That explained why “Al-Farook” had deteriorated so much physically over the course of the videos. It also explained why he hadn’t been blinking a warning in the first clip; at that point, the poor guy had absolutely no idea what he was involved in. It was only after they had dropped all pretense of helping him make it as an actor and dosed him with heroin that he had started asking us for help. And not one of us had even noticed. Not until Christine Simmons had spotted his blinking and started asking questions that I should have been asking all along.
“So, what was it all about?” I continued. “Putting your diamond rivals out of business?”
“Oh, good heavens, no. I’m afraid it isn’t even anything that noble or interesting.” Warick leant in closely. “Pure unadulterated greed, old boy. All about the money, as they say.”
Greed? All that damage, all those dead bodies were so he could steal diamonds from other merchants?
“You wanted money?” I asked incredulous. “But why? You told me you’re a millionaire?”
“Those who have money always want more. I’m afraid I’ve started to live a little beyond my means, and I decided that I needed to find a cheaper way of restocking my business than buying on the open market. After all, as one of the world’s leading diamond merchants, I had the perfect way of getting rid of the stolen goods! No one would suspect a thing.
“Of course, that meant that there had to be a few diamonds left behind for you and your friends to find, otherwise you’d soon realize these weren’t terrorist attacks at all, but simple burglaries. However, as you now know, thanks to my classes, burned diamonds take on a very particular appearance. An appearance that isn’t too hard to fake when you know how. We simply blew up the stores, took out the real diamonds, planted the fake burned ones and then set the real fires. Genius, right?”
“You killed all those people for money?” I asked, disgusted, unable to get past the fact that one of the richest men I knew had turned to robbery.
“In fairness, Jason,” Warick replied, in mock seriousness, “it was an awful lot of money. Besides, you and MI5 would never have fallen for my little terrorist narrative if I hadn’t killed a few infidels in the process.”
If I could have gotten my hands on him, I thought to myself. But it was useless. He held all the cards—and his sidekick held the only weapon in the room.
“So, what? You just wanted to show off how clever you’ve been before you dispatch me, as well?”
Warick shrugged. “Pretty much, yes.” He sighed. “You probably won’t believe me, but I didn’t want it to end like this. One more job, I’d decided, and then Al-Farook was going to turn up dead and the whole episode would be over. You and I could even have carried on being friends. If only you hadn’t hooked up with that smart little piece of tail at MI5, eh?”
I jerked forward, unable to keep my temper in check any further, but I only succeeded in nearly wrenching my shoulders from their sockets.
“Such a temper!” Warick was speaking to his henchman now. “I know, let’s give my good friend, Jason, here a little treat. How would you like to meet Ahmed Al-Farook? How would you like to see the criminal mastermind you’ve been up against all this time?”
Warick was enjoying himself immensely. I just had to hope against hope that his pride made him too arrogant, and that he made a mistake. I had to play the part; play along, and wait for any window of opportunity.
“Dean,” he addressed the gunman now. “Go and fetch Aquil—if he’s not drowned in his own vomit by now.”
Dean nodded and headed out of a doorway to my right. Warick stubbed out his cigarette. He was quieter now, without an audience to perform for.
“Boss!” There was an anxious shout from somewhere within the building. Warick darted from the room, and I began to explore whatever was binding my hands with my fingers. I could hardly get any purchase on the rope, and too much movement only seemed to tighten the knots, cutting off the circulation to my fingers. I cast my eyes around the room in desperation, looking for anything that could help me cut my way free, but there was nothing.
Warick burst back into the room, snarling, his face transformed by anger. “Where the fuck is he?” I was startled.
“Who?” I found myself asking, although I could hazard a guess. Warick grabbed me by the throat, forcing me to gasp to get any air at all into my lungs.
“You know very well who. Where the fuck is he?” With every word, he tightened his grip. I could feel my eyes bulging in my face; the pressure was horrendous.
“Boss, no!” the gunman shouted as he returned. Warick let go, and I wheezed and coughed while I tried to recover, tears rolling down my cheeks and spots dancing in front of my eyes.
Warick turned his anger on the gunman now. “You said you weren’t followed back here. That bloody MI5 bitch must have tracked you back here and found him. You’re a bloody fool; couldn’t even shake off a woman.” He paced the room as he lit another cigarette. “If they have him, there’s no way we can carry out the next attack.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “You’re crazy, Warick. You were going to go ahead with the attack, when an MI5 agent has your cover story in custody and when you’ve just told your whole plan to someone from the CIA?”
Warick sneered. “MI5 have nothing. Our ‘cover story,’ as you call him, was so wasted the whole time, I’d be surprised if he can remember his own name by now. I told you—one more heist and I’ll have enough to live a life of luxury in some banana republic without an extradition treaty.” He paused. “But I can’t risk MI5 keeping hold of Aquil. He may know more than I think and I can’t afford to put my operation on hold a minute longer. Clock’s already started ticking, Jason old boy!”
Warick turned to the gunman. “Bring me his phone,” he ordered. “I’m going to arrange a little prisoner transfer.”
