The Lion jc-5

by Nelson DeMille

  I bent down and put my lips against Kate's forehead. Her skin was cold and clammy.

  The driver was on the radio, and I could hear her saying, "Requesting trauma room." She added, "Real critical."

  The paramedics monitored Kate's heart, blood pressure, and breathing, felt her pulse, and checked her temperature. I asked them for a sterile wipe, and I cleaned the blood off her face.

  I looked at Kate.

  She'd made a defensive move just as Khalil was cutting her throat, and he'd missed her jugular vein and other veins and arteries. And that had probably saved her life, because Mr. Asad Khalil was a very accomplished killer, and he rarely, if ever, left an intended victim alive.

  Regardless if Kate lived or died, Asad Khalil still had some unfinished business-with me. And that was good, because he'd stick around at least long enough for me to finish my business with him.

  Finally, I asked, "Prognosis?"

  Neither man answered for a second, then Ron replied, "Her condition is very serious."

  Pete asked me, "What the hell happened?"

  I replied, "This is a knife wound."

  Neither man replied.

  I asked them, "Did you see the guy in the black jumpsuit who was hooked up to her?"

  Ron replied, "Yeah… he steered his chute over on the other side of the woods." He added, "I couldn't figure that out… now I get it." He asked me, "Do you know who that was?"

  Indeed, I did. This was our worst nightmare. The Lion has returned.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  As the ambulance raced to the hospital, I used my cell phone to call 911. I identified myself to the 911 dispatcher as a retired NYPD homicide detective and a Federal law officer. I quickly explained that I was reporting the attempted murder of an MOS-member of the service-and I asked to be transferred to the State Police.

  A few seconds later, I was speaking to a desk officer at the State Police station in Liberty, New York.

  I described the incident to him and added, "I am also the husband of the victim, who is an FBI agent. The assailant is still at large." I gave him the location of the incident and said, "You should get some troopers over there to see if you can locate the assailant."

  "Will do."

  But I knew that Asad Khalil was not wandering around in his jumpsuit or repacking his parachute. He had a vehicle parked on the far side of the woods and he was long gone.

  The desk officer asked me, "And you're now on the way to the Catskill Regional Medical Center?"

  "Correct, and I'm requesting a police presence at the hospital, and I would also like a senior homicide investigator to meet me there."

  The desk officer replied, "Let me transfer you to the back room."

  "Thank you." The back room is where I used to work.

  About thirty seconds later, a man came on the line and said, "This is Investigator Harris. My desk man has explained the situation and passed on your request for a police presence at the hospital."

  We spoke, cop to cop, for a minute, and Investigator Harris said, "We've dispatched troopers to the scene to look for the perpetrator, and I'll send some troopers to the hospital. I'll see if I can locate a senior homicide investigator to meet you there."

  "Thank you."

  "How is your wife?"

  I glanced at Kate and replied, "Critical."

  "Sorry…" He asked, "Can you describe the perpetrator?"

  "Yeah. He's a Libyan national, age about… thirty, name of Asad Khalil, tall, dark, hooked nose, armed and dangerous." I suggested, "Call the FBI duty officer at 26 Federal Plaza in New York, and they'll give you the particulars on this guy and e-mail you a photo." I informed him, "This man is wanted by the Justice Department for multiple murders in the U.S. He's an international terrorist, also wanted by INTERPOL and half the world."

  There was a silence on the phone, then Investigator Harris said, "Okay… wow. Okay, I'll get hold of Senior Investigator Miller, who will meet you at the hospital."

  "Thank you." I gave him my cell phone number, hung up, took a deep breath, and looked again at Kate. Her skin was chalky, and blood seeped around her breathing tube.

  I looked at Ron and Pete and said to them, "You are not to repeat anything you just heard."

  I kept my fingers pressed tight against Kate's artery, aware that by keeping her from bleeding to death, I was also reducing blood flow to her brain.

  The paramedics had shone a penlight into her eyes a few times, and they seemed optimistic that there was still brain activity. I pushed back her eyelids and looked into Kate's blue eyes. I thought that the life in them was dimming.

