The Midnight House - Couverture rigide

. . . I go to the place of no return, to the land of gloom and deep shadow, to the land of deepest night.

—Job 10:21–22

Praise for

THE MIDNIGHT HOUSE

“In Berenson’s skillful hands, moral dilemmas and rousing action produce a novel very much worth reading.”

—The Dallas Morning News

“Berenson tells a fast-paced and riveting tale that ranges from derring-do in Pakistan and Cairo, to plodding gumshoe detection in L.A. and New Orleans, to assassination in San Francisco, and to bureaucratic trench warfare in Washington, D.C. His characters are either deftly sketched or fully realized. His writing is succinct, with dashes of cynical humor. But the book’s linchpin is decisions made by the U.S. after 9/11—decisions that seem to be sparking a flurry of outstanding espionage novels, with Berenson’s work in the forefront.”

—Booklist

“Ingeniously plotted and fast-paced . . . The story features emotionally affecting and high-action scenes in vividly portrayed settings; memorable characters contribute to the reader’s comprehension of how the CIA’s overseas ‘rendition’ program may have been of enormous benefit to national security but also grossly immoral and personally destructive to its participants, terror suspects and interrogators alike. Verdict: Arguably Berenson’s best thriller yet, this outstanding novel stands on the top rung of commercial spy fiction.”

—Library Journal

“A superbly crafted spy thriller that doubles as a gripping mystery; the reader has no idea who the killer is until Wells figures it out.”

—Kirkus Reviews

“John Wells is back, lean and just mean enough . . . Berenson, who has covered the Iraq war for the New York Times, does a fine job with the book’s globe-trotting settings and satisfyingly twisted plot. Wells is a refreshing thriller hero, sort of the anti–Jack Bauer. Although The Midnight House has its share of cinematic firefights and fisticuffs, we more often see Wells pursuing the real work of spycraft: learning a culture well enough to blend in (whether in Pakistan or Langley), listening to people closely enough to see what’s going on behind their words, practicing patience.”

—St. Petersburg Times

THE SILENT MAN

“The Silent Man succeeds in seizing the [reader’s] attention from the start and never letting go.”

—The New York Times

“John Wells saves the world for the third time in as many books, but we wouldn’t have it any other way . . . Keeps the reader caring and guessing until the end.”

—Booklist

“A remarkable novel of espionage based on real-world threats and a chillingly plausible scenario.”

—The Calgary Sun

“It’s an exciting story and a timely one . . . Superior entertainment.”

—The Washington Post

“Well-plotted and thoughtful . . . Fast and furious when it needs to be, this is a welcome addition to an excellent series.”

—Publishers Weekly

“A swift and gripping read reminiscent of David Stone’s thrillers.”

—Library Journal

“Action-packed, thrilling.”

—Kirkus Reviews

THE GHOST WAR

“The authenticity Berenson brings to his ripped-from-the-headlines stories makes them seem as vividly real and scary as nonfiction or the nightly news.”

—Booklist

“Heart-pumping adventure.”

—USA Today

“Mesmerizing . . . an extraordinary achievement.”

—The (Raleigh, NC) News & Observer

“An engaging story that will have readers captivated . . . A fast-paced story of international intrigue and espionage . . . Wells is a fine character who will likely propel Berenson’s thrillers to success for some time to come.”

—Chicago Sun-Times

“A very sophisticated vision . . . Geopolitically savvy.”

—The New York Times

“A novel that offers a thrill a page and delivers a terrific story.”

—The (Toronto) Globe and Mail

“Terrific and relentless suspense and action.”

—Kirkus Reviews

THE FAITHFUL SPY

WINNER OF THE EDGAR® AWARD

“A well-crafted page-turner that addresses the most important issue of our time. It will keep you reading well into the night.”

—Vince Flynn

“One of the best espionage books of all time.”

—William Stevenson, author of A Man Called Intrepid

“An intriguing thriller studded with alarming possibilities.”

—New York Daily News

“The best spy thriller in a long, long while.”

—The Kansas City Star

“Berenson offers a very American story—a sort of terrorist High Noon . . . Exciting.”

—The New York Times

“A hold-your-breath thriller . . . a grabber.”

—St. Louis Post-Dispatch

“Mounting suspense, a believable scenario, and a final twist add up to a compelling tale of frightening possibilities.”

