He infiltrated the British camps that circled the city, providing his German masters with as much first hand intelligence as he could get his hands on. After the first two years of the war, he became one of Nazi Germany’s most important agents in the North African arena, and the German military sent an Abwehr agent to personally assist Aziz. He had contacts all throughout Cairo but his funds were drying up quickly. The Germans had not been expecting such a load of information, so they snuck the Abwehr agent into Cairo along with a horde of Nazi gold on a stolen Allied boat typically used for humanitarian purposes. The millions of dollars in gold were exactly what Aziz was waiting for, a gift from the heavens so he could begin his true calling. The Abwehr agent disappeared; Aziz put a knife in his back one night and deposited the body in the Nile before vanishing into the throng of different cultures inhabiting war torn Cairo so he could wait until the struggle concluded.
The Nazi advance was eventually destroyed as Allied ships intercepted Rommel’s supplies traveling across the Mediterranean Sea. This, combined with the Fuhrer’s rash decision-making, ended the siege of Egypt. The Germans retreated back to the European front to try to prevent their homeland from being run over by the increasing juggernaut of the Allied Forces. Aziz spent the last few months of the war dashing from safe house to safe house trying to stay one step ahead of the small fraternity of German spies determined to recover the millions of dollars in gold they entrusted him with. At the same time, Aziz managed to avoid the British as well. There were enemies around every corner, and Aziz relied on a small group of his father’s most trusted contacts to stay alive.
In 1945, with the war finally over, Aziz emerged from hiding and began orchestrating his plan. With his finances in order he returned to the Al-Zahraa horse farm, twenty kilometers from Cairo in Kafr Gamos, where his father’s agents had stashed the gold in cellars underneath the horses’ stables. He began training horses for King Farouk, who owned the Al-Zahraa farm. At nights he had meetings with his father’s trusted confidants who had kept him alive during the latter stages of the war. They were patient, slowly accumulating power until the timing was right to strike. To show their solidarity to their new cause, they had KK in Arabic, which was short for Caliphate Creation, burned into their inner thighs. A new fraternity was quietly taking shape. He just needed someone with more influence to join their Brotherhood.
Aziz foresaw the coming battle long before other groups in the Middle East. World War II opened his eyes to the raw power the United States possessed. It had gone from a country wallowing in misery in the late 1930s to a powerhouse overrunning Nazi Germany in just a few short years. Yes, the Russians assisted by softening the underbelly of Germany, but most of the major powers had considered the U.S. too weak and divided to even enter the war, much less be a deciding factor. In just a few short years the American war machine overtook the Germans and Russians in conventional forces, and beat the Germans in the race to develop the atom bomb.
Aziz understood that the return of Islam as the predominant force in the world would never be accomplished by an Arab despot wielding power from his small enclave in Cairo. The destruction of Britain, while pleasing to him in principle, would also mean nothing. Only by bringing the United States to its knees could Islam begin its ascent back to greatness. Aziz closely studied Sun Tzu, the classic Chinese war strategist from 500 B.C. who wrote what could best be described as a field manual to victory. It would later become known as the Art of War, and Aziz studied it as fervently as his Koran. “Know the enemy and know yourself; in a hundred battles you will never be in peril.” Aziz’s father gave the book to him when Aziz first began to show his Arab nationalist tendencies. It was meant to temper him, and make him think before he acted. After WWII Aziz now understood what his father had in mind, and why at the outset of the war, he sent Aman’s father to live in the United States.
The small cadre of conspirators began covertly laying the foundation inside the Egyptian government that would be necessary once they found the proper warriors. It was at this time that Aman first met Hussan in his mother’s apartment in New York, and began his long journey towards what he hoped would be immortality.
Aman now watched as his benefactor and friend looked him in the eye and spoke with a fiery passion about their latest plan. “Today is the beginning of the end for America, Aman. The plan will take years, but we must be patience. Your task begins soon,” Aziz said.
“Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.” Aman could not hide his anticipation as he listened to Aziz. What attack on the West were they going to have him direct? Would his fledgling empire in Las Vegas launch a wave of jihadist attacks?
“We have found two boys with strong potential. We need you to begin making necessary contacts to make their entry into the U.S. smooth and hidden.” Aziz’s voice remained low and conspiratorial. “You have great insight to America and your empire in Las Vegas is vast. Once we get someone inside it your job will be to teach boy and make sure he fit in. We secure the rest of his training before we bring him over to you. You need be ready in five years. You will burrow him deep in American society until one day he will be so far inside the enemies’ gates, so deeply ingrained in their culture that no one suspect, and then he will strike for us. He will be like cancer that invaded the American body. Nothing will be able to stop him from spreading. Timing need be perfect. We get one chance. Understand?” Aziz asked.
