Special Access

by Mark A. Hewitt

  Hunter felt it was synchronicity. He walked in, showed his pass at the front desk, and entered the glass court just as Marwa stepped from the aerobics room, drank water from a fountain, and walked toward the courts. They exchanged smiles. He was surprised to see her, and it was obvious she was interested in him. Something about her tickled the back of his mind, though. It seemed safe enough to ask her to dinner.

  She was thrilled to see him and planned to ask him to dinner if he didn’t ask first. As Hunter prepared to play racquetball, they chatted. Some would have called it flirting.

  Before entering the court, he looked at her hard, searching for a word. His mind defaulted to breathtaking. Something about her also screamed, Danger! Danger!

  Her heart pounded in her chest. He was an infidel and an enemy of Allah, but he was very good looking. Something about him screamed, Danger! Danger!

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  1930 March 8, 2003

  The Red Parrot Newport, Rhode Island

  The weather appeared it would hold off for a few more hours, as the 1938 white Rolls Royce Phantom III pulled up to the apartments overlooking the Atlantic. Duncan Hunter opened the suicide door, stepped from the back seat, and turned to the driver, noticing the words printed on the horn button—Soft/Loud.

  Only a Rolls, he thought. “I shouldn’t be long.” He tapped the driver’s door sill and stepped away.

  When he turned, he glimpsed a dark-haired woman in the doorway of the upstairs apartment. That could be her. Then again, maybe not.

  Before he could start up the cascading stairway, Marwa Kamal stepped from her apartment, shawl in one hand, waving to Duncan with the other. Her little white turtleneck dress hugged every curve. Long, wavy hair spilled across her shoulders like a black wave and obscured part of her face.

  Hunter froze. His heart pounded. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the woman.

  Under his breath, the driver of the Rolls Royce muttered, “Nice job.”

  He regained some of his lost composure. “I think I’ll just stand right here,” Duncan breathed.

  The driver offered moral support. “Good idea. I think this was the right car for tonight.” Hunter, still gaping, nodded.

  As she approached, Duncan spread his arms wide. “Marwa, you’re absolutely breathtaking.”

  Her perfume was strong and exotic, almost cinnamon. “Thank you. This is your car?” She offered her hand, and he took it gently, guiding her the rest of the way to the Rolls. She was coyly confused.

  “Our car for tonight. My old truck seemed a bit too scruffy for dinner.” He opened the door and held her hand as she slid in butt first, knees together, bright red heels lifted over the sill. Her eyes remained on his.

  He raced around the back of the large old car and slid in. “The Red Parrot, James.”

  Marwa brushed hair back from her face. “This is a beautiful car. I’ve never seen one like this before.” The rear seating area featured a small bar with crystal decanter and two wine goblets. She recognized the ancient radio, heater, and clock but couldn’t comprehend why a huge speedometer was so prominently displayed. Small cane strips on the doors offset their topaz leather handles.

  “James tells me it’s a 1938 Rolls Royce Phantom III, or a P3. I saw this car several weeks ago in front of a church, waiting to take a bride and groom from their wedding. I thought it might be a little too much, but now, I think it was the right car for tonight. When you step out in front of the restaurant, everyone will think you’re a movie star.”

  There was a delayed smile and some rapid blinking when Duncan mentioned bride and groom, and he noticed immediately. She tried hard to flush all thoughts of Jordan from her mind and calm herself, relax, and enjoy the night. She couldn’t have anticipated such an elegant vehicle and had no experience with such an ostentatious display of wealth. She could hardly believe what was happening to her.

  “So, we’re going to a red parrot?”

  He turned to face her. “The Red Parrot. It’s one of the nicer restaurants in Newport. They have great steaks and salads, and the ambiance is wonderful. I hope you like it.”

  “I’m sure I will.” Her accent thrilled him. She slid her hand across soft leather into his.

