Intelligence Agency. That's who hired me. A man I know from your CIA."
An almost silent gasp went through the room, and Luke felt a sharp jolt in his midsection. It felt like his body was impaled by a spike. He looked around at the men in the room with him. Everyone—cops, Homeland agents—everyone seemed puzzled. There was a low level buzz of muted conversation. The CIA hired Nassar to help attack the White House? The CIA?
Luke's entire world spun beneath him. It felt true; Luke could always tell if someone was lying, and Nassar wasn't. Either the CIA hired him, or he genuinely believed that they did. Luke, reeling, wondered if it could be true. If so, he would have to look at everyone around him differently. Who would he be able to trust?
"It was a year ago," Nassar said. "He visited me at my hotel room in London. At first, he called it Operation Red Box. Then, a month later he came to me and told me he made an error, it wasn't Operation Red Box. We must never speak of Operation Red Box again. We must never even say the words. But I remembered it. I'm sure that is the name, but I don't know what it means. So if you want to learn about Operation Red Box, don't ask me anything. Ask your CIA Director instead."
"Who's got this guy?" Luke said. "Is someone taking custody?"
One of the men from Homeland Security raised his hand. "When the NYPD is done with him, they're going to release him to us."
Luke nodded. "Good. Hang on to him."
He started walking toward the door.
"Where are you going?" one of the men said.
Luke didn't even turn around.
"I'm going back to Washington. I need to talk to someone."