—Publishers Weekly

“A well-informed, often chilling look at how al-Qaeda might launch a major new attack in the United States.”

—The Washington Post

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

Published by the Penguin Group

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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

THE MIDNIGHT HOUSE

A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

PRINTING HISTORY

G. P. Putnam’s Sons hardcover edition / February 2010

Jove premium edition / February 2011

Copyright © 2010 by Alex Berenson.

Excerpt from The Secret Soldier copyright © by Alex Berenson.

The Edgar® name is a registered service mark of Mystery Writers of America, Inc.

Cover design by Jae Song.

Cover photograph of A9X1TN Minarets Sultan Hasan with Alrifai Mosques, Cairo, Egypt © Russell Kord / Alamy; cover photograph of man in overcoat running down street at night—car lights behind B7YGJ6 © Larry Lilac / Alamy; stepback photograph of hallway by Spencer Desmod/stock.xchng; stepback photograph of moon by Hans Thoursie/Serpentino.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

ISBN: 978-1-101-18526-1

JOVE®

Jove Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

JOVE® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

The “J” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

PROLOGUE

ISLAMABAD, PAKISTAN. JUNE 2008

To the worst place in the world.”

“The worst place in the world.”

George Fezcko and Dwayne Maggs raised their glasses and drank. The going-away party was over. One by one, the ops had said their good-byes and disappeared. Only Fezcko and Maggs were left. Fezcko, the guest of honor, leaving Pakistan after four years as deputy chief of station. And Maggs, his best friend at the agency.

The clock on the wall said 1:30, and they’d been drinking since dinner, but Fezcko felt solid. Maggs had gotten hold of a half-dozen Omaha steaks and two racks of ribs. The meat had soaked up most of the scotch in Fezcko’s belly.

Though not all. Fezcko put his head against the cool wood of the conference table and hummed tunelessly: “‘We few, we ragged few, we motley crew . . .’” He trailed off. He couldn’t remember the rest of the song, or even if there was a rest of the song.

“Mötley Crüe,” Maggs said. “Dirty deeds, done dirt cheap.”

“That’s AC/DC.”

“Marine recon, too.”

“Why does it always go back to the marines? By now everyone in this country knows you’re a jarhead. All one hundred fifty million.” Fezcko tapped Maggs on the forehead. “Tattoo it right there. The few, the proud, the stupid.”

“You wish you coulda been a marine,” Maggs said. “Berkeley boy. You wouldn’t have made it through the first week of basic. Eaten up and spat out.”

Maggs was the station’s director of security. He was short and wide and strong, arms as big as an average man’s legs. Fezcko had thinning curly hair and wild black eyes. In college he’d played bass for a band that had almost broken out. They shouldn’t have gotten along. But they did.

“A marine? I wish I coulda been Tom Brady.”

“The Islamic Republic of Pakistan. Land of the free, home of the suicide bomber. Bet you miss it already,” Maggs said.

“What’s not to miss? The earthquakes. The weather. The fifteen pounds I put on ’cause it’s too hot to run outside.” Fezcko poked at the belly he’d gained.

“Can’t blame Paki for that. That gym in the basement is pretty good. As you’d know if you ever visited.”

“I like to run outside.”

“How about the women? Those beautiful Paki women.”

Fezcko sipped his scotch. “Black-and-blue with the ugly stick,” he said. “I never should have let Marci divorce me. Maybe if our security officers didn’t lock us in the embassy all the time, maybe then we’d find out what those burqas are hiding. Can’t even go down the block to the Marriott for a going-away party. It’s a Marriott, for God’s sake.”

Indeed, because of the risk of terrorist attacks, the agency barred employees in Pakistan from gathering at hotels and restaurants. Maggs had refused to make an exception, even tonight.

“Don’t mind getting you killed, but there’s got to be a reason,” Maggs said. “You know better than me, they aim for that Marriott once a month. I know who you’re gonna miss. The army and the ISI”—the Inter-Services Intelligence agency, the Pakistani secret police. Between them the two services more or less ran Pakistan.

“The army and the ISI. The ISI and the army. I’ll tell you something about the ISI and the army.”

“Yeah. Give me the speech. With feeling. Like I haven’t heard it a hundred times before.”

