The Lion jc-5

by Nelson DeMille

  Khalil responded, "They suck the oil from the earth."

  Mansur allowed himself a small laugh and said, "And pay well for it."

  "Yes." Khalil asked, "How long have you been here?"

  Mansur hesitated, then he replied, "Eight years, sir." He added, "Too long."

  "Yes, too long." Khalil said, "So you were in Benghazi when the Americans bombed the city."

  "Yes. I remember that night. April 15, 1986. I was a young boy."

  "Were you frightened?"

  "Of course."

  "Did you wet your pants, Mr. Mansur?"

  "Sir?"

  "I did."

  Farid Mansur did not know how to respond to that, so he stayed silent.

  Khalil continued, "I, too, was a young boy living in the Al Azziziyah compound in Tripoli. One of their aircraft flew directly over the rooftop where I was standing and released a bomb. I was unhurt. But I wet my pants."

  Farid Mansur managed to say, "Allah was merciful, sir."

  "Yes. But my mother, two brothers, and two sisters ascended to Paradise that night."

  Mansur took a deep breath, then said softly, "May they dwell with the angels for eternity."

  "Yes. They will."

  They drove on in silence, then Khalil asked, "Why are you doing this?"

  Farid Mansur considered his reply. To say that he was doing this for his country or his faith was to admit that he knew there was more to this than assisting a countryman on his visit. Farid Mansur had done nothing illegal-except perhaps for the plastic card-and if the man sitting beside him was going to do something illegal, he did not want to know about it.

  "Mr. Mansur? I asked you a question."

  "Yes, sir… I… I have been asked to do a favor for a countryman, and-"

  "Have you ever come to the attention of the authorities?"

  "No, sir. I live quietly with my family."

  "And your wife. What does she do?"

  "What a good woman does. She tends to her house and family."

  "Good. So, a little extra money would be of help."

  "Yes, sir."

  "The price of oil has gone higher again."

  Mansur allowed himself a small smile and replied, "Yes, sir."

  "Our mutual friend here has paid you, I believe, a thousand dollars."

  "Yes, sir."

  "I will give you another thousand."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "And this flower for your wife." Khalil threw the bird of paradise on top of the dashboard.

  "Thank you, sir."

  Mansur took the Pacific Coast Highway north toward Santa Barbara. He informed his passenger, "It should be less than two hours to the hotel."

  Khalil glanced at the dashboard clock. It was just 7:30 and the sun was sinking into the ocean. In the hills to his right, large houses faced out to the sea.

  Farid Mansur said, "This is the more scenic route to Santa Barbara, sir. On Sunday, we can take the freeway back, if you wish."

  Khalil did not care about the scenery, and neither he nor Farid Mansur would be returning to Beverly Hills on Sunday. But to put the man's mind at ease, he replied, "Whatever you wish." He added, "I am in your hands."

  "Yes, sir."

  "And we are both in God's hands."

  "Yes, sir."

  In fact, Khalil thought, Mr. Mansur would be in God's hands within two hours, and then he would go home, finally.

  And as for Mr. Chip Wiggins, who was one of the pilots who had bombed Tripoli seventeen years ago and had perhaps been the one to murder Khalil's family, he would be in Hell before the sun rose again.

  And then to New York to settle other unfinished business.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A few miles north of Santa Barbara, Farid Mansur pulled into the entrance of the Best Western hotel. He drove around to the back of the hotel and parked in a space facing the building.

  Khalil exited the car and said to Mansur, "Open the trunk."

  Mansur opened the trunk and Khalil peered inside. Sitting on the trunk floor was a long canvas carrying case, which Khalil opened. In the case was a heavy crowbar, and also a butcher's saw. Khalil touched the sharp, jagged teeth of the saw and smiled.

  He slammed the trunk closed and said to Mansur, "Lock the car."

  Mansur locked the car with the remote and Khalil took the car keys from him and motioned toward the hotel.

  Khalil followed Mansur into a rear entrance that Mansur opened with his passcard. They turned down a corridor, and Mansur stopped at Room 140, which had a DO NOT DISTURB sign on the doorknob. Mansur opened the door with the card, and he stepped aside to let his guest enter first, but Khalil waved him in, then followed and bolted the door behind him. He took the passcard from Mansur and put it in his pocket.

