“Do you think the same people who shot the reverend have got Dad?”
The thought makes her stomach feel as if someone is twisting her guts into knots. “I don’t know. I pray not.”
“We haven’t prayed in a while.”
She sighs. “Maybe we should have. Maybe this wouldn’t be happening if we did.”
“We prayed a lot back home. I don’t remember it helping. Mom still got blown up.” He leans over the front seat. “What now? Where do we go?”
The question and the reference to their former life makes her wonder for a moment at how much things have changed for them in America. In Iraq, as oldest male, Bassim would be expected to begin issuing orders as head of the family. But he’s asking her advice. She shakes her head. “The only place I can think of is Ben’s. Officer Jones can help us.”
“Really? I mean, after the whole thing with Ben?”
She fights back the urge to snap at him. “I can’t worry about that now. We need help.” She takes the next left. “Try to call Father again.”
He picks up the phone and starts pressing numbers. “This isn’t the way to Ben’s.”
She nods grimly. “I know. There’s someplace I need to go first.”
EIGHTY-FIVE
The man known as Adnan Khoury sits and watches his phone vibrate on the desk. “That is one of my children,” he says in a level voice. “Let me answer it.”
“I wonder what they want,” she says. “Maybe they’re in trouble.” As Khoury makes a move toward the phone, she raises the gun. “You can answer the phone when you tell me where the rest of the money is.”
“You have all of it. I swear. All that’s left. This moving around has been expensive.”
“I know. I helped pay for most of it.”
“That may be what Wilson told you. But—”
She smiles condescendingly. “Trying to turn me against him? Convince me that he double crossed me? Clever. But Wilson wouldn’t be capable of that. He had a trait of blind loyalty that would have shamed a dog. It made him useful.” She sighed and shook her head. “I’m going to miss him. Truly.”
The phone stops buzzing, then gives off the short chirp that signals a voice mail message. Khoury sinks back into his chair, eyes defeated. Finally, he raises them. “Okay. I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you where the rest of the money is.”
“You’ll do better,” she says. “You’ll take me there.” She stands, scoops the phone off the desk, and stuffs it in her handbag. “Let’s go.”
EIGHTY-SIX
Keller’s been through a few court appearances, but this is the first one where he’s had the arresting officer standing beside him and advocating as hard as his lawyer for an unsecured bond.
“Mr. Keller is assisting in a sensitive inquiry,” Fletcher is saying, “and we believe he has important information on others.”
The judge, a short, cadaverous-looking man with gray streaks in his thinning black hair, looks over the paperwork in front of him. “I don’t know, Detective. This man’s got an interesting record. What I see here is a long history of violence.”
Keller doesn’t answer, just stares straight ahead, hands cuffed in front of him.
“You’ll notice, Your Honor,” Addie McCaskill speaks up, “that most of the charges were dismissed. Or ended up with acquittals.”
The judge looks sourly at her. “On violent felonies. I see your father’s hand in all this.”
She gives him an artificially sweet smile. “I’ll tell him you said so, Your Honor. I’m sure he remembers you fondly as well.”
The judge grunts, looks silently at the paper for a moment, then shrugs. “Ten thousand. Unsecured.” He looks up. “Conditional on your cooperation with current investigations.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” McCaskill takes Keller’s arm and steers him toward the side door. The shackles on his legs reduce his gait to a shuffle.
Fletcher walks on his other side. “We’ll process you out downstairs.”
“Thanks.” Keller raises his cuffed hands. “Think you can get these things off me?”
“Downstairs.” Fletcher shrugs at Keller’s look. “Sorry. I bent enough rules for one day getting you up here as quick as I did.”
Keller nods. “I appreciate it.”
“We still need to talk.”
“I know. But I need to find the Khourys. They were with MacDonald.”
Fletcher presses the button for the elevator. “Let us handle that, Keller. We’ve got a BOLO out for the church van, and we’re working on getting an Amber Alert out for the kids.”
“What about the dad?”
Fletcher shakes his head. “Someone came to his job. Some of the workers saw them leave together.”
“Was it a woman who came to see him?”
Fletcher nods. “Every time we call him, it goes to voice mail.”
Keller grimaces and shakes the handcuffs impatiently. He needs to get out there and on the hunt for those kids, whatever Fletcher says. He knows they’re in trouble, and he knows he should have protected them. The elevator arrives, and Keller steps on first, followed by the detective and McCaskill. They make the ride down in silence. At the magistrate’s office, a deputy removes the cuffs and leg shackles.
“So about that talk,” Fletcher says.
Keller rubs his wrists to get the impressions of the cuffs off. “I need to check out how bad the damage is to my house.”
Fletcher’s lips tighten in frustration, but Keller can tell that’s hard for him to argue with. “Call me when you get done.”
“Will do.” Addison McCaskill walks out with him. When they reach the parking lot, she says, “You’re not going to call him, are you? You’re going after them yourself.”
He smiles at her. “Your dad really did tell you a lot about me.”
She sighs. “As your attorney, it’s my job to tell you to stay out of the way of a police investigation.”
“I’m not going to be in their way. I’m going to be way out ahead of them.”
