Won't Back Down

by J. D. Rhoades

  Her eyes narrow. “Wait a minute. Are you wondering if the only reason I came here to be with you was to try to get you to stay?”

  He feels the moment slipping away and begins to realize how big a mistake he’s made. “I just wanted to make sure.”

  “To make…sure.” She shakes her head. “To make sure of what? That I wasn’t using my body to try to manipulate you? To hook you?”

  “No,” he protests. “That wasn’t it.”

  “Yeah. That’s exactly it.” She gets up. He reaches out to stop her, but she’s already out of his grasp. Without another word, she picks up her clothes and silently puts them back on. When she’s pulled the sundress back on, she looks at him. Her eyes are brimming with tears.

  “I know a lot has happened since we were together. I know you were in love with someone else. I know you lost her. And I know all of this because you were honest with me.” She takes a deep, shuddering breath before going on. “I was just hoping you had enough love left for me to realize I’m honest, too.”

  “I…” Keller says, but she yanks the door open and disappears into the night. “God damn it,” he mutters.

  SEVENTEEN

  Keller arises early the next morning after a night of uneasy dreams. He performs a quick workout: pushups, sit-ups, triceps dips between a pair of kitchen chairs, and finally a few chin-ups on the bar he’s placed in the doorway of the second bedroom. When he’s done, he takes a deep breath, satisfied that he hasn’t fallen too far out of shape. He takes a moment to clear the fast food bags and newspapers out of his truck before driving to the Khoury house.

  Alia and her brother are standing outside, waiting. The girl is dressed in a below-the-knee navy skirt, white blouse, and her ever-present head scarf. Bassim’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt that says DISTURBED. Keller assumes that’s a band. Both have backpacks on their shoulders. He gets out and meets them halfway up the walk. “Good morning.” He smiles at them.

  The girl is icily polite. “Good morning, Mr. Keller.” She walks past him without another word.

  Keller looks at Bassim. The young man shrugs. “She’s not crazy about this idea,” he says in a low voice. Then he looks past Keller. “Nice truck.”

  “Thanks.” They climb in, with Bassim taking the front seat and Alia taking the back seat of the crew cab. She’s placed her backpack at her feet and stares straight ahead, not speaking. Keller starts to say something, then lets it go. She’ll either warm up or she won’t.

  As he starts the truck and puts it in gear, Bassim leans forward and punches the power button on the radio. “You mind?”

  “No,” Keller says. “But how about you ask first next time?”

  A country station out of Raleigh is blaring a song about a girl in a truck. Bassim grimaces. “Sorry. You mind if I change the station?”

  “Doesn’t matter to me,” Keller says.

  Bassim punches the buttons, scanning through station after station, stopping on each one for only a second before pronouncing his verdict and moving on. “Sucks. Sucks. Really sucks.”

  “Bassim!” Alia speaks up from the backseat. “Language!”

  “Bite me, sis,” the boy says without heat. He gives an exasperated sigh and snaps the radio off. “The stations around here blow donkey dick, man.”

  “Bassim!”

  Keller gives him a sardonic smile. “I’ll inform the management of your complaint.”

  Bassim laughs. “No, really. How do you stand it?”

  Keller shrugs. “I don’t listen to the radio much. Not anymore.” While he was doing his prison time in Arizona, he’d had a cellmate named Mendez who’d celebrated earning the privilege of having a radio by playing the thing twenty-four seven, set to the station that played “all today’s hits, all day long.” The second happiest day of Keller’s incarceration was when Mendez’s term was up and he left, taking his radio with him. The usual din of prison life had sounded like sweet silence after that.

  Bassim is speaking, breaking into the memories. “Pittsburgh has some pretty kick-ass stations.”

  “You miss the place?”

  “Yeah.” He sighs. “I was just starting to figure it out. Make some friends. Now…” He looks out the window at the fields rolling by, and his voice turns bitter. “Here we are. In this shithole.”

  “Bassim!” the girl says again. “That’s enough! Do you want me to tell Father?”

  Bassim looks at Keller. “Hey, Mr. Keller, does your job include keeping me from smacking my sister in the head?”

  “It wasn’t specifically discussed. But I’m fairly sure that’s part of the job description.”

