He would enjoy the women for another day, partaking in their carnal pleasures, slaking his lustful desires with the women’s vigorous sexual appetites. Afterwards, he’d take the women on the same boat ride as the first two whores, a one-way trip to the bottom of the Cantabrian Sea.
CHAPTER 51
FROM HIS WINDOW, Ian Collins watched the third airline jet launch into the late afternoon skies over Atlanta in less than a minute. Thank God for soundproofing. Only the faintest of rumbles permeated the thick walls of the hotel.
He saved the last images on a flash drive. Soon he would take the flash drive down to the hotel’s business center and print out the documents, three in all, and return to his room to prepare them for mailing. When the envelope was received at its destination, Collins knew, the effect would be devastating, his ultimate goal.
His obsession with Jake Pendleton had culminated into the brazen surveillance of the man earlier in the day. Collins followed the news stories of the tragic loss of two of Newnan’s most prestigious and influential residents from a fire caused by a gas leak. It was payback for the elderly politician’s interference that resulted in two bullets being shot into Collins.
He followed the procession of vehicles from the funeral home to the Oak Hill Cemetery and, at one point, actually joined the line of cars then pulled away as they entered the cemetery grounds. As the procession moved toward the gravesite, Collins stopped his car at the section known as the Confederate Cemetery and removed his high-dollar digital SLR camera with its zoom lens.
Collins viewed the funeral through the lens, snapping pictures of those in attendance, focusing on Jake. He made note of Jake’s stoic demeanor throughout the funeral. The man and woman sitting to Jake’s left seemed familiar, too familiar, then it occurred to him. He’d seen them before. They were with Jake Pendleton in the Friar’s Chamber in Ireland. They were part of the reason for Collins’ failure. He would deal with them later.
It was the young woman sitting next to Jake that piqued his interest. She leaned against Jake and held him with both hands. She appeared to be showing him more affection than compassion. This, he found interesting.
Another opportunity to seek revenge on the meddling Pendleton.
Collins used his hotel keycard to access the business center, logged onto a computer, and opened the files on the flash drive. He printed each document on the hotel’s laser printer, logged off, removed the flash drive, grabbed his copies from the printer, and returned to his room.
With the photos spread on the table in front of him, Collins carefully affixed a marker, his marker, to each. Their meaning would be clear and the recipient would triple their efforts to locate him. Perfect.
His web was being spun and his prey lured into it.
Jake Pendleton's next funeral would be his own.
† † †
Four miles east of downtown Atlanta in an old brick building on Ponce De Leon Avenue in Decatur was where Bentley told Jake to meet them. He parked on the street two blocks away and walked in the darkness of night to the field office. The building was non-descript other than the red brick. It could have been an office for anything, accountants, lawyers, realtors, or a field office of the Clandestine Services of the Central Intelligence Agency.
Earlier Jake had arranged for a limo to take Kyli and Mr. Wiley to the airport. They were returning to Belgium—Wiley for a few days, Kyli for good. It was a bittersweet moment for Jake. He hated to see her go, the moment at the cemetery still lingered fresh in his mind. But he needed to clear his mind and focus on Khan.
Jake entered through the front entrance, a small foyer enclosed in glass, only to be greeted by a CIA guard who introduced himself as Bruno. The human tank towered over Jake like an NFL linebacker. His arms were the size of Jake’s thighs. His intimidation didn’t stop with his size. His dark black skin was covered in black attire. Adorned in full bling, Bruno wore a chain-link gold necklace, a gold earring, gold bracelet on his right wrist, and three gold rings.
“You don’t look like a Bruno.” Jake quipped. “You look more like a bodyguard for a rapper or a bouncer at a nightclub.”
“I’m half Italian—satisfied?” He smiled, a gold tooth glistened under the lights.
“Depends on what the other half is.”
“You don’t want to find out.”
“No, I don’t think I do.” Jake smiled.
Bruno whispered into his sleeve and the door behind him buzzed. Bruno pushed the door open letting Jake walk through. “Director Bentley is waiting, second door on the left.”
