The Consultant

by TJ O'Connor

  Nausea seized me and I lay back. Life was a gift today. A gift to all of us. All of us except Victoria and Caine. They gave us their gift.

  Artie had fooled us. All of us. In the end, on the bus, it was a coin toss for the winner. Had the coin landed on the other side, I’d never have known.

  “All this for nothing.” I sat up again and saw Noor stir. “Kevin, I mean. He went bad and died for what, money?”

  LaRue was thoughtful for a long time. Then, he laid it all to rest.

  “Kevin tried to redeem himself in the end, Jon. We believed Khalifah was a Middle Easterner. Troubling failure. He operated with impunity. General Fedorov’s mastery of the game was brilliantly played. No one suspected it was one of our own. No one, including me.”

  “A game?” I shook my head. “The SVR played brilliantly? Christ, Oscar, people are dead. Hundreds in the last week alone. How many thousands had Khalifah—Polo—been responsible for over the years?”

  “Of course. It was not a game.” LaRue raised his chin and held a finger up to continue his epilogue. “Fedorov used the SVR to conceive a plan to reignite our presence in the Middle East. He’d believed we’d be so consumed that we’d take our eyes off them—the Russians. They could proceed to expand back into Eastern Europe unchecked.”

  “It would have worked.” I recalled what Saeed had said. “Saeed was okay with starting another Mid-East war. He thought the Arabs would rise up together and destroy us.”

  “Perhaps.” LaRue contemplated that for a moment. “Quite possibly. Polo was their secret weapon. He had access to intelligence that allowed Fedorov to maneuver. What we didn’t know was how many other cells were involved. We could not act on Saeed without that knowledge. Had we, and there were others, they might have surprised us and hurt us even worse.”

  I dropped my eyes. “Kevin died for that?”

  “No, my boy.” He took my shoulder. “He died redeeming himself. He must have learned Polo was Khalifah and about Operation Maya. He knew it wasn’t the refugees and not the families forced into terror by Saeed’s men. He passed you the clue.”

  Tears welled. “Kevin said that the night he died. ‘Not them.’ He meant it wasn’t the refugees. He knew. He said he was sorry. He knew I’d find out what he’d become.”

  LaRue nodded in slow, melodramatic movements. “Forgiveness, Hunter. He wanted yours.”

  He never knew Noor called me home. “Caine?”

  Oscar let a sly grin form before he washed it away with spy games. “We removed the real Caine in Damascus years ago. Our Caine—my Caine—assumed his identity. As long as no one appeared who knew him, the deception was workable. Mo Nassar handled Caine for me and provided cover for him with the task force. That is what forced Nassar to recruit and compromise David Bond.”

  “Nassar. What a prick.”

  “He played a vital role,” LaRue said, grinning. “Hunter, we did not know Polo was Khalifah. Not at first. You have my word. Caine suspected a leak in the FBI after Fedorov sent him here to assist Khalifah. I needed Mo Nassar to monitor the task force for me to ensure Caine remained unmolested.”

  “Nassar’s still a prick.”

  LaRue grinned. “He feels the same of you.”

  I glanced at Noor’s still form. “Why not lock down DC and Baltimore and just take Saeed? You could have stopped all this.”

  “No. We considered Baltimore a viable target right up until the end. We worried that if we acted on Saeed or Fedorov before we learned the totality of their plan, we might unleash a larger, more devastating series of attacks. We had to know how many cells were out there. That was Caine’s mission.”

  Caine. “Were there other cells?”

  “Fedorov denied it. I am not so sure.”

  A dark SUV pulled through the maze of federal and state emergency vehicles until it was near the chopper. A man in an FBI windbreaker climbed out and opened the rear door.

  Sam Mallory slid out wrapped in a blanket.

  The armed agent led him to us.

  “Are you LaRue?” the agent asked LaRue. When LaRue nodded, the agent added, “My orders were to escort Sameh Mallory directly here after the scene was secured. We’ve had him in protective custody since he was released to us. I think he’s in shock. We can’t even touch him. My orders were to bring him to you.”

  LaRue raised a hand. “Whose orders?”