  It was a pleasant room with two large beds, and on one of the beds sat two pieces of luggage-a black suitcase and a black duffel bag.

  Khalil asked Mansur, "When did you check into this room?"

  "At three, sir. For two nights. The checkout time is at one P.M., the day after tomorrow."

  "And you carried these bags yourself?"

  "Yes, sir. From where we have just parked."

  Khalil walked to the bags on the bed, and from his wallet he retrieved two small keys that had been given to him in Cairo.

  He unlocked and unzipped the duffel bag and saw that it had a few changes of clothing for him, but mostly it was filled with some other items that he had requested for his mission.

  Farid Mansur had moved to the window and was staring out at the parking lot.

  Khalil zipped and locked the duffel bag, then opened the suitcase. Inside were the other things he needed to complete his mission-cash, credit cards, forged passports and documents, plus a few maps, binoculars, and a cell phone and charger. Also in the suitcase was a copy of the Koran.

  Within the suitcase was also an overnight bag, which he opened. In the bag he found the instruments of death that he had requested-a.45 caliber automatic pistol with extra magazines, a very large butcher's knife with a well-honed blade, and a few smaller knives. There was also a pair of leather gloves and a garrote. And finally, there was the ice pick that he'd asked for.

  Satisfied that all was in order, he glanced at Mansur's back, then slipped on the leather gloves and removed the piano wire garrote from the bag.

  Khalil said to Mansur, "Close the drapes."

  Mansur pulled the drapes shut, but remained facing the window.

  Khalil came up behind him, and Mansur said, "Please, sir."

  Khalil quickly slipped the wire noose over Mansur's head and twisted the wooden grip. The wire tightened, and Mansur tried to pull it from his throat as a high-pitched squeaking sound came out of his mouth. Khalil tightened it further, and Mansur lurched about, finally falling facedown on the floor with Khalil on his back, keeping the wire taut. A line of blood oozed around the man's throat and neck where the wire bit into his flesh.

  Mansur kicked his legs and his body began to heave. Then he lay still.

  Khalil remained on top of him and waited a full minute before he loosened the wire. He said to Mansur, "The angels shall bear thee aloft."

  Khalil knelt beside the dead man and removed his wallet from his pocket, then rolled him over on his back. Farid Mansur's eyes stared up at Asad Khalil and his mouth was open in a silent scream.

  As Khalil went through the man's pockets, he noticed that Mansur had wet his pants. His sphincter, too, had opened, and there was a faint odor in the room that Khalil found annoying.

  He retrieved his garrote, then rolled and pushed the dead man under one of the double beds.

  From the suitcase, he took a wind-up alarm clock and set it for 2:30 A.M. That would give him about four hours' rest, which was enough.

  Khalil removed the Colt.45 automatic from the overnight bag. He checked the magazine, chambered a round, and stuck the pistol in his belt.

  He also took the Koran from the suitcase, then he turned off all the lights except for the read
ing lamp and lay down fully dressed on the bed. Khalil opened the Koran and read a verse for the man lying under his bed. "Wherever ye be, God will bring you all back at the resurrection."

  Then he read a few more favorite verses, shut off the light, and closed his eyes.

  He thought he heard a sound from under the bed, but perhaps it was just gases escaping from the corpse.

  He reflected briefly on his past visit here, and on how he had been cheated of his final revenge on the last living pilot of the air raid on Tripoli. Mr. Wiggins would not escape his fate this time, nor would the man who had cheated him of his revenge-John Corey.

  And others.

  Asad Khalil did not sleep. Like the lion, after whom he was named, he rested his body and kept his senses awake. He recalled an old Arab proverb: "On the day of victory, no one is tired."

  CHAPTER SIX

  The alarm clock did not waken him-he was awake-but it told him it was 2:30 A.M.

  Asad Khalil swung out of bed, used the bathroom, drank some water, then left the room, ensuring that the DO NOT DISTURB sign was still in place. By the time Mansur's body was found-by a cleaning person or the next guest-Khalil would be far from California.

