The Consultant

by TJ O'Connor

  I laughed. “Prove it.”

  He growled something I didn’t hear, and I laughed again, turning his dark Arab face red.

  “Get him out of here,” Artie grunted at Victoria. “Call me as soon as you finish with Sam. I want to know exactly what Kruppa said to him and how he managed to call him if he was with Caine.”

  Mo grunted. “If he was with Caine. Right, Hunter?”

  One shot. That’s all I wanted. One shot.

  CHAPTER 61

  Day 5: May 19, 1600 Hours, Daylight Saving Time

  Western Frederick County, Virginia

  “MO NASSAR IS CIA and he’s been up to his eyeballs in this all along,” I said, as Victoria drove toward Noor’s house. “Why is everyone keeping this a secret?”

  “You’re the one keeping secrets.”

  “Not about him.”

  “No, about everything else.” She made the turn off Route 50 onto the dirt shortcut I’d taken earlier and headed for Noor’s. “Like I said, he showed up a few months ago with Artie. He comes and goes and never tells us anything. Today is the first time I’ve actually heard him in conversation. Interesting, considering it was with you.”

  I bring out the best in people. “He should have known about me since I arrived. He didn’t tell you guys anything?”

  “No. Odd.”

  Swell guy. Now, I had two assholes I wanted to shoot. Bond and him. Which one to shoot first? Did it matter?

  “Victoria, you told me that Kevin changed a lot a few months ago, right?”

  “Yes, around February. Why?”

  “That’s also when Nassar showed up, right?”

  She thought for a long time. “Sure, he showed around then. What are you suggesting?”

  “I don’t believe in coincidence.”

  “Neither do I.” She looked away at nothing. “Is that why Kevin wanted you home? Nassar? He thought you could help him since both of you are CIA?”

  Maybe. “If I learned anything about the Agency, it’s that it’s like an onion. There are too many layers to count. Not all the layers are nice guys like me. Some are rotten.”

  “What about your friend LaRue? Do you trust him?”

  “Always have.”

  “Were you telling the truth about Edik Petrov? He hasn’t given you anything yet?”

  “I gave it to you guys straight. He approached me outside the hotel earlier when you dropped me off.” I told her about the deal he had with Kevin. Protection for information.

  “Kev never told me. I don’t think he ever declared Petrov as an informant, either. There is no paperwork on any of that. That’s not procedure.”

  Neither was having a hundred grand hidden at your house, but I didn’t bring that up.

  Instead, I summarized the situation. “Mo Nassar and Oscar LaRue. Caine and Khalifah. Stir in the Iranians. They’re all playing together in our backyard. Too many coincidences.”

  She glanced at me with a funny, sideways sneer. “Funny how coincidences follow you CIA guys around.”

  There was nothing funny about it.

  * * *

  “I already told you, Bobby didn’t say anything else.” Sam stood beside Noor in their kitchen, facing Victoria and me. His face was red and his eyes darting. “Why are you asking me all these questions?”

  Victoria stood beside the kitchen table. “I’m sorry, but Bobby’s dead. Someone found our safe house and killed our agents. Bobby was taken. Hunter found him at the Darby Farm.”

  “Dead?” Sam’s face paled and his eyes burst wide, first glaring at Victoria and then me. “Bobby? Bobby’s dead?”

  Noor put an arm around him.

  “I’m afraid so.” I stepped forward. “Sam—”

  Sam pulled from Noor and lunged at me, hammering a fist into my chest and trying a right hook at my face. “You did this. You killed him, too!”

  I blocked the punches, grabbed his arms, and pushed him back to pin him against the kitchen wall. “No, Sam. I didn’t kill him or your dad. You know that.”

  Victoria took my arm and gently pulled me away. “Sam, Hunter had nothing to do with this. I swear to you. You need to be honest with us.”

  “Does she need to be here?” Noor’s hand sliced the air and she pulled Sam away from me. “I do not want her here, Jon. Please. This is difficult enough.”

  Victoria’s face reddened. She walked into the hall and disappeared.

  Sam retreated across the kitchen. He stared out the open door for a long time, struggling with something. He began to cry and refused to turn around.