  The agent looked oddly at LaRue and then over his shoulder at Sam, who pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

  “Agent?” LaRue repeated. “Who had him in custody and who ordered you to bring him here now?”

  “Special Agent in Charge Arthur Polo,” the agent said. “A couple hours ago. Is there a problem?”

  Oh yeah, there was.

  A hot poker stabbed my spine and worked its way to my brain. What had Saeed said to me, “Two special surprises”?

  Artie Polo was Khalifah. That was the first surprise.

  I rolled onto my feet and faced Sameh Mallory as he dropped his blanket and walked toward us dressed in an oversized barn coat. A dozen feet away, I noticed something in his hand when he slid it from beneath the jacket. He held a thumb plunger—a remote detonating device the size of a roll of quarters—that had a wire that disappeared up his sleeve to what I knew was a bombladen suicide vest hidden beneath the coat.

  Rule seven of mortal combat—just when you think it’s over, guess again.

  Khalifah and Saeed had one more surprise. Another terror cell. Sameh Mallory was it.

  CHAPTER 87

  Day 7: May 21, 0910 Hours, Daylight Saving Time

  Arlington, Virginia—Along the Potomac River

  “YOU KILLED KEVIN. You killed my father. You killed Bobby and all those people. You lied to us all.” Sameh’s eyes were tiny round bullets staring straight at me. “I don’t know who you are, but you are nothing any longer. Alhamdulillah.”

  Oh crap. I held up my hand at LaRue’s men, who were inching toward us. “Everyone stand down! Everyone! I have this. Everyone just back off.”

  Sam slowly raised his hand and showed the detonator to everyone around us. With his other hand, he opened his coat and revealed an old fishing vest. Instead of lures and other tackle, a macramé of wires and bricks of gray plastic explosives were fastened.

  If he thumbed the plunger’s trigger down just a half-inch, the explosives he wore would kill us all. It might yet explode the sarin tanks being secured down the riverbank. Khalifah and Saeed could still win.

  I held my hands in surrender. “Sam, don’t.”

  “Sameh.” His voice was empty. Cold. Raw.

  “Yes, Sameh.” I took an uneasy step forward. “I didn’t do any of those things. I didn’t kill Kevin or Bobby. Artie Polo told you all that, didn’t he?”

  His eyes hardened. “He said you would continue to lie. You treat me like I am nothing. You lie to Noor. You are trying to take her from me, too.”

  No. Before I could say another word, a meek voice, almost a whisper, came from beside me. Noor was there, leaning on me and stepping toward Sam.

  “Sameh, stop this now. No one is taking me from you. I am here. I am your mother. Stop this.”

  He raised the plunger higher. “No. Polo told me. My life is over anyway. First, it was that schoolteacher. It wasn’t my fault! Now this. I will die for these crimes so this is no loss to me.”

  Jesus. Kevin adopted Sam after investigating him as a suspect in a murder at the reform school for boys. Kevin thought him wrongly accused. But he was wrong. Sameh was a murderer, and he was proving that now. Worse, somehow, somewhere along the way, Sameh Mallory became more than a murderer. He became one of them—a radicalized terrorist.

  Sameh aimed the plunger at me. “Saeed Mansouri is a leader. He taught me to be a Pāsdār—a good Muslim protecting our people from all of you.”

  Holy mind control. Is this what changed Kevin’s mind? Did he find out that Sameh was involved? “Sameh, did Kevin find out about you?”

  A strange look sprea
d across his face. Half sadness and half relief. “Yes. He did not understand. How could he? He was not Muslim. He was not my father. Saeed showed me. He helped me. Kevin did not understand. Saeed was a great man.”

  “Saeed Mansouri was a terrorist,” I said flatly. “He wasn’t protecting anyone. He and Polo were trying to start another war in the Middle East. Polo and Saeed took families hostage. Muslim families. He forced the men to bomb the mall and Union Station. Even the school. Is that who you want to be?”

  “More lies. They warned me.” His words were sharp, but his eyes were showing a crack in his armor. “They fought for Islam. I do that now.”

  “No.” Noor clutched my arm and pulled me along for balance. “These things Jon says are true, Sam. It is they who have lied.”

  LaRue moved around from behind me and waved his men into position on our flank.

