by Gary Ponzo
She just stared.
“All right,” he said. “Kharrazi wants us to release Rashid Baser in exchange for Phil.”
She pulled back and examined Nick’s face. “You’re serious?”
Nick nodded.
“He can’t be that naive?”
“No, he isn’t.”
“Then what’s it all about?”
Nick shook his head. “I don’t know. That’s what I’m going to find out.”
Julie suddenly looked horrified. “You’re going to Vegas?”
Nick didn’t respond. He wanted to soften the blow, but she was too quick for him.
Julie wiped her eyes, then stood up and brushed off her lap, as if to wipe away her vulnerability.
“Nick,” she said, “look at me. I’m thirty-six going on eighty. There’s only so much I can handle before. .” she looked away.
“Before?”
She wiped the side of her nose with the tissue ball and seemed preoccupied.
“What are you trying to say, Jule?”
She turned her back for a moment, took a step away, then turned back around to face him. “Please don’t go. Please. I don’t know how else to say it? It’s just too much for me to handle. First Phil is taken, then you tell me about Kharrazi. . ” She pulled back the hair from her face and tried to maintain control. “I dread answering the phone because I just know one day I’m going to hear Walt Jackson’s voice say, ‘I’m sorry, Julie.’”
Her eyes welled up and her lower lip trembled. She leaned forward and Nick was there to collect her once again. She embraced him like he was a soldier leaving for war. He wasn’t sure she would ever let go of him. He could feel her tiny frame shudder in his arms.
“Please,” she pleaded. “Not Kemel Kharrazi. Not him.”
Nick waited for her breathing to settle into a rhythm before he said, “He’s my brother, Hon. He’s the only one I’ve got.”
“What about me?” she said with short gasping words. “What about our family? The kids?”
Nick almost said, “What kids?” but he knew what she meant. It seemed their plans for having children and a normal family life was always put on hold because of his career. With him they were always one year away before they could slow down and make time for their marriage.
She maintained her death grip around his torso. “I know it’s tougher for me in the summer, Nick. I mean without the students to look after, I have all this time to reflect. But you don’t need to be chasing the most dangerous terrorists in the world. Can’t you just. .” she didn’t finish and Nick didn’t know if it was because she ran out of ideas, or because they’d had this discussion so often that Nick could finish on his own.
She pulled back and locked eyes with him. “Nick, I love you. I just know you’re going to be a terrific father. You don’t do anything halfway, and I can already see you giving our kids horseback rides and splashing water at them in the tub.”
Nick smiled. It was his dream to have children, but he never even allowed himself the privilege of imagining what it would be like to hold something that precious. To be that important to another human being.
He cupped her tiny face in his hands, “I’ll tell you what. . we won’t be having this conversation a year from now. I promise.”
Julie forced a meager smile and sniffled.
Nick pulled a couple of tissues from a box on top of the dresser and handed them to her.
She blew her nose and said, “I almost forgot. How did it go with Dr. Morgan?”
Nick took advantage of the shift in conversation to search for a garment bag in the walk-in closet. “Good.”
Julie brushed past him and pulled the bag from a high shelf, unzipped it and threw it open on the bed. She opened a dresser drawer and retrieved a single pair of socks and underwear and threw them into the garment bag.
“Just overnight, right?” she said, more a statement than a question.
It was no time to haggle. Nick would stay as long as it took to find his brother, but he also knew that Phil would never live past Kharrazi’s deadline. “Yes,” he said. “Just overnight.”
Julie nodded, then began the process of putting together a shirt and pants combo that worked. As she browsed the long line of clothes in the closet, she said, “You liked him?”
“Who?”
“Dr. Morgan.”
“Oh, yes. I thought he was. . uh, insightful.”
That stopped her. “What exactly did he say?”
“He thinks I should find a less stressful way to make a living.”
Julie’s eyes perked. “And?”
“And,” he took the shirt from her hand and laid it in the garment bag, “I think he’s right.”