  “Well, shit.” The boy sinks into his seat with a theatrically exaggerated posture of despair.

  Keller grins and goes on. “I also think I’m supposed to keep her from whacking you upside the head. But if you keep trying to get under her skin like you’ve been doing, I’m not sure I can hold her back.”

  The boy is all wounded innocence. “Me? What did I do?”

  “The language, for one. You know it gets a rise out of her, but you keep doing it. What’s that called again?”

  “Trolling.” Alia speaks up from the backseat. Keller glances back. A smile plays at the corners of her lips.

  “Right,” Keller says. “Bassim, stop trolling your sister.”

  Bassim’s face turns sorrowful. This kid should be an actor, Keller thinks.

  “Mr. Keller. You probably shouldn’t try to be cool. It doesn’t suit you.”

  Keller matches the look as best he can. “I’ll keep it in mind.” That makes Bassim laugh and Alia look away. Keller’s sure she’s hiding her own smile.

  They arrive at the school, where a line of cars is moving slowly through a circular driveway in front of the glass doors of the main building. Marie is standing by the curb, watchful eyes on the traffic. Keller sees her freeze as she catches sight of his truck. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath, then glances at Alia. “Sorry.”

  She’s been concentrating on making sure everything she needs is in her bookbag and looks up. “For what?”

  “Nothing.” They’ve pulled up to the front. Marie is frowning at Jack as Bassim opens the door. “I’ll be here at three o’clock,” Keller tells them. He reaches above the visor and hands them each an index card. “That’s my cell number. If you get held up, let me know. Or, you know, if you need anything.”

  Bassim nods and takes the card before sliding off the seat and out of the truck. “Hey,” he greets Marie, then bolts past her.

  Alia looks at the card, then places it in an outside pocket of her bag. “Thank you for the ride, Mr. Keller. But I still don’t need a nanny.” With as much dignity as she can muster, she gets down from the truck, nods to Marie, and walks into the school.

  Marie positions herself inside the door, eyes narrowed. “What the hell, Jack?”

  “I’m sorry about last night. I—”

  “This is the job you took?” She shakes her head in disbelief.

  He nods. “It’s a weird situation. And we need to talk. About the safety of those kids.”

  Her posture stiffens. “The Khourys? What about them?”

  The people waiting behind them are beginning to honk their horns. Any delay risks making them late for work. “I’ll call you,” Keller says. “And again, I’m sorry about—”

  “Just go.” Marie slams the door and motions him angrily to move forward. There’s nothing he can do but comply.

  EIGHTEEN

  On the way home, Keller stops at a local diner. After buying a newspaper from one of the racks outside and taking a seat in one of the booths, he orders coffee and the farmer’s special breakfast. The coffee is strong enough to peel the enamel off his teeth, but that’s the way Keller likes it. He’s only taken a few sips and opened his paper when a man slides into the seat across from him. He’s smiling. Keller doesn’t return it. He puts the paper down and looks the man over. He’s in his mid-
thirties, dressed in a dark off-the-rack suit. He has thinning red hair and a friendly, open expression on his pale face that Keller immediately mistrusts. “Can I help you with something?” he asks.

  The red-haired man’s smile never wavers. “I hate to just barge in like this.”

  “And yet, here we are.”

  The man acts as if he doesn’t notice the tone. “It’s kind of an urgent matter. About some mutual acquaintances we share.”

  Here we go. He wonders if this will be the truth or another layer of bullshit. Probably some combination of both. “Let me guess. You’re talking about the Khourys.”

  The man nods and sticks out his hand. “My name’s Ted Wilson.”

  Keller doesn’t take the hand. “I doubt it. But it’ll do for the moment. Who are you with, Mr. Wilson?”

  Wilson’s smile doesn’t waver as he withdraws the hand. “I don’t blame you for being suspicious. Given what you’ve been through recently.”

  “I suppose the fact that you’ve checked my history is supposed to rattle me. Consider me rattled. Now either answer my question or get the fuck out of this booth and let me read my paper.”

  The middle-aged waitress has arrived with Keller’s plate of eggs, pancakes, and link sausages. She scowls at the profanity as she sets it down. She looks at Wilson and it’s clear she doesn’t approve of him either. “You want something, sir?”

