Rasheed leered at him, but Badri cut in. “What do you suggest?”
“Some beef, vegetables. The electric stove works, I checked, and there are a couple of iron pots we could use. No reason we have to live like animals here.”
Rasheed opened his mouth to speak, but Badri cut in. “You are right. Make a list. Rasheed will get it for us.”
“Don’t you think it’d be better for me to go?” said Morgan. “I’m American. Nobody’s going to think anything of my being there.”
“Fine,” said Badri.
“He will take our car and escape!” Rasheed bellowed. “He will send the police after us.”
“He will not,” Badri said with finality. Then he turned to Morgan. “I will get you the money.”
Badri sent him out with twenty dollars. Morgan drove into Palmyra and parked outside the town’s one modest grocery store. At the single register was a bored teen who didn’t pry his eyes away from his phone for one second when Morgan came in.
He scoped the store, looking for the cameras. There were none. He walked to the refrigerator and picked up a tray of beef and another of chicken thighs. He looked back at the teen, who spared him not so much as a glance, and then tucked them in his waistband, one in front and one in the back, well covered by his loose T-shirt. He winced as the cold came into contact with his skin.
He heard the door swing open, and turned to see a policeman walk inside. Morgan went stiff, then forced himself back to relaxation.
“Mornin’,” said the cop. He wore a white Stetson, and had eyes that were constantly narrowed.
“Mornin’,” Morgan said, picking up a head of broccoli and some potatoes.
“Sheriff Anderson,” he said, lifting his hat.
“Dan. Dan Morgan.”
“Just passing through?”
“That’s right.” Morgan took his groceries to the cashier, wondering whether the sheriff had noticed the bulges under his shirt.
But instead the sheriff looked outside. “Say, I’ve seen that car before.” The sheriff pointed at the truck Morgan had driven in, parked outside the door. “You out there at the old Peterson place?”
“Four seventy-one,” said the listless teen. Morgan dug into his pocket for the money, careful not to disturb the meat.
“I have no idea,” Morgan said. “I’m staying with a friend.”
“Young Middle Eastern fella?”
“The same,” Morgan said. “Rasheed. A friend’s nephew, actually. House sitting for his uncle. He’s worried about the boy, asked me to come down and have a look-see. Find out if he’s all right. But I’m really just dropping in for a day or two.”
“He looks a little perturbed,” Sheriff Anderson said.
“He’s got some issues. You know.” He made a couple of circles with his index finger around his ear. “But he’s a good kid. Harmless.”
“Well. That’s good to know.”
“And he seems okay, all things considered. So I’m eager to tell his father that.”
Sheriff Anderson frowned. “Wasn’t it his uncle?”
Morgan cursed in his mind. “I know them both. His father is worried about him, too.” God damn it. He was better than this.
“Well, you do that,” Anderson said.
The cashier handed Morgan his change. “Here you go, sir.”
Morgan walked out and started his truck. When he was out of sight of the store, he pulled the meat out from under his shirt and tossed it in the passenger seat.
He had one more stop to make.
He cruised the town until he found a mom-and-pop electronics store, Bob’s TV and Radio. He went inside to find a balding middle-aged man he figured was Bob standing behind the counter. It was a small store, and it took him under a minute to find what he was looking for.
“I’ll take one of these,” said Morgan, setting the item on the counter.
“Prepaid cell phone?”
“Yeah. My phone got bricked. Need something to tide me over until I can get back home.”
“I gotcha,” said Bob. “That’ll be nineteen ninety nine.”
“All I got is fifteen,” Morgan said, making a show of being flustered. “Fifteen dollars and . . . twenty-nine cents.”
Bob raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Is that right?”
“Any chance I can get you to do a stranger a solid?” Please.
Bob rubbed his chin between his fingers. “Well, all right,” he said. “Give me what you got. Still makes me a profit, if you can call that a profit. And I’m a good Christian man. I can help a brother out. Let’s ring you up.”
