Chapter 256 - Interrogation

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Bang!

Inside the interrogation room, Hank slammed a thick case file onto the table.

The impact echoed off the walls.

Marcus didn't even flinch. He remained reclined in his chair, his hands cuffed and an expression of utter contempt on his face.

—Danny did all of this —Hank said.

He opened the file and spread several photographs in front of him.

—Look at them.

Marcus lowered his gaze.

The images showed the aftermath of the attack: the mangled body of one of the bodyguards, the blood-covered glass, and the bullet holes piercing the vehicle's door.

—One man is dead —Hank continued—. Two others are in the hospital. Danny tried to murder a woman in the middle of Chicago, and you helped him escape.

Marcus studied the photographs for several seconds before looking up.

—You think this is going to scare me?

A mocking smile appeared beneath his thick beard.

—Have you ever been to war?

Hank didn't answer.

—You want me to tell you what real fear is? —Marcus continued—. You want to know what a man sounds like when he steps on a mine? Or what a body smells like after spending several days under the sun?

His expression remained cold, almost indifferent.

—This isn't terror. It's just another bad day for someone who's never seen the real world.

Hank watched him in silence for a moment.

—I don't give a shit what you've seen.

He slammed both hands onto the table and leaned toward him.

—Danny isn't at war anymore. He's a killer loose in a city full of civilians.

He brought his face closer to Marcus's.

—My city.

Marcus held his gaze.

—Fuck you.

Hank slowly walked around the table.

Marcus's smile vanished when Hank grabbed him by the collar, hauled him out of the chair, and slammed him against the wall.

—You don't understand the situation, Marcus.

He pressed his forearm against Marcus's chest and brought his face close to his.

—Danny used you. He left guns, explosives, and enough C4 in your house to blow up half the block. When we catch that bastard, he's going to say it all belonged to you.

Marcus clenched his teeth.

—You don't know shit about him.

Hank drove a sharp punch into his stomach.

The air rushed from Marcus's lungs and his body folded forward, but Hank held him by the shirt before he could fall.

—Wrong answer.

He dragged him back to the table and forced him to look at the photographs.

—Every minute you stay quiet is another minute Danny has to kill someone else. So you're going to stop talking to me about the war and tell me where he is.

Marcus struggled to breathe. Even so, he managed to lift his head and form another defiant smile.

—I already told you. I don't know.

Hank grabbed the chair, spun it around violently, and leaned in until his face was only inches from Marcus's.

—Then you'd better start remembering.

—If it weren't for people like us fighting out there, if it weren't for those of us protecting this country... what city would you even be talking about?

He leaned back in the chair.

—Charge me with whatever you want.

—I don't care —Marcus replied.

Hank watched him for several seconds. Instead of striking him again, he slowly returned to the other side of the table.

—Do you know how Danny got the scar on his forehead?

The question caught Marcus by surprise, though he tried to hide it.

—He saved my life.

Some of the hardness left his voice.

—He stepped in when no one else would have. So you can hit me all you want, but I'm not going to betray him.

—Betray him? —Hank repeated—. You think keeping quiet is protecting him?

Marcus held his gaze.

—I owe him my life.

Hank drew a deep breath and restrained his anger. Then he opened another folder, removed a folded blueprint, and threw it in front of him.

—Then explain this.

Marcus barely glanced at the document.

—I don't know what the hell that is.

—Take a good look.

—I already told you I'm not going to help you.

—I'm not asking for your help —Hank replied coldly—. I'm showing you who the man you're protecting really is.

Marcus reluctantly picked up the blueprint. At first, he examined it with little interest, but his eyes suddenly stopped on one of the notes.

His expression changed.

He unfolded the document completely and pulled it closer.

He recognized the handwriting.

It was Danny's.

Coordinates, distances, schedules, and numerous handwritten calculations covered the blueprint. Several areas had been marked and connected by lines and arrows.

Marcus ran his fingers over the notes. The confidence he had displayed until then began to crumble, and a slight tremor took hold of his hands.

He slowly looked up.

—What is this?

—You know exactly what it is.

Hank stared at him harshly.

—We found it among Danny's things.

He pointed at the blueprint.

—It's Soldier Field. Those marks show where he planned to place the explosives.

Marcus stopped breathing for an instant. He looked at the document again and recognized the outline of the stadium beneath all the notes.

—That's terrorism —Hank continued in a cold voice—. If we hadn't arrived today, Danny would have gone in there with enough C4 to carry out a massacre.

He leaned across the table and planted both hands on either side of the blueprint.

—The stadium will be packed. Thousands of families, children... people who have nothing to do with him.

Marcus swallowed.

