Bluegrass and Crimson

by Jeff Siebold

  The apartment number that Sally had provided was unit 506, a rear unit looking out over the James River to the south. She also gave him the floor plan of the building, identifying the location of the condo unit. Zeke and Kimmy circled the building on foot. From the south ground level they were able to see that the only light in unit 506 was a nightlight, or perhaps a weak light in the bathroom with the door pulled mostly closed. It’s as good a time as any, thought Zeke.

  He moved quietly to an exterior door of the apartment building that Ahmed occupied. Using a key secured from the local fire department, facilitated by Clive, Zeke opened the exit door and stepped into the building. Kimmy stepped in behind him.

  They scaled the five floors of steps quietly. Their shoes were silent on the polished concrete floor as they stepped to the sides of the solid front door. Zeke put on the night vision goggles that Clive had provided, stuck the small amount of C-4 explosive to the door on top of the deadbolt, turned his head away and four seconds later the explosive flashed and the metal door blew open, into the apartment.

  Zeke stepped through the living room quickly, tossed a flash-bang grenade into the bedroom and looked away. The result was both deafening and blinding in the contained space. Zeke followed the sound into the bedroom—nice view, he thought, looking out the window, then back to assess the situation. Ahmed sat on the edge of his bed, naked, stunned and blinded for a moment. The blonde girl was naked on the floor on the other side of the bed, holding her head between both forearms and screaming. When Zeke stepped toward Ahmed, he pulled a large knife from under the pillow and started waving it blindly in front of himself. It looked like a Bundeswehr Advanced Combat Knife, a black bladed weapon about twelve inches in length overall, and with a smooth, sharp single blade. Zeke recognized it as the knife of choice for the German military.

  Zeke easily blocked the waving knife with his forearm and quickly stepped in close to Ahmed. Using a standing arm lock, he twisted the knife hand until Ahmed’s elbow threatened to torque and break, while Ahmed punched him repeatedly with his left hand, small, powerful jabs to Zeke’s right side and leg. Zeke applied maximum pressure and both men heard the sickening sound of cracking bone. Ahmed screamed. Zeke easily took the black knife from Ahmed’s limp fingers and stepped back away from the assassin and took off the night vision goggles.

  Slowly regaining his vision and hearing, Ahmed cradled his right arm in his lap and Zeke could see him thinking, deriving a solution. Kimmy stepped into the room with her handgun raised, flipped on the overhead light, and moved along the foot of the bed to position herself near the girl. Zeke and Kimmy triangulated on Ahmed. Zeke blocked the bedroom door.

  Ahmed took a moment to look defeated, shoulders slumping, head down, and then he launched himself at Zeke, a bull rush, attacking waist high, looking to grapple on the ground and get hold of a weapon. He had few options. Zeke had anticipated the move and he gave Ahmed a short jab to the nose. Then, using tai sabaki, a body move, he stepped into the attack, blocked twisting to the left, which exposed Ahmed’s good arm and his left side, and executed a shin kick, an Ilyushin, to the back of the assassin’s thigh. Zeke’s kick hit the killer’s sciatic nerve squarely, as intended, and immediately Ahmed fell to the ground. That’s it, thought Zeke. He leaned down and, using a wrist lock to control him, cuffed Ahmed’s wrists and ankles with heavy plastic flex cuffs. Kimmy helped the blonde girl up from the floor to the bed, and as a precaution, cuffed her hands.

  Retrieving the night vision goggles, Zeke stepped into the living area while Kimmy watched the prisoner closely. He dialed his phone quickly.

  “4273,” answered Sally.

  “Tammy,” said Zeke, “I wanted to let you know that we’re finished here. Send in the clean up crew.”

  “OK, how much time do you need?” asked Sally.

  “Give me twenty minutes,” Zeke said.

  * * *

  “How did you meet?” Zeke asked the girl, again.

  She was sitting on the floor of the living room of Ahmed’s flat, her arms secured behind her and her legs crossed as Zeke had instructed her. Zeke was sitting in a dining room chair, which had been turned backwards. Ahmed was lying on the floor under Zeke’s chair, pinned to the floor by the chair and still secured with flex cuffs. His face was pale, most likely from the pain in his severely broken elbow. Zeke held his Glock in his right hand, loosely covering the killer.