God bless you, Bob.
Morgan set the bills on the counter, and then dropped the coins. He walked to the truck on trembling legs, turning on the ignition and driving away. He waited until he was in the highway before turning the phone on and making a call.
“Hello?” A woman’s voice.
“Bloch? It’s me.”
Chapter Forty-three
When Morgan arrived at the house, he hid the phone, still on, under a brick that was resting against the foundation. Then he went inside, grocery bags in hand.
“I brought a good haul,” said Morgan, setting them on the table. “I’ll whip us up some steaks on the iron skillet.”
“We need to talk about our plan,” said Badri. “We cannot stay here long. Every minute is a moment when we could be found out.”
They sat down together around the table to discuss the plan. “Our target,” he said, “needs to be symbolic, and it needs to kill a lot of people. There’s one day that’s better than any other if you want to do this.”
“What’s that?” Badri asked.
“The Fourth of July. The most patriotic of holidays. The parades attract enormous crowds. You can kill thousands upon thousands on the day when Americans get together to celebrate this country. We’re two weeks away, which means we can organize attacks on more than one city. New York, Chicago, Washington.”
“I like what I hear,” said Badri.
“Police won’t be able to check everyone. They’ll have bomb-sniffing dogs, but we won’t need explosives. Those canisters have rapid release mechanisms that can send up a cloud of the powder in something like a fifty-foot radius. Rasheed, do you have paper?”
They spent hours strategizing. Morgan drew the parade routes from memory as best he could, saying that they could check it online as soon as they had a connection, and marked likely spots, places that would cause the most deaths, the most panic, and how to set off a second device to target a wave of fleeing pedestrians.
It was late afternoon by the time they decided to break, and Morgan left Badri and Rashid to cook their dinner of steak and potatoes. He had long known that to impress people in the kitchen, you only need to do one or two things well, and this was his. The smell of searing meat filled the house. They ate together at the table. After the planning and the meal, even Rasheed seemed to be warming up to him.
After dinner, Morgan sat down on the couch and Badri pulled up a chair across from him. Rasheed went outside for a walk.
“I will be honest,” said Badri, “I had my doubts about you, even until today. But your plan—I finally believe you are one of us, without reservation. We will do great things together, Morgan. You will be part of something here that will be remembered for generations, a definite blow to—”
Rasheed burst into the house, slamming the screen door open, gun drawn and pointed at Morgan. In his other hand was a cell phone.
“What is the meaning of this, Rasheed?” Badri demanded.
“When the American arrived, I saw him through the window. I saw him bend down and hide something. So I went out to see what it was. I found this. A phone, Badri. Still on. He is a filthy traitor!” Rasheed tightened the grip on his pistol.
Badri raised his hand for Rasheed to stop. “Explain yourself, Morgan.”
“I wanted to call my family,” Morgan said. “I’m sorry. I know that I shouldn’t have. But I couldn’t resist. I bought this
phone when I went into town. It’s a burner. Untraceable. It won’t compromise us. Please. I know how to be anonymous.”
“He is lying,” said Rasheed.
“I’m not,” said Morgan. “Badri. I swear I’m not.”
Badri struggled with this in his mind, and then his expression set, cool and stony. “I was deluded,” he said. “I thought it could not be possible. But now I see that I was a fool to trust an American. Do not move! Rasheed, do not shoot him. We will find out what he knows.”
Badri took one of the knives from the table, still wet with the juices from the steak.
“Badri, come on. After all we shared, you think I’d betray you?”
Rasheed laughed. “You will get what you deserve now, American.”
Badri approached with the knife in hand. Morgan was seated, with a gun on him. Circumstances were not smiling on him.
But Badri was interrupted by a car, coming up the driveway.
“Who is it?” he demanded.
“Police!” Rasheed exclaimed. “I told you he was a traitor!”
“I promise, I did not tell anyone about you!” Morgan insisted. “He’s probably just checking up on the house.”