  “I will have some of that excellent coffee of yours,” Wilson smiles.

  “Get him a to-go cup,” Keller adds. “He’s not staying.”

  She looks alarmed. “We don’t want any trouble in here, you two.”

  “There won’t be any,” Wilson says. “Promise.”

  The waitress is clearly unconvinced, but she moves off.

  Wilson turns back to Keller. “In answer to your question, I’m with Homeland Security.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And the Khoury family…well, they’re kind of a special case.”

  “Do tell.”

  Wilson lowers his voice. “What I’m about to tell you is highly classified.”

  “Meaning you’re about to feed me a line of complete bullshit. There’s no way you’d tell me anything really classified. If I ever did have any kind of clearance, it’s long gone. And you would know that.”

  Wilson sighs. He’s no longer smiling. “I was told you’d be difficult.”

  “You were told right.” Keller takes a bite of his eggs.

  “There’s more to this situation than you know.”

  Keller laughs. “Well, that’s been the story of my life so far, hasn’t it?” He puts down his fork. “Let me tell you what I do know that I’ve managed to figure out on my own. You’re probably not actually DHS, but you’re some kind of spook. Adnan Khoury’s an asset of some kind. Someone you need to keep under wraps. But you have to keep moving him. His kids tell me they just moved here from Pittsburgh, and it sounded like they left in a hurry. So, I’m thinking Mr. Khoury, or whatever his real name is, has someone mightily pissed off. Probably someone in the Iraqi community recognized him, or tipped someone off from back home. How am I doing so far?”

  Wilson doesn’t answer, but from the way his face has gone blank, Keller assumes he’s scored at least a couple of points. He takes a bite of sausage and stops to savor it. The sausage is produced locally, and that and the coffee are the main reasons Keller keeps coming back to this diner. The waitress brings the coffee in a to-go cup and places it in front of Wilson before hurrying away. Keller waits until she’s out of earshot before going on. “So, what did Mr. Khoury, or whoever he is, do to piss someone off back in the old country?”

  Wilson takes a moment to answer. When he does, his voice is flat and emotionless. “He was a translator. He helped out our troops on a lot of—”

  “More bullshit.” Keller shakes his head. “Come on, Wilson. I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck. The way that guy acts, he was used to getting his way. He’s not getting it anymore, and it’s driving him nuts. I’m thinking he was someone important. An officer, or some kind of government official. Tell me, what does a former Iraqi grand poo-bah have to do that he had to go to us for protection?”

  All of Wilson’s former veneer of affability is gone. “All I can tell you, Mr. Keller, is that you need to stay away from the Khoury family. We have their security in hand.”

  “Apparently, the dad doesn’t feel that way. That’s why he hired me. I guess I’m not the only one who’s difficult.”

  “He needs to trust us,” Wilson mutters.

  “But he doesn’t. And you know what? That actually makes me like the guy a little better.” Keller puts down his fork. “Look, Wilson, I know you don’t like me horning in, and I get it. I don’t like you lying to me, but I get that, too. It’s what you people do. But there’s no need for us to butt heads. All I care about is the safety of those two kids. Now, we can help each other out. Or not. But I took on a job, and I’m going to do it. You can help me do it better by leveling with me and telling me who’s after that family. I can find that out myself eventually. It’s not that I’m some kind of Sherlock Holmes, by the way. It’s just that you people are so goddamn bad at keeping secrets.”

  The last jibe makes Wilson’s face go red with anger. “I’m giving you a last warning, Keller,” he says. “Stay out of this.”

  “And I’m telling you for the last time. No.” Keller goes back to his meal. Wilson stands up, takes a couple of bills out of his pocket, and tosses them on the table before striding off.

  The waitress comes back with a pot of coffee and refills Keller’s cup without being asked. “Wow. You really pissed that guy off.”

  Keller smiles at her. “It’s a gift.”

  She chuckles. “You know him?”

  “Just met him. You?”

  She grimaces. “He’s been coming in for a couple weeks. Lousy tipper.”

  “Figures. He’s staying around here, then?”

  She shrugs. “Must be.”

  “You see what he’s driving?”

  She looks at him with narrowed eyes. “Why do you want to know? You’re not going after him, are you?”