“Thanks.”
The Atlanta operations center was a large room with a dozen men and women sitting behind computer terminals wearing headsets. Five flat-screen monitors lined the rear walls. Huddled in front of one monitor were Bentley, Hunt, and Kaplan. Jake recognized the image on the monitor; it was CIA analyst George Fontaine. Fontaine worked in the Clandestine Imaging Division of the Technical Service of the CIA. The CID’s responsibility was technical support to clandestine operations in the form of photography, secret writing, and video surveillance.
“What’s up with Bruno?” Jake pointed back at the door.
Bentley turned, “Malcolm? Good guy, but I wouldn’t get on his bad side.”
“I could’ve used that intel earlier.” Jake said.
“George and I briefed Mr. Wiley on this earlier.” Bentley motioned to Jake to take a seat. “You’re just in time to hear what we found out.”
Jake walked over and stood next to Bentley. “Hey, George.”
“Hello Jake.” Fontaine was known to be thorough and all business so he wasted no time beginning his presentation. “It took some doing but I think we caught a lucky break.” The monitor adjacent to the image of Fontaine showed the streets of Paris after the bombing of the Louvre. “If you’ll notice the white van.” The picture zoomed in on the driver.
“Khan.” Jake said.
“That’s right, Jake. I tracked his movements through the use of traffic cams, and found where he abandoned the van. Using the same cams, I verified his identity and followed him to the Metro.”
Jake watched the monitor change pictures following the sequence of events as Fontaine explained Khan’s movements.
“The French government, at least in Paris anyway, made it easy to track Khan’s movements along the Metro lines. They even have cameras in the Metro cars. I followed Khan until he exited the Metro at the Porte d’Ivry station. I used traffic cams again until Khan disappeared into a nearby garage. Five minutes later, this black Audi drove out. It took a few minutes but I finally snagged a traffic cam photo of the driver and guess who?”
The picture on the monitor revealed Hashim Khan.
“The rest was a piece of cake…at least for a while anyway. By now, with the explosions at the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre, every satellite with an angle was aimed at France. He never changed plates so I tracked him to Bordeaux where, it appears, he took a tour of a winery.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Kaplan asked.
“Trying to look like a tourist, was he?” Jake imitated a European accent. “Bet he even bought a couple of bottles of wine.”
“How could you know that?” Fontaine asked.
“Lucky guess.” Hunt said.
“He actually bought three bottles and placed them in the back seat which eventually gave away his identity.” Fontaine continued his presentation. “I tracked him to Bayonne, France, near the coast where I lost him. The car disappeared into a structure and never resurfaced. It’s still there as far as I know. The trail went cold. No movement. No pedestrians. No traffic cams to monitor. I thought we were at a dead end unless his plans were to stay in Bayonne, which didn’t make any sense. He knew he was being pursued. He must have seen you two in Trappes when he evaded you.
“At ten minutes intervals, I pulled photos, checking every road out of Bayonne and then I noticed it. A red convertible driving toward the Spanish border. The car had Spanish plates and the driver ha
d black hair, but so does half the population.”
“How could you be sure it was Khan?” Kaplan asked.
“The wine bottles are on the seat and you matched the labels to the winery.” Jake said. “You already told us that.”
“No, I didn’t. But I was about to.”
“Come on, George. You’re making a short story long.” Jake said.
“I’ll get right to the point. I tracked him to San Sebastian, Spain where he spent one night at the Hotel Niza. Then he changed his appearance and we’re working on a hunch now. The car has disappeared. A man resembling Khan in height and build but clean cut and shaven is staying at the Hotel Maria Cristina under the assumed name of Arlo Delgado. We have an asset from Madrid there now, monitoring Delgado’s movements. He’s taken some photos but, to be honest, I’m not getting anything I can use with our facial recognition software.”
“George?” Jake interrupted. “What’s your gut instinct on this?”
“I think Hashim Khan and Arlo Delgado are one and the same.”
