The Lion jc-5

by Nelson DeMille

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Tom Walsh didn't comment on my lateness or on the fact that George Foster was not there. I also noticed that Paresi had gotten rid of my Khalil folder.

  Walsh looked at me and said, "John, let me begin by saying that you've done an outstanding job on this case, and we appreciate your dedication to duty, especially in light of Kate's serious injuries, and the stress"-stress on the stress-"that you've been under-"

  "Thank you."

  He continued, "After thinking about this situation, and after consulting with Captain Paresi, I strongly suggest that you ask for traumatic leave so that you can be with your wife during her convalescence."

  I didn't respond.

  He sweetened the deal by saying, "This will be paid leave, of course."

  I asked, "How long?"

  "Thirty days." He added, "Maybe longer."

  I informed him, "This will all be over within a week."

  He didn't comment on that prediction, and he continued, "I would advise you to stay in your apartment, except for necessary errands and such."

  "Can I see a Yankees game?"

  "No." He went on, "You'll have ample time at home to write your incident report and to write me a confidential memo regarding everything you know about Asad Khalil and about what happened three years ago."

  I glanced at Paresi, fully expecting him to say to Walsh, "Tom, I have a whole folder that John just gave me on that very subject. Let me make a copy for you."

  But Captain Paresi did not say that. In fact, Captain Paresi had been screwed so many times by the FBI that he was keeping this to himself. Why share information? No one else does. Paresi's fantasy, of course, was that he and his detectives-sans Detective Corey-would find Asad Khalil without help from the FBI. Competition is good. We're not socialists. And we're really not team players. We're individualists. We're Americans. We're cowboys.

  "John?"

  I looked at Walsh.

  "I said I'd like that report and memo within seventy-two hours."

  I had the urge to tell him that seventy-two hours from now, we could all be dead. Then I wouldn't have to write the stupid incident report or the stupid memo. I said, however, "No problem."

  He assured me, "Your request for leave will have no negative impact on your career, and nothing of a negative nature will be inferred from your request to be with your wife."

  This was getting a little tedious, not to mention silly. I mean, I had no career here. I had a contract. And someday I was going to read it and see what I had to do to get out of here.

  By my silence, Walsh may have thought I was wavering or that I didn't believe him about what he'd just said, so he also said, "I will place a letter of commendation in your file thanking you for your service in general, and your outstanding work on this case."

  Paresi, in a rehearsed remark, added, "I will do the same."

  Thanks, Judas. It seemed that the less I said, the more I got. If I could keep my mouth shut for ten minutes, I'd get a free cab ride home and a MetroCard. I just wanted to get out of there, so I said to Walsh and Paresi, "I appreciate that."

  Walsh reminded me, "This case, like all our cases, is classified and on a need-to-know basis." He further reminded me, "You signed agreements acknowledging that you will not discuss, disclose, or divulge anything that pertains to your duties here."

  I glanced at my watch.

  He continued, "And I will also ask you not to discuss this case with anyone in this office-or anyone from the State Police or any other law enforcement or intelligence agency, unless authorized by me personally."

  "Right."

  Walsh reminded me, "Kate is under the same restrictions as you are."

  "Okay. Are we done?"

  "No." Walsh continued, "There is a news blackout on this case-authorized at a higher level-and it goes without saying that you will not be speaking to reporters."

  He went on to the next subject. "I've asked Vince"-he nodded toward Captain Paresi in case I forgot who Vince was-"to arrange for protection for you and for Kate."

  Paresi informed me, "There will be SOG personnel in your apartment lobby around the clock."

  This is the Special Operations Group, the people I worked with last week on the Iranian dip surveillance. They're part of the Terrorist Task Force, mostly NYPD detectives, but also some FBI agents. Their specialty is not only surveillance, but also countersurveillance, and protective details. They're good at what they do, but I could give them the slip if I had to.

  I suggested, "You should both take advantage of that protection."

  Walsh replied, "Captain Paresi and I are taking necessary precautions."

  "Good. One less thing for me to worry about."