“He is alone,” said Rasheed.
Badri frowned. He said to Rasheed, “Hide behind the front door. Morgan, you will stand there next to him. I will talk to the policeman. If you do anything to call his attention, Morgan, both of you die. Understand? Now come.”
At gunpoint, Morgan moved to stand next to the front door, so that he would be hidden when it opened. Rasheed stood next to him, out of sight, gun pointed at his head.
“Keep your mouth shut,” Rasheed growled.
They heard the boots on the porch steps, then there was a knock on the door. Badri opened.
“Good evening, officer. Can I help you?”
“Lots of people up in this old house, ain’t there? I met a fella that drove this truck into town this morning, and I figured the young man would still be here.”
“They are out,” Badri said. “What can I do for you?”
“Just checking to see if you folks are all right,” he said.
“Just fine,” said Badri
“Now, you said they were gone, but I see three plates on the table,” Anderson said. “Doesn’t look like you’ve finished eating very long ago. And there’s one road out of here, and I didn’t see anyone driving past me.”
“They are on an after-dinner walk. Now if there is nothing else—”
“I’d ask you for a glass of water, if it’s acceptable to you. It’s a hot day, and I’m parched.”
Badri narrowed his eyes. “Of course. Please, come in.”
Rasheed turned his gun to fire at Anderson as he walked in.
“No!” Morgan cried as he brought Rasheed down with a full-body tackle, sending the gun sliding across the floor. Sheriff Anderson went for his sidearm, but Badri swung the knife and buried it in the policeman’s throat. Anderson fell on the floor, gasping. Badri took up his Colt revolver and pointed it at Morgan, who held up his hands. Rasheed stood and grabbed his own gun from the floor where it lay.
“We need to go,” said Rasheed. “They will be looking for the policemen.”
“Yes,” said Badri, “we do.”
“Then we need to take care of this filth right here,” Rasheed said, meaning Morgan.
“Yes. We do. Please, Rasheed. Do the honors.”
Rasheed grinned, triumphant. “Any last words?”
The sound of broken glass, and Rasheed’s chest burst in a mist of blood.
Badri scarcely had time to react before a bullet hit him in the shoulder. He fell, dropping his gun with the force and shock of it. Then he looked at Morgan with anger.
“What did you do?” Badri demanded. “You traitor, what did you do?”
“What I had to do to protect my country.” He heard the sound of men approaching, rustling in the foliage surrounding the house. “I want the end of this fight, Badri. I want my people to be safe.”
“What about my people?”
“Do you think you’re making them safer by attacking the US? By extending this goddamned war?”
“I do what I do for the righteousness of God.”
Badri scrambled down the stairs to the basement. Morgan ran after him, but couldn’t reach him before Badri had the freezer open and a canister in his hand, ready to release.
“You’ll die,” said Morgan.
“And maybe I will take you with me.”
“You can still survive,” Morgan said.
“And go to Guantanamo Bay for the rest of my life?”
“I really am sorry,” he said. “I wish we’d have met under other circumstances. I wish you weren’t who you were. I wish you hadn’t made yourself my enemy. But you can live. That’s something. It’s something I can offer you.”
Badri pushed the button and the canister burst in a plume of fine white powder. Badri fell almost immediately, convulsing on the floor of the basement.
Holding his breath, Morgan ran upstairs, doing some mental math on the rate of dispersion. He reached the upper landing as the tactical team rammed the door, sending splinters flying into the foyer. They filed inside in formation, all wearing tactical gear and gas masks.
“Clear the area! Get as far from here as you can!”
He was feeling the weight in his chest as he ran out of the house. He stumbled within a few feet of the door, lightheaded, and then the world began growing dark. He hardly felt himself hitting the floor, and had the vague impression of someone slipping a gas mask over his face, and he saw one pull out a syringe with a gigantic hypodermic needle before he lost consciousness.