“You’re insane, Warick,” I told him. “Do you think that if you let me go, you’re going to get away with this? And besides, MI5 doesn’t negotiate with terrorists.”
“I’m sure your little MI5 girlfriend will want to negotiate,” Warick said with a leer. “And, as for letting you go, well, who says that MI5 are going to get you away from the transfer alive?”
With that, Warick delivered a stinging backhand, and I slipped into unconsciousness once again.
Chapter 15
Christine
Henri took Aquil and me straight back to the safe house. All the way back, I was trying to keep the young man conscious; I knew if we lost him, we lost our best chance of finding who was really responsible for the attacks—although I was more convinced than ever that Adam Warick was involved somehow. I wasn’t sure if he was involved directly, or if he just knew far more than he was letting on, but he definitely had questions to answer. My main concern now was whether or not Jason was also involved. That, and why Jason wasn’t answering his phone.
At the safe house, Luc made Aquil some of his famous coffee —“a cure for everything” he told me—while Henri made a few calls to get an emergency doctor to make a house call.
I sat with Aquil on the sofa in the main living area, and watched car after car pull up outside, spilling out armed officers.
“Aquil, how are you?” I asked quietly. The young man smiled weakly.
“Better for being away from that place and those men.”
I bit my lip. I had so many questions but I also knew that if I pushed Aquil too hard, too quickly, that we could lose him. The full debrief could wait until the doctor had seen him, but there was one thing I had to know.
“Aquil, do you know a man named Warick?”
The look of pure terror that crossed the young man’s face told me everything I needed to know. He tried to speak, but I shushed him.
“It’s OK, Aquil. We can talk later.”
Aquil shook his head. “Warick is here. Now,” he told me urgently, pulling at my sleeve.
“I know, Aquil,” I answered, trying to keep him calm. “You don’t have to talk. Just rest, pleas
e.”
“I’ve only seen Warick a few times,” he continued. “He met me in Morocco and told me he would make me an actor, but he just dressed me up like a terrorist and put me in front of a camera. When I complain, he turns nasty. Injects me with drugs. Put me in front of camera and make me say terrible things.”
“It’s OK,” I reassured Aquil. “We know it’s nothing to do with you. You don’t have to worry about anything. Please try and relax.”
Aquil shook his head. He was trying to make me understand something, but I obviously wasn’t getting what he was trying to say.
“After that, I only see Warick day before the attacks. But his men tell me last week the next attack on Thursday. That’s not right, yes?”
Realisation began to dawn. “You mean, because Warick is already here, you think they’ve moved the date of the next attack forward?”
Aquil nodded. “Warick told me this is last attack. After this, he has no use for me.” The young man began to cry. My heart was breaking. This young man had been through hell; and, worse, everyone believed he was responsible for terrible crimes, when he was actually a victim.
“Aquil, I promise I will keep you safe. I will not let Warick hurt you. No matter what happens.”
My phone began to ring, and I motioned for Luc to come over and sit with Aquil until the doctor arrived. It was Jason. Thank God, I said to myself. There would be plenty of time to get angry with him later. For now, I was just relieved that he was OK.
“Jason, it’s Christine,” I answered. “Where the hell are you?”
“Ah, the beautiful Agent Simmons,” said a voice I recognized instantly. Warick.
“What’s going on? Where’s Jason?” I asked, trying, and failing, to keep my voice even.
“Well, I think you know the answer to that question, my dear,” he answered. “Seeing as I have my suspicions that you followed my clumsy colleague back to my place earlier today and removed something very precious to me.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I replied, trying to catch Luc’s attention, and then gesturing for him to fetch Henri.
“You have Ahmed Al-Farook, Agent Simmons. And I would like him back.”
“Why do you need him? You don’t have to hide behind terrorism any more. In fact, you can’t hide behind terrorism anymore.”
“Let’s just say I don’t want to leave any loose ends.”
I laughed. “And what makes you think I’m just going to hand an innocent young man over to his death?”
Warick paused. “Because I have Jason Kern, and I suspect that you want him back as much as I would like to see Mr Al-Farook again.”
I paused. Would he really swap Jason for Aquil? Unlikely, I calculated. It was in Warick’s best interest for both men to die. For all I knew, Jason was dead already.
“I want to speak to him,” I demanded. Warick laughed.
“I’m afraid he’s, well, he’s having a little nap at the moment. But I can arrange for you to see him soon. Bring Al-Farook to the house where you found him. Alone. And then I’ll hand over Agent Kern. Happy ever after.”
Warick hung up. Henri looked at me questioningly.
“He has Jason,” I said. “He wants to swap for Aquil.” We both looked over to where the young man had fallen asleep on the sofa. Already he looked ten times better than when I had found him in Warick’s house just a few hours ago. Could I ask him to risk going back into that hellhole? I had no choice; if Jason was involved, then he had to face justice, and, if he was innocent, then I had to get him out of there.
Or maybe Warick and Jason were still working together. Maybe this whole exchange was a trap, playing on my feelings for my fellow agent, and putting everyone else at risk in the process.
“What do you want to do?” Henri asked.
“We’re going to get Jason,” I told him.
