Hidden Peril

by Irene Hannon

  He looked at Nick, who shrugged. “No idea.”

  “We’ll talk to him after he’s more conversant.” She motioned toward the bag on the table. “Those are the personal items and salvageable clothing that were removed in the ER. We’d like to get some insurance information, but would prefer a family member—or authorized party—go through his things and see if there are any cards in there.”

  “We can do that.” Luke reached for the bag.

  “Thanks. I’ll ask one of the nurses to come and get you here as soon as he’s more awake. If you find an insurance card, you can give it to her.” She rose, but as he and Nick began to stand too, she waved them back down. “I appreciate the courtesy, but conserve your strength.” Flashing them a grin, she slipped through the door.

  “You know . . . I can’t condone conspiring with terrorists—but that guy’s been through the wringer. A son held hostage, a car accident, a gunshot wound . . . now a tumor.” Nick shook his head.

  “Yeah.” Going more than two dozen hours without sleep was nothing compared to all the stuff that had hit Bishara’s fan. “Want me to tackle his personal items?”

  “That works. I need to call the office.” Nick rose. “Since the whole notion of heading home to crash is down the tubes, I’m going to scrounge up some coffee in the waiting room. My energy is dipping into the danger zone. You want a cup?”

  “Either that or a syringe of adrenaline.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  As Nick exited into the hall, Luke rose too. Stretched. Rotated his neck. Maybe a few push-ups would get his blood flowing.

  Too bad he didn’t have the energy to drop to the floor let alone engage in any strenuous exercise.

  Still standing, he opened the bag the doctor had delivered and poked through the meager contents.

  Shoes and socks, belt, a small book with a cross on the front, pocket change, car keys, wallet, glasses in a case, an almost empty pack of Tums, and a pen.

  Luke snagged the wallet. That had to be where Bishara kept any cards he carried.

  Flipping through the clear sleeves, he skimmed the plastic. Visa . . . Panera . . . Starbucks . . . driver’s license . . . United Healthcare. There. That was it.

  While he worked his fingers into the protective sheath to slide it out, he glanced at the next card in the lineup. It was stuck between two sleeves, as if it wasn’t usually in the wallet.

  He read the name.

  Did a double take.

  Read it again.

  Froze.

  Ryan Doud, the business neighbor who paid an excessive number of friendly visits to Kristin’s shop, was Bishara’s insurance agent?

  He seized the bag and set off in search of Nick, brain processing at warp speed.

  Doud was in a perfect position to keep tabs on new merchandise in Kristin’s shop—and given his connection to Bishara, he had to be aware of the man’s expertise.

  Yet there was little in his appearance to suggest Middle Eastern ancestry . . . or any connection to Syria.

  Meaning it was possible all of this was nothing more than coincidence.

  But as Luke jogged down the hall, dodging wheelchairs and family groups, his surging adrenaline chasing away every bit of his fatigue, he knew it was more than that.

  And he also knew they’d just had their best lead yet in a case that had so far confounded them.

  27

  “I’m out of here, Alexa.” Kristin slipped the strap of her tote over her shoulder. “Don’t hesitate to call if you need me.”

  “I’ve been here long enough to feel pretty confident about handling anything WorldCraft can throw at me.” Her clerk shooed her out. “Go enjoy this sunny Friday afternoon.”

  “That’s my plan . . . in between errands. See you tomorrow.”

  The bell over the entrance jingled, and Kristin headed for the back room as Alexa greeted the new customer.

  Taking a quick visual inventory of the boxes of merchandise waiting to be unpacked tomorrow, she continued to the rear door and let herself out—fighting the temptation to give Luke a call and find out what was going on with Bishara and the case.

  But if he’d worked all night, as Colin had said during his unexpected visit this morning, he must be up to his eyeballs in whatever was happening. Not to mention exhausted.

  Resist, Kristin. Give the man some space. He’ll get in touch as soon as . . .

  She stopped and peered at a shiny glint in the patch of grass near where Ryan usually parked his car.