  I had to make Sam understand. “Sameh, Artie forced Noor to drive that bus. She was to drive into DC to kill thousands. She would have died, too. It was Polo and Saeed taking her from you. Just as they took the other families. All this killing was them.”

  He faltered for a moment and tried to think. “No. No. I have been to Sandy Creek. You call it Sand Town, more insults. How amusing for you all. So many people there volunteer to help Saeed in the fight. They are good Muslims ready to die.”

  “Volunteer?” Noor lunged forward and slapped Sameh hard across the face. She recoiled and slapped him again. “Saeed Mansouri took their families. He killed them. He was an evil man who distorts Allah for violence and hate. That is not you, Sameh. Please, say it is not you.”

  Sameh just stared at her. His face was reddened by her assault and his eyes blossomed with tears. He began to speak, but she slapped him again, hard, and then held his cheek in her hand with a mother’s love.

  “Sameh, Kevin believed you could be responsible for the teacher. He loved you anyway.”

  Sameh’s face blanched and his eyes exploded with grief. “No. He did not.”

  “Yes, Sam.” Noor held tight to his face and refused to look at the detonator he still held above his head. “He loved you. In the end, he learned what Polo and Saeed were doing and fought back. He died trying to stop them. Be like Kevin. Be like your father. Fight back. Fight them. Do not do this thing.”

  He wavered more now, his thumb shaking above the plunger trigger. His eyes couldn’t see through the tears, and his hand became heavy and awkward over his head. Slowly, it dropped to shoulder height. “Hunter, he killed him! He killed Kevin.”

  “No, Sameh,” I said. “No.”

  “He did not do that thing,” Noor added. “Polo killed my Kevin. Even Victoria Bacarro. You know I hated her, but she died trying to stop Polo. Trying to save me and you.”

  Sam’s mouth screwed up and his eyes darted from Noor to me and back to Noor. “Died? Polo said …”

  I stepped forward and took hold of the plunger, holding it firm within his hand. “Polo killed her, Sameh. He killed them all—Bobby and Ghali from the library. All those families, too. Don’t become like him.”

  Noor leaned in and fell forward into Sam’s body. He instinctively grabbed for her to hold her up and steady her balance. When he did, he released the plunger, and I took control of it.

  “Now would be good, Oscar,” I called over my shoulder.

  “Move,” he ordered.

  Four black-clothed operatives descended on us. One took Sameh by the arms and held him. Another pulled Noor away and returned her to the gurney she’d been lying on. The third took the detonator from my hand and eased it to his control, while the forth slid Sameh’s shirt off and began disarming the explosive vest.

  Time stood still. Seconds to moments. Moments to … the suicide vest slid from Sameh’s body.

  “We’re clear, sir,” the bomb technician called. “It’s over.”

  No, it wasn’t over. Not for Noor. Not for Sameh. Not for me.

  CHAPTER 88

  Day 7: May 21, 0930 Hours, Daylight Saving Time

  Arlington, Virginia—Along the Potomac River

  NOOR LAY ON the gurney still holding Sameh’s hand until LaRue’s men bound his hands in flex cuffs and led him away. Tears streamed down her face and her body shook as he disappeared.

  I stood next to her. “He’ll be okay, Noor. Oscar will help all he can.”

  LaRue nodded. “Of course. But you must understand. It will take some time. Longer than you realize, perhaps.”

  “I understand,” she said, squeezing my hand. “I cannot lose him, too. Please, Jon Hunter. Help us.”

  “I will.”

  A medic reaffixed her IV and turned a lever. A second later, her fingers relaxed in my hand and she slipped into a comfortable, peaceful sleep.

  I turned to LaRue. “He was the last cell, Oscar. I didn’t see that coming.”

  “Nor I, my boy.” He shook his head. “It could have been worse.”

  “Yes.” I looked over at the wreckage that was Bus 219. “You were gambling with the sarin.”

  “That’s complicated, Hunter. Caine was in the process of replacing the sarin with a placebo. Unfortunately, it was discovered by Khalifah’s—Polo’s—chemist. We switched half of the sarin but could not replace the remainder in time. Polo moved the new shipment elsewhere and Caine lost control of it.”

  “The chemist?”

