The guard visibly tensed as he listened with the phone to his ear. “She says she doesn’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Tell her to expect a call from the senator in the next several minutes,” Drake said, and moved away to ask the senator to make the call that a few minutes of her time were required on a matter of national security.
Casey stood beside Drake and said, “If Mohamed’s there, he’s got to be suspicious of an after-hours visit.”
“Nebit’s probably used to couriers bringing her things that can’t wait until tomorrow. If Mohamed spends much time here, he’ll have seen this before.”
“Let’s hope your father-in-law can make this work.”
In her penthouse six floors above, Layla returned to the penthouse dining room where they had been enjoying the first course of their dinner.
“I’m sorry for the interruption, Mohamed. There are two men downstairs, saying the chairman of the Senate Select Intelligence Committee has sent them to see me. I may need to see them.”
“Were you expecting something from this senator?”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Do you know these men?”
“No, I don’t.”
Mohamed pushed his chair back from the table and stood as Layla’s cell phone on the kitchen island started playing “Hail to the Chief”. “Go ahead, take the call.”
While she dealt with the call, he retrieved the small Glock pistol from the pocket of his overcoat that he’d taken from John Prescott’s safe, and slipped it inside the waistband in the small of his back. He didn’t need his plan for their evening to be interrupted.
Layla listened to what the Senator Hazelton had to say, but told him that she had a guest and they were just starting dinner. The senator said he was sorry, but it was important she see them tonight. She agreed to allow them five minutes, given the recent attacks on the country.
“I need to see these men, Mohamed, just for a few minutes. Senator Hazelton is a powerful member of the opposition and he’ll owe me a favor. Why don’t you wait in the upper living room while I see them?”
Her penthouse had an upper level for entertaining and a roof-top terrace with a spectacular view of the Potomac. The spiral staircase leading up was just off the entry and from above, he’d be able to listen carefully to what the men had to say.
Mohamed took a position leaning against the black iron railing at the top of the staircase, so he could just see the faces of the men below and waited for their arrival. They would probably be a couple of young Senate staffers, and with Layla’s imperious manner, she would have them back out the door in no time.
Few men had ever seen the submissive side of her, as he had. Egyptian women had always been granted a high, if not equal, status with men since ancient times. They were proud of their heritage as the first true feminists. The way she could cower others when it suited her still fascinated him. It was a gift he admired.
He heard the muted doorbell chime and then Layla opening the door. Two men entered and were greeted with condescending cordiality.
“I trust this is as important as Senator Hazelton made it sound,” she said, as she let them in.
He was just able to see the top of the first man’s head and his red hair, when the other man he couldn’t see yet said, “Is Mohamed Hassan here tonight, Ms. Nebit?”
When the second man came into view, Mohamed recoiled and stepped away from the staircase railing. It was the attorney they had failed to kill at his hotel.
CHAPTER 70
“I’m calling security,” she threatened. “This isn’t about national security and Senator Hazelton is going to regret disrupting my evening.”
“Oh, this is about national security, Ms. Nebit,” Drake said. “Did you tell Mohamed Hassan the president was ordering drones over the airports before the third jetliner went down?”
“How dare you!” she hissed. “No one accuses me and gets away with it.”
While Drake was going toe-to-toe with the most powerful woman in Washington, Casey looked for any sign of Mohamed. When he looked up the spiral staircase, he saw a movement at the top.
“Adam,” he said, pointing up.
Drake started to step around Nebit to reach the staircase when she grabbed his arm. “Get out of my house this minute! You have no right to be here.”
“He’s up there, isn’t he?” Drake asked.
Her eyes darted upward, just before she tugged at his arm to get him away from the staircase.
“Keep her here, Mike,” Drake said and drew his Kimber from its holster as he started up.
Mohamed’s first shot grazed the top of Drake’s head above his left eye, as his first step up the staircase moved him slightly to the right. The second shot missed as well as he rushed up the stairs.