  When she moved, Duncan caught another whiff of perfume. While the driver negotiated the antique limousine through downtown Newport, Duncan provided a running commentary of some of the historical landmarks, including the National Tennis Club, the Naval Academy building during the Civil War, and the summer homes of the rich and famous.

  “Marwa, I must tell you that the locals will fall all over themselves when we drive up, and you get out. If you see someone fall or walk into a post, just look at me and try not to laugh.”

  “You’re very funny.” Flashing perfect teeth, she lowered her head slightly, which accentuated her cheekbones and stunning sensuality.

  “Oh, we’ll see.” He squeezed her hand gently, and she returned the pressure.

  As the Rolls glided to the front of the Red Parrot, several dozen heads moved in unison, following the rare car to a stop, trying to look inside the darkened windows. The driver leaped from the right door and smoothly opened the rear one.

  Duncan stepped out and walked around the rear of the car when Marwa swung out her legs wrapped in misty black hose. A little embarrassed, she offered her hand to Duncan, and he allowed her to pull herself to her feet.

  Heads craned for a better look, and a local yokel lost his footing and fell off the curb, crashing heavily into a parked car. Marwa retained her grip on Duncan’s hand and looked at him with a mischievous smile.

  Hunter smiled back and mouthed, “I told you.”

  The couple turned heads as they walked into the restaurant, and a hundred eyes followed them to their table.

  “I have to tell you, Ms. Kamal, you know how to make an entrance,” Hunter said.

  “I’m glad I had something to wear.” She draped the shawl over her shoulders, crossing the ends to conceal her breasts.

  He pulled a chair out for her. Marwa wasn’t certain what he intended, but she stepped in front of it and sat. He sat beside her, not across the table. A waiter hovered nearby. The air carried the scents of cinnamon and charred beef.

  “Water? Wine? Something to drink?” Duncan asked. Those eyes are incredible.

  “Water with lemon.”

  “Same for me. Thank you.”

  The waiter flitted off in a hurry.

  “Are you having a good time so far?” He slid his hand across the table and gently took her fingers. She glided her hand into his and squeezed, moving incrementally closer until their knees touched. She didn’t look away.

  “Yes.”

  “You make it very difficult for me to concentrate playing racquetball. I almost hurt myself when I saw you sitting there the first time. After that, I tried really hard not to look like an idiot on the court.”

  “I don’t think that is possible. You play very well. I never saw anyone play racquet…ball before. It’s very interesting. The ball moves so fast, sometimes I don’t see it.”

  “The guys on the court agreed with me that you have the most striking eyes we ever saw.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And, you’re incredibly beautiful. I was worried our driver would run into a pole, as he tried to look at you. And when that local crashed and burned, I realized I was the luckiest guy on the planet.”

  “You’re very funny.” She giggled, blushed and squeezed his hand again.

  He squeezed a little harder. “So tell me Marwa, why have you come into my life? Why are your friends following me, and what do you want from me?”

  Shock registered. Color drained from her face. She tensed and tried to pull away, but Hunter held on.

  “Marwa, don’t say anything yet. I’m a straight-up guy, an honest broker. I won’t hurt you. I’ll tell you the truth, and I expect the same.” He gripped her hand. “I’m pretty good at reading body language, and, from the moment I first saw you, I knew some
thing was up.

  “I sense you’re in trouble. I know people have been following me and some of my friends, but, for the life of me, I don’t know why. I’m a nobody. Well, no one who needs to be followed.”

  Tension relaxed in her hand. She sat in stunned silence, feeling failure already. She tried to look away from him but couldn’t.

  “OK?” he continued. “I won’t hurt or embarrass you. We’re two friends having dinner and a good time. If your friends are watching, they’ll see us having a good time.”

  Her stunning eyes filled with relief. She could tell him. Could he help her? “Duncan, they aren’t my friends.”

  “But someone wants you to get something from me—some information?”

  “Yes,” she said softly, turning her head aside in embarrassment.

  “Are you in trouble? Does someone have something on you? Are you being threatened?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I’m very frightened now. I have failed.”