  He went out into the cool, dark morning, got into the car, and drove out of the parking lot. On the way, he removed the cash from Mansur's wallet and threw the wallet into a drainage ditch along with the flower from the dashboard.

  There was no traffic on the roads, and within ten minutes he was approaching the northeast corner of Santa Barbara Airport. This part of the airport was away from the main terminal, and it was reserved for private aircraft, charter companies, and air freight.

  He had been told to be alert for the airport patrol car that made periodic sweeps of the area, but he saw no moving vehicles beyond the chain-link fence. He drove through the open gate into a long, narrow parking lot where several low buildings backed onto the aircraft parking ramps. Most of the buildings were dark, but one of them had a lighted sign that said STERLING AIR CHARTERS, which would be his second destination.

  He continued past a few more buildings, noting that there were a total of three vehicles parked in the lot, and he saw not a single person or moving vehicle at this hour. So far, his information had been correct. Al Qaeda in America had not made his mission possible-as they believed-but, he admitted, they had made it easier. Asad Khalil, The Lion, had killed the enemies of Islam all over Europe and America without help from anyone, but Al Qaeda had made him an offer of assistance with his American mission in exchange for his carrying out a mission for them in New York. And so he would do that, but not until he completed his personal mission of revenge.

  About two hundred meters from the Sterling Air Charters building was a lighted sign that read ALPHA AIR FREIGHT-Mr. Chip Wiggins's place of employment. In fact, Khalil saw a dark Ford Explorer parked near the freight office that matched the photograph he had been shown in Tripoli. Mr. Wiggins-formerly United States Air Force Lieutenant Wiggins-was apparently working this evening, as scheduled. Today was Friday, and Mr. Wiggins was not scheduled to work again until Sunday night, but in fact this would be Mr. Wiggins's last day of work.

  Khalil parked the Ford Taurus in a space opposite Alpha Air Freight, next to Wiggins's vehicle. He shut off the lights and the engine, then got out and checked the license plate number of the Explorer, confirming it was Wiggins's vehicle. He opened his trunk and removed the canvas carrying case that contained the crowbar and the butcher's saw and slung the case over his shoulder.

  Khalil walked quickly across the parking lot toward the open space between the freight building and the building beside it. There was a high security fence and gate between the two buildings that led to the airport ramps. Khalil used the access card that he'd gotten from Farid Mansur-may he be rewarded in Paradise for his sacrifice-opened the gate, and slipped into the secured area.

  The space between the buildings was not well lighted, and he walked in the shadow close to the Alpha building, then knelt beside a trash container at the corner of the building and scanned the area around him.

  Here behind the row of buildings were the parking ramps for the aircraft, and there were a number of small and medium-size aircraft up and down the line. Close to the rear of the Alpha building were two small twin-engine aircraft with the Alpha markings on their tails. These aircraft, as he'd been told, were two of the three aircraft that were operated by Alpha, and they normally returned to the ramp between midnight and 1 A.M.-and they had apparently done so this morning. The third aircraft in the Alpha fleet-which was not parked on the ramp-was a white twin-engine Cessna piloted by Mr. Wiggins, whose pickup and drop-off route would not usually get him back here until three or four in the morning. Khalil looked at the luminous dial of his watch and saw it was now 2:58 A.M. He hoped that Mr. Wiggins had made good time on his route and that he would be arriving shortly.

  Khalil remained crouched in the shadow of the trash container and stared out at the airport. In the far distance he could see the lights of the main terminal and also the lights of the runways. There were not many aircraft landing or departing at this hour, but he did see the lights of a small aircraft as it came in low over the closest runway.

  The aircraft touched down, and a few minutes later Khalil saw the beams of two white landing lights cutting through the darkness and illuminating the taxiway that led to the ramps.

  He remained still, listening for any sound that someone might be close by. If he encountered anyone, he had two options: the crowbar or the gun. Fleeing was not an option. He had waited a long time for this moment, and he was now very close to Mr. Wiggins, the last of the eight pilots who had dropped their bombs on the Al Azziziyah compound in Tripoli where he had lived, and where his family had died.