“That’s good enough for me.” Jake said.
Bentley turned to Jake. “What are you thinking?”
“I speak Spanish.” Jake said. “I’m going to Spain. But Wiley took the jet so I’ll need a lift.”
“I hope you’re not chasing a ghost. Otherwise we’re wasting valuable time.” Bentley handed Jake an envelope. “Wiley gave me this to give to you. He said you’d know what to do with it.”
Jake took the envelope from Bentley. On the front was his name, ‘Jake’ written in Wiley’s handwriting. The back was sealed with wax. A deep crimson, blood colored wax stamped with Wiley’s ring. He’d seen Wiley wearing the ring and thought nothing of it. Two large interlocking letters, ‘GF,’ dominated the impression.
He walked away, turned his back to them, slid his finger under the wax seal, and popped it free from its hold on the paper. He slipped out the note and read it in silence.
Jake,
This is ‘Eyes Only’ information. Scott handed you off to me, which means you still work for me. His interests in this matter and mine differ. He has a separate agenda, one dictated to him by politicians. One he doesn’t agree with but can do nothing about.
This is an assignment you must handle alone. Watch your back when you arrive in San Sebastian, lose your friends and come to a place called Peine del viento, Comb of the Wind. There you will meet your blind date. Follow the instructions below and don’t deviate from them. You’ll be provided with everything you need.
Scott will insist Khan be captured alive. My instructions are simple—kill Khan. I’ll deal with Bentley…
Jake read the rest of Wiley’s instructions, slipped the letter back in the envelope, dug around in his pocket for matches—something Wiley always insisted he carry—and set the envelope on fire. Holding it with his fingertips, he watched the red and yellow flames devour the envelope until nothing was left. He dropped it to the floor and ground the ashes beneath his shoe.
When he turned around. Bentley, Kaplan, and Hunt were staring at him.
“What are we waiting for? Let’s go to Spain.”
CHAPTER 52
GREGG KAPLAN WALKED beside Isabella Hunt, Scott Bentley, and Jake Pendleton toward the CIA Challenger jet parked on the tarmac at the Dekalb-Peachtree Airport in Atlanta. It was dark and the night air was cool. Exhaust from the jet’s engines flooded the ramp with the smell of kerosene.
“You’ll find everything you need in your duffels.” Bentley looked at Jake. “Wiley has arranged for weapons and other gear upon your arrival. It’ll be waiting for you when you arrive in San Sebastian.”
“Seems like old times.” Kaplan said. “The three of us flying off to save the world.”
Bentley looked at Hunt. “You haven’t told him?”
“I haven’t had the chance, sir.” Hunt said.
“Told me what?” Kaplan was worried.
“Jake, come with me please.” Bentley motioned for Jake to follow him to the jet.
“Told me what?” Kaplan looked at Isabella.
She stood in front of him, blocking his view of Bentley. “The doctor said I’m not fit for duty assignment.”
“He’s probably right. You should take it easy.” Kaplan said. “Does he have any work for you?"
“I’m going back to Langley with Bentley. I’ll be working as an analyst again for a couple of months.” She placed her hands on Kaplan’s chest. “But he promised I get to handle this op with you and Jake. You’ll be sick of having me in your ear all the time.” She smiled.
“You just got out of the hospital. We haven’t talked about…things.”
They hadn’t had time to talk since the rescue in Yemen. Kaplan desperately wanted to have time alone with Isabella but the same day she was released from the hospital they flew to Atlanta to attend the funeral. There was so much said—or not said—in the glider. Hunt had been drugged and she’d said so much. Kaplan could only wonder if she meant everything she said or if it was the drugs making her expressive with her feelings.
The last two missions they worked on together, they were undercover as a couple. Once as vacationers and once as honeymooners. That was when they first kissed, for appearance sake, to strengthen their cover story. He felt something and he was sure she did too. But she’d played it cool, like she does everything. And even as much as he wanted to bring it up, he resisted. He didn’t want to jeopardize the mission…or find out he was wrong.