  Was it fear? Loss? Perhaps shame?

  Noor looked right at me. “I am sorry. I am sorry for Bobby Kruppa. Sameh knows nothing else. Please—”

  “He texted me.” Sam spun back around. His face was streaked with tears. “I didn’t talk to him. I got a text right before you got here earlier. He told me he got away from the safe house and needed to meet you at the Darby Farm. That’s it. I asked him what was going on, but he didn’t answer.”

  “Show me.” I extended my open hand. “Let me see your phone.”

  He straightened. “You don’t believe me?”

  “Of course I do, Sam. Victoria can trace it, that’s all.”

  “I am lying?” Sam came at me and shoved me hard backward. “The hell with you, Hunter. Whoever you are. The hell with you. You did all this. You.”

  “Sam, I just want to help.”

  “Go to hell.” He shoved me back again and ran out the rear kitchen door.

  Noor grabbed my arm when I started after him. “Let him go, Jon. He hurts. He’s confused. He needs time.”

  I didn’t have time. I had to have that phone. I had to know what was spinning Sam out of control, and I didn’t think it was just the revelation that Bobby Kruppa was dead. There was something else, something he seemed to just now grasp. Had he known something was wrong and failed to tell me? Why was all this guilt aimed at me?

  The roar of Sam’s motorcycle pulled me out of the kitchen. But by the time I reached the yard, he was gone. I turned to go back inside, but Noor was standing right behind me. Her face was a mixture of sadness and concern, and she stared at me as though some deep secret was about to percolate out.

  “Noor? What is it?”

  “There is something you must know. It cannot wait.” She moved close to me and held my eyes. “Kevin did not send for you.”

  What?

  “I sent the letter.” She reached out and took my hand, squeezed it, and held it in both of hers. “I did not know what to do. Our marriage was finished, and he began to frighten me. I knew it was that one, Bacarro, who was taking him over. His moods were dangerous, and I did not know what to do. I have no family to turn to.”

  Where was this going? “Noor, you?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “Kevin told me about you, and I found the address for your mail. I wrote the note carefully. I tried to sound like Kevin and write like him in case you remembered.”

  I wouldn’t have.

  “But I did not mail it right away. I called Dave and told him of my worries. He said he would take care of it. Days later, a strange FBI man, a Muslim, came to my house and tried to force me to speak to him. I would not. I was afraid.”

  “Mo Nassar?”

  She nodded.

  “He’s CIA, Noor. He worked with Artie and Victoria. Bond must have told him.”

  Her faced blanched. “Dave? He betrayed me?”

  “Maybe. Yes.”

  She looked to the ground and squeezed my hand again. “I had nowhere to turn. I mailed the letter and hoped you would come home. I thought if anyone could help Kevin, it would be you. If you could not help him, perhaps you could help me.”

  Help her? “Why do you need help, Noor? Help for what?”

  She crushed herself into me and pulled my arms around her, somehow knowing I wouldn’t do it on my own. “I cannot do this alone, Jon. I cannot. Sameh will be all right. I am not sure of me. Please, come back to me tonight. Send Victoria away
and come back. I need to be with someone. I need to be with family.”

  Words would not form. My arms tightened around her. I didn’t know why or whether this was a response to her pleas or my emotions. I wasn’t good at emotions. Oh, sure, anger and fear I was a pro at but the rest? Affection? Love? What I knew about those was somewhere in my distant past. Except, maybe, for Sadie, my girl waiting in Riyadh.

  “Noor, I … I don’t know what to say.”

  She stood on her tiptoes to whisper in my ear. “Say yes.”

  CHAPTER 62

  Day 5: May 19, 1715 Hours, Daylight Saving Time

  Catonsville, Maryland

  SAEED MANSOURI SAT at the head of the family dining table with his hands folded in front of him. Across the table sat a young couple. They were first-generation Afghanis who made a life for themselves working multiple jobs. They were months from buying their first home in Catonsville, where a large Muslim population offered them community and security.

  This day, however, the young couple realized that security was a thing of the past and if they were to survive the night, Allah would truly have to bless them.