Aman’s shoulders slumped, and he let out an exasperated sigh. He nodded his understanding. He trusted his handlers implicitly, and Aziz certainly appeared to believe in this plan, but Aman had been hoping for something quicker. Can this actually work? Raise a boy to infiltrate America? But to what end? How much damage could he inflict? Aman thought the racial strife currently engulfing America was something that could be better used to their advantage. If they assassinated one of the American Negro Civil Rights leaders, it could lead to rioting in the streets. This seemed like the perfect solution to him. If that happened even the charisma of their President would not be able to keep the county from tearing itself apart. All that was needed was a light to start the fire, and he could provide it. If they would only give me the go ahead I will make it happen.
“You believe this can work?” Aman asked in disbelief.
“Have faith, Aman. We know what we doing. Cairo is our home. America is yours for the moment. The boys we selected are young, but perfect. In time they be ready, and so will you. We will be in touch.” Aziz motioned for Aman to leave.
“Honestly, Aziz. This country is full of strife right now. Racial riots. It can be exploited with ease. I have the means to strike a blow,” Aman blurted out his skepticism.
Aziz became angry for the first time. “You have been in this country twenty years and you already think like them. Short term only. It will never work,” Aziz then switched to Arabic. “Patience. Remember Sun Tzu? It is because of disposition that a victorious general is able to make his people fight with the effect of pent-up waters which, suddenly released, plunge into a bottomless abyss. Remember him. Our waters are not yet pent up. When the dam is full and the waters ready, then and only then, we will plunge the U.S. into that abyss. Until then, patience!”
Chapter 16
Present Day, Las Vegas
Solomon stood in the hotel room, staring at the massive girth of the dead body sprawled across the floor. He locked the door to prevent any curious hotel guests from interrupting him. He estimated he could stay two to three minutes before hotel security, and eventually the cops both arrived on the scene. He assumed one of the other guests was currently calling the front desk in a panic. When he heard the shots as he sprinted down the stairs he feared the worst. He knew his man had a silenced weapon, and a loud gunshot could only mean that someone else was there. He performed a quick search of the room that yielded nothing. There was no more he could do, so he grabbed Shakir’s wallet from his pants and headed out. The longer it took the police to identify the body, the better off Solomon would be.<
br />
At least he knew he could stop killing people, he thought as he jogged across the hallway and down the stairs. A quick phone call would allow him to find out the name of the person that the hotel room was listed under. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Solomon purposefully pushed through the emergency exit door that set off the fire alarms. He wanted to create as much confusion as possible.
He stepped gingerly into the concrete jungle of the alleyway, cautiously stepping over a homeless drunk who was sitting in his own urine. He had a flash of inspiration and tossed Shakir’s wallet onto the sleeping man’s stomach. Solomon glanced towards the street where a hooker in a tight black mini-skirt and fishnet stockings stood with her back to him, attempting to sell her goods to the steady stream of humanity strolling the sidewalks. The smell of marijuana was heavy in the enclosed air of the alley. The alarm continued its merciless clanging as he walked purposefully down the alley, past the surprised hooker, and then crossed Las Vegas Boulevard and waltzed into the Desert Dust Inn. He needed to talk to the boss immediately. As he walked into the freezing air of the casino he dialed Gregor’s cell phone to update him on the situation.
***
The Toyota 4Runner cruised down the freeway at seventy-five miles per hour, heading northwest on the I-95 highway that ran along the Arizona-California-Nevada border. It would eventually lead to Reno, “the biggest little city in the world,” as the local government liked to call it. Alex glanced back at the diminishing landscape of Las Vegas. The sun was beginning to lose its strength, and in less than an hour it would be nightfall. It had been twenty minutes since they left Las Vegas, and the woman had yet to say a word. She just concentrated on the road, constantly checking her mirrors, presumably watching for anyone who might be trailing them.
“You want to talk now? I’ve been watching. I don’t think anyone is following us. I need to know what I’ve gotten myself into,” Alex said. The silence was beginning to eat away at him.
“Not now, Alex. Give me an hour to get further away from Vegas. Then we can talk. By the way, I’ll be the one to decide when we are in the clear. Just because you were accepted in to the CIA doesn’t mean you know jack shit about surveillance. Leave that to me,” the woman said with an edge to her voice. At least he could assume she was a CIA agent. How else would she know he had just been hired?
“Can you at least tell me where we’re going Ms..?” he asked. Alex still did not know her name.
“You can call me Marilyn. We’re going to Reno. It’s about seven hours away. Now shut up and give me an hour of silence. Take a nap if you can. I can’t guarantee you’ll be getting much sleep any time soon.”
Alex decided it would be best to obey, so he propped his head up against the glass of the passenger side window, closed his eyes, and wondered how he was going to explain his disappearance to Michael.
***
Aman was back at his desk after a long day on the golf course with the President-Elect. Zachariah Hardin was on the floor below, and Aman had dictated strict instructions to the Secret Service to not allow any women into the room, regardless of what Zach told them to do. His male cravings were causing enough problems. The one positive aspect about Aman’s current situation was that, at the moment, he had more control over the Secret Service agents than Zach. As Zach’s main confidant, adoptive father, and campaign manager, he still wielded the power over safety issues. The President-Elect was on the verge of limitless power, but technically remained powerless for at least the next few weeks. For now, Aman could tell the agents what to do without worrying about being overruled. The cell phone on his hand-crafted oak desk came to life. Only Solomon and Gregor had the number.