An hour later, I pulled up at the house with a slumped Al-Farook in the front seat of the car. Henri and Luc were in position nearby, but I had told them to stay back unless absolutely necessary. I didn’t want to give Warick any excuse to go back on his word—not that I actually expected him to play by the rules.
“Warick,” I called out, and the door of the building squeaked open. The gunman from the square emerged, pointlessly wearing his balaclava again, and peered behind me into the car.
“Is he dead?” he asked with a laugh.
I opened the car door and gently shook the sleeping figure awake. He was wrapped in blankets to try and keep him warm, and he needed to rest all his weight on my arm just to stand.
“Now, where’s Jason?” I demanded.
“Come out, loverboy,” the gunman called, and Jason stumbled forward into the street, a couple of ripe bruises already forming on his cheek.
“Send our man over,” called the gunman.
“Same time,” I countered, desperately trying to see if I could spot Warick himself lurking in any of the windows of the building. I couldn’t imagine him missing this show.
“Same time,” the gunman agreed. “On three?” I nodded, placing my hand in the small of Al-Farook’s back, ready to propel him forward.
Just before the count of three, I heard the all-too familiar sound of a gunshot, and Al-Farook slumped to the ground next to me, groaning in pain.
“Jason, run!” I screamed, hoping that Henri and Luc had also heard the gunshot and were on their way. I felt another bullet whistle past my ear and shatter the car window. The gunman was laughing, and I saw that he had hold of Jason around the neck. There was someone else shooting. Warick himself, maybe?
I bent down as if tending to Al-Farook, and took out the gun that we had previously hidden in the folds of his blankets. He was still alive, but bleeding. I would have to check how seriously he was injured in a moment; for now, I had to try and get that gunman away from Jason. I turned and fired an instinctive shot, hitting the gunman in the side of the neck. He slumped backward, an arc of bright red blood painting the wall, but, more importantly, releasing his hold on Jason, who stumbled forward toward the car. I helped him inside, screaming at him to help me get Al-Farook into the vehicle with him.
I knew Warick could recover his poise at any moment, and was just waiting for the shooting to start again. When it did, I was surprised and relieved to realize it was coming from the end of the street, where Henri and Luc had said they would wait.
Henri nodded at me as I jumped into the driver’s seat. He was radioing for back-up. Surely, Warick wouldn’t get away this time.
“Thank you,” Jason said breathlessly from the back seat.
I made eye contact with him in the rearview mirror as I drove away and left the bloody scene behind us. “Is he OK?” I asked. Jason looked confused. “The guy in the back—is he OK?”
“Al-Farook?” Jason queried.
I rolled my eyes. “Of course it isn’t Al-Farook, you idiot. Do you think we’d risk letting Warick get his hands back on him? It’s one of Henri’s agents in disguise. Now I’ll ask you again—is he OK?”
Chapter 16
Jason
Back at the safe house, I was checked over by a doctor—after he had seen to Christine’s fake terrorist, who had been hit in the leg, but who would survive. No permanent injuries, he told me with a smile.
Christine watched over us all like some sort of mother hen. I wanted to speak to her, to tell her how grateful I was that her quick thinking had saved me, but she was determined to keep her distance; even more so than after we had slept together on the plane.
Every time I approached her, she would suddenly feel the need to speak to the doctor or make an important phone call, and she worked hard to make sure we were never left alone together.
Finally, I had no choice but to talk to her with Luc listening in, no matter how embarrassing I found it.
“I wanted to thank you,” I started, making both of them jump. “That plan, that was amazing work. I was sure when Warick wanted to arrange an exchange that one or both of us was going to end up dead.
”
I paused. If thanking another agent for saving my stupid skin was hard, then the next bit was going to be even harder. “And I wanted to apologize.” Christine kept her eyes firmly fixed on the table, and poor Luc didn’t know where to look.
“Christine,” I persisted. “I want to say I’m sorry. For fighting you over Warick. I put us both—put us all—in danger. And all because I refused to accept that I might have made a mistake, and that you might be right about him.”
Luc coughed nervously and got up from his seat, mumbling something about making fresh coffee. Christine finally looked up at me, but her eyes were not filled with the forgiveness I wanted to see; she looked angry.
“Damn right, you should be sorry,” she hissed at me, keeping her voice lowered despite her anger. “You put this whole operation in danger because you were blinded by your friendship with that man. How could you not even consider that he might be up to no good, given the evidence? I mean, the only conclusion—”
Christine suddenly stopped speaking and shook her head sadly. What conclusion? What had she been about to say? That she thought I was in on it, too? I know things had gone incredibly wrong with Warick, but she had to believe that I knew nothing about his plans.
“Christine, please talk to me. I want more than anything to make this right, but you have to give me a chance to explain.”
She lifted her head again. “OK,” she began. “Explain to me. Explain how this criminal supposedly had you hoodwinked for years; fooled you into believing this insane story about an Islamic terrorist blowing up diamond shops; fooled you into not even seeing the evidence in front of your own eyes?” Christine stood up from the table, as if ready to leave. “I’m beginning to think that I’m the one who’s been fooled here.”
Toxic Seduction (Romantic Secret Agents Series Book 3) Page 9