Chapter Forty-four
Alex Morgan walked into Diana Bloch’s apartment with plodding steps. She had descended into a haze of gloom ever since returning home, crying herself to sleep every night. One day at a time worked, but it didn’t make it any easier.
“Make yourself at home,” Bloch said.
Alex collapsed on a white leather couch. “Did you make me chamomile tea again?”
Bloch sat cross-legged on a Barcelona chair, facing Alex. “I have something rather more potent. I’d like to tell you a story.”
“Yippee.”
Bloch cleared her throat. “Eight months ago, a cache of Novichok nerve agent was stolen as it was transported from a military research lab in Russia. This Novichok is really nasty stuff. It will destroy your lungs and make you drown on dry land.
“The group that took it was an al-Qaeda splinter group named Shining Jihad. But that’s all we knew. We exhausted our resources trying to find the agent, or the group’s leadership.
“Then, some five months ago, the Russians captured the group’s mastermind, a man named Muhammad Badri. A clever and resourceful man, and certainly the one who planned the heist of the gas in the first place.
“The Russians knew he was a terrorist, but they didn’t quite know what they had on their hands. So they sent him to a secret prison in Siberia, an old gulag camp where the Russian government keeps the people they want to forget.
“We knew it was a matter of time before Badri’s people used the Novichok against us somehow. We needed to find the gas. And our only link was him. The Russian government was not forthcoming with aid, so we had to take it into our own hands. We had to send someone into the prison. And that meant letting someone get captured.”
“Are you telling me—”
“The odds were always slim,” Bloch said. “He had to escape from the prison with Badri, while gaining his trust enough to find out where the Novichok was. The mission rested on a razor’s edge.”
“Well?” Alex urged. “What happened?”
She heard footsteps coming from the inner hallway of the apartment. Heavy. A man’s.
She knew him by his silhouette in the dim light even before his features resolved in her eyes.
“Dad!”
She leapt off the couch and at him, hugging him as hard as he could.<
br />
“I apologize,” said Bloch. “I wish we could have told you. But it was imperative for his mission to remain in total secrecy.”
“But I’m back.” He squeezed her tight. “I’m back. That’s what matters.”
She released him, tears flowing from her eyes, and punched him in the chest. “How could you do that to me?” she demanded, in anger mixed with joy.
“I had to do it,” he said. “My country needed me.”
“Yeah. You had to go off and be a hero.” She buried her face in his chest. “The world needs heroes like you. But Mom and I need you more.” She raised her head. “We have to tell her! You don’t know how sick she’s been over this.”
“I’d just like to remind you,” said Bloch, “that all this is highly classified.”
Alex wiped away her tears and looked at her father. He looked thin, haggard, and exhausted. “So did you have a nice vacation?”
“Oh, yeah,” said Morgan. “Got some exercise, some cultural immersion, met all sorts of different kinds of people.”
Alex couldn’t contain herself and gave him another hug.
Bloch interrupted their reunion. “By the way, Alex, we know all about your little Russian adventure.”
Alex blushed with shame. “I got captured, would’ve been killed if Valery hadn’t been there to save me, and I didn’t come close to finding you.”
“How is old Valery?” Morgan asked.
“Miserable,” said Alex.
“That’s Valery all right.”
“I’m so embarrassed,” she said. “It was a complete failure.”
“Funny,” said Bloch. “That’s not what I heard. I heard that a budding young operative was resourceful and quick-thinking. I heard she used her assets, faced danger head-on, managed to infiltrate the house of a Russian general and escape with her life. What I read in my reports indicated that you show enough promise to surpass your father someday. And I expect you to report back for training Monday at oh-five hundred hours.”
Alex’s cheeks flushed, now with joy.
“And Morgan,” said Bloch, “We’re going to need an in-depth debrief from you.”
“Later,” Morgan said, holding his hand up. “Come on, Alex. Let’s go home.”
For Duty and Honor Page 12