  Was that a . . . cell phone?

  Switching direction, she crossed to it.

  Yep. It was a cell.

  She picked it up and turned it over. Based on the gold case, it was Ryan’s phone. He’d shown her the new protective cover less than a week ago.

  Since his parking spot was empty, he must have dropped it getting into his car.

  Better leave this with his office assistant in case he realized it was missing and asked her to look around for it.

  Rather than circle around the whole building, she detoured back through WorldCraft.

  “Can’t stay away, huh?” Alexa arched an eyebrow.

  “I found Ryan’s phone on the ground in the parking lot. I’m going to drop it at his office before I leave.”

  Without stopping, she continued out the front door and down the street to his storefront.

  According to the woman at the front desk, however, he was gone for the day.

  “He said he wasn’t feeling well and left about an hour ago. I’d call him at home, but he doesn’t have a landline.” The woman bit her lip, eying the phone. “He’ll be missing that for sure. It’s always glued to him.”

  Kristin hesitated. A side trip to Ryan’s house wasn’t on her agenda . . . but considering how kind he’d always been to her, it would be the neighborly thing to do.

  Stifling a sigh, she conjured up a smile. “I’ll tell you what. I’m going to be near his place this afternoon. I’ll run it by there.”

  Relief smoothed the tension from the woman’s features. “Are you certain you don’t mind? I know he’d be grateful.”

  “Not a problem. His house isn’t that far from here anyway.”

  “Do you need the exact address or directions?”

  “No. I was there in December.” At the spark of curiosity in the woman’s eyes, Kristin tacked on a caveat before his assistant could jump to the wrong conclusion. “An older woman from my church lives on his street. I always deliver a tin of homemade Christmas cookies to her, so I took some for Ryan too.” She walked toward the door. “Enjoy your weekend.”

  After retracing her steps down the sidewalk, she cut through WorldCraft again.

  “I bet he was glad to get his phone back.” Alexa continued checking out a customer as she spoke.

  “He went home sick, but I’m going to drop it off at his house while I’m out and about this afternoon.” She kept moving. “See you tomorrow.”

  Once she was in her car, she mentally reviewed her stops for the afternoon. It would be easier to swing by Ryan’s after she went to the post office and picked up her dry cleaning rather than circle back for those errands. A delay of twenty or thirty minutes shouldn’t make much difference.

  Besides, no matter when she showed up, Ryan would surely be grateful she’d gone out of her way to be do a good deed.

  “Excuse me . . . you’re waiting to talk with Yusef Bishara, correct?”

  As the nurse spoke from the doorway of the small meeting room at the hospital, Luke rose. “Yes.”

  “He’s still in recovery, but his surgeon authorized a fast visit for two people.” She scanned the room.

  “My colleague had to go outside to make a call. He’ll be back momentarily.”

  “Sorry about the inconvenience. Cell phones don’t work in some parts of hospitals.”

  “I know.” He’d been in enough of them in the line of duty to find that out. “If you could wait for . . .” Nick appeared behind the woman in the doorwa
y. “Never mind. He’s back.”

  She swiveled around, and Luke picked up the bag of Bishara’s personal items.

  “If you’ll follow me.” She edged around Nick.

  The FBI agent let her get a few yards ahead as Luke joined him. “I’ve got Mark doing a quick analysis on our person of interest. If even one red flag surfaces, we’ll get surveillance on him 24/7 while we dig deeper. Mark agrees the connection between him and two of the players in this case is suspicious.”

  “Maybe one of those players can shed some light on the situation.” Luke motioned toward the door where the nurse had stopped.

  She angled toward them. “Letting people back here isn’t our usual policy. Please keep this as brief as possible.”

  “Understood.” Nick waited until she opened the door, then followed her in. Luke took up the rear.

  When the nurse stopped beside a bed, he almost didn’t recognize the museum curator. The man was beyond pale, his eyes were closed, and his chest was barely rising and falling.

