Part 22 (1/2)
She nodded. ”I am.”
He fished in his jacket pocket, came up with two small white pills, each stamped OC OC on one side and on one side and 10 10 on the other. He put them on the table where she could see them but not reach them. on the other. He put them on the table where she could see them but not reach them.
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HALA LOOKED AT THE PILLS, AND I COULD FEEL HER LEG JIGGLING ON THE other side of the table. ”So, what? You withhold medical treatment so I talk? I think your ACLU will be interested to hear this.”
Mahoney smiled. ”Who said anything about withholding treatment?” He slid the tablets over in front of her. ”We're not tribal savages a generation out of the desert here.”
Hala scowled at him but took up one of the tablets. I pushed a plastic water bottle across the table. She swallowed the painkiller but then said, ”If you think I will talk because of these pills, you do not know me.”
”Hey,” Mahoney said, arms wide: Mr. Nice Guy. ”We want to know you, Doctor. We want to hear what you have to say in your defense.”
”I'm saying nothing in my defense. I'll wait for the lawyer.”
”Let us check a few things that are verifiable,” the FBI agent said, as if he were a clerk taking insurance information. ”Where do you live in Saudi Arabia?”
Hala did not reply, but she watched him closely.
Mahoney typed on his keypad, rolled his lower lip between fingers, said, ”Al Hariq? No, that's where you were born, right out there on the edge of the erg, erg, the sea of sand, right?” the sea of sand, right?”
He looked up at her. She said, ”A place of terrible beauty.”
I said, ”That where you became afraid of dogs?”
She smiled sourly at me. ”I have no idea where that came from. It's always just been there.”
”You're smart though,” Mahoney observed, returning his attention to the screen. ”King Saud University for one year and then four years at Penn, courtesy of the Saudi royal family. Impressive. Medical degree from Dubai. Children. A career. And then a sudden radicalization. But that's what happens when G.o.d talks to you, right?”
She said nothing, rolled her eyes at me.
”Now,” Mahoney said. ”Where do you live in Saudi Arabia?”
”I do not live in Saudi Arabia.”
”And probably never will again,” the FBI agent said brightly, still looking at his screen. ”I guess what I was asking was...oh, here it is. Fahiq. It's right there outside Riyadh, on the road to Mecca.”
For the first time since we'd been talking to Hala, I saw something resembling anxiety in her expression, just a glimpse of it, and then she turned stony once more.
I glanced at Mahoney, who seemed so confident now that I thought, What has Ned got on her? What about Fahiq could break her? What has Ned got on her? What about Fahiq could break her?
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”WE NO LONGER LIVE IN FAHIQ,” HALA SAID. ”WE SOLD THAT HOUSE YEARS ago, long before we came to this-”
”There was a transfer of property,” Mahoney agreed. ”But it was a gift, not a sale, to Gabir Salmann, who I believe is your uncle, the older brother of your mother, Shada?”
Something s.h.i.+fted in Hala. The coolness was gone. She studied the FBI agent the way a hawk might and made no reply.
”It's right here in the Saudi records the emba.s.sy was good enough to send over by courier,” he said. ”You want to see?”
No answer.
”Despite what you hear, Doctor, the Saudi royal family are, on the whole, keen allies of the United States,” Mahoney went on. ”Why? They might have all the oil, but we have all the weapons and G.o.d only knows how many times the number of soldiers. In any case, the Saudi royals find it most embarra.s.sing when one of their nationals goes off the reservation and starts killing some of the country's best customers and friends.”
He paused and looked at me, almost cheery. ”Very cooperative, the Saudis.” Mahoney held up his hand, set it down, looked back at Hala. ”Not a lot of political freedom back home, is there?”
Hala said nothing.
”Not a lot of wiggle room in the judicial system in Saudi, right? Sharia law? Secret police?”
Mahoney leaned forward, began talking louder: ”No const.i.tutional guarantees of civil rights and humane treatment. What the Saudi royals want from their people, the Saudi royals get. Am I right, Dr. Al Dossari?”
”So what?” Hala snapped. ”I am not in my homeland, and I think there is zero chance that your government extradites me.”
”I agree you are not in your homeland, nor are you likely to be any time soon,” Mahoney replied. He paused, glanced at me, then said to her, ”But your children are there.”
I immediately saw a change in her breathing pattern: her respirations became shallow, more rapid. She straightened in her chair.
”What are their names?” Mahoney asked. ”Oh, here it is: Fahd, ten, and Aamina, seven. Good-looking kids.” He smiled at her. ”The last time you spoke to them was when?”
Hala said nothing.
”Got to be ten, eleven months.” Mahoney let that hang as he started typing again. ”You use Skype, Dr. Al Dossari?”
”No.”