  We all thought that was funny and everyone smiled appropriately.

  I then let them know, "I do not want surveillance people tailing me."

  There was a silence, then Walsh said, "You will have a team assigned to you when you're mobile."

  I reminded both of them, "I can take care of myself. In fact, I have a gun."

  Paresi said, "Look, John, we don't want to lose another agent." He smiled. "Not even you." He let me know, "You, me, Tom, George, and maybe a few other people will have SOG personnel assigned to them-that's how we may catch this guy."

  On that subject, I said to Walsh, "I'm still willing to act as bait."

  Walsh replied, "I think we're all bait now."

  "Good point." In fact, Walsh had finally come to the unhappy conclusion that he had no clue about how to find Asad Khalil-except for letting Khalil find us. Officially, we were all under police and FBI protection; unofficially, we were live bait. Thus I was authorized to leave my apartment to go on "necessary errands and such." In reality, and off the record, Walsh and Paresi didn't care where I went-if I agreed to not lose my protective detail.

  Good plan, but it wasn't my plan. My plan didn't include being tailed by cops and FBI agents who could scare off Khalil, or arrest Khalil, or even kill Khalil; my plan included only two people: John Corey and Asad Khalil.

  Paresi said to me, "John, there can be a role for you in this case, and maybe this is it."

  I didn't reply.

  Walsh informed me, "It's like the spy who came in from the cold. You're fired-officially off the case, but unofficially, you're bait."

  "Got it."

  "Good." He asked, "Agreed?"

  Better half a loaf and all that. I said, "Agreed."

  Paresi informed me, "You'll wear a vest when you go out, and we'll give you a GPS tracking device to wear, and a wire so you can speak to your surveillance team while you're mobile." He added, "You know the drill."

  I nodded.

  "You can pick those things up at tech before you leave."

  "Will do."

  That seemed to be the end of that subject, and Walsh said to me, "We have requested the NYPD ambulance helicopter to pick up Kate tomorrow A.M. and bring her here to Bellevue."

  "Good. I'll be on the helicopter."

  Walsh said, "All right. Someone will text or call you with the lift-off time from the Thirty-fourth Street Heliport."

  "Good."

  Walsh glanced at his watch, then asked me, "Any questions? Anything that needs clarification?"

  "Yes." I said to him, "It seems to me that Asad Khalil needs to pay back the people who financed his trip here and who have provided him with information and logistical support." I asked, "Would you agree with that?"

  He replied, "I agree that he has backers. I have no knowledge of how he needs to repay them." He added, "What Khalil is doing may be payment enough."

  I replied, "I don't think so."

  "Well, you can be sure you're not the first person to think of this, Detective." He let me know, "Washington is aware, and Counterintelligence is investigating."

  "Good." I asked, "Is Homeland Security going to raise the alert level?"

  He replied, "I have no idea." He advised me, "Check the news tonight."

  Walsh was try
ing to put me in my place, of course. The Big Picture, if there was one, was none of my business, unless and until Tom Walsh or someone higher up made it my business. That was how 9/11 happened.

  I looked out the window to where the Towers used to be and I said, "I felt I should mention this."

  "Thank you." He assured me, "You're on the record."

  I pointed out, "This meeting is off the record."

  "This meeting is administrative." He asked me, "Anything further?"

  Well, yes, Tom. I want to tell you about Boris, who could be an important resource for us in apprehending Asad Khalil. But you're such a shithead, Tom, that I'll keep that to myself. Or maybe you already know about Boris and you're keeping it to yourself. Either way, screw you.

  "John?"

  "Nothing further."

  "Good." He stood, I stood, and Captain Paresi stood.

  Walsh said, "Thank you, gentlemen, for your time and your thoughts." Then he gave a little speech. "This is not only a difficult case for us professionally, it is also difficult for us personally."

  Right. Someone is trying to kill us.

  He continued, "But the best way to resolve this case satisfactorily is to put our personal feelings aside and to follow procedures and directives."

  Was he speaking to me?

