by Nick Carter
To answer both those questions together," he took a bite, and a spray of caviar scattered on the desk like beads from a broken necklace. He took a sip of vodka to clear his palate. "One doesn't run opium in the Middle East without knowing who is a U.S. agent Lamott was working for my organization. The Damascus branch. He knew about Jehns. And Lamott was hooked, dependent on me. Not only for heroin, but for big money. Money he needed to feed his other habit"
"Yeah. He was also a clothes horse."
Foxx smiled. "Yes. Exactly. When our opium business dropped off, Lamott was scared. He couldn't afford both his chemical habit and also his… shall we say, fashion sense. Not even on his salary from Fresco Oil, which I assure you, was rather large. Now, Jehns. We had some background information on Jehns. We knew that he had a restless mistress. A woman who also had a fashion sense. How easy for Lamott to woo her away. Actually, it wasn't much fun for poor Bob. His taste didn't run to the female sex. But men have done worse things for heroin and money, so Bob seduced this Jacqueline — and got her to betray her ex-lover. At first we considered using Jehns as our dupe. But there was a mix-up. The rumor we'd arranged to drop in Damascus reached a CIA man instead. But then — what luck. Your Robey heard the rumors in Tel Aviv."
"The rumors Mansour told in El Jazzar…"
"Yes. Robey heard them and met with Mansour. Then he tried to telephone Jehns in Damascus. From there I think you know what happened. But Robey got suspicious. Not of Mansour, but of Jehns/Lamott He placed a call here, to the Foxx Beirut, where the real Jehns was staying for his oil conference…"
"And where a black Renault ran him over in the street."
"Mmm. Didn't kill him, but that was all right. At least he never got to talk with Robey."
"And you were here at the hotel all along."
"All along. Disguised, even then, as an oil sheik. But you must have figured out some of that"
"Yep. The clue wax the security guards. I heard they were here to guard a sheik's money. Money that was stashed in the hotel vault. That was Just a little too eccentric to be true. Gulf sheiks bring their money into Lebanon, but they put it in banks like everybody else. So it suddenly hit me. What money wouldn't you put in a bank? The ransom money."
"But why me, Nick? After all — I was dead."
"Not necessarily. You arrived in Bermuda alive, on a plane. That much, the television cameras showed. But you left Bermuda in a closed coffin. No one saw the body except your 'close associates.' And a closed coffin is a good way to get a live man off an island. Now I have a question. When did you decide to kidnap the others? It wasn't part of the original plan."
Foxx shrugged. "Yes. You're right again. I got the idea during my… captivity. I sat in this room for those two weeks and I thought about all the people I disliked. And I thought — ahah! If the scheme works once, why won't it work again and again. Voila! Al Shaitan became big business. But now I think it's time you told me…"
"How I found out"
"How you found out I trust you won't mind telling me, Nick?"
I shrugged. "You know me, Al." I looked at the carpet and then at Uri. Foxx and his desk were too far away. He was keeping us both at a good safe distance and under the threat of a double cross-fire. I was giving up hope of reaching the boxes. Which left Plan Two. I could talk Foxx to death. If Kelly weren't signaled in one more hour, he'd go ahead anyway and do his stuff.
I cleared my throat "How I found out. I don't know, Foxx. A bunch of little things. Once I knew Rhamaz was a blind alley, that the whole thing was phony from beginning to end, the other pieces started falling into place. Or at least I could see what the other pieces were. For instance, one of the reasons you're in trouble with the feds has to do with tax evasion. Rumors about your Swiss corporations and tricky deals to make dirty money clean. So where were you getting all the dirty money? Not from hotels. It had to be from something illegal. Something like dope. And what do you know? Three of the pieces in my Al Shaitan puzzle all had something to do with dope. Mansour was a pusher. Lamott was a Junkie. And the Shanda Baths was a front for a ring. The Shanda Baths — owned by a Swiss corporation. Your Swiss corporation. And Lamott had made a phone call to Switzerland. Perfect circle. Round One.
"Now, for Lamott. He was up to his neck in Al Shaitan. I also figured he shot the guys at Rhamaz. Not many terrorists carry .25s. But it didn't figure. Lamott working with the P.L.O.? It didn't make sense. But then, a lot of things didn't make sense. AH the Americans who kept turning up. And all the money flashing around. The commando troops aren't hired thugs. They're dedicated hard-hating kamikazes. The pieces didn't fit — not if the puzzle was tided Al Shaitan. But change the title to Leonard Foxx…"
Foxx nodded slowly. "I was right in judging you a genuine adversary."
I played for more time. "There's one thing I don't think I understand. You spoke to Lamott the morning he died. He got a call from Sheik el-Yamaroon. Why did you tell him to pull strong-arm with me?"
Foxx raised an eyebrow. "I was getting rather tired of Mr. Lamott. And he told me he thought you suspected him of something. And I thought, what better way to keep you in the dark than to force you to kill off your only real lead."
"You knew I'd kill him?"
"Well I really didn't think he'd succeed in killing you. But on the other hand, if he did… well, that's life." He raised his brows again. "Is your story over, or is there anything else?"
"One thing more. The kidnap victims. At first it drove me crazy. Trying to figure out why those particular guys. Then I thought, well — no reason. Whimsy. But once I started suspecting you, the fist made a pattern. Wilts, who outbid you on the Italian hotel. Stol, who exposed you in his magazine. Whatsisname, the dog foodguy — your neighbor on Long Island. Then figure things like the five hunters. The location of the lodge was a deep dark secret Even their wives didn't know where it was. Arab terrorists wouldn't know. But I remembered reading that your hobby was hunting. That you once belonged to an exclusive little hunting group."
"Very good, Nick. Really good. That article about my interest in hunting must have appeared, when — ten years ago? But there's one man you skipped. Roger Jefferson."
"National Cars."
"Mmm. My grudge against him goes back twenty years. More. Twenty-five. As you say, I drove a truck once. A National Truck. And I had an idea. I went to Detroit and met Roger Jefferson. At the time, he was the head of the trucking division. I presented him with a new truck design. A design that would have revolutionized the business. He turned me down. Coldly. Rudely. Laughed in my face. In fact, I think he only agreed to see me to have the fun of laughing in my face."
"Yeah. Well, you certainly got the last laugh."
He smiled. "And they're right. It is the best one. And just for the record, Thurgood Miles, the dog food man, isn't on my list because he was my neighbor, but because of the way his clinics treat dogs. Instead of just putting the sick beasts to sleep, they sell them to colleges for vivisection. Barbarous! Inhuman! He