  We were still in a semi-rural area, and I was concerned that we were far from the hospital. But then I saw a white six-story building up ahead, and the red letters across the building said CATSKILL REGIONAL MEDICAL CENTER.

  A trauma team was waiting for us at the emergency entrance, and they took Kate directly into the trauma room. I quickly filled out some paperwork, then a nurse led me into a small surgery waiting room and said to me, "The surgeon will be Dr. Andrew Goldberg. He's the best vascular surgeon on staff. He will see you when he comes out of surgery." She suggested, "You should call whoever you need to call."

  There was no one in the waiting room, so maybe that was all the accidents in Sullivan County on this Sunday in May. At least for now.

  On that subject, I unzipped the pocket that held my Glock. I didn't know if the State Troopers were here yet, and I would not put it past Asad Khalil to know that this was where Kate would be taken, dead or alive, and that this was where victim number two, John Corey, would be. If a trained killer tells you he will kill you tomorrow, don't take that timeline too literally; tomorrow could mean later today.

  A nurse came into the waiting room, and I was sure she had bad news for me. But she handed me a plastic bag and said, "These are your wife's personal effects."

  I hesitated, then took the bag. "Thank you." I waited for her to say something about Kate, but she said, "When you get a moment, please stop at the nurses' station and sign for those items."

  "Okay…" I asked, "How is she?"

  "Being prepped for surgery."

  I nodded and the nurse left.

  I looked at the items in the bag and saw Kate's wallet with some cash inside. Also in her wallet was a photo of me. I took a deep breath and looked at the other items-a comb, a pack of chewing gum, tissues, and a tube of lip gloss. In the bottom of the bag I found her wedding ring.

  I put the bag in a zippered pocket of my jumpsuit. I had to assume that Khalil had her gun. But what about her cell phone? Had it fallen out of her pocket? Or had she left it in the motel room or the car? I wouldn't want to think that Asad Khalil had her cell phone, complete with her phone directory.

  Regarding cell phones, I went into the corridor and pulled out my own phone. You should call whoever you need to call. Meaning next of kin. I started to dial Kate's parents, who lived in Minnesota-but what was I going to say? Her father, as I said, was an FBI agent, now retired, and I could speak to him, man to man, law officer to law officer… husband to father. But maybe I'd have more news-better news-later.

  The call I needed to make was to my office.

  I was supposed to call the FBI Ops Center, but on weekends that would get me an FBI duty officer who could be a clueless rookie. That was who Investigator Harris would be speaking to now. But since 9/11, NYPD detectives could dial a direct, private number and get the watch command, manned by an NYPD detective, which I preferred-protocol notwithstanding.

  I dialed the private number, and after a few rings a female voice said, "Detective Lynch."

  I knew her and replied, "Hi, Janet. It's Corey."

  "Hi, John. What's up?"

  I replied, "I'm reporting an attempted murder of a Federal agent by a known terrorist."

  "Oh… God. Who? I mean, who is the victim?"

  "Kate."

  "Oh my God! How is she? Where are you?"

  "She's… critical. We're at the Catskill R
egional Medical Center."

  "Oh, John, I'm-"

  "Are we recording?"

  "Yes. Recording."

  "All right. The assailant was Asad Khalil."

  "Asad…? The Libyan?"

  I made a full and hopefully intelligible report of all that had happened, up to and including me standing now in the hospital corridor, looking up and down the hallway to see if a nurse or surgeon was approaching to give me some good or very bad news.

  Janet was upset and did not ask too many questions, except about Kate. She told me she would pray for Kate, and I thanked her. I said, "Call Walsh and Paresi and tell them The Lion is back."

  "Okay…"

  Janet was new to the Task Force, and she had little knowledge of Asad Khalil's visit to the U.S. three years ago, and what little she did know had mostly to do with the fact that Khalil had murdered three people from the Task Force-Nick Monti, NYPD, Nancy Tate, a civilian receptionist, and an FBI agent named Meg Collins. The details of Asad Khalil's last visit to the U.S. were classified and on a need-to-know basis, but the names of our people whom he had murdered were passed on to each new member of the Task Force.