  Grasping her hand firmly, he said, “OK. Look at me. I won’t let anything happen to you, OK? You have to believe me, but I need to know everything, so I can figure how to get us out of this. Will you trust me, Marwa?”

  A tear welled in one eye. “Yes. I’m very frightened, Duncan. I do trust you.”

  “Can you tell me everything?” He caressed her hand, and she squeezed back and smiled, melting his heart. “Yes, but I do not know where to start.”

  “First of all, relax. We’re close friends who are about to become closer. Tell me about yourself and your family. Tell me how you came to the US and then into my life. I’ll tell you about me, which will put you to sleep.”

  She tried to smile and relax at his attempt at humor. After a minute her tension had almost dissipated, and she held his hand tighter.

  “Marwa Kamal is my real name. I’m from Amman, Jordan. My father was head of the royal court in the service of His Royal Highness, the king. My mother….”

  “…has to be as beautiful as you. Amazing genes.”

  She smiled, and her eyes flashed at him. “Yes, she’s very beautiful. I always thought my mother was the most beautiful woman in the world.” She sipped her drink. “I was an only child. I was schooled in Amman until I was ten-years old. My parents sent me to England and Switzerland to finish my studies. My father graduated from Yale Law School. I also attended Yale and graduated three years ago. I thought I would return to Amman and work at my father’s business, but something changed him. He wanted me to marry.”

  She lowered her eyes at the table, then drained her glass.

  Duncan squeezed her hand, and rubbed his thumb over the top of hers in comfort.

  After taking a deep breath, she said, “I married Waleed last year. It was the worst thing I could have done.”

  “That didn’t work out?”

  “We had significant philosophical differences. In a world where it doesn’t matter what a woman thinks, especially an educated woman, such a marriage was doomed to fail. He was not a very compassionate man.”

  “I’m sorry, Marwa.” He had visions of someone trying to hit that dark-haired goddess, and his ire rose.

  “Not your fault. I really wished there were a way I could live freely. I came to love and admire America. It’s a free society where I could follow any religion without compulsion.”

  “That puts you and me in the heretic category, I guess.”

  “So far, I’m not really sure what I am. I know I’m not an atheist, because I believe in God, but God can’t be the Allah of Mohammed. My God is kind and merciful. God should not be evil, cruel, mean, and sadistic, as is Allah. Have you ever read the Quran?”

  “In English. My Arabic is horrible.”

  “I never did until I returned to Jordan. All my life, I recited the Quran in Arabic without understanding a single word. About a year ago, I purchased a copy of the English Quran and read the complete translation for the first time. I read some parts in English before, but never the complete book. Last year, I read it cover-to-cover. I also read other references and religious books, including the Bible.

  “It validated what I long suspected. The Quran is probably the most evil thing on Earth. Islam teaches nothing but hatred and violence, especially toward women.”

  “Your assessment is on target. I’ve worked with the Royal Jordanian Air Force and found them to be what I would call good Muslims—not radical—and they never expressed anything but respect and courtesy with me. The last time I visited, nearly every single one wished me Merry Christmas. I was pleasantly surprised.”

  “You were fortunate to meet and work with moderate Muslims. I think the line between good and evil is very narrow. If you’re busy and working, I believe you’re less likely to be influenced by ignorant, vile, corrupt imams. I…I can no longer be part of a cult. I have come to realize cults subjugate their followers. They become blind puppets without minds of their own.”

  “And, under the control of a crazy person, bad things happen.”

  “I’m so sorry, Duncan. I didn’t want to spy on you. I was so conflicted.”

  “Your body language at the courts gave it away. Something bothered you a great deal. Let’s change the subject. How did you come to the US? What did you do?”

  “I ran away from Waleed and came to America. I landed in Boston. I’m familiar with Yale and thought I would find a job in New Haven. I found some women from Jordan, Saudi Arabia, and Kuwait working at the airport who said I could get a job with them, and I’d be safe. I couldn’t believe how many Muslim women were working at the airport. Many were afraid of men, and several, like me, had ran away from bad marriages.

