Terror in D.C. by Randy Wayne White Read Free Book Online

Inside there was a crash, and Hawker stepped in and locked the door behind him.
    Rultan sat on the floor, his hands cupped to his face. His long nose dribbled blood. The door had hit him and knocked him down. “You son of a bitch!” he whined. “You have no right! No right at all!”
    Hawker grabbed the man by the collar and forced him to his feet. “I just want to ask you a few questions, Rultan. Be nice to me and I’ll be nice to you. Okay?”
    He was a bird-boned man with jet-black hair, a pear-shaped face, dark doleful brown eyes. He wore a cream-colored suit jacket and slacks, and an open white shirt. “Questions? You want to ask me questions! You are a policeman?”
    Hawker said nothing.
    â€œBut I have already told the police everything I know.”
    â€œBut I’d like to hear it again, Rultan.”
    â€œThen I will call my lawyer. I do not have to subject myself to this harassment. I know my rights!” Rultan slid in behind his wooden desk, picked up the phone, and began to dial. “You have bloodied my nose, you son of a bitch! You have violated my rights! Let us see how tough you are when my lawyer arrives. We will have your badge!”
    Hawker took his hands from his pockets and calmly pushed the phone’s plunger down, cutting the Syrian off. He smiled easily. “I’m not a cop, Rultan. With me, you’ve got no rights. No right to make a phone call, no right to have a lawyer present, no right to do anything but tell me the truth.”
    â€œNot a policeman? But why—”
    â€œLet’s just say I’m real nosy. And I don’t like assholes who bomb innocent people.”
    â€œI know nothing about those bombings!”
    â€œThe police decided to question you just because they had nothing better to do, huh?”
    â€œThey have questioned many people.”
    â€œI thought you didn’t know anything, Rultan. How did you know they’ve questioned many people? See how easy it is? I ask you a question, and you give me an answer.”
    â€œI will not submit to this bullying—”
    Hawker’s open hand made a hollow rim-shot sound as he backhanded the Syrian’s head sideways. “I’ll make you a deal, Rultan—don’t talk back to me and I won’t rearrange your face. Okay?”
    The Syrian wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. “Don’t hit me again. Please. What do you want from me?”
    â€œWhat do you think? I want information—like who’s doing the bombing, for starters.”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    Hawker leaned over the desk, his nose only inches from the Syrian’s. “Then tell me who you think is doing it?”
    â€œSomeone from the Mideast,” he said quickly. “Please do not think I am saying the obvious. There are groups in Saudi Arabia, in Africa, yes, in Israel, too, who are ruthless enough for such actions. That the terrorists say they are from the Mideast means nothing.”
    â€œBut you think they are from there?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou’re involved with some kind of Syrian government in exile, aren’t you? Maybe it’s your people who are doing the bombing: Is that why you don’t want to talk?”
    The Syrian’s eyes shifted away from Hawker’s, toward the beaded curtain that covered the window on the other side of the room. “My people? Don’t be absurd.”
    â€œYou’re just a group of peace-loving, good ole Islamics, is that right?”
    â€œDo not make sport of my people or my cause!” The man’s face grew dark again, his fear overwhelmed by his anger. “In my place, you would do the same thing. Yes, it is true! If you only knew the truth, you, too, would plot the overthrow of the present Syrian government. It is for my people … for my daughter that we will never cease the struggle. In my country the Kurdish and Armenian peoples are being treated as