Page 150 of Enemy of My Enemy

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CIA Headquarters

Langley, Virginia

“We will begin in a moment,Mr. President,” Irwin said softly at Jack’s shoulder.

Jack said nothing. He stared into the sublevel interrogation room through a two-way mirror, his gaze fixed on the woman he’d thought was his wife.

Leslie sat in the dim tank beneath a bare bulb. A chain hung between two cuffs, clipped to a thick leather prisoner’s belt around her waist. Her ankles were shackled together. Her sling and bandage had been removed and the cuff on her blackened arm had been tightened around the damage, almost to the bone. Her disfigured arm sat curled on the table, motionless.

Had that injury been done to eke out his sympathy? To make him feel worse about seeing his dead wife come back to life? Jack ground his teeth, his gaze fixed to her rotted arm.

The door within the interrogation room opened. Flynn, Irwin’s handpicked interrogator, strode in. He wore cargo pants and an untucked shirt and sported an unruly mop of dark hair. He didn’t look at her, just pulled out his chair, metal legs scraping over bare concrete. He sat, his face impassive as he stared her down.

Leslie’s breaths stuttered. She fidgeted, tugging with her good arm on the handcuffs. She kept glancing at the two-way mirror.

If she really had all of Leslie’s memories, like Irwin said she did, then she knew he’d be on the other side. She knew he wouldn’t walk away.

Flynn kept staring at her, not saying a word. Leslie jerked her good wrist, yanking on the chain, and she whipped around, staring at the mirror. “Jack,” she pleaded, her voice wavering. “Jack,please. Help me.”

Jack stared back, not blinking as he crossed his arms and his fingers clenched in the bunched fabric of Ethan’s sweatshirt.

Flynn cocked his head, just so, staring Leslie down.

“Where’s Jack?” Leslie breathed. She bit her lip, shrinking in her seat as she seemed to collapse in on herself. “Where’s my husband?”

Jack’s veins singed, raw fury roaring through him.

“If I could just talk to Jack,” she begged. “Something’s misunderstood. Something’s wrong. If I could justtalkto him. See him. Please?”

“We know who you work for. We know you work for Madigan. We know you’ve been sent here on a mission.”

“Iusedto work for Madigan. I fought back! When I figured out what kind of monster he was!”

“We know you were sent here on a mission,” Flynn repeated. “If you tell us how the attack is going to happen, we’ll be able to help you.” He paused, steepling his fingers together. “Where and when are you supposed to attack?”

Panic seemed to settle in around Leslie. Her breaths came fast, and she stared at Flynn, her fingernails scratching on the surface of the bare metal table. “What attack? What are you talking abou—”

“Where and when are you supposed to attack?”

“I-I-I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“For the last time, before I have to be impolite. Where and when are you supposed to attack?”

“I’m not part of any attack!” She slammed her good hand on the table. “I’m not attacking you! You’ve got the wrong person!” Tears glistened at the edges of her eyes. “Please,pleaselet me speak to my husband…”

Flynn looked down. Pursed his lips as he spun his thumbs. “How do you communicate with Madigan?”

“What?” A tear slipped down her cheek.

“Where is Madigan’s current operational location?”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

Flynn cut her off. “Where and when are you supposed to attack?”

“I’m not attacking you!”