The next op was different. They knew they were under surveillance so they played the loving couple, always touching, always playful.
They’d spent two hours in a bar waiting for a rendezvous. After they made contact and arranged for a meeting the following day, she had insisted they stay in the bar for a couple of drinks.
When they got back to their room, Isabella Hunt continued her affectionate behavior, to keep up the guise he presumed. But her kiss was passionate, long, and wet. He presumed it was the alcohol, so he gently pushed her away. She pulled him closer, pressing herself against him. He returned the kiss with the same intensity. Before he realized what was happening, they were on the bed ripping each other’s clothes off. He expected it would stop, the ruse to fool the observers a success.
It didn’t stop. She was ravenous. They made love, and then they slept. The next morning, Kaplan was greeted with the familiar cool exterior of Isabella Hunt.
“Don’t worry, Gregg. I’ll be right here when this is over. When you and Jake finish this op, you’ll be back at Langley and so will I. We’ll have plenty of time to talk.”
A look came across Hunt’s face that concerned Kaplan. “What is it?” He asked.
“Don’t tell Jake, but I overheard Bentley talking to someone about him. Bentley seemed upset but finally relented and agreed to something.”
“You don’t know what it is? Did it sound like he was in trouble?” Kaplan rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You know Senator Boden is after Jake, maybe Bentley’s going to turn him over to Boden.”
“I don’t know. I doubt it.” Hunt stepped closer to Kaplan. “All I know is Jake won’t be returning to the States anytime soon. He’ll be staying longer with that Wiley fellow.”
“That’s what I thought too.” Kaplan said.
Bentley stepped out of the aircraft. Hunt stepped back and stood next to Kaplan as Bentley approached. “Gregg, time to go.”
Kaplan looked at Hunt and winked. “Yes sir.”
Bentley grabbed Kaplan’s arm as he started to move. “One more thing.”
What’s that, sir?”
“After you arrive in Spain, don’t let Jake out of your sight.”
† † †
Isabella Hunt stood by Director Bentley’s side as the cabin door closed and the jet taxied away. She wanted to tell Gregg everything. How she felt. What had happened. The real reason she wasn’t going to Spain with him. I didn’t lie to him. Not technically. The doctor did say I wasn’t fit for fieldwork. But maybe I should have told him—
“Did you tell him?” Bentley asked.
“No, sir.”
“Are you going to tell him?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Don’t you think he has a right to know?”
She had already thought about that question and her answer as well. The dilemma had been on the forefront of her consciousness every minute since her rescue.
“I’m sure Gregg would think he has a right to know, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s my problem. I’ll handle it alone.”
“Isabella, at some point you have to tell him.”
“No, Director, I don’t. And maybe I never will.”
CHAPTER 53
KHAN WAS THE first of the naked trio to stir as the morning sun streaked through the suite’s windows. He wasn’t a large man, average height and build and rather non-descript in his guise as a Spaniard, but he was cunning and ruthless. Whatever he wanted, whatever he desired, whatever he planned, he would take extraordinary measures to accomplish. He slipped from between the two naked women and padded in bare feet across the suite to the wet bar where he started the coffee brewing to help clear the cobwebs from his head. He would miss their sexual energy realizing he might never again find two more submissive women eager to please him the way these American women had.
All of the arrangements had been finalized the night before while the women slept. The attacks on the American soil would send shock waves across the globe. The West would soon realize their vulnerabilities. Nations would lock down their borders. Personal liberties would be stripped from the people and Al Qaeda would get the credit—an Islamic World Order would rise from the sand and dominate the world. 9/11 would pale in comparison.
He’d also activated his contingency plan after he noticed the man following him the previous day. Seeing someone once or twice in this coastal resort town might qualify as a coincidence but sighting the same man a half dozen times set off alarm bells in his head. He needed a backup plan and that was his expertise. He always had a backup plan—and a backup to the backup. The success of any plan was being prepared for the unexpected. Khan was ready.
The Toymaker Page 20