  “I was working there when Nizar Mohammad from the TSA said I had to see an imam in Boston. The imam knew I had dishonored my family and I had run away from Waleed. He suggested….”

  “He suggested if you went to Newport and met me, things would get better?”

  “Yes. He wanted me to get close to you and find out more about you.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “I think he’s interested in a man called McGayhee or something like that. He wanted to know why you were close to him.”

  “His name is McGee.” Hunter paused for a moment, then he changed the direction of the conversation. “I take it you’re fluent in Arabic?”

  “Of course, as well as Farsi, French, and a little German.” The waiter approached for the tenth time.

  Hunter’s mind raced. He squeezed Marwa’s hand again. “Are you all right? Can you eat?”

  She nodded. Green eyes peeked from behind her black hair.

  “OK. Let’s order. I need to think.” The waiter took their order and left.

  “So this imam is interested in my friend and wanted you to get information about him from me?”

  “No, Duncan. I think he wanted to know why you and he are friends and what you do together all the time. He wants to know who you are. I think someone else wants to know about you. The imam is a…how do you say…?”

  “Middleman?”

  “Yes. I believe so.”

  “OK, Marwa. How about this? What were you supposed to do when you had something to tell?”

  “I was to drive back to Boston and give my report in person to Imam Abdul. Tonight I am supposed to give my report.”

  He nodded. “Do you think your life would be in danger if you returned to Boston? Once you reported your findings, what do you think would happen to you?”

  She turned her head away, unable to bear such thoughts. “Let me guess. You can just nod.”

  She looked at him with her incredible eyes, which filled with tears. He took her other hand.

  “You think he would send you back to Jordan or turn you over to Waleed. He might even try to touch you himself.”

  She nodded, her jaw tight. It took her a full minute to compose herself. “There is a concept held by radicals that holds that some Muslims aren’t Muslim enough. Therefore, they are apostates. Because they are worse than nonbelievers, they may be
killed with impunity.”

  “Tafkir?”

  “Yes. I know in my heart and mind that the imam embraces Tafkir. I would be deemed not Muslim enough if I refused his request. I was so afraid for my life.” Her eyes welled with fresh tears.

  Hunter’s mind was in overdrive. He held her hand in reassurance. “OK. How about this? What if you could start your life over fresh, with a new name, a job, and a place they can’t get to you?”

  She stared into his brown eyes. “If you’re in my life, Duncan, absolutely.”

  “Thank you, Marwa. We’ll have to see what tomorrow brings.”

  Their eyes locked, and she held his hands tightly. “Do you trust me?” he asked.

  “With my life. I was so embarrassed and ashamed. Now, I’m at peace with you.”

  “I believe you. OK, let’s see what we can do to get out of this mess.” He reached to his hip and brought his Blackberry to the table, punching a series of buttons. “My plan right now is to get you away from Newport and as far from this place as fast as we can. I’m going to ask a friend of mine to come get you and start you on your way to a new life. Let’s see what the Grinch has to say.”

  He placed the device on the table and took her hands again. “The… Grinch?”

  “My best friend and cohort in crime—Greg Lynche.” He brought his fingers together to demonstrate two worlds merging into one. “Greg...Lynche…Grinch.”

  “I’m not going back?”

  “Only if you want to. Is there anything you need in your apartment?”

  “I have my passport. There are only a few clothes in the apartment.”

  “Do you know where the mosque is where Abdul preaches?”

  “I don’t know exactly, but I think I could find it. When Nizar took me to see Abdul, he drove all over Boston. I thought it was funny how he did that and assumed he was lost. Now I realize he didn’t want me to know where we were going.”

  “I get the feeling you knew anyway.”

  “Yes. My friends and I traveled from New Haven to Boston on the train, the Amtrak. I’m certain the mosque was near one of the stations where we got off. I saw the station and recognized where I was. If I had to run from Nizar, I was going to run to the metro station.”