Julie followed him around the room. “Are you serious?”
“Very.”
“Then what do you plan to do about it?”
“I’m not sure.” He looked at her face brimming with hope. He chose his words carefully, “I’m going to continue to see him. Besides that, I’m just not sure. .”
“Nick, you realize you’re outnumbered, don’t you?”
“What?”
“I know you want to save the world-”
“Stop it now. I’m not trying to save the world, I’m only trying to save this country. Maybe even just this city.” His face softened. “Oh, honey, I’m just a pawn. I know that. I’d just like you to be able go to the store without the store blowing up while you’re inside.”
“Please try to think about us. Maybe we could find a small town in the mountains, somewhere in Wyoming, or Montana, somewhere. I don’t know Nick, is that such a crazy idea?”
Nick dropped onto the bed, leaned back onto a pillow and stared up at the ceiling. “Maybe there’s something to that. Maybe if I didn’t know as much as I do about terrorists and all of the plots we’ve thwarted. Some by dumb luck.” He sighed. “Maybe ignorance is bliss.”
Julie curled next to him and nuzzled up to the side of his face. “Come on over to the ignorant side, Sweetie. We could use a good man like you.”
His mouth grinned, but he was already thinking about his next move. Phil may have been somewhat of a drunk and loose with his lips, but he was his brother. After their parents died, Nick became almost a surrogate father to his younger sibling. Phil needed him.
“Hello in there,” Julie said, knocking on Nick’s forehead. “Anybody home?”
Nick pulled her down on top of him and gazed into the deep blue of her eyes. “Look here, miss, I’m leaving town. But that doesn’t mean I won’t miss you every minute I’m gone.”
He rolled off the bed and finished packing. He zipped the garment bag, threw it over his shoulder and bent down to kiss her. “I’ve got to go. See you tomorrow.”
“Is Matt going with you?”
“Of course.”
She smiled.
“You think he’s my guardian angel, don’t you?”
“I do,” she said. “I always feel better when he’s with you. I don’t know why. Intuition maybe.”
He looked at his watch. “Well, I’m meeting him at the airport at seven.”
“It’s only three-thirty. What’s the hurry?”
“I’m stopping at Pimlico on the way.”
“The horse track? You have an itch to bet a few races?”
“No,” he said. “I’ve got to see Tommy. He hasn’t missed the feature race in fifteen years.”
“Tommy? Your cousin Tommy? Why, do you need him to leave a horse’s head in someone’s bed?”
Nick laughed. “Just because he’s connected doesn’t mean he’s not family.”
“Oh, he’s family all right.” She pressed her nose to the side and gave her best mobster face.
“Well, believe it or not I need his help. We can’t find any info on the limo that took Phil from the casino last night. Tommy has Vegas connections.”
“With all of the favors you’ve used up at the D.A.’s office getting him and Silk out of trouble, he’d better help you.”
“He will.”
Pimlico was the second oldest racetrack in the country. In the 1800s it was considered a nice buggy ride out of town. Since then it had been swallowed up by growth, all 140 acres entirely within Baltimore city limits with houses visible all along the backstretch. Nick’s father first brought him to Pimlico when Nick was ten. His father loved the challenge of handicapping the races. He showed Nick how to read the Racing Form and taught him the significance of pace. He’d tell him which horse would be leading going into the first turn and which horse would come with a late charge. Most importantly, he taught him how to figure out which horse fit the race best. His father was merely a two-dollar bettor, but that didn’t lessen his zeal for the sport. His father’s excitement was contagious and even though they went but once a month, Nick cherished each trip.
Nick pushed through the turnstile and headed for the apron in front of the finish line. After his parents’ death, he used to meet his cousin Tommy there nearly every weekend, back when Nick and Phil stayed at Tommy’s house. Nick’s Uncle Victor was his father’s brother and Tommy’s dad. The house was too small for the seven inhabitants, but no one complained. Uncle Victor and Aunt Ruth always made certain Nick felt like he was at home, and for the most part he did.