—I didn't know anything about this.

—But you gave him a place to hide. You stored his weapons and explosives. You helped him escape when we arrived.

Hank tapped the blueprint with his index finger.

—So tell me, Marcus, how the hell is any of that protecting him?

—I don't know —he murmured.

For the first time, Marcus's confidence began to collapse. He lowered his gaze to the blueprint and scanned Danny's notes, searching for an explanation that wasn't there.

His throat was dry.

—He only told me he wanted to rob banks.

Hank didn't take his eyes off him.

—Banks?

—Yeah. He said the explosives were for opening vaults —Marcus replied—. That he wanted to take the money from those fucking bankers. He never mentioned a stadium or all those people.

Hank leaned a little closer.

—Then your friend lied to you.

Olinsky, who had remained silent until then, slowly removed his baseball cap and set it on the table.

—Marcus, tell us everything you know.

The man looked up, still torn between loyalty and doubt.

—I served too —Olinsky continued calmly—. 173rd Airborne Brigade Combat Team. Quick Reaction Force.

Marcus studied him more closely.

—I know what it means to serve alongside someone —Olinsky added—. To share your food, sleep on the same ground, and trust the man beside you with your life. Those bonds don't disappear when you come home.

He leaned forward slightly.

—But I also know we didn't swear to protect a fellow soldier when he starts murdering civilians.

Marcus lowered his eyes to the blueprint.

—Danny saved my life.

—Then honor the man who did that —Olinsky replied—. Don't let him turn everything you went through together into an act of terrorism.

Marcus no longer appeared indifferent. His eyes moved between the blueprint and the photographs of the attack as an obvious struggle played out across his face.

Hank and Olinsky stopped pressuring him.

They gave him a few seconds.

No matter how unstable Danny had become, he was still the man who had once saved Marcus's life. Helping the police would feel like a betrayal, even if remaining silent might allow Danny to carry out a massacre.

Finally, Marcus closed his eyes and exhaled.

—Danny showed up at my house a few days ago.

All the arrogance had left his voice.

—He said he needed a place to stay and wanted me to get him a few things.

Hank immediately picked up a pen.

—What things?

Marcus looked at the photographs again.

—Guns, detonators, wires... anything I could get without asking too many questions.

The resistance was over.

Once Marcus began talking, the information kept coming.

When the interrogation ended, Hank and Olinsky returned to the Intelligence office.

—We've got good news and bad news —Hank announced, clapping his hands to get the team's attention.

The conversations stopped.

—The good news is that the inventory Marcus gave us matches everything we seized from his house: the C4, the detonators, the wires, and the gun.

He paused briefly.

—The quantities match. Danny escaped without the backpack and, as far as we know, he isn't carrying any weapons or explosives.

Ruzek breathed a sigh of relief.

—Then he can't attack the stadium.

—At least not with that material —Hank replied—. For now, he doesn't have the means to do anything truly serious.

Erin crossed her arms.

—And the bad news?

—Marcus doesn't know where he's hiding. We checked Danny's other contacts, and none of them could give us another address.

Hank's expression hardened.

—So we keep working until we find him.

Erin stood and planted both hands on her desk.

—We identified him in time. He escaped without any identification, and his photograph is already being circulated among patrol units, bus stations, train stations, and airports. Under normal circumstances, he shouldn't be able to get out of Chicago.

—Danny isn't operating under normal circumstances —Hank warned.

He looked around the office.

—He's wounded, broke, without equipment, and he knows we're looking for him. Right now, he's like a cornered tiger.

Hank nodded.

—Exactly. So be careful.

—And a cornered animal is at its most dangerous —Erin added.

Hank turned back toward the screens.

—Did the traffic footage come in yet? Did you find anything?

—They just sent it over.

Ruzek poked his head above the monitor.

—I'm starting to go through it now.

—Hurry up.

Hank slipped his hands into his jacket pockets and looked around the office.

—Nobody's going home tonight. I'll authorize the overtime, so call your families and let them know you'll be late.

No one protested.

In Intelligence, working until the early hours of the morning was practically part of the job, especially when they were hunting a former soldier with explosives experience and the case had drawn the attention of half the city.

One by one, they returned to their desks.

For the next several minutes, the office settled into quiet activity. The only sounds were the tapping of keyboards, telephone conversations, and the monitors' constant hum.

Erin finished a call and dropped the phone onto her desk.

—What do you think that idiot is doing right now?

Ruzek looked up from the screen and ran a hand through his hair.

—Who knows? After crossing that river, he's probably looking for dry clothes and trying to keep his ass from freezing off.

Erin looked at him without much enthusiasm. They hadn't understood who she was referring to.