“Yes?” Aman said hastily.
“I’m on the first floor. I’m coming up,” Solomon replied.
“You have news?”
“Of a sort. If anyone else is with you, send them away.” The phone went dead in Aman’s ear. Solomon was his usually chatty self. Hopefully he would have good news to share.
“Where’s the horn dog?” The American slang sounded strange when combined with Solomon’s slight accent. He looked at the haggard figure of Aman, slumped in his chair. A day of golf and the old man looked exhausted. Solomon wished he would get a little exercise once in a while. If the boss died he was not sure he would be able to keep his job. He knew Aman was merely a front man for someone, and any decisions after he was dead would probably come from somewhere in the Middle East.
“Zach is in a suite below us. I’ve given the agents strict orders not to allow any women in the room.”
“Good. I don’t want to have to track down any more incriminating photos. The last twenty four hours have not been enjoyable.”
“What do you have for me?” Aman ignored the quip about the photos. He never told Solomon exactly what the stripper had photographed with her cell phone; only that it needed to be recovered.
Solomon gave him the run down of what happened while Aman was at the golf course. He ended with the incident across the street at the Imperial Palace. Aman listened intently, it was not exactly the news he wanted to hear, but things were improving somewhat.
“At least there will be no more deaths besides the girl and her accomplice. The press is already crawling all over this city looking for any trouble they can find. They may love Zach now, but they’re fickle. It wouldn’t take much for the jackals to turn on him if those photos ended up in the wrong hands. What’s our next move then?”
“I called Gregor and gave him instructions, as well as a description of this Alex Bryce that the room was registered under. We need to run this guy’s name by your sources. See if he is a government agent. I would assume he is the lady’s partner. I have as many people as we can spare watching the hotels and airport, but I would bet they have already left the city.”
“You still have not solved the problem yet.” Aman did not hide his annoyance. If they were already out of the city, the chances of catching them without drawing attention to themselves grew exceedingly more difficult.
“They can’t get out at Vegas’s airport. I have men crawling all over that place. I called Gregor right before I told you I was coming up. He has already checked things out at the Imperial Palace and found out that a man and a woman matching our quarry were seen sprinting out of the hotel and into an SUV.
“Where do you think they are heading?”
“Reno most likely. That’s the closest airport. And your organization is not as strong there. I’m going to charter your plane to Reno and see if I can find them myself. Gregor is putting out some calls to the few men you keep in Reno to advise them of the situation and what to watch for. He’ll also have a license plate number for their car as soon as they let him in to view the security cameras of the Palace’s valet area. One good thing about Las Vegas, cameras are everywhere.”
“Fine. Now get out of here. I’ll call our flight boys and make sure they have the plane ready for you.” Aman’s pudgy right hand grabbed the phone on his desk while his left motioned for Solomon to leave. He poured himself a drink after making a call to the airport crew. He would update Zach on the situation after finishing his drink. If Solomon recovered the phone, he would have to consider having him permanently dealt with. He hated the idea of doing it, but he could not risk Solomon seeing what the woman stole. It would be the ultimate blackmail tool.
***
Somewhere Between Reno and Las Vegas
Alex stared straight ahead at the never-ending expanse of concrete freeway lit up by the SUV’s headlights and continued trying to wrap his mind around what was happening to him. He was unable to obey the woman’s earlier command to sleep. Looking down, he noticed for the first time that he still had a vice grip on the pistol he picked up off the hotel floor at the woman’s request. He loosened his grip and his body uncoiled, finally releasing some of the tension from the last few hours.
“I was beginning to think that you would never give it up. I thought I would have to use the jaws of life t
o get that gun out of your hand,” the woman said with a smirk.
Alex thought the joke sounded more like a critique than an attempt at humor. “I hope you are a better spy than you are a comedian.” He shot her a look of disgust, and noticed for the first time that she had cut her hair. He mentally scolded himself for not noticing it immediately. The slight alteration made a huge difference in her appearance.
“I am,” was her only reply. “We appear to be clear. I don’t believe anyone is following us. That could be very good or very bad news,” she said matter-of-factly.
“What are you talking about? I thought this was some sort of training.” Alex still held out a faint hope that the blood spilled back in his hotel room was fake, and this was all a charade.
“The man you saw in the hallway outside your hotel room, was he about five foot eight, pale skin, with shaggy black hair; weighing, say, 185 pounds give or take?”
“Yes, that’s probably a good description.”
“That’s Solomon. He’s good. He picked you up outside the MGM, and followed you back to your hotel.”
“And what about you?” Alex asked with trepidation.
“I’ve been keeping tabs on you ever since I dropped the phone on you in the airport. I’ve been your guardian angel.”
Agent of Influence: A Thriller Page 9