“But—”
“Addie,” he breaks in, then stops. He shakes his head like a man waking up from a long sleep. “I’ve spent too much time running. Now it’s time I got back to what I do best.”
“Finding people.”
“Yeah.” He looks around. “Shit. I need a ride. Back to the Khoury house. My truck’s there.”
“Okay. But you know I’m going to spend the ride trying to talk you out of this.”
Keller shrugs. “Nothing’s free.”
EIGHTY-SEVEN
Alia slams on the brakes in the driveway and the van slides to a stop, nearly crashing into the back of Keller’s truck and throwing up gravel. She leaps out of the door without turning off the motor and heads toward the house. “Come on.”
“What are you doing?” Bassim calls out, but she’s already to the door and inside. Bassim follows her at a run.
Inside, he hears Alia yell something from their father’s bedroom. He stops in the doorway and regards her. She’s kicking the bedside table in frustration. “I came to get Father’s pistol. But he’s put a lock on the drawer.”
He looks. There’s a small padlock and hasp crudely screwed into the cheap wood. “We should be going to the police,” he says.
“The last time we saw the police, they were taking Mr. Keller away. How do we know they’re not on the same side as those men?”
Bassim frowns. “We can go to Officer Jones. We can trust her. Right?”
“I think so. But if those men catch up to us first…” She grabs the knob of the drawer and yanks. The knob comes off but the padlock holds. “Shit!”
“Hang on.” He goes through the kitchen and into the laundry room. When he comes back, he’s carrying a metal toolbox. Alia’s trying to get her fingernails into the space between the front of the drawer and the body of the table. “Here, Let me.” He sets the box down with a clank and flips it open. After a moment
of rummaging in the disorganized contents, he comes up with a small black pry bar. “Out of the way.”
The lock gives way in a moment, and Alia hesitates before reaching inside and pulling out the pistol. Bassim takes a step back. “You sure about this?”
She ignores the question. “Come on. In the backyard.”
“Wait, what?” he follows her out the door.
In the yard, she makes a beeline for the disused pile of cinderblocks that they were told was supposed to be a barbecue grill. She puts the gun on the ground and begins hefting blocks from the top. “Help me.”
“What the fuck?”
She’s almost frantic now. “Help me!”
“Okay, okay, calm down.” He begins moving blocks from the top. “Mind telling me what we’re doing?”
She grunts with the effort as she picks up another block. “Father hid something out here. I think it’s money.”
He straightens up, a cinderblock in his hand. “What?”
She’s gasping from the effort, sweat breaking out on her brow. “I think the reason people have been after us is because father got a lot of money from somewhere. Or someone. Someone bad, and that’s why the government has been protecting us.”
He drops the block to one side. “That’s crazy.”
“I saw Father out here one night. He was doing what we’re doing. Or what you would be doing if you were helping me.”
Bassim picks up another block. By now, they’re almost to the bare ground. “For crying out loud, do we look like we’re sitting on a lot of money?” She moves the last block aside. There’s nothing there but bare ground. “See?” Bassim says. “Now let’s get out of here.”
Alia steps forward and stomps on the bare patch of earth. It gives off a hollow thump.
Bassim steps back. “Whoa. What’s that?”
She goes to her hands and knees and brushes away the dirt. A half inch beneath the layer of soil, Bassim can see the grain of a piece of wood. This time, he doesn’t need to be told. He goes to his knees and helps his sister brush away the rest of the dirt from a large sheet of plywood. Working together, they pull it up like a hatch and let it fall to the ground, leaving them standing in front of a shallow hole. Nestled snugly into the hole are two large, olive drab footlockers.
“Oh, man,” Bassim says, “are those full of money?”
“Let’s find out.” She reaches and tugs at the handle of the footlocker, grunting with the effort. “Heavy.”
Bassim joins her, and with difficulty, they manage to hoist the first footlocker out of the hole. Alia stands up and looks at it.
“Well?” Bassim says. “Aren’t we going to open it?”
“I’m afraid to,” she murmurs. “If I’m right…then Father’s been lying to us.”
That stops him. Then he leans forward and works the catches on the footlocker. When he raises the lid, he hears Alia gasp.
“Yeah,” he says. “That’s…a lot of cash.” He notices a zippered bag, like a bank deposit bag, lying on top of the banded hundred-dollar bills. Hands shaking, he picks the bag up and unzips it, then dips a hand in. The hand comes out full of glittering white stones. He looks over at Alia. Tears are running down her face.
“All lies,” she whispers. “All lies.”
He pours the stones back into the bag, then carefully places it back in the footlocker. As he puts an arm around his sister’s shoulder, she turns to him, laying her head on his chest and sobbing.
“Come on,” he says as he hugs her, “we don’t know the whole story here.” He pulls her away and takes her by the shoulders, looking into her face. “What I do know is we need to get out of here.” He looks at the footlocker. “And we should take this with us. If that’s what those guys are after, I don’t want them getting it, and I’ll bet Father doesn’t either. How about you?”
She shakes her head. “How are we going to get these to the van?”
“Truck,” he says. “That van, banged up like that, it sticks out. We’ll use Jack’s truck. I saw one of the cops putting the keys in it when they took Jack away.”