  Standing behind the couple were two other IRGC Pāsdārān dressed in Western clothing in contrast to the Muslim garb the couple wore. The commandos carried Styr submachine pistols and stared impassively at the couple.

  Saeed broke the silence that had hovered over the room since he and his men had forced their way into the home and taken the couple hostage. “You will do what I ask of you?”

  The husband, a young twenty-five-year-old shop owner selling sweets and exotic teas, could hardly contain the terror in his voice. “Baleh, of course. But I do not understand.”

  “Understand? I do not care if you understand,” Saeed said dryly. “You simply must do. You will provide my men access to your shop for the next two days. You will tell anyone concerned they are family. They are with you to learn.”

  The husband nodded. “Yes. I understand.”

  “Then what?” Saeed demanded.

  “Why? What will they do in my shop? It is a small shop overlooking the Inner Harbor. Surely there cannot be any value in my shop?”

  One of Saeed’s men stepped forward and struck his wife, a pretty, pregnant girl barely nineteen, behind the head and sent her crashing to the floor from her chair. When the husband jumped up, the commando struck him in the cheek with the butt of the machine pistol.

  “Enough,” Saeed said. “You will do as I command.” He nodded to the commando, and the commando allowed the husband to sit his wife back on the dining room chair. “Do you understand now?”

  The husband’s cheek was bleeding, but he nodded and pulled his wife to his side. “Baleh.”

  “Good. That is very good.” Saeed stood and went closer to the couple. He stroked the wife’s long, dark hair and gently caressed her shoulder with one hand. “If you do this without fail, without difficulty, you will be rewarded.”

  “We do not need reward,” the husband said, surprised. “Just leave us in peace when you are done.”

  Saeed shook his head and caressed the wife’s shoulder again. “No, no. First, you will be given twenty thousand American dollars. Think of what you can do for your new family with such money.”

  The husband’s eyes exploded and he looked to his wife. “Thank you. But, we do not need the money. Just leave us in peace.”

  “Ah, we will, we will.” Saeed leaned down and kissed the young wife on the cheek. “We will leave you in peace, with much money. Your true reward will be Allah’s blessing.”

  The couple sat very still and watched Saeed leave the dining room with the thin, bearded Iranian who’d struck them.

  In the front room, Saeed spoke quietly to his junior lieutenant. “You will take him to his office later this evening. Become familiar with the area. Return here with him and secure this house.”

  The IRGC lieutenant nodded. “Yes, of course. What of the woman? Should we kill them together or shall I—”

  “No. Neither is to die yet.” Saeed clutched the lieutenant’s throat in his hand and squeezed. “Be very careful with this instruction. I wish them to live. I have other plans. Do nothing that threatens their lives. This is very important. If you kill them, I will return that upon you.”

  The lieutenant nodded and managed, “Yes, sir. As you command.”

  Saeed released the commando. “You will use two of your best men, but none Iranian. I want two of the Afghani recruits to guard her. No need for our men to waste time here. They will stay here and ensure the two are unharmed until I give the order. Afterwards, they can do with them what they wish.”

  “What for me, sir?”

  Saeed took his lieutenant’s shoulders in his hands. “You will return to Virginia and ready your men. Be ready on a moment’s order from me. Maya is close. Very, very close.”

  The lieutenant straightened in respect. “Yes, sir. Allah be praised.”

  “Baleh, Alhamdulillah.” Saeed looked into the dining room at his hostages. “This time, however, Allah will not be so merciful.”

  * * *

  Khalifah and the Foreigner selected Catonsville for its Muslim population and proximity to Baltimore’s Inner Harbor. Neither of them understood how well lit the fuse in this Baltimore suburb already was.

  Five blocks from the small apartment, a Somali cab driver was illegally parked near the crosswalk. He waited across from a coffee shop in a local strip mall, sipping tea and reading a newspaper. He parked there each afternoon waiting for a young, local grocery clerk to purchase a last cup of coffee and pastries for his morning breakfast before taking the cab home across town. His passenger was another Somali that the cabbie met months before at that very spot. They lived two blocks apart, and the cabbie gave him a free ride home each evening when they were both done from the day’s work.