  “Mr. Bishara.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “You have two visitors.”

  As his eyelids fluttered open, Luke took a position on one side of the bed while Nick flanked it on the other.

  “I lived.” The man’s raspy comment was tinged with incredulity.

  “Yes.” Nick edged in closer as the nurse retreated. “I have more good news for you. Touma is safe. He was rescued a few hours ago.”

  Bishara’s features contorted, and his eyes began to shimmer. “Thank God. And thank you. I will be . . . forever grateful.”

  “Mr. Bishara, we have a question for you.” Luke leaned down and dropped his voice. “We found an insurance card in your wallet for an agent by the name of Ryan Doud.”

  “Yes. I had a . . . car accident. I put it there . . . in case I needed to speak with him . . . again.”

  “How long has he been your agent?”

  “Two years . . . or so.”

  About when Khalil had appeared at the monastery.

  The timing fit.

  “Why did you buy your insurance through him?”

  “My administrative assistant . . . you met her at the office . . . recommended him, and he . . . offered a reasonable price. Pleasant young man. He always asks about . . . Touma.”

  A monitor began to beep, and the nurse reappeared. “Are you about finished?”

  “Yes. We can talk to him again later.”

  Bishara groped for Nick’s hand. “Thank you for all you have done . . . for Touma.”

  “I’m glad it worked out for him.”

  “He will be in the United States . . . soon?”

  “As soon as it can be arranged.”

  “Thank you.” He reached for Luke’s hand too and gave it a weak squeeze.

  The nurse escorted them to the door, and Luke took the man’s medical insurance card from his pocket. “The surgeon said you’d need this.”

  “Not me . . . but the number crunchers will. Let me make a copy and you can keep the original with the patient’s personal items.”

  The instant she walked away, Nick faced him. “Here’s my theory. Two years ago the stars aligned for Doud. He already knew Kristin Dane when she began importing candles from the monks in Syria, and he recognized them as a perfect way to send artifacts to the US. When Bishara crossed his path, he found the ideal person to fence the artifacts. Especially after he secured some potent leverage with Touma’s abduction.”

  “I agree with all that—but I’m having difficulty wrapping my mind around the notion of Ryan being Amir. He doesn’t fit the mold.”

  “Another reason why this would work well. Based on appearance, he would raise no suspicion. Hopefully Mark will have some initial information for us as soon as we ditch this place and get a decent connection.”

  The nurse returned with Bishara’s card, and they headed toward the exit.

  As they left the building, Nick motioned toward the parking lot. “Let’s sit in my car and I’ll put Mark on speaker.”

  Less than sixty seconds later, the other agent was on the line. “Did you talk to Bishara?”

  “Yes. The timing of his relationship with Ryan fits our scenario. What have you got?”

  “I have several people working this, and we’ve found some useful info. First, Ryan Doud might pronounce his name Ryan and call himself Ryan, but the legal spelling is R-a-y-a-n. After we discovered that, we made some serious headway. For example—instead of a US birth certificate, he has a CRBA.”

  Luke raised an eyebrow at Nick, who shrugged.

  “You’re going to have to spell out that acronym for us, Mark.”

  “Sorry. Consular Report of Birth Abroad. If an American has a child overseas, he or she can report the birth to the US consulate or embassy. Doud’s document was issued in Damascus.”

  Kristin’s neighbor was Syrian?

  Strange that he hadn’t tried to mask his background by creating a fake ID before launching his scheme.

  Then again—if you didn’t intend to get caught, using your real identity was less of a hassle.

  “What’s the story on his parents?” Luke asked.

  “His mother was the daughter of two Danish nationals who were in the US for a temporary job assignment when she was born. That gave her automatic citizenship. After the project ended, they returned to Denmark. While she was in college, the daughter met and married a Syrian national named Tayeb during a trip to the Middle East. Rayan was born. Eight years later, the repressive lifestyle became too much for her, and she fled back to Denmark, leaving her son behind.”