Drake fired one shot at the gray form that pulled away from the top of the staircase railing. When he poked his head up for a quick look, he saw a long, wide hallway leading to a terrace at the other end. The hallway widened just before the terrace into a room with floor-to-ceiling windows with a view out over the city’s skyline.
There was no way for Drake to know if Mohamed was waiting in the room, or had ducked out onto the terrace. If he was still in the room, the hallway was a kill zone with no cover to shield him.
In live-fire close combat training, acting quickly and decisively to attack a shooter was often the only option. But here, a round that missed could sail through the windows of the terrace and hit the building next door.
Without knowing if there was a way to escape from the penthouse terrace, waiting him out until the police arrived to investigate reports of gunfire meant Mohamed could escape. That was not something Drake could allow to happen.
“Mohamed, when did a Muslim warrior run from a fight? You’re taught to embrace death, but you’re hiding like a little girl.”
When there was no response, Drake tried again. “It’s over, Mohamed. We know about the camps and the missiles and the foundation. Why not die as a martyr so someone will remember you?”
“Oh, I’ll be remembered, don’t worry about that,” Mohamed shouted from the other end of the hallway.
“For what, getting young boys in these camps to kill for you? Or did you lure them there for another reason? Is that what this is all about, Mohamed? You like young boys?”
Drake saw a pistol thrust around the corner at the end of the hallway and ducked as two shots were fired wildly at him.
“I’ll tell you what, Mohamed. I won’t tell anyone you prefer boys, if you’ll walk down the hallway and try to kill me like a man. Otherwise, the world’s going to know the truth about you and how you enjoy boys and goats and…”
Drake sprung to the top of the stairs just before Mohamed roared something in Arabic and charged down the hallway firing rapidly.
Two shots from Drake’s Kimber hit Mohamed in the chest and knocked him on his back, like he’d been clotheslined by a WWE wrestler.
“Drake, you okay up there?” Casey shouted.
“Be down in a minute. Make sure she doesn’t go anywhere. I have a few questions for her before the police get here,” Drake answered.
He ran to Mohamed’s side, kicked a small Glock out of his hand and felt for a pulse. Mohamed Hassan was already flirting with his virgins. A quick search of his pockets produced an empty glass vial in his right blazer pocket, another glass vial in his left pocket filled with a milky fluid and a gray USB flash drive.
When Drake came down the staircase, Casey was guarding Nebit in the dining area. She was sitting at the opposite end of the table set with two plates of uneaten salad on silver chargers.
“Mike, call Liz and ask her to call Agent Perkins. I think the FBI will want to talk to Ms. Nebit before she dies,” he said, holding out the empty glass vial labeled “Gloriosa”.
“Have you had anything to d
rink since he arrived?” he asked her. “The colchicine poison that comes from the Flame Lily, like those on your kitchen island, is always fatal.”
Layla Nebit, the president’s closest advisor and the most powerful woman in Washington, threw her head back and began laughing. When she finished, she dropped her chin to her chest and said, “Now both loose ends are tied up.”
CHAPTER 71
Nebit retreated into a far corner of her mind and sat in silence while they waited for the police or the FBI to arrive. She appeared to be in shock and continued to stare at the empty chair at the other end of the dining table.
Drake and Casey stood between the dining table and the door leading out onto the lower terrace, in case she decided to end her life on her terms, instead of the painful death her lover chose for her.
“How much do you think she knows about the role Hassan played in shooting down the jetliners?” Casey asked.
“Hopefully, we’ll find out before that poison kills her,” Drake said.
“How soon will that be?”
“What I remember from our jungle training is eight to thirty-six hours. It’s an ugly way to die; seizures, shock and ultimately respiratory failure.”
When the FBI arrived, Special Agent Perkins quickly assessed the scene and demanded answers. She started with Drake, separating him from Casey and leading him upstairs.
