Where to begin? “First, my client didn’t kill anyone. That’s why the jury acquitted him. Second, it seems obvious that someone has been watching Julia, and probably my house, for some time. And for some reason, the instant the trial was over, that someone decided to snatch my sister.”
Childs pulled a face. “You seem to know a hell of a lot about this crime.”
“I have a brain, and I can use it to discern the obvious.” I restrained from saying more. I needed to chill.
“I guess you think getting your client off makes you some kinda criminal expert?”
Again, I withheld my true thoughts and contented myself with “This isn’t my first rodeo.”
Childs grunted and left. As he passed through the front door, someone else came in. “You hangin’ in there, Skipper?”
Loving. Never been so glad to see the big man in my entire life. “I’m fine,” I lied. “Worried about my little sister.”
“I knew you would be. That’s why I came.”
“How’d you find out about the kidnapping?”
“Chris texted me.”
“Did she tell you Julia was seeing Oz?”
“I guessed. You think that has somethin’ to do with the kidnapping?”
“Maybe. You got anything yet?”
“Nothin’ much. Been mostly listenin’ to see what I could pick up.” He glanced over his shoulder, as if eavesdroppers might be anywhere, then looked back at me. “I did manage to, um, liberate some files from the cops.”
“About this kidnapping? How—”
“No, the murder.”
“I’ve seen everything they’ve got on Nazir’s death.”
“No, this is about the other one. The woman. The brainiac.” He withdrew a file from under his overcoat.
The file concerned Yasmin al-Tikrit. I didn’t see how that could be connected, but I sat down and thumbed through it just the same.
The case remained unsolved, and it looked to me as if the police had no significant leads. Since no one was found at the scene with gun in hand, they didn’t know where to start.
I rifled through the crime-scene photos, but they just brought back ugly reminders. I didn’t need to relive it all. Her battered body. The bloodstained desk. Her scientific papers.
Wait.
I took another look. I’d noticed something unusual when I was there before. I just hadn’t known what to do with it.
Maybe desperation is the mother of all invention. This time the cogs snapped into place.
“Oh my God. Oh God.”
Loving hovered over my shoulder. “What is it?”
“It—It’s all starting to make a crazy sort of sense.”
“What?”
“This crime scene. What Abdullah said on the witness stand. What Oz told me the very first day in my office. But I was too stupid to understand.”
“You know who killed this woman?”
“I think so. And Nazir.”
“Does that mean you know where Julia is?”
“No. But I know who took her. There’s only one person who would—only one person who would have any reason.” I threw the file down on a coffee table. “I am such a fool. I’ve been operating in the dark. All along.”
Loving knew me well enough to understand where I was headed. “Skipper, I hope you’re not thinking about doing something crazy dangerous.”
“Let’s get out of here. While we still can.” I headed quietly toward the door.
“I’m comin’ with you,” Loving said.
“You don’t even know where we’re going.”
“And I don’t care. But wherever it is, I got your back.”
“Thank you, but no. Much too dangerous. I—” My phone buzzed.
I had a text.
And a location.
64
Downtown Oklahoma City was the weirdest cross section of good and bad on the face of the earth. The renovation of Bricktown into a pedestrian pleasure park had been a titanic success. The river cruise, restaurants, Thunder games, and shopping had wrought a fantastic change to what had previously been a dismal area no one visited unless they had no choice. Some of the area housing had been renovated and yuppified. But if you traveled more than five blocks in any direction, you could see some of the most depressing, poverty-ridden hovels imaginable.
Which of course was where I was headed now.
I couldn’t help but notice I was also only a short drive from Oz’s apartment and the stretch of South Robinson that received so much attention during the trial. Oklahoma City was moving in the right direction, but it still had lots of work to do.
Loving and I parked a block away and walked cautiously toward the two-story house. When we were almost directly in front, Loving laid a hand on my shoulder. “We should call Mike. Give him a heads-up.”
“He’ll have uniforms out here in five minutes.”
“Yeah.” Loving shoved his big hands into his pockets. I could tell something else was in there. Loving never carried guns—didn’t believe they made anything better. That didn’t mean he was completely unarmed. “Might be better if they did.”
“This is a change of heart. You usually prefer to work alone.”
“Well . . .” His eyes scanned the house. “There’s a lot at stake here.”
I knew what he meant. He was accustomed to having to take care of me. He’d done it often enough in the past. But having Julia in the mix added too many variables. I’d suspected before that Loving maybe had a sweet spot for Julia, perpetual screwup slacker that she was. He didn’t want her death on his conscience.
“There is a lot at stake,” I said. “More than I’ve had time to explain to you.”
“What does the kidnapper want?”
“Out of the country.”
“Makes sense. Now that Omar is off the hook—”
“The police might reopen the investigation and get it right this time. Except they won’t. They’ll make public statements about how justice was denied and go on acting as if they tried the killer. Too embarrassing to admit they make a mistake. Especially on a capital crime. But this kidnapper doesn’t know that.” I paused. “Why would anyone think I could get a killer out of the country?”
“Anyone who’s seen your house .