  He went into the pep talk phase. "This is not about us-it is about the security of our country. This is why we're here, and it is what we do." He concluded, "I have no doubt that we, working together with our colleagues in the war on terrorism, will bring this man to justice."

  We all shook hands, and both men sent their regards to Kate, then I raced Paresi to the door. I got there first, but I heard Walsh say, "John, I just need a minute more of your time."

  Paresi said to me, "See me before you leave."

  I returned to Walsh's office, but did not sit.

  He said to me, "I have an unofficial complaint forwarded to me through the State Department, regarding an incident that allegedly took place during your surveillance detail last week in the Taj Mahal Casino in Atlantic City."

  I replied, "I'm sorry I used my government credit card to buy gambling tokens."

  "This actually has to do with someone assaulting an Iranian U.N. diplomat in the men's room."

  "Let me check my notes and I'll get back to you."

  He looked at me a moment, then said, "You have demonstrated in the past a tendency toward rough justice." He reminded me, "We don't work that way here."

  "Right."

  He added, "Payback is not what we do. Neither is personal revenge."

  "Right."

  He changed the subject. "Why do you think this will all be over in a week?"

  I replied, "That's my gut feeling."

  He considered that reply, then said, "I thought you had some logical reason for that statement."

  "All right. It's like this-Khalil began by killing this guy Farid and hiding his body, then he went for Wiggins, Kate, the Haythams, the livery driver, and the taxi driver. This was done so quickly that we had no clue and no time to react. Now we're all awake and waiting for him to strike again. And keep in mind he didn't go for me when he had the chance. Not to overdo the lion metaphor, Tom, but he's playing cat and mouse with me and with us." I reminded him, "The killing is secondary to the game, and he definitely has a game plan, which includes me and maybe you, Vince and George, and others not yet known. But he knows he can't start knocking people off one at a time and expect that his next victim will be sitting around waiting to die. So what's going to happen is that Khalil will make a clean sweep, probably in the course of a single night, and by the time the first body is discovered, the last victim will already be dead." I concluded, "It's all planned and ready to go," then added, "Sorry I can't tell you the night-but I don't think he'll hang around here for more than a week."

  Walsh said nothing for a few seconds, then pointed out, "That assumes Khalil does plan to kill more people."

  "That's my best guess. But I may be wrong. Maybe he's done-except for me."

  He nodded and agreed, "You may be the only reason he's still here."

  "We'll find out."

  Walsh didn't reply to that and speculated, "But maybe he is gone. Maybe it got too hot for him here."

  "He's here."

  "Well… good. We want him here."

  "I want him here."

  He walked me to the door and reminded me in an almost offhand way, "If you find him, and if you kill him-and if you can't prove self-defense-you will face murder charges."

  I didn't reply.

  He also reminded me, "They want this guy alive."

  "Why?"

  "Obviously, he's worth more to us alive." He added, "Also, we don't murder people. Or even punch them in the groin. We try them in Federal court, as common criminals."

  I didn't think that was such a good idea, but I didn't reply.

  Walsh assured me, "Asad Khalil will go to jail. Forever."

  "We don't know that, Tom."

  "Of course we do." He got to the heart of the matter. "You killing Asad Khalil has less to do with protecting yourself and Kate than it does with pure and simple revenge. An eye for an eye. But I want you to consider that incarceration for life is worse than death." He added, "That goes for you as well as Khalil."

  I pointed out, "Asad Khalil is more than eligible for the death penalty, but you and I know that the government never asks for the death penalty in these cases, even when the crime is mass murder."

  He thought about that and replied, "We don't want to create martyrs for Islam. We want them to rot."

  And we didn't want to upset the world community with our primitive death penalty laws. But I didn't want to argue with him-I wanted to cool it, so I said, "I see your point."

  He didn't believe me and said, "Think of yourself, of Kate, and of your country."

  "I always do, Tom."

  "You need to promise me that if you have or receive any knowledge of Khalil's whereabouts, or if he contacts you, you will inform me immediately."

  "What else would I do with that information?"