  “How on earth did you find all that so fast?” Luke continued to process the data dump as he asked the question.

  “It wasn’t hard after we had the right name spelling. The passport led us to the CRBA, which gave us the parents’ names. We checked the mother’s birth certificate for the names and nationalities of her parents. Our overseas attaché in Copenhagen worked overtime to find the rest.”

  “Did they talk to anyone in the family?”

  “Doud’s grandmother. She told them the story. The grandfather is dead and the mother remarried. We have a call in to her too.”

  “Did you find anything on Doud’s father?” Luke cracked his door open as the temperature in the car rose.

  Taking the hint, Nick started the engine and cranked up the air.

  “That’s been tougher. We contacted Adam Lange, and they’re digging. One nugget that’s already surfaced is that he does have ties to ISIS and is on a watch list in Syria.”

  “It sounds like our case here could be a father/son operation.” Nick tapped the steering wheel with his index finger.

  “But we don’t have any direct links between Doud and his apparent alter ego, Amir, or the artifact operation.” Luke frowned. Without some specific incriminating evidence tying the man to everything that had happened, they couldn’t arrest him, let alone charge him with a crime.

  “Amir, by the way, means ‘commander’ or ‘prince’ in Arabic—perhaps suggesting how he views his role in this operation,” Mark said.

  “Trouble is, he’s still in command if we can’t find the link Luke mentioned.” Nick expelled a breath. “Okay. Keep digging. We’ll be down shortly to hash out next steps. But I want to put some surveillance on Doud. We know he’s on to our investigation, and I don’t want him to disappear, resurface somewhere with another identity, and create a new scheme.”

  “I’ll get with the SAC as soon as we hang up.”

  Luke had no doubt the Special Agent in Charge of the St. Louis FBI office would jump all over this, but there were limits on staffing in any organization.

  “I can talk to Sarge if we need additional bodies for short-term surveillance.”

  “We’ll keep that as an option. Let’s see how this plays out over the next few days. Anything else, Mark?” Nick turned the air down a notch.

  “Those are the highlights.”

  “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.” He slid the phone
onto his belt and shifted sideways. “You willing to continue this marathon?”

  “At this stage, sleep can wait. We need to figure out a way to nail this guy.”

  “Agreed. I’ll meet you at the entrance to our secure lot. Just follow me in.”

  “Thanks.” Luke slid out of the car and strode toward his Taurus. After he was on the road, he’d give Kristin a call, bring her up to speed. Now that Doud was front and center in their sights, she needed to be extra cautious.

  Because if what they suspected was true, the man’s friendly demeanor was a mask for a cold-blooded killer committed to the destruction of America.

  Kristin parked in front of Ryan’s modest bungalow, set the brake, and picked up his phone from the seat beside her. A quick handoff at the door should suffice, especially if he wasn’t feeling well, and she could continue on to the grocery store without losing much time.

  After locking her car, she followed the brick path to the front door, past two planters waiting to be filled with summer flowers. The grass was on the long side too.

  The insurance business must keep him hopping if he couldn’t squeeze in some basic yard work.

  She ascended the two steps to the small porch and pressed the bell.

  Twenty seconds ticked by.

  She tried again.

  No response.

  Maybe he hadn’t come home, after all.

  Or—on a beautiful day like this—he might be in the screened porch attached to the back of the house, where he’d told her he liked to spend his free evenings in the summer.

  It was worth a quick detour if it saved her a return trip.

  She circled around to the rear, into a backyard lined with a tall hedge of arborvitae that hid the space from the view of neighbors.

  The screened porch came into sight—and it was empty.

  Drat.

  Not much of a reward for being a good Samaritan.

  She started to turn away.

  Paused.

  If the screened porch was unlocked, why not try knocking on the back door? It was possible the doorbell wasn’t working . . . or the sound didn’t carry to all parts of the house . . . or Ryan was sleeping soundly. A hard knock might catch his ear—and eliminate the need to swing back by here later.