  “At a club, at a dance club,” said the blonde. She had stopped screaming after she realized that Zeke and Kimmy weren’t there to kill or rape her, and she had finally, a few minutes later, calmed to the point that she could communicate. Kimmy had found a dress shirt in Ahmed’s closet and it was presently hanging from the girl’s shoulders, mostly covering her. From the look on her face, she was terrified. “We just met there,” she said, crying and repeating herself.

  Zeke nodded to Kimmy and gestured with his head toward the bedroom. It was apparent that the girl was a new acquaintance, ignorant of the assassin’s work. They had been questioning her for several minutes, and had found out that she was a secretary at a downtown Richmond law firm. She had broken up with her boyfriend two weeks ago, and her Doctor father and Public Relations mother lived on a small horse farm located between Richmond and Charlottesville. Kimmy had examined the girl’s identification, which she found in a purse on the dining room table, and it appeared to check out.

  Kimmy smiled and stood, careful to avoid the area between Zeke and the girl. She walked behind Zeke. “Let’s go in here, she said to the sitting girl,” who shrugged and stood up awkwardly and followed Kimmy’s lead.

  “Can you take these off?” she said, obviously referring to the flex cuffs.

  “Not quite yet, but soon,” said Kimmy. They disappeared into the bedroom, and Zeke heard the door close.

  “Ahmed,” said Zeke, “you’re in trouble, boy.”

  Ahmed Isaac, his face pale and drawn, looked at Zeke with hatred in his eyes. Zeke could feel the physical impact of the emotion but chose to ignore it.

  “Did you think you’d get away with killing an FBI agent?” Zeke continued. “That was about the dumbest move I can imagine. And then you stayed in the country. Wow.”

  “I have nothing to say to you,” said Ahmed. His voice was higher than Zeke expected, a light, almost feminine sound. “Kess Ikhtak.”

  “I don’t have a sister,” said Zeke, wryly. “But nice try.”

  Ahmed didn’t say anything.

  “What you want to tell me,” said Zeke, looking down over the back of the chair, still smiling, “is who hired you to kill the guy on the cruise ship.”

  “What cruise ship?” asked Ahmed.

  “Look, you’re finished anyhow, Ahmed. Not only were you taken down by a guy and a girl, and that’s embarrassing enough, but you lost a knife fight and suffered a broken elbow in the process. No one will be calling for your services anytime soon. You’ve embarrassed yourself.”

  Ahmed was silent, glaring hard at Zeke.

  “How about I break that other elbow,” said Zeke. “Elbows don’t heal well, you know. They usually end up fusing some bones together in there. Think about it. You won’t be able to feed yourself or wipe yourself or drive a car. You won’t be able to dress yourself or tie your shoes. You’ll be a laughingstock in the world of assassins, and you’ll be in jail. There’ll be no jihad for you, Ahmed.

  “Or, maybe I should shoot you here, and get it over with. Save the US Government the expense of taking care of you until your execution,” said Zeke. “That’s what you’d do for me, right?”

  “I’ll kill you,” said Ahmed, icily. “There’s no doubt about that, my friend.”

  Zeke moved the chair from on top of the man, and reached down, grabbing his broken arm to turn him over. Once Ahmed was face down, Zeke sat on his back, low down his spine, and stabilized himself there. Then he grabbed Ahmed’s wrists and lifted them up high. Ahmed screamed from the renewed pain grinding in his broken elbow.

  “So, Ahm
ed, who hired you?” asked Zeke.

  Chapter 34

  “4273,” said the female voice. Zeke could hear the smile behind the words. Sally had answered on the second ring, as he knew she would.

  “Hello, Tess,” said Zeke. It was Tuesday afternoon, and the protocol called for a female name starting with the same letter as the day of the week.

  “Hi, yourself,” said Sally. “I heard you’re returning to town tomorrow. Is this a business or a personal call?”

  “Little bit of both I guess,” said Zeke.

  “OK, business first. Eric suggested that you call him at your convenience. He wants to chat about the files you’ve isolated,” said Sally. ‘Eric’ was their code name for Clive Greene when talking on an unsecured phone line.