  Oscar shook his head.

  No more chemist. “Caine and Polo were both double agents. One on each side.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did Caine know Kevin had gone rogue?”

  “No.” LaRue turned and faced me, master to apprentice, eyes-to-eyes. “That evening, Saeed and Polo went to collect a shipment of sarin from Sokoloff—Fedorov’s operative. By the time Caine learned of the transfer and arrived, Kevin was dead and a cylinder of sarin had ruptured. You arrived, and Caine tried to scare you off. He had to burn the truck and destroy any contaminants.”

  I looked down. “Still, Kevin went bad.”

  LaRue simply nodded.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about Caine?”

  LaRue looked at me with an expectant grin.

  I missed it. “You wanted me chasing him. The more I chased, the more believable his cover. Right? Saeed, Polo, even Fedorov would believe that he was the real Caine with me on his tail.”

  LaRue dismissed further questions with a flutter of his hand. “We have more work to do. The White House is working to calm the nation. It’s complicated since it involves the Russians. We’ve convinced him to stand down the military.”

  No bombs. No troops. No war.

  LaRue was nodding again. “For us—you and me—it is time to move on.”

  Move on? My brother was a rogue cop. One of my oldest friends was a turncoat terrorist. My nephew was a suicide bomber. Move on?

  LaRue leaned in close so no one could hear him. “There is no money, Hunter. The hundred thousand was never there. It was SVR money, not ours. Perhaps Noor can put it to better use.”

  “You’re covering it up?” I couldn’t believe it. “You’re going to hide Kevin’s complicity? All the money?”

  He said nothing.

  Jesus, should I hate him or love him? “Bond?”

  “Bond was a lovesick cop who picked the wrong girl with the wrong husband. He had no idea what was happening around him. When we learned Polo was making his move soon, I instructed Nassar to co-opt him.”

  “Steal the evidence at the task force to protect Caine’s identity a little longer.”

  He grinned. “Yes.”

  A stray thought burned in my brain. “Perhaps if I’d come home sooner.”

  “We all share some responsibility,” LaRue said, looking away. “Perhaps me more than anyone.”

  Deep down, I wondered how true that was. “What about me?”

  A familiar face walked through the crowd of emergency personnel. Shepard. He carried a sniper rifle over his shoulder and walked toward us with a sarcastic grin.

  “You owe me, Hunter. Again.”<
br />
  Shepard? “Aren’t you dead?”

  “Sure.” He winked. “But if I were, those guys at the construction site would have ended you. Things got complicated.”

  “Complicated? You faked Caine. You sent me to chase a terrorist who wasn’t one. You died but didn’t. Was anything uncomplicated?”

  “Precisely.” LaRue squeezed my arm and hardened his voice. “Now, what am I to do with you?”

  “I’m not ready to retire, Oscar.”

  A voice, barely above a whisper, spoke behind me. “No, Jon Hunter.”

  I looked down at Noor lying on the stretcher where she was smiling. “Jon, do not go. Please. I need you here.” She took my hand in hers and pulled me down to whisper, “I am ashamed. But these past few days, you are the first thing I think of in the morning and the last thing I think of at night.”

  The last time someone told me that … was never. “Sleep, Noor. I’ll be with you in the chopper. I’ll be close. Always.”

  “Good.” She found my eyes through her haze and her voice was meek. “But, if you must return for Sadie, I will understand.”

  “Sadie?” LaRue laughed for the first time I could remember. “My dear, Sadie is a camel.”

  “A camel?” She coughed, tried to smile, and closed her eyes. “Jon Hunter, you must stay home.” She drifted back to sleep.

  LaRue turned to me. “What now, Hunter? A small town doesn’t need your skills, even as uncontrolled as they are.”

  “Maybe I’ll write a book.” I tapped my temple. “You know, about this handsome, daring ex-consultant on dangerous missions. He’s always harangued by his old spymaster. You know the type. The younger one is the hero, of course. The crotchety old guy is a pain in the ass sidekick.”

  “Again, you disappoint me.” He lifted a finger into the air so the world would know he was about to impart his wisdom. “Your perspective is crass and misguided. Precisely why I must keep you close. Imagine the damage you could do without my guidance.”