“Right. Would think I’m loaded. What a joke. I couldn’t get myself out of the country for a two-week vacation.” I checked my watch. “Time to go in.”
Loving nodded grimly. “I’ll take the rear. Don’t go in till you get my signal.”
“Let me text first.”
“Is that smart?”
“You haven’t read the texts. Our kidnapper is not thinking logically. Panicking. I don’t think surprise is the right approach.”
“You’re the skipper.”
I pulled out my cell phone. The night was abysmally dark, not a shred of moonlight. I could barely see well enough to tap the right buttons.
I resisted the temptation to text using voice recognition. IM HERE.
Must’ve had the phone in hand, waiting, because the reply shot back within seconds. COME IN AND I’LL KILL HER.
Another chill raced up my back. I CANT HELP YOU IF I CANT SEE YOU.
A second later: JUST GET ME OUT OF THIS FILTHY COUNTRY.
I knew the four stages of hostage negotiation, as well as the stupidity of lying to someone holding a gun. But the truth was we didn’t have time for all those stages. The situation was desperate and deadly. So a lie seemed expeditious.
IM MAKING THE ARRANGEMENTS. I HAVE YOUR PLANE TICKETS. PASSPORT. YOU HAVE NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT.
For the first time, I had to wait for a response. Thought I was going to throw up while I waited.
SLIDE THEM UNDER THE DOOR.
Here’s where I had to get tough.
NO. WANT TO SEE JULIA’S ALIVE AND UNHURT.
Another painfully long pause.
SHE’S ALIVE.
The bottom dropped out of my throat. Keep it together, I told myself. She needs yo
u thinking clearly. Now more than ever.
I tried the forceful approach. IM COMING IN.
I almost felt sympathy. I understood now where it all came from, how the whole mess began. But it made little difference. I had to get this done.
I could see through the windows that another family with small children lived downstairs. Another reason this situation had to be contained.
Another reason this could end badly if it went down wrong.
Eventually my answer came.
ARE YOU ALONE?
I lied again. YES.
NO COPS?
NONE.
Had to wait a little while for the next one.
NO WEAPONS. STAND JUST INSIDE THE DOOR.
And a moment later: IF YOU TRY ANYTHING, ILL KILL HER. THEN YOU.
I started forward.
A set of rickety, white wooden steps on the side of the house provided access to the upstairs apartment. Separate entrance for a separate tenant. Unfortunately, there was no other entrance. I spotted Loving in the rear, keeping watch.
I reached the top of the stairs. My hand shook as I reached for the doorknob. Keep it together, I told myself. You can handle this. You can do it. Just a little while longer.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Julia was duct-taped to a kitchen chair. She could barely squirm. Some kind of gag stretched across her face, contorting her expression, making her look wide-eyed and desperate. And scared. Which she undoubtedly was.
Kir Ali stood behind her. He held a shotgun pointed at her head.
The murder weapon?
Her blouse was caked with blood.
His hand shook worse than mine. “You’ve seen her. She’s alive. Put the stuff on the floor and get out.”
I shook my head. “You have to let Julia go.”
“I can’t do that.” His voice trembled, and his eyes were wild. I judged him to be over the edge and on the brink of doing something violent. He never would’ve resorted to this if he weren’t desperate. “If I do, you won’t help me.”
“I’m not helping you till she goes free.”
I could see his fingers tightening around the trigger. “Don’t screw with me.”
“I’m not.”
“I’ll kill her. I will. You think I won’t, but I will.” Sweat flew off the sides of his head. “I’ve killed before.”
“I know. Agent Nazir. Right? You pulled off the miracle shot from the oil derrick?”
“You think I’m a killer?”
“I don’t think you want to be. I think you’re a victim of horrible circumstances, like almost everyone in this mess. I’m sure you felt you were out of options. You have sharpshooter experience, don’t you?”
“In Iraq, boys are trained to be snipers when they are five.”
“My theory is you used a long-range acoustic baffle to disguise the source of the shot. The derrick gave you the cover I needed.”
Kir started at him, stunned.
“In the chaos afterward, you hid the gun beneath the derrick and calmly walked away. Probably recovered it later.”
“Do you know what that bastard did?”
“Yes. I understand why you killed Yasmin, too.” I paused. “But you made a terrible mistake.”
“You don’t understand anything.”
“Your people wanted her research. The ones you work for. And she wouldn’t give it to you.”
“I had no choice! Now put the stuff on the floor.”
The flaw with that being, first, I had no stuff, and, second, I was certain he’d refuse to release Julia. Might kill her. Anything was possible, given his current state. He thought terrorists were out to get him, and they probably were. He thought the police wanted him, and they would, if they didn’t already.
I locked eyes with Julia. She seemed less desperate, almost resigned.
I’d seen that look in her eyes before.
She thought she was going to die. And she thought there was nothing she could do to help herself.
This time I was going to save her. I had to save her. This time.
“Kir, you know this isn’t going to work. Put down the gun and let me take Julia somewhere safe.”
“You don’t know what will happen to me!”