Most of Nick’s youth, however, was spent with Tommy Bracco and Don Silkari. The three of them drank and pranked their way through their teenage years with reckless abandon. If someone tried to mess with one of them, the other two were always there to finish the fight. Literally. Eventually they matured and found their lives heading in different directions, but the friendship always endured.
Nick shook his head in amazement when he saw Tommy standing in virtually the exact spot he’d stood for every feature race at the Pimlico meet for nearly twenty years. Tommy wore an Armani suit, sharkskin shoes and a pair of large gold cufflinks that screamed out from the bottom of his shirtsleeves. Next to him, as always, was Silk, using the same tailor as Tommy. Both had colored toothpicks dangling from their mouths.
“What’s with the clothes?” Nick asked.
“Hey, Nicky, what’s goin’ on?” Tommy reached for Nick’s extended hand and pulled him into a bear hug. “Good to see ya. How’s that beautiful bride of yours?”
“She’s fine. School’s out, so she’s taking it easy for the summer.” Nick motioned to Don Silkari. “Hey, Silk.”
“Hey,” Silk said, his head buried deep into an open Racing Form.
“So, what’s with the gear?” Nick asked.
Tommy pulled on his lapels. “Oh, this stuff, well. . you see we’re stockbrokers now.”
“Stockbrokers? You two?”
Tommy shrugged. “Hey, that’s where the money is these days, Nick. And we gotta be where the money is.”
Nick stuck an index finger in each ear. “I’m not listening. The less I know, the less I can testify to.”
Both men broke out into wide grins. Tommy handed Nick a folded Racing Form opened to the eighth race. “Nicky, look at this race. I can’t understand why the four horse is going off at five-to-one. I mean he just won his last two races at the same price, he oughta be the chalk. You’re the investigator. Tell me what I’m missing here.”
It took Nick less than a minute to see what Tommy had missed. It wasn’t something that was likely to get by his cousin. Tommy had a knack for appearing slow-witted. It went along with the way he talked and his mannerisms. He would lure you in, encouraging you to underestimate him. This was his most prized talent. Like a snake pretending to be slowed by injury, all the while waiting for the right moment to strike. Tommy had no motive to pull something on Nick, it was simply habit.
Nick slammed the form into Tommy’s chest. “He’s not a he, that’s why. The horse is a filly, Tommy. It’s her first time against the boys.”
Tommy didn’t bother to review his alleged oversight. He turned to Silk with pride. “See, that’s why he’s the law. He spots every little detail. That’s why he’s got the cutest wife in town.”
“Hey,” Nick said, “easy with the wife comments. I’m beginning the think you’ve got a thing for her.”
Tommy held up his hands. “Hey, Nicky, don’t insult me like that. I mean you’re like family to me.”
“Tommy, you’re my cousin. We are family.”
“See, you’re making my point for me.”
Nick’s face turned serious.
Tommy said, “What’s up?”
“I need your help.”
“Anything,” Tommy said.
“What I tell you two is confidential and-”
“That’s enough,” Silk interrupted. “We know the drill.”
Nick paused. He was uncomfortable with what he was about to do, but there was still a slim chance he could save his brother’s life. In Tommy’s world, information was a currency, like cash, only more valuable. Las Vegas, limos and kidnapping were all staples in his domain. If there was a weak link somewhere in the Nevada desert, Tommy would find it.
Nick said, “Phil’s been kidnapped.”
Tommy’s face grew severe. His lip curled up in disgust. “Who done it?”
For the first time since Nick got there, Silk put down the Form.
“A terrorist.”
“Who?” Tommy repeated, his jaw furiously working on a bright orange toothpick in the corner of his mouth.
Nick hesitated, wary of the eagerness on Tommy’s face. “I can’t tell you that right now, but Phil was gambling at the Rio late last night and was taken away in a limo. We’re running into a wall trying to find this limo. Whoever rented it probably paid cash. Lots of cash. The kind of cash that shuts people up.”
