The Valley of Shadows

by Mark Terry

  “That’s what we’re afraid of,” O’Reilly said.

  Lottke leaned forward and planted his elbows on his desk. “I’m afraid of it, too, but you haven’t told me much that sounds like evidence.”

  “We don’t have much that is evidence,” O’Reilly said. “Look, wouldn’t it be better to be safe than sorry?”

  Lottke studied her for a moment. “That shoulder hurt?”

  “Yes. What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Get you some Tylenol or something? Every time you move it you wince. Figure it must be hurting you.”

  “Thanks for your offer, but I’ve got some medication.”

  Lottke nodded. He turned his attention to Derek. “I spoke to your guy.”

  “You spoke to Secretary Johnston?”

  Lottke laughed. “Yeah, right. I called up the Secretary of Homeland Security in the middle of the night. No, I—”

  “I gave you his number.”

  “I know you did and I appreciate that. But we have protocols here for security. First, I needed to verify that you two are who you say you are. And as you might’ve guessed, you do check out. The problem is—”

  A knock on the door interrupted Lottke’s speech. He called out, “C’mon in.”

  It opened and two men in navy blue suits appeared. Derek didn’t know who they were, but he could guess.

  The blond suit with the thin, angular face, held up his identification. “Agent William Smith, FBI.”

  “Got it in one,” Derek said. Everyone ignored him.

  Smith’s partner was older with a gray crew cut. There was something about him that suggested he had a long history in the military. Derek thought that the guy looked about fifty-five but might be closer to sixty-five. Whatever his age, he looked like he was in fantastic shape and didn’t take much bullshit from anybody. “Agent Taylor Zerbe, Department of Homeland Security.” He grinned at Derek. “I know you by reputation. And it ain’t good.”

  John Seddiqi took a quick shower and shaved. He pulled on fresh clothes, knotted his tie, and walked to the motel parking lot to catch the shuttle bus that would take him into LAX. He found it interesting, the way his mind was alternately churning and blank. Disconcerting, because he was accustomed to working under stress. But not personal stress, he supposed. He hoped he was not sending his wife to her death. But he could think of no other way to change the equation with Kalakar. He knew that if he gave Kalakar the coordinates and Kalakar did whatever it was he was going to do, he had no incentive to set Malika free. In fact, he might have great incentive to kill her.

  John was just trying to wrest some of Kalakar’s leverage away from him.

  May Allah be with us, he prayed.

  CHAPTER 63

  Leaning against the wall in the airport security room, Agent Taylor Zerbe said, “I know you’ve got the secretary’s ear, but there are ways to do things so you don’t make all our lives harder. I just got off the phone with Secretary Johnston, and he insists I should listen to you.”

  Derek said, “Good. We need—”

  Zerbe raised a hand so Derek would stop. “I’ve also been talking to the bureau, the ODNI, and the LAPD. And it seems you two are actually supposed to be either on your way back to D.C. or in a holding cell at the PAB.”

  He leveled his gaze on Derek. “I share that with you so you don’t start thinking I’m as stupid as you apparently think everybody else is. Got that? So tell me your story.”

  So Derek did. Fifteen minutes later Zerbe raised an eyebrow and said, “That’s it?”

  “What do you mean, ‘that’s it?’ That’s enough!”

  Zerbe sighed. “Good work identifying the girl. Of course, since you didn’t actually talk to the parents, it’s still not proven. And as to how you found out that John Seddiqi worked at LAX ATC, I’m a little fuzzy on that. You want to explain it to me?”

  “I made some calls.”

  “Uh-huh. You didn’t by any chance go into the house without a warrant, did you?”

  “Of course not.” Derek met his gaze and gave him his full-out honest look. “Are you going to let us out of here or not?”

  Zerbe crossed his arms over his chest. “Haven’t decided yet.”

  Agent Smith said, “If I call LAPD and ask for an inventory of evidence of the crime scene in Griffith Park is there going to be any evidence listed that fits the description of a piece of a third grader’s math homework?”

  It was O’Reilly’s turn. She said, “Why don’t you call them and ask?”

  Smith stared her down. “In time, Agent O’Reilly. In time.” He shot Zerbe a look.

  Lottke said, “So if I got this right, you two came in here with a bunch of illegally acquired ‘evidence,’—” He used his fingers to make “quote” marks in the air when he said evidence. That adds up to what sounds to me to be a wild-assed guess. That right?”

  Neither Derek nor O’Reilly said a word. Zerbe nodded. “That about sums it up.”

  “So what are you going to do?” Lottke demanded.

  Zerbe shrugged. “With your permission, we’re going to go over to the ATC tower and talk to Mr. Seddiqi when he comes into work. Then I’ll decide whether or not to lock up Dr. Stillwater and Dr. O’Reilly.”

  “Or push them in front of a moving train,” Agent Smith said.