“I think I do. You’ve been working for ISIS, right? Or some similar group. That’s why you killed Nazir and framed Omar. That’s why you killed Yasmin and why you’ve been trailing me and my friends. Omar wouldn’t play ball, Yasmin wouldn’t give you her research, and your freedom depended upon Omar being wrongfully convicted of murder. At this point, your terrorist masters probably think you’re a liability. So you decided to kidnap”—my eyes met Julia’s—“your handler.”
“You . . . you know.”
“I should’ve seen it sooner. Even when Oz went into chapter and verse about how ISIS recruits the lonely and lost and isolated, it didn’t occur to me that there was a much more vulnerable target out there, one connected to money and assets and with a history of poor judgment. A history of jumping from one outstretched arm to another, anyone offering a moment of comfort.” Ipaused. “My sister.”
“And you know about Yasmin?”
I lowered my eyes. “More than you, unfortunately.”
“What do you mean?”
This was about to get treacherous. Dangerous for Julia and me. But it had to be done. “I figured it out. When I saw the periodic table on the wall at Yasmin’s workplace, I noticed that four of the elements were marked in red. Didn’t mean anything to me at the time. Scientists do bizarre things. Maybe it had something to do with her research. And then a short while ago, I looked at a photo, and it finally clicked. Yasmin marked potassium, iridium, aluminum, and iodine. The chemical symbols, moving across the table from left to right, are K, IR, AL, and I. They spell out your name. That smart woman identified the man threatening to kill her. The man who ultimately did kill her.”
“I had no choice. She did it, you know. She made the breakthrough. The first step toward the superweapon.”
“And you didn’t want the US to get it.”
“Are you insane? The US must have it, you fool.”
“Then why did you take—”
“Don’t you see? The US owned Yasmin. It was inevitable that she would share her research with them, given time. I cannot put the genie back in the bottle. But I can make sure both sides have access to it. This is World War Two and the atom bomb all over again. The world could never be safe so long as only one side had the bomb. That’s what alienated the USSR. That’s what started the Cold War. We would have no defense against American imperialism if they had a weapon that could kill huge numbers without damaging buildings or spreading radiation. The entire world would be pawns in American hands.”
“So you’re going to give it to terrorists?”
“I’m going to give it to everyone. Terrorism is in the eye of the beholder. The history of American aggression shows that all they ever do is destabilize a region. If there is no balance of power, America will police the world.”
“That could never happen.”
“Anything could happen. The US talks about human rights while torturing prisoners. The US talks about privacy rights while eavesdropping on its own citizens’ conversations. The US talks about sovereignty while invading other countries to support its ravenous need for oil.”
This sounded much too much like a rant I’d heard before. And finally the light dawned. “You work with Abdullah.”
“I did.”
I bit my lower lip. “He really is an ISIS scout. When the online attempt to recruit Oz didn’t work, Abdullah decided to throw him to the dogs. Probably upset about him breaking up with your sister, too.”
“He turned her into a whore!”
I nodded. “I thought that was a factor. So you took out Nazir and framed Oz.” I pressed my fingers to my forehead. “Nazir was right about Abdullah.”
“Nazir was a bastard.”
“No wonder he wanted to interro
gate Oz.” I thought a moment longer. “And of course, inevitably, Abdullah converted you. He’s just as dangerous as Nazir said he was.”
“Nazir deserved to die! He tortured my sister!”
I felt a painful aching in my stomach. I so much did not want to advance this conversation. But it had to be done. He had to know. “Kir . . . Mina is not your sister.”
“You lie.”
“Your mother was unmarried. Raped. If the pregnancy had become public, she would have been shamed and disgraced. Her career over. She had no family, no protection. So Mina agreed to basically adopt you. Pretend you were her little brother. Abdullah covered the tracks and made it all look right.”
“You liar!” The shotgun wavered. I could see the muscles in his arm tighten. “Are you saying Nazir was my father? You filthy lying American!”
The expression on Julia’s face urged me to stop talking. But I had to finish. “I don’t know who your father is. I don’t think anyone does, and it’s probably better that way. Mina’s mother had recently died so they pretended you were her child.”
“Filthy American. You will say anything to save yourself!”
This was the hardest conversation I’d ever had in my life. And my sister’s life dangled in the balance. “I’m not lying to you. I wish I could’ve told you sooner, but I hadn’t figured it all out yet. Once I did, my friend Jones did some online research. He has access to CIA databases and about anything else that can be found online, which is basically everything these days, if your hacking skills are strong enough. He confirmed what I suspected. Even Abdullah couldn’t eliminate all the traces.”
“What are you talking about? You filthy liar.”
“I’m telling the truth. Hard as it is. I think it’s time you knew where you came from. So people will stop taking advantage of you.”
He pressed the shotgun hard against Julia’s face, screaming. “Who is my mother?”
“I think you already know. You heard Abdullah in the courtroom, talking about how close she and Mina were. How they would do anything for one another. And the truth is—they did.”
“No. Please. No.” He crumbled to his knees, but the shotgun remained aimed. “No.”
Justice Returns (Ben Kincaid series Book 19) Page 33