“What made you come here?” she asked, as they climbed the spiral staircase.
“Ms. Nebit was Hassan’s lover. I thought he might be here because he was returning to London tomorrow.”
“Do I want to know how you knew he was leaving?”
“I went to see him at his Watergate apartment. The doorman told me.”
At the top of the stairs, Agent Perkins stopped and faced Drake.
“Before I ask you to walk me through what happened, tell me why you went looking for him,” she said and pointed to Hassan’s body lying halfway down the hallway.
“It’s a long story. You sure you want to hear it?”
For the next ten minutes, Drake told her about his client’s ranch in Oregon the American Muslim Youth Camp Foundation wanted to buy. He recounted the attack on Congressman Rodecker who tried to block the sale of the ranch and was later attacked in D.C. And he told her about being threatened by Mark Hassan the day before he committed suicide.
“Mohamed Hassan followed me in a black Porsche when I drove to the foundation’s youth camp in West Virginia. When I saw him huddled with Mark Hassan the same afternoon I’d been threatened, I followed him to his office and recognized his Porsche in the building’s underground parking. When I learned that Interpol had a file on him, I wanted to satisfy my curiosity.”
He didn’t mention the late night return to the youth camp with Casey, or hacking into Hassan’s banking account in London and finding that it linked him to the sheikh in Bahrain.
Drake showed Agent Perkins where he’d been standing when Hassan charged at him, and how he had defended himself.
“So you cornered the guy in her penthouse and killed him in self-defense, is that your story?” she asked.
“That’s what happened, Agent Perkins. Mike will confirm it.”
“I’m sure he will. What about Nebit, will she confirm it?”
“She should, but who knows,” Drake said. “She’s been poisoned by Hassan. If she was working with him, she might try to convince you that she’s the victim here. She might be innocent, but with her position on the foundation that owns these youth camps, I suspect there’s more to it. I wouldn’t wait too long before you question her. She might not be around much longer.”
Agent Perkins led Drake downstairs where medics were attending to a very subdued presidential advisor. Casey was being questioned by another FBI agent. An FBI Evidence Response Team (ERT) was unloading gear and two officers from the Metro Police Department were standing guard at the door, monitoring personnel coming and going.
Drake waited while the FBI agent questioned Casey, and then approached Agent Perkins. She was instructing two members of her team about what she wanted done with Nebit.
“Sorry for interrupting, Agent Perkins,” Drake said, “I forgot to give these to you.”
He handed her the two glass vials, one empty and one full, and the USB flash drive.
“You may want to see what’s on this flash drive. It says it’s encrypted by IronKey. It was in Hassan’s pocket.”
CHAPTER 72
Drake and Casey spent the rest of the night and half of the next day at FBI headquarters, answering questions until Special Agent Perkins and her superiors were convinced they mined every nugget of information the two men possessed. They also made sure no crimes were committed by them while they were in Washington.
When they were allowed to leave, Liz was waiting for them. She offered to take them to their hotel, or lunch if they preferred.
“A good cup of coffee and whatever you want to eat sounds good to me,” Casey said. “Special Agent Perkins tortured us all night with bad coffee instead of water boarding.”
“Have you heard how Nebit’s doing?” Drake asked, as they waited in the cold, but refreshing air, to cross Pennsylvania Avenue.
“She’s in the ICU at Georgetown University Hospital,” Liz said. “She’s vomiting and having a lot of abdominal pain, but so far she’s cooperating. Kate Perkins doesn’t think she knows much about what Mohamed was doing, but apparently he told her he killed Mark Hassan and John Prescott. She doesn’t know anything about the terrorists shooting down the jetliners, but she knew Mohamed was involved.”
The light changed and they started across the street.
“Where are we going?” Casey asked.
“We’re walking to the Capitol,” she said. “Senator Hazelton is having lunch in the Senate Dining Room and said to bring you over if you were hungry. He’s anxious to hear about last night.”