  “Can do,” said Zeke. “Please tell him I’ll plan to meet him tomorrow, after I get in.”

  “OK,” said Sally. “Anything else?”

  “Need a credit check on a couple of individuals. I’ll get you the names and social security numbers.” To Sally, a credit check meant a complete rundown of the suspect’s civil and criminal and family history, which, in fact, included a credit check, criminal background check and much more.

  “OK, can do,” said Sally. “Get me the details. Where are you now?”

  “Richmond,” he said. “Just wrapping things up here.”

  “OK, good,” said Sally. “Where are you staying?”

  “The Berkeley,” said Zeke, knowing that Sally already had access to that information. “Near downtown.”

  “Got it,” confirmed Sally. “Thanks.”

  * * *

  “I’ve got a couple days off, and I thought I’d bring my sexy tattoo to see Washington,” said Tracy. She’d called Zeke while he was leaving the Richmond FBI headquarters. His interview with the Special Agent in Charge had been more of a formality than an interrogation.

  “The last time I was in Atlanta, I enjoyed dinner with a lovely, smart woman,” said Zeke. “Are you available tomorrow night for an encore in DC?”

  “I’ll have to check on that,” said Tracy with a smile in her voice. “Just a moment.”

  “OK, I’m back,” she continued. “Where would you like to eat?”

  “Let’s try Rasika. Excellent Indian cuisine, and it’ll appeal to your occasional vegetarian preferences. It’s walking distance from The Agency offices…we can go there directly, when I finish my meeting with Clive.”

  “Haven’t been there yet,” said Tracy. Her voice sounded breathier. “That might be fun. OK, then I’m available.”

  She’s flirting, Zeke thought.

  “Good, I think you’ll like the Thali,” said Zeke. “I’ve heard that it’s outstanding.”

  “Thali?” she asked.

  “It has flavors of sweet, salt, bitter, sour, astringent and spicy on one round plate. Indian customs say that each meal should include all six flavors,” said Zeke.

  “Interesting. Let’s do it!” said Tracy. “I’ll find you at The Agency. I’ll come straight from the airport. I get in at two o’clock.”

  “Do you have a place to stay?” asked Zeke, teasing.

  “I’m counting on it,” Tracy said.

  Chapter 35

  “So it was the UVA group that hired Ahmed,” said Clive. He was mixing Boodles British Gin, ice, and a splash of tonic in a square Waterford crystal tumbler. Zeke sat in a comfortable club chair that shared the small table with Clive.

  “It was,” said Zeke. He was working on a room temperature Guinness draught that Clive had magically taken from his bar disguised as a file cabinet. They were sitting in a corner of Clive’s elegant office, with a view of DC from the floor to ceiling windows. It was after two o’clock Wednesday afternoon, and traffic was horrible. Zeke sipped.

  After they had captured the assassin and questioned him, Zeke and Kimmy turned Ahmed and the girl over to the Richmond FBI. With Clive’s help, the killer was detained, and the girl was questioned and released into her parents’ custody. She’d said that she wouldn’t be going out dancing again anytime soon. Neither will Ahmed, thought Zeke.

  “So this brings the UVA Arabic Student Group under our scrutiny,” said Clive.

  “Their leadership hired Ahmed to kill Roger Taylor,” said Zeke. “Ahmed didn’t know their motivation, but he was on the cruise ship as Titus Hansen, and he escaped after the murder in Freeport. Just walked off the ship,” said Zeke.

  “Did you collaborate the story?” asked Clive.

  “Yes, Sally found the bank account with the UVA deposit. It was a wire transfer, actually. Funny, it was the account that he set up three months ago, using his mother’s name and address in Philadelphia. The bank account that lead us to her,” said Zeke. “It showed up on her actual credit report as a newly opened account.”

  “Did he match the cruise ship photograph?” asked Clive.

  “He did,” said Zeke. “Longer hair and a moustache, but he’s a match.”

  “So, based on your previous experience with the crowd at Virginia, what do you think the motivation was?”

  “I still think it was a delay strategy,” said Zeke, sipping his beer. “From what I can see, there’s something planned, something big, and the group needed more time for it to come together. And, I suppose, Roger Taylor was getting too close, too fast.”