  Janet had also seen, hanging on the wall in the coffee room of the ATTF at 26 Federal Plaza, the wanted poster of Asad Khalil that over the past three years had been annotated by a number of agents with words such as "scumbag" and "cop killer." I myself had written, "You're mine, asshole."

  Well… now I'd get my chance.

  I said to Janet, "I've asked the State Police here in Liberty to call the FBI Ops Center and request e-mail or fax photos of Asad Khalil, and also the rap sheet on this bastard, and the wanted poster. Check with the Ops Center and make sure this was done, and done right."

  "Will do."

  "And we want a news blackout. This is classified."

  "Right. John, I'm so sorry."

  "Thanks."

  I hung up and found a men's room, where I washed Kate's blood off my hands. I watched her blood draining into the sink, and I flashed back four years to 102nd Street when my own blood was draining out of me and into a storm sewer, and my partner, Dom Fanelli, now dead, was standing over me saying, "Hang in there, John. Hang on." Hang on, Kate. Hang on.

  I splashed water on my face and drank from the tap.

  When I came out of the men's room, a nurse was waiting for me, and my heart skipped a beat. She said, "There's a State Trooper here to see you."

  I followed her to the nurses' station where a man with a sports jacket was speaking to one of the nurses and making notes in a detective's notebook. He saw me, glanced at my bloodstained jumpsuit, then walked toward me, extending his hand.

  We shook and he introduced himself as, "Senior Investigator Matt Miller, Bureau of Criminal Investigation." He added, "Troop F, Liberty."

  He already knew who I was and who Kate was, so I said, "Thank you for coming."

  Investigator Miller had secured a small coffee room for us, and we sat on plastic chairs with a table between us. He wore jeans and a golf shirt under his sports jacket, and I had the impression-reinforced by the smell of charcoal smoke-that he'd hastily left a barbecue. He was an intelligent-looking man, as one would expect of a Senior Investigator with the state Bureau of Criminal Investigation, and I placed his age at about forty, which was young for this job, so he was either very smart or well connected. I hope smart.

  He began by saying, "I'm sorry about your wife."

  "Thank you."

  Investigator Miller politely asked to see my identification and also asked me some preliminary questions.

  The State Police are a good organization, highly trained and disciplined, and we actually had a few state troopers from the BCI assigned to the Anti-Terrorist Task Force. I was sure they were up to this task, though I was also sure that the FBI would descend on Sullivan County and take over. But for now, what I needed was for the State Police to flood the area with troopers and look for Asad Khalil before he got away. Or before he showed up here.

  On that subject, Investigator Miller said to me, "I just got a call from the troopers who went out to the scene, and they found tire tracks at the edge of the woods. The tracks led to a road." He added, "We didn't find a jumpsuit or a parachute. But we're still looking." He filled me in on the manhunt, but concluded correctly, "If those tire tracks were from the perpetrator's vehicle, then he had about a twenty-minute head start on us, and we don't even know what kind of vehicle we're looking for. But we are setting up roadblocks and looking for a guy who fits the description. Or who maybe has a jumpsuit or a parachute in his vehicle."

  I said, "You're not going to find those with him." In fact, unless Asad Khalil had gotten very stupid in the last three years, he had planned his escape with at least as much care as he planned his attack. Still, it wasn't so easy getting out of a rural area when the State Police were tightening the net. I said, "Tell your troopers this guy is armed and very dangerous, and he wouldn't hesitate to kill a cop."

  He replied, "He's already tried to kill an FBI agent-your wife. So we know that." He added, "I remember the Khalil case. About three years ago. This is the guy who arrived at JFK under armed escort and killed his escorts and some people on the ground." He recalled, "That was the same day as the arrival of that airliner with the toxic fumes that killed everyone on board."