  “Or that,” Zerbe agreed. “Might be a lot fewer headaches that way.”

  Governor Stark and Donna Price rode in the back of a limousine to the Denver airport while Secret Service Agent Frank Long sat in the front passenger seat sipping coffee. They were discussing the Secret Service’s opinion of Secretary Johnston’s suggested change in itinerary. The mountains were behind them in the darkness as they drove through the neon and fluorescent lights of suburban Aurora, Colorado.

  “Here’s the thing, Governor. This warning isn’t very well substantiated. I’ve talked to the director personally, who has full access to Secretary Johnston’s data on this. It is wildly circumstantial, and although Secretary Johnston respects the source’s opinion, the director finds him to be a bit of an alarmist—to say the least.”

  Stark said, “Who’s the source?”

  Donna noted that Governor Stark didn’t seem tired. He seemed energized by finally reaching election day. She had handed him the overnight polls putting him three percentage points ahead of Vice President Newman. She knew he could practically taste the presidency, it was so close.

  Long said, “It’s one of his troubleshooters, a Dr. Derek Stillwater. His expertise is biological and chemical terrorism.”

  “But he’s got an opinion on a MANPAD? A little outside his area of expertise, isn’t it?”

  Long frowned and Donna wondered what he was thinking. Long had been with the Secret Service for nineteen years and was considered a seasoned pro. It was hard to figure what was going on in his head though. Maybe that was from years of protecting presidents and visiting world leaders.

  Delicately, Long said, “He’s an expert on terrorism and I’m aware of his reputation as well as his track record, which is admirable.”

  “So your recommendation?”

  Long said, “Would you consider skipping California—”

  Both Price and Governor Stark exploded. “Absolutely not!”

  Long nodded. Donna Price realized the agent wasn’t surprised by their reaction. Long said, “We could fly into a different airport than LAX, which would add some unpredictability to our flight plan. It won’t delay us more than a few minutes.”

  “What do you suggest?” Governor Stark asked.

  Donna interrupted. “How much of a delay?”

  “No more than thirty minutes. I suggest that instead of flying into LAX, we fly into Ontario Airport and take cars into the rally in L.A. It’s an easy fix, and if there actually is someone near LAX with an antiaircraft missile, they’ll be in the wrong place. Hopefully the bureau and local cops will be on their toes, assuming there’s a real threat.”

  Governor Stark nodded. “Very wel
l. Our pilot can make up the time to keep us on schedule?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Go ahead then.”

  John Seddiqi arrived at the air traffic control tower at six-thirty, early for work. He clocked in, grabbed a cup of coffee, and went about checking all the various weather information before anybody noticed he was there. Tapping away at a computer, he pulled up information regarding Governor Stark’s flight, which was being shifted from LAX to Ontario.

  Frowning, John pulled up a map and looked at the Governor’s flight plan. With a sigh of relief, he realized it would make no difference. He didn’t know why the change of destination, but until they entered into LAX airspace, their flight was essentially the same and would fly along the route he expected.

  He made some simple calculations and nodded his head.

  “Hey, John, good morning. You’re here early.”

  John quickly changed the computer monitor screen so his boss, Bruce Abelson, wouldn’t see what he had been looking at. “Thought I’d pick up some overtime, if it’s okay.”

  Abelson was a slim, wiry man with round wire-rimmed glasses that magnified his blue eyes. He looked geeky, which he was, but John thought he was a good boss. “Sure, I guess that’d be okay. Hey, did security catch you on the way in?”

  An icy hand gripped John’s chest. “What?”

  Abelson frowned. “Uh, Trevor Lottke, he was calling about you, said some federal agents wanted to talk to you. He mentioned something about your daughter. Everything okay?”

  “Huh,” John said, acid flooding his stomach and throat. “Far as I know. Must be a misunderstanding. I’ll go and call him right away.”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  John turned to leave the tower. Abelson called after him. “John?”

  He turned. “Yeah?”

  “You sure everything’s okay?”

  John shrugged. “Far as I know. I’m sure it’ll be nothing. I’ll see you after I get this all cleared up.”

  He walked normally until he was out the door, then he sprinted for the stairs. He had the information he needed. All he had to do was trade it for his daughter.

  CHAPTER 64

  Ghazala pulled into the parking lot her husband had identified. Although the sun had been rising while she was driving on the L.A. expressways, once in Angeles National Forest, it was hidden by the San Gabriel Mountains. She read signs pointing toward Mt. Wilson, Mt. Zion, and Mt. Harvard through twilight.

  She took a peek at her cell phone and felt a surge of relief that the small screen showed service. She’d been worried that once in the park with its mountains and winding roads there would be no contact and John’s plan would fall to pieces, and any hope for Malika’s safe return with it.