  "If you can't promise that before you leave here, then I promise you that I'll do everything in my power to get you put in protective custody." He added, "Ankle bracelet, house arrest, the whole nine yards."

  I think that was a bluff. He wanted me out and about with backup people following me. I was his best-and maybe only-chance to grab Asad Khalil. On the other hand, I shouldn't call his bluff if I wanted to stay free.

  "John?"

  I looked him in the eye and said, "I understand that this is not about me. You can count on me to keep you fully informed, to coordinate with the Task Force, to stay close to my surveillance team, and if I should somehow come into personal contact with the suspect, I will follow all the rules regarding the use of deadly force." I added, "I promise."

  That seemed to make him happy and he said, "Good." He assured me, "That's the right thing."

  "I know it is."

  We shook on the deal, and I left his office, thinking that he was right and that what I'd just said was the right thing, and also the best thing for everyone. Revenge is not justice.

  By the time I got to the elevators, however, I was back to where I was when I saw Khalil cut Kate's throat.

  It's really scary when you have a moment of temporary sanity.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  I went down to the 26th floor to gather a few things from my desk, but before I did that, I went to Gabe's desk to look for his copy of the Khalil folder. In a file storage box I found his folder labeled "Islamic Community Outreach Program."

  I noticed another box marked "Haytham-Personal" and opened it. There wasn't much in the box-mostly desk items and grooming aids-but I saw the Koran in Arabic, and also a book of Arab proverbs in English, with tabbed pages. I opened the book to a marked page and read an underlined sentence: "Death is afraid of him, because he has the heart of a lion."

  I put the book back in the box and saw a framed
photograph showing two smiling, attractive women who must have been Gabe's wife and daughter. I stared at the photo awhile, realizing that these two women were dead-murdered by Asad Khalil in cold blood. I could understand his motives and his sick rationale for the other murders, but even after a decade of homicide work, I was still shocked by motiveless murder-sport killing. And they wanted this guy taken alive?

  I closed the box and went to Kate's desk. I took a red marker and wrote on her desk blotter: Welcome back, darling-Love, John.

  I went to my desk and played my voice mails, skipping through most of them, listening for a message from Asad Khalil. I'd given him my office number three years ago, asking him to give me a call about getting together when he was in town again. Mr. Khalil had not called, but he had Kate's cell phone and Gabe's cell phone, so he now had all my phone numbers, and I was certain I'd hear from him.

  I logged onto my computer, checked my e-mails, and printed out a few. I also printed out ten copies of the NYPD Be On The Lookout photo of Asad Khalil and put them in Gabe's Khalil folder.

  People were starting to drift back in from lunch to see how the war on terrorism was going, and I didn't want to get involved in conversations with my colleagues, so I locked up and headed to the elevators.

  I was supposed to go to the tech squad to pick up my tracking device and wire, but I forgot. I think I was also supposed to see Captain Paresi, but I was under a lot of stress, which made me forgetful.

  Out on the street, I got into my Jeep and drove over to Murray Street to see the scene of what I hoped was Khalil's last crime.

  I parked across the street from the IRS building and imagined this street on a Sunday afternoon. No one lived on this block, and the offices were closed, so it would be nearly deserted, and Asad Khalil did not pick this street at random. He had some knowledge of the area-either personal knowledge, or more likely someone here in New York had briefed him. What I was seeing with these murders was the end product of a fairly competent and well-informed group living and working in New York. Khalil was the celebrity killer; the others were his advance men, managers, and booking agents.

  There were no signs left of a police crime scene investigation-not even a white chalk outline of where Amir had fallen dead in the street. But I pictured Amir getting out of his taxi, probably confused about the pain in his brain, and maybe staggering behind Khalil, who would be moving quickly toward Church Street, or the other way toward West Broadway-and if Khalil saw him, I wondered if he had a moment of fear, anxiety, or even remorse. I think not. The psychopathic killer mentally distances himself from the person whose life he just ended. I understood the head of a killer, but I could never understand the heart of a killer.