CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
“Some people might start something like this by saying that there’s an easy way, and a hard way.” Reid spoke in Arabic for the benefit of his captive as he twisted the dial to turn on one of the rear burners of the gas range. It clicked twice and ignited in a ring of blue flames. “I’m not going to say that. There’s only one way: my way.”
The Syrian sat in one of the dining room chairs, facing away from the table. His hands were bound at the wrists by duct tape, his ankles taped to the wooden legs and another strip over his thighs, lashing him to the chair. Yet his face was passive. If he was concerned, he didn’t show it.
“Here’s how my way works,” Reid told him, his voice low. “I’m going to hurt you. And then I’m going to ask you a question. Then I’m going to hurt yo