  This night, they would be late arriving home.

  The grocery clerk, a thin man with dark gaunt, Somali features, left the coffee shop balancing a bag of pastries and a cup of tea in one hand while he held the door for two young women going inside. Three workmen from a nearby store under renovation ambled down the sidewalk behind the women. When the clerk held open the door, one of the workmen, a short, scruffy-faced, round man, slapped the tea from his hand and tore the bag of pastries away, threw it onto the sidewalk, and crushed it with his boot.

  “Friggin’ towelhead. Go home where you belong,” another of the workmen growled. “Go kill your own friggin’ people.”

  “Please,” the clerk said meekly, trying to force a smile. “This is my home. I work in the grocery here. I am an American. Leave me, I beg you.”

  The scruffy-faced workman lashed out and punched the clerk in the face, knocking him backward into the corner of the open door. He followed it with another punch that dropped the clerk to the pavement.

  The other two men began kicking him over and over. They cursed and laughed in unison.

  “Stop this!” the cabbie yelled and ran from his cab across the street. “Do not do this. Stop. He has done nothing.”

  Two more local workmen emerged from the coffee shop and saw the cabbie charging the scene. One of them glanced down at the fallen clerk still being pummeled and met the cabbie in midstride. He grabbed him by the shirt, lifted him in the air, and shook him.

  “What are you gonna do, pal? You foreigners should get the hell out of here.” He spun the cabbie around and threw him toward the coffee shop window.

  The cabbie crashed through the window and landed inside atop a table. His face and arms were shredded with cuts and more glass rained down on him. He cried out and raised bloodied hands, but no one came to his aide.

  “You bastards attack us? How does that feel?” the scruffy workman yelled. Then he and another grabbed the clerk up from the sidewalk and tossed him into the street, forcing an oncoming car to skid and swerve to avoid hitting him.

  A small crowd from several of the adjacent shops formed—young, old, white, black, Latino—no one rush
ed forward to help the injured Somali. Instead, they stood and watched with numb and dispassionate faces.

  One of the other workmen, a thin, balding man with a hook nose and darting, bug-like eyes, jogged across the street to the illegally parked cab.

  “Look at this, guys. He’s so much better than us he can park here. Maybe he was going to bomb us.” The workman leaned in the cab window and pulled the cabbie’s newspaper out. He shredded parts of it, opened the cab’s gas tank, and stuffed the newspaper partially inside.

  “See how he likes it.” The workman dug into his pocket, produced a cigarette lighter, and lit the newspaper. He ran to the sidewalk.

  Moments later, with a crowd of indifferent onlookers gathering, the cab exploded.

  People began to cheer.

  CHAPTER 63

  Day 5: May 19, 1730 Hours, Daylight Saving Time

  FBI Task Force Offices, Winchester, Virginia

  VICTORIA AND I split up to look for Sam.

  She headed for the haunts Noor knew of, and I went in a totally different direction. I sort of failed to tell her where I was headed. It bothered me that Sam seemed chummy with Azar and Fariq. So after Victoria left, I looked up several of the addresses I’d found on Sam’s cell phone the other night at the cabin. What I found sent me to Sand Town. Sam had been there several times in the past couple weeks. I wanted to know why.

  I made the drive in twenty minutes and only got lost once. Embarrassing, too, since I was following my cell phone map program. When I drove down the county road and into town, at first, I thought I’d stumbled into some old ghost town. Most of the houses along the road were old and in bad need of repair. None had mowed lawns or recent paint and seemed not to have any residents, either. There was no one on the street or sitting on porches. There was no one around at all. The entire town seemed empty.

  After two turns cruising the only three side streets, I double backed to make sure I hadn’t missed some hidden metropolis. I found what had to be the center of town. It wasn’t on the main county road but one street south, where two of the three side streets intersected in front of an abandoned Safeway on one corner, and a two-story cement block garage whose sign still dangled from above one garage bay and read “Sandy Creek Repairs, Est. 1953.” Inside the garage were two yellow school buses in various states of repair. All around the buses were chests of tools and parts lying about. So far, these were the only signs of life I’d seen.