  Ghazala climbed out of the car, stretched, and walked to a nearby restroom facility. It was rustic, only pit toilets and a hand pump. She couldn’t hide her distaste, but reminded herself that this was about her daughter. She used the facilities, then pumped and drank the icy water.

  Again she looked at the cell phone, thinking, John, where are you?

  John Seddiqi fled the LAX air traffic control tower, quickly making his way to the nearest terminal building and flagging down a taxi. The driver was young, maybe college age, with skin like coal and an attitude like steel wool. His accent was hard to pinpoint. Jamaican? Cuban? John wasn’t sure.

  “Where you wanna go?”

  John hadn’t thought this through completely. All he knew was he needed to stay on the move. He didn’t understand how the authorities had connected him to Kalakar so quickly. Had Kalakar been caught? Had he led them to John?

  Or had Kalakar done something to Malika, killed her and left her body somewhere?

  He refused to think of that, refused to believe. Could not believe it.

  No, he didn’t know how the Americans had made the connection, but he knew if he wanted his daughter returned safely he had to stay ahead of them.

  John started to give the cab driver his home address, thinking he would pick up his other vehicle and meet Ghazala in the park, when his cell phone rang.

  “Yes?”

  The cab driver turned in his seat, impatiently gesturing at the meter.

  John held up his hand, telling him to wait. The driver scowled and turned forward, watching a few early morning passengers walking out of the Delta terminal.

  It was Kalakar. “John, have you left for work yet?”

  “I’m already there. I’ve had a change of plans. I already have what you need.”

  A moment’s silence filled the air. “Why the change of plans?”

  John’s brain buzzed. How to handle this? He had thought it through a million different ways, but now that he had Kalakar on the phone, it was harder than he had thought. An image of his daughter filled his mind, and hardened his resolve.

  “Because of Malika. Here’s the plan.”

  The cab driver turned around and glared. “You goin’ somewhere or not? I start meter now or not?”

  John held up his hand. He needed to concentrate on Kalakar.

  “I’ve got what you want, but I’m not going to just turn it over to you.”

  “You’re gambling with your daughter’s life, John.”

  “I’m thinking of her.”

  The cab driver turned back to him. “You go somewhere? What you problem, mon? Gimme where go or get outta my car.”

  “Problem, John?”

  John kicked open the cab door, walking away from the car. The cabbie flung up his hands, swearing at him.

  “No problem. It’s as simple as this. You take Malika to Angeles National Forest. That’ll put you in the right—”

  Kalakar was furious. “Are you out of your mind? What game are you playing?”

  John clenched his fist. He saw that the cab driver was still staring at him. Turning away, he said, “You take Malika there, Kalakar. You take her to this location. Are you listening?”

  “I’m not going to—”

  “You do as I say or you don’t get the coordinates you need. Understand me? I want proof that Malika’s okay before I give you anything. Do you understand me?”

  Kalakar was silent for a long moment. John’s stomach clenched. He thought he had blown it. He thought Kalakar wasn’t going to negotiate, that he had just signed his own daughter’s death certificate. His guts roiled and he thought he was going to be sick right there. Nausea swept over him.

  Kalakar finally said, “Tell me where, John.”

  John’s chest heaved. He was almost panting, his tension was so severe. He coughed out the directions to the parking lot in Angeles National Forest. He told Kalakar to repeat them back to him.

  Kalakar did. “Then what?”

  “Ghazala will be there. You turn Malika over to Ghazala and call me. I will give you the GPS coordinates you need. Then you’re on your own.”

  “If you try to screw me, John, I’ll kill your daughter, your wife, and then come after you. I will make all of your deaths slow and excruciating. Are we clear on this? If there are cops there or the coordinates you give me—”

  John took a deep breath. “You’d better get on the road, Kalakar. The governor’s plane is already in the air.” He clicked off the phone, bent over, and vomited on the sidewalk.

  Trevor Lottke led all of them through a maze of corridors to an elevator that took them up to the air traffic control tower. Derek couldn’t help himself: the air traffic control tower at LAX was iconic and he’d always wondered what it looked like inside. He wasn’t disappointed. Windows gave three hundred and sixty degree views of the airport, all its terminals and runways. More than a dozen controllers stood or sat at computers. There was a constant buzz of conversation as they talked to planes. Managers walked around tracking what the controllers were doing.

  As Derek watched, a 747 rumbled down a runway and roared into the air.

  A thin blond man hustled over and was introduced as Bruce Abelson. Lottke said, “These folks are with the FBI, Homeland Secu
rity, and the Office of the Director of National Intelligence. They need to speak to John Seddiqi. When does his shift start?”

  Abelson cocked an eyebrow. “Pretty soon, but he came in here just a little while ago.” He glanced around. “I don’t see him though. That’s odd. He was checking something on the computer, said he hoped to work some overtime, help us out.”