  The twin-engine aircraft continued taxiing toward him, and he prayed that this was the aircraft he had been waiting for. As it drew closer, he saw it was white and he thought he saw the Alpha marking on its tail. He opened the canvas carrying case and took out the heavy crowbar.

  The aircraft entered the ramp and came to a stop not more than ten meters from him. Within moments the aircraft lights had been extinguished, both engines shut down, and the night was again dark and quiet.

  Khalil watched and waited. He heard a few creaking sounds from the aircraft, then he saw the airstair door on the left side of the fuselage swing down, and a moment later a man stepped out and descended the stairs.

  There was little illumination in the ramp area, and Khalil could not be certain that this pilot was Wiggins, but this was the aircraft he flew, and it was his vehicle in the parking lot, and his arrival time was correct. Khalil would not have been troubled if he killed the wrong man, except that would alert Wiggins-and the authorities-that he, Asad Khalil, was back.

  The pilot was carrying something-wheel chocks on ropes-and he turned and bent down to place the first chock into position behind the aircraft's left tire.

  Khalil grabbed the canvas carrying case and sprang forward, covering the ten meters between him and the aircraft in a few seconds.

  The pilot was now placing a second chock in front of the left tire, but he heard a sound, turned, and stood.

  Khalil was right on top of him, and in an instant he recognized the face from photographs as that of Chip Wiggins.

  Wiggins stared at the man and said, "Who-?"

  Khalil had dropped the canvas bag and was now holding the crowbar in both hands, and he swung the heavy steel bar around in an arc and smashed it down on top of Wiggins's left shoulder, shattering his clavicle.

  Wiggins let out a bellowing cry of pain, staggered backward, then fell to the ground.

  Khalil swung again and shattered Wiggins's right kneecap, then again, smashing his left shin bone, then a final swing that broke his right shoulder.

  Wiggins's cries of pain were barely audible now, and Khalil could see that the man was passing into unconsciousness.

  Khalil looked around quickly, then threw the crowbar and the carryi
ng case with the saw up into the plane's cabin. He knelt beside Wiggins and pulled him up by the front of his shirt into a sitting position. Khalil hefted the semi-conscious man over his shoulder, stood, then made his way quickly up the stairs, which he closed behind him.

  The freight cabin was dark and the ceiling was low, so Khalil moved in a crouch toward the rear bulkhead, where he dropped Wiggins into a sitting position with the man's back against the wall.

  Khalil retrieved his butcher's saw, then knelt astride Wiggins's legs. He took an ammonia ampoule from his pocket and broke it under Wiggins's nose. The man's head jerked back, and Khalil slapped him across both cheeks.

  Wiggins moaned and his eyes opened.

  Khalil put his face close to Wiggins and said, "It is me, Mr. Wiggins. It is Asad Khalil who you have been expecting for three years."

  Wiggins's eyes opened wider, and he stared at Khalil but said nothing.

  Khalil put his mouth to Wiggins's ear and whispered, "You, or perhaps one of your deceased squadron mates, killed my mother, my brothers, and my sisters. So you know why I am here."

  Khalil drew back and looked at his victim. Wiggins was staring straight ahead, and tears were running down his cheeks.

  Khalil said to him, "Ah, I see you are sorry for what you did. Or perhaps you are just in physical pain. Surely you have never experienced the mental pain I have carried with me since I was a boy. And, of course, you never experienced the physical pain of a house collapsing on you and pressing the life out of your body."

  Wiggins's lips moved, but all that came out was a soft moan that trailed off into a whimper.

  Khalil could tell that the man was about to pass out again, so he slapped him hard and said loudly, "Listen to me! You escaped me once, but now I have a very unpleasant death planned for you, and you must be awake for it."

  Wiggins closed his eyes and his lips trembled.

  Khalil reached back and drew the butcher's saw from the carrying case. He held it in front of Wiggins's face and again slapped him.

  Wiggins opened his eyes and stared at the saw with incomprehension, and then he understood. His eyes widened, his jaw dropped, and he managed to wail, "No…!"