  "Right." It was, in reality, the very same flight. Asad Khalil had personally arranged for the "toxic fumes" that killed everyone on board, except himself. But that case had been so tightly wrapped in national security and government disinformation that very few people knew what really happened. I was one of the few who did, but I didn't need to share much of that with Investigator Miller. I had to give him only enough information to do his job, and I said to him, "The suspect was at that time thought to be working for Libyan Intelligence." I added, "He's a professional assassin."

  Investigator Miller, like most cops, was not overly impressed. The word "assassin" didn't appear in his mental dictionary. The suspect was simply a killer. Works for him, and works for me.

  Investigator Miller got down to specifics and informed me, "Investigator Harris tells me that you've spoken to him and that he's also spoken to your office, and he's given me some details about what happened." He assured me, "We've stationed uniformed and plainclothes troopers in the lobby and on this floor. One outside the OR. We've also received from your office two e-mailed photos of the alleged perpetrator, which we are electronically circulating to all state highway patrol vehicles and local police in this county and surrounding counties."

  "Good."

  "Your office also e-mailed a wanted poster, and I see there is a Justice Department reward for this individual of one million dollars."

  "That's correct."

  "He is a fugitive from Federal justice and wanted for the murder of Federal law enforcement agents." He said, "I assume that would be his armed escorts on that flight."

  "That's right." Plus three more on the ground.

  "But there were no specific details of his… escape and what he did subsequent to those murders." He looked at me for more information.

  I replied, "Well, I hate to use the words 'national security,' but that's the bottom line on that." I further informed him, "With that in mind, I and my office would very much like your troopers here to keep the news media out of this hospital, and I'd like you to inform your headquarters and this hospital that there are to be no medical reports issued-no names, and no details of the attack. No nothing."

  "Your office has made that clear." Investigator Miller was probably wondering how this had landed in his lap on a quiet Sunday afternoon up in God's country.

  He didn't pursue the national security issue, and asked me, "Are you positive that this individual you saw during your skydive is the same individual on the wanted poster? Asad Khalil?"

  "I am." He would have taken me at my word, but I added, "I-and my wife-worked the case that involved the murders referred to on the wanted poster."

  He thought abou
t that, then said, "So… this guy attacked your wife because… she worked that case?"

  "Apparently."

  He asked, "Did you or your wife ever have personal contact with him? Interrogate him? Piss him off?"

  Well, Kate and I had a few cell phone conversations with him, and I'd definitely pissed him off. But if I'd had personal contact with him, there would have been no interrogation, and one of us would now be dead. I replied, "I can't give you any details, but I will tell you that this is his second attempt on our lives."

  His eyebrows rose and he made a note of that, then asked, "And the first attempt was three years ago?"

  "Correct."

  "So you and your wife were working together on that case?"

  Investigator Miller had to ask the standard questions, but they weren't relevant to this investigation, or to apprehending the assailant, and as I was trying to tell him, this was classified information. But I did respond and said, "Yes, we were working together." To change the subject and to interject a personal touch into our interview, I said, "She actually wasn't my wife then." I explained, "We met on that case."

  And now, he was thinking, she may have been murdered on this case, by the same guy.

  I said to him, and to myself, "She'll be okay."

  He looked at me, wondering, I'm sure, why I thought that. This wasn't what the nurses had told him, and he'd already figured this was probably a homicide. I've been in his position too many times, not knowing if the victim is going to make it-so you don't know what verb tense to use.

  Investigator Miller asked me, "Do you think this guy had any accomplices?"

  "He's a loner." I added, "Last time he was in the U.S., he had a few unwitting and unwilling accomplices, but he killed them. So you may get a body or two turning up in the area."

  He made a note of that, took a sip of coffee, then asked a few more standard questions, which I answered.

  I wanted to be cooperative in helping the State Police apprehend Asad Khalil, but they weren't going to do that using standard detective work. If they did catch him, it would be the result of a lucky car stop by State Troopers, or because some local citizen had reported a strange-looking guy in the 7-Eleven asking for a camel burger.