“The Egyptians, the Saudis, when they lie to you, they do it with a smile. Pour you tea, tell a story that takes an hour, and when they’re done you’re about ready to fall for whatever they’re spinning. These guys, they just yell, like if I give you this nonsense at high volume it won’t sound so ridiculous. They aren’t all bad, maybe, but most of ’em . . .”

“Remember when they won that cricket match and almost burned down Karachi?”

Fezcko looked into his glass. “You really think Paki’s the worst place in the world?”

“Somalia’s bad.”

“Worse than this?”

“Hotter. And blacker.”

“You think you can say that just ’cause you’re black? Insult your African cousins?”

Maggs smirked. “I can say it because I’m a marine.”

“Let’s drink to Somalia, then,” Fezcko said. “The even-worse worst place in the world.”

“Somalia. See you there.”

“Three years. It’ll be like that movie with the French chick—”

“I always knew you were gay, George—”

Fezcko struggled for the memory lurking in his alcohol-fogged brain. “Ethan Hawke. Julie Something—”

“Gayer by the second.”

“Before Sunrise,” Fezcko said triumphantly.

. . .

AND THEN HIS PAGER buzzed.

He pulled it off his waist, squinted at it. The scotch had blurred his eyes, and he didn’t recognize the numbers. Then he did. 36963. Code for “call me now” from Nawiz Khan, a division chief for the ISI. Fezcko slid the pager across the table to Maggs.

“Nawiz?” Maggs said. “Wants to wish you good-bye.”

Fezcko didn’t trust the ISI, but he did trust Khan, since a blown raid in Peshawar two years back. He and Khan had had to shoot their way out of an apartment. Khan took a round in the left thigh that night. He still favored the leg.

Fezcko stood, feeling the steak and the ribs twist in his gut, and headed down the hall, shielding his eyes from the fluorescent lights. He touched his thumb to the fingerprint reader beside the door of his office. Inside, he sat down heavily on the edge of his desk and called Khan.

Who answered after a single ring.

“Fezcko,” Khan said, somehow making the name sound glamorous. The years he’d spent at university in London had given him a soft English accent.

“Nawiz?”

“May I speak freely?”

“You asking if this line is secure? Yeah, it’s secure.”

“Also if you are as drunk as you sound.”

Fezcko laughed. “Not quite. Though it’s been a long night.”

“It has been a long night for me as well, George. But I have something you will want to see.”

“Something or someone?”

“Both.”

“Big?”

“If you’re asking me, am I in line for your fifty million dollars”—the CIA’s reward for the capture of Osama bin Laden—“the answer is no. But, my friend, I wouldn’t have called at this hour if this wasn’t worth your while. You may want to let your CT team know as well.”

CT was agency lingo for the practice known publicly as extraordinary rendition. The letters stood for “collection and transfer,” snatching suspected terrorists from their home countries and holding them in American custody.

“My CT team,” Fezcko said. “That’s me and Maggs. As you know.”

“My men will make the arrest, then. And I will give them to you as a going-away present.”

“‘Them’? What are you doing to me, Nawiz?”

“The question you should be asking me is what am I doing for you.”

“We gonna need a G-five for this?” A Gulfstream V jet, capable of carrying a dozen passengers halfway around the world without refueling, and thus the...

'Wells is an action hero, a close cousin of Jack Bauer of "24" fame' Washington Post

Early one morning, a former CIA agent is shot dead in San Francisco. That night, an army vet is gunned down in his doorway. The next day, John Wells gets a phone call from his CIA bosses. Come to Langley. Now.

Wells discovers what links the victims: they were part of an interrogation team that operated out of a secret US base in Poland called the Midnight House. Only a handful of people knew of its existence. For two years, the team put the screws on the toughest jihadis, men thought to have knowledge of imminent threats - and they used whatever means necessary. Disbanded in the wake of public controversy, they were given medals for their heroism, Prozac for their nightmares. Now Wells must find out who is killing them.

Islamic terrorists are the likeliest explanation, and Wells is uniquely qualified to go undercover after them. But the trail of blood he discovers will lead him and his boss, Ellis Shafer, to a place they could not have imagined - and leave Wells facing tough questions about loyalty, patriotism and the men of the Midnight House.

Praise for Alex Berenson:

'A thriller worthy of le Carré' Kirkus Reviews

'Heart-pumping adventure' USA Today

'One of the best new spy writers' Sun

'A story torn from today's headlines ... Gritty and fast-moving' Observer