Tommy nodded.
“Do you think you could make some calls and find out something about this limo?” Nick asked.
Tommy took the toothpick from his mouth and twirled it between his fingers like a baton. “No problem. But you gotta promise me something.”
Nick winced, bracing himself for the can of worms he was about to open. “What?”
Tommy pointed the orange toothpick at Nick. “When this is over, you gotta promise to tell me who done it. I want a name.”
Nick tossed the idea around in his head. If Phil ended up dead he’d gladly throw Kemel Kharrazi to the wolves. If his brother lived it would more than likely be because of Tommy’s help. Either way, he could live with the trade-off. “Okay.”
Nick handed him a blank business card with a handwritten name and phone number on it. “I’m flying to Vegas tonight, but I want you to call this number if you find out anything. It’s the number of an FBI agent in Vegas. He won’t ask questions, just tell him anything you can that might help us track down the limo.”
Tommy placed the card in his pocket, “Done.”
Nick saw the horses approach the starting gate. “I’ve got to go. I’ve got rush hour traffic to deal with.”
“Hey, Nicky,” Tommy said, pointing to the Racing Form. “What about this four horse? I got three large on her nose. You think I should change my bet?”
“Nah,” Nick said, “she’s the only speed in the race. She’s liable to steal it.”
Tommy winked. He loved asking questions he already knew the answer to.
By the time Nick reached the parking lot he could hear the track announcer’s voice rise with excitement as he described the final furlong of the race. The crowd roared as he declared the only filly in the field a wire-to-wire winner.
Nick smiled. Just like riding a bike, he thought.
Chapter 6
“Will you look at this beauty,” Matt McColm said, holding up a magazine at arms length. He sat at the window seat while Nick sat on the aisle, an empty seat between them.
Nick gave a furtive glance for spectators, then leaned toward Matt for an eyeful.
“Oh, baby, the places I could take you,” Matt said, his eyes racing up and down the glossy photo.
Nick followed Matt’s stare. He took a long moment examining the image, finally squinting for confir
mation. “It’s a gun.”
“That,” Matt said, “is no gun. It’s a Slimline Glock 36. She’s so sleek, she just begs you to wrap your fingers around her.”
Nick rolled his eyes.
While Matt flipped pages of Gun Magazine, Nick sifted through files of terrorists known to have any link to the KSF. He groped for something, anything that might give him a clue why so many of them were spreading themselves across America’s landscape. Why would they appear to be moving in such a diverse pattern? He found himself staring at pictures of Kurdish rebels as if the power of his glare could evoke an answer from them.
The flight was long and the closer they got to Las Vegas, the quieter the conversation became. Both agents readied themselves as the night closed around them and reduced their world to the few dozen people on board the jet. Finally, Nick broke the silence. He held up a surveillance photo of a grizzly looking man with bad teeth and wild eyes. “They should lock this guy up just for taking a picture like this.”
Matt placed his forehead up against the window. Flying west at such a rapid pace extended twilight unnaturally, suppressing nightfall as the plane chased the setting sun. Looking down at a tiny sprinkling of lights covering the Midwest, he said, “It looks so peaceful down there.”
“Why can’t we have that?” Nick asked.
“Have what?”
“A peaceful, uneventful life. Go to work, punch the clock, type up a few reports and drive home. It sounds so calming.”
“You mean boring.”
“Yeah, boring. I like boring.”
“I don’t.”
“That’s because you’ve never tried it. Boring could be good for you. I hear the survival rate at AT amp;T is very high. A lot less stressful too.”
Matt shook his head. “That’s where you’re wrong. There’s just as much stress working for a big corporation as there is with the Bureau. Just a different type of stress, that’s all.”
“You’re probably on to something there,” Nick mused.
“Besides,” Matt said, “you had it a lot worse when you were trolling West Baltimore in a cruiser five nights a week.”
