“That’s right, though in conjunction with other synthetic psychotropics we developed ourselves. Combining the drugs and specialized interviewing techniques, we can hit an eighty-five to ninety percent cooperation rate. The subject has virtually no will to deceive or withhold information.” There was pride in her voice.

But Dante Spiro said, “You say humane but these men were at risk!”

“No. They were never in any danger.”

Sachs gave a faint laugh. “You know, the gallows were very shoddy.”

“Exactly. We designed them to fall apart before they’d do any damage. And in any event, an anonymous call would be made to the police reporting a crime and a victim held captive.”

“And Malek Dadi, the man killed outside Capodichino?” Rossi asked. “Ah, but he was killed coincidentally by robbers.”

“Stefan tried to save him. He was very upset that the man had died. He took it personally.”

Lifting his hands, palms up, Spiro said, “But one matter confuses me. The victims—”

“The suspects, the terrorists,” she corrected in a firm voice.

“—the victims would know about the interrogation. They could tell someone and word would get out about your operation.”

Sachs said slowly, “Except they didn’t. Maziq and Jabril didn’t remember anything that happened. And that seemed genuine.”

“It was.”

“Of course,” Rhyme said. Those in the room turned to him. “We assumed the electroconductive gel found at the first kidnapping site in Naples was from Stefan’s treatments. But, no, you gave the victims shock treatment. To destroy their short-term memory.”

McKenzie nodded. “That’s right. They might have fragments of memories, but those’d be like memories of a dream.”

Rhyme said, “But what happens to them afterward? They’re still terrorists.”

“We monitor them. Hope they change their ways. If not, we have a preemptive talk with them. At worst, relocate them where they won’t do any damage.” She lifted her shoulders. “What in life is one hundred percent effective all the time? We’re stopping terror attacks humanely. There’ll be speed bumps along the way, but on the whole our project is working.”

Spiro regarded her with his narrow eyes. “Your operation…The fake kidnapping in New York, the real kidnappings here, the release of a psychotic patient, exotic drugs…So very much work. So very complicated.”

McKenzie didn’t hesitate. She said evenly, “You could try to fly from here to Tuscany by balloon and, if the winds cooperated and with some luck, end up in the vicinity of Florence, after a day or so. Or you could get into a jet and be in the city, efficiently and quickly, whatever the conditions, in one hour. A balloon is a very simple way to travel. A jet much more complicated. But what’s the most effective?”

Rhyme was sure she had made this argument before—probably before a Senate or House finance committee.

McKenzie continued, “I’ll tell you my background…and the background of the director of our organization.”

Rossi said, “Intelligence officers usually come from the military or other branches of government. Academia sometimes.”

“Well, I was government service and he was army intelligence, but before that: I was a producer in Hollywood, working on indie films. He was an actor in college and worked on Broadway some. We have experience turning the implausible into the believable. And do you know what people buy into the most? The biggest fantasies. So outrageous that nobody thinks to question them. Hence, Stefan Merck, the psychotic kidnapper, composing waltzes to die by. How could he possibly be involved in espionage? And even if he told anyone, why, he’d be dismissed as crazy.”