  “We’ll need to close them down,” said Clive. “And quickly.”

  “Agreed. We should enlist the help of our FBI brethren for that, I think.”

  * * *

  “That was outstanding,” said Tracy. She symbolically pushed away the plate that had held her Thali. It didn’t move very far.

  Zeke grinned at her across the small table. “It’s certainly authentic,” he said.

  Tracy was wearing a short, dark blue dress that accentuated her long legs. Her stylish barn boots matched her leather handbag, and gave her an equestrian air.

  She looked at Zeke with an arched eyebrow.

  “It’s nice to see you again,” she said with a smile.

  “Indeed,” said Zeke. “I feel the same way.”

  She was looking into his slate blue eyes from across the table, and he thought, She’s making a decision.

  “Dessert?” he asked.

  “Sure,” said Tracy.

  “You already know what you want, right?”

  “Oh yeah,” she said. “The Guava Chili Kulfi. I saw it on the menu.”

  “Ice cream from Bombay? Good choice” said Zeke. “Well, technically it’s Mambai now,” he said, looking around the room for their server.

  Inside Rasika, like most Washington, DC restaurants, seating was fairly tight. The dining area had a textured bamboo floor of light wood, and seating was a long row of two-top tables, with a long booth seat built into the wall on one side and individual chairs on the other. There were some areas that could accommodate larger groups, further back toward the kitchen. There was a full bar and a large wine display on the left side of the restaurant as you entered.

  Zeke ordered the Kulfi and a cup of Darjeeling Black tea for himself, then focused again on Tracy.

  “I don’t get to Atlanta to see you often enough,” he said.

  “I’ve noticed that,” said Tracy.

  The waiter brought the dessert and Zeke’s tea, gave a quick bow and backed away from the table.

  “What kind of tea did you order?” Tracy asked.

  “Organic Darjeeling Black tea,” he said. “It’s from West Bengal in India. It’s actually a Chinese tea plant that’s grown in India called Camellia Sinensis. It was taken to India in the mid-1800s by a doctor. This is the ‘first flush,’ the early season tea, and it’s supposed to be the best.”

  “Hmm,” said Tracy, taking another bite of the Kulfi and nodding. “What else do you know about it?”

  “Well,” he said, feigning seriousness, “this tea isn’t as oxidized as most black teas, so it has a more vibrant flavor. It actually tastes more like a wine than most other teas. Would you like to taste it?”
>
  The restaurant was on the street level of a three story mixed-use building, with apartments on the top two floors. The building appeared to be about a hundred years old, although it was well maintained and in very good condition.

  They finished the meal and the server cleared their plates.

  “We started early,” said Zeke.

  “We did,” said Tracy. “Right from the office.”

  “You look stunning tonight,” said Zeke with a smile.

  “Hmm. Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Traynor. Well, everywhere that’s worth going.”

  Chapter 36

  She shivered despite herself. Weather in this part of southern Turkey was fairly unpleasant, particularly at night. The unexpected rain washed dirt with it wherever it flowed and entered the buildings through loose doors and broken windows. As a result, dirt seemed to occupy every surface. And then the rain left as quickly as it had appeared. It provided little relief from the constant dryness that daily seemed to draw the moisture from her nose and mouth as she breathed. The temperature plunged thirty degrees at night, and it chilled Catherine’s bones.

  But Catherine Cook was committed. Together, the girls had come this far, suffering the increasingly difficult travel—first airplane, then train, then a bus that was most likely first put in service right after the Vietnam War. It had somehow survived these mountain roads with nicks and scratches, dents and missing parts, and despite all of that it managed to reach between Konya and Mursitpinar Bucagi on the border with the goats, chickens and silent old people intact.

  Catherine had been staying in the old, concrete building for eight days now. She was waiting for word to come that she had been approved to transverse the Turkish-Syrian border into Kobane, and then on to join the rebels. Her sister, Andrea, had already gone ahead. Two days ago she had kissed Catherine on the cheek, and with a smile she said, “Don’t worry, little sister, they’ll send for you soon. Probably just a day or so.” Then she had gone with the man who had come to fetch her. Catherine had cried when Andrea left.