She looks shocked. “You mean steal it?”
“Borrow it, more like. I don’t think he’d mind. Not if we use it to get away and be safe.”
She wipes her eyes with the hem of her scarf. “I suppose.”
“I’ll bring it around to the back. And we can load these inside.” He grimaces as he looks around. “It’s not like we haven’t already trashed the yard.”
“Wait, you’re driving?”
He nods. “No offense, Alia, but your driving scares me to death.”
She bristles at that. “And you can do better?”
“I sure hope so. We don’t have time to argue. Come on, let’s go.”
EIGHTY-EIGHT
“Huh,” Keller says as they pull up in the driveway of the Khoury house.
Addie McCaskill stops the car and puts on the parking brake. “What?”
“My truck’s gone. And that’s…” He leans forward. “That’s Reverend MacDonald’s van.”
“Why is the back all smashed up?”
“I don’t know.” He gets out.
“Keller,” she calls to him. “What are you doing?”
He doesn’t answer. As he walks toward the house, he sees the ground in the side yard torn up as if someone had been spinning tires in the soft soil. He follows the trail past a tree with a big chunk of bark scraped off. Someone’s driven a large vehicle through here, and done it badly. He walks to the backyard, which has even more tracks gouged in the grass. He stops and stares at what he sees.
The untidy pile of cinderblocks that made up the makeshift grill in the backyard is torn down and scattered around a hole in the ground. Keller looks around, eyes and ears straining for any sign that anyone’s watching. Nothing. He walks carefully to the hole and looks in. Drag marks in the dirt indicate something heavy has been dragged out of the hole. Guess he had the money after all, Keller thinks. But who has it now?
He hears McCaskill coming up behind him. “What in the world happened here?”
Keller turns as she comes to stand beside him. “Remember, Khoury said the people after him were after a pile of USAID money that disappeared out of Iraq a few years ago. He denied having it. I’m thinking he was lying.”
“It was buried here?”
“Something sure was. And I think someone took it away in my truck.”
“Who?”
Keller looks around the yard. The tire tracks are all over, and Keller can see where the vehicle flattened a low brick wall at the edge of the patio. “I’d say someone who’s not used to driving. Or at least not used to driving a big vehicle.”
Her eyes widen as she gets his meaning. “Like a pair of teenagers.”
“Like a pair of teenagers.” He starts toward the house. “I need to check something out inside.”
“Wait,” she says. “Is it okay for you to go in there?”
“Yeah. I’m the nanny, remember?”
Inside, he walks to Khoury’s bedroom. McCaskill catches up with him as he’s standing, hands on hips, looking at the jimmied open bedside table. He shakes his head. “Warrior,” he murmurs.
“What?”
He nods at the drawer. “That’s where Adnan Khoury kept his sidearm. From his police days, or whatever he was.” He turns to her. “Here’s what I think happened. Whoever’s after that money tried to take Alia and Bassim as leverage. That’s how MacDonald got killed. Maybe the damage to the van is where they tried to run him off the road. Whatever happened, they got away in the van after he was shot.” Keller grimaces. “He was probably out of the van, trying to be all persuasive and nice and convince the gunmen to leave the kids alone.”
“Or maybe he was buying them time.”
Keller nods. “That fits, too. Anyway, they got away somehow. And came here. For their dad’s gun, and his money.” He takes a deep breath. “That means they’re okay. For
now.”
She shakes her head in disbelief. “What about the people who tried to take them? Where are they? And who blew up your house? The same people?”
“I think we’re dealing with two factions here. The woman who tried to wave me off and the guy who worked for her—that’s one. She may be the only one left. From the sound of it, she has Khoury himself. Then there’s whoever hired those contractors.” He walks past her and out of the bedroom door. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” She falls into step behind him.
“I’ve got to make a phone call.”
“To Fletcher?”
He shakes his head. “Not yet. Not till I know where Alia and Bassim are.”
“You said you’d cooperate with the investigation. It’s a condition of your release. As your attorney—”
He cuts her off. “I’ll share whatever information I get. When the time is right.” He picks up his stride as he heads to the car.
She has to trot to keep up. “I don’t think you know how this works.”
He gets in the car, pulls out his cell phone and scrolls through his received calls. When he finds the number he’s looking for, he presses the button. “Come on, girl,” he mutters. “Pick up. I know you’re out there.”
She answers on the third ring. “Jack?”
He lets out the breath he’s been holding. “Alia. Are you okay? Is Bassim with you?”
“Yes. We’re okay.” She pauses. “I’m afraid Bassim may have dented your truck.”
In the background, he can hear Bassim yelling at her to shut up.
“It’s insured,” Keller says. “Don’t worry. Where are you?”
“We’re on our way to Officer Jones’s house. We’re hoping to call the police from there.”
“Good. Smart move. Wait for me until I get there. I’ll call the police and let them know where you are. Just sit tight, okay? It’s going to be all right.”
“Okay.” She doesn’t speak, but he can hear her breathing. Then she says, “They shot Mr. MacDonald, Jack. He was trying to help us, and they killed him.” She begins to sob.
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