“Have they found the rest of the MANPADS?” Drake asked.
“Not yet, but the FBI is searching the rest of the youth camps all over the country to find them.”
They walked down Pennsylvania Avenue to the Capitol building. Liz used her Senate Staff ID to get them into the Senate Dining Room, where Senator Hazelton was sitting alone at a table for four.
The senator waved them over and rose to greet them.
“You survived a night with Hoover’s best, congratulations you two,” Senator Hazelton said, as he pulled out a chair for his staff intelligence advisor.
“Always a pleasure to serve our country,” Casey quipped, “but I would have enjoyed it more if they had served Seattle’s Best coffee.”
Senator Hazelton laughed and said, “The coffee’s pretty good here, Mike, and the food’s not bad either. Before we order, though, was Nebit really poisoned?”
“Her boyfriend gave her a dose of poison that comes from the Flame Lily,” Drake said. “There’s no known antidote for the poison. She won’t live for more than a day or so.”
“Do we know what she did to deserve being poisoned?” the senator asked.
“No, and we may never know the whole story, unless she makes a dying confession pretty soon. But when I told her she’d been poisoned,” Drake added, “she just laughed and said ‘Now both loose ends are tied up’. I’m not sure she knew exactly what Mohamed Hassan was doing, but they were both working with the Muslim Brotherhood.”
“But we still don’t know that Mohamed was the one responsible for these attacks on our airlines, do we?”
“No, but we do know he received $1,000,000.00 from Sheikh Qasseer, the man the CIA believes is responsible. The sheikh also contributed $9,000,000.00 to the American Muslim Youth Camp Foundation the year before the first jetliner went down,” Drake said.
“How do we know that?” Senator Hazelton asked. “Were you briefed on that, Liz?”
“Officially, you don’t kno
w that yet, sir,” Drake said presciently. “But I’m sure the FBI or the CIA will be able to trace the money when they audit the books of the foundation and look into Mohamed Hassan’s financial dealings.”
Senator Hazelton studied his son-in-law’s poker face and nodded. “I see. Will that information be discovered in time to impact the president’s decision concerning the sheikh and any role Iran had in all of this?”
“If you look in the right places, sure,” Drake said. “Mike might be able to help Liz get her friend, Special Agent Perkins, started on that.”
“Take a look at your menus, boys, and let’s get some food out here for you. I have an Intelligence Committee meeting at 2:00 p.m. and I need to make a few calls before then, it seems.”
As they were looking at the day’s lunch menu, Liz’s cell phone buzzed. She excused herself and left the Member’s Dining Room to take the call.
When she returned, she said as soon as she sat down, “Kate Perkins wanted you to know, Drake, that the encrypted flash drive you found in Mohamed’s pocket had the same spreadsheet detailing the finances for the terror plot they found on John Prescott’s laptop.”
“So he did kill Prescott,” Casey said. “He probably did kill Mark Hassan as well. I saw both Hassans together, just after Mark Hassan threatened Adam. Both Mark Hassan and John Prescott would have known about the money flowing in and out of the foundation.”
“Did you tell that to Kate Perkins?” Liz asked Casey.
“No, I didn’t. His suicide made sense with his suicide note saying he’d embezzled money from the foundation. I didn’t have a reason to connect them.”
“I’ll tell her you saw the two Hassans together when we leave,” she said. “Anything else I should tell her?”
Drake looked to the senator and asked, “If Layla Nebit was working with Mohamed Hassan, or aided and abetted him in any way, that’s treason. At what point do you question the president’s role in all of this? Nebit is his closest advisor. With her whispering in his ear, he’s made foreign policy decisions concerning Egypt and the Muslim Brotherhood that have been curious, to say the least. Does Congress or the FBI need to investigate the president’s role in aiding and abetting an enemy, now that the Muslim Brotherhood is again considered to be a terrorist organization?”
Call It Treason (The Adam Drake series Book 4) Page 23