  Keller shakes his head. “Nah. But if he’s coming after me, I’d like to see him coming.”

  “You think that might happen?” She looks alarmed. “He doesn’t look like someone who’d do that.”

  “Probably not,” Keller smiles. “But you can’t be too careful.”

  “He some kind of trouble?”

  “Some kind, yeah. Not sure what, though.”

  She looks around as if to check that no one’s listening, then leans over. “I seen him leaving in a little blue car. One of those foreign things.”

  “Kia? Hyundai?”

  She frowns in thought. “The first one. I think. But the thing I noticed is, it had a rental sticker on it.”

  Keller nods. “Good to know. Thanks.”

  “Seriously, hon,” she says, her brow still furrowed with concern. “I don’t want to see no one get hurt.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “Okay,” she says, but she’s still looking doubtful as she walks off to tend to her other tables. Keller finishes his meal and leaves a five dollar tip on a nine dollar and seventy-four cent check. Then he heads off to check the parking lots of the local motels for a blue rental Kia.

  NINETEEN

  “I don’t know about this,” Waller says. This time he’s behind the wheel of the truck. Tench is in the passenger seat, playing some game on his phone. The beeps and boops of the game aren’t doing anything to soothe Waller’s nerves. They’re still a way out from their target, rolling down a narrow country road. The game makes an electronic variant on the sad trombone noise, and Tench growls in frustration before looking up. “What’s the trouble?”

  “We’ve worked for The Company before,” Waller says, using the slang term they always used to use to refer to the Central Intelligence Agency. “They’ve been a
pretty good client, actually.”

  Tench snorts. “They hung us out to dry in Croatia. Or have you forgotten?” Before Waller can answer, Tench bulls ahead. “You’re not seeing the big picture, bro. Sure, we may ruffle a few feathers. But this is our chance to make serious bank. I’m talking retirement money. I don’t know about you, but I’m gettin’ too old for this shit.”

  Waller checks the GPS as they reach a four-way crossroads. “It better be retirement money.” He hangs a left. “Because if we do this, we’re burned. For good. We’ll be lucky to get hired to guard latrines in Alaska.”

  “Fortune favors the bold, my man. Who dares, wins. Et cetera, et cetera…”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, will you shut the hell up?”

  Tench smiles and returns to his game. Waller realizes he’s not the only one who enjoys pushing his partner’s buttons. He sighs as they drive on, headed for the kill.

  TWENTY

  Keller has a few hours before he has to pick up the Khourys. He spends them cruising the parking lots of local motels, looking for a blue Kia. Or Hyundai. Or any small foreign car with a rental sticker. It’s not a big town, and there aren’t that many places to choose from. He gets a hit on the fourth place he tries. A baby blue Hyundai Elantra with an Enterprise Rent-a-Car sticker on it, parked outside a room at a mom-and-pop motor court that’s definitely seen better days. “Not exactly James Bond,” Keller says to himself. He pulls the truck over to a corner of the parking lot and watches the room. He doesn’t particularly care if Ted Wilson notices that he’s being watched. In fact, Keller realizes, he’d prefer that. Let Wilson be off balance for a change. He sits and waits for someone to come out of the room and confirm he’s got the right place.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Inside room 107 of the run-down hotel, Ted Blair, also known as Ted Wilson, finishes his encrypted e-mail, bounces it through a half-dozen proxy servers, and waits for the tone that lets him know it’s been received back at Langley after being shunted halfway around the world. When he hears the tone, he closes his laptop and sighs. It’s taken him three tries to send his report through the dodgy wi-fi of this cheap motel. Hell, Islamabad had had more dependable internet service than this hick town. But then again, it had been legal for him to operate in Islamabad, at least legal under American law. Everything about this operation has been either skirting the edge of legality or blithely driving right over the cliff. He doesn’t know why his boss is so eager to coddle Fadhil Al-Masri, the man now living under the name of Adnan Khoury, but he’s apparently willing to break a number of laws to do it. And after what could very well have been a career ending screw-up in Islamabad, Blair is willing to take those steps to stay in the game. He doesn’t like Al-Masri very much, and he knows the feeling is mutual. But his immediate superior, at least, thinks he’s an asset worth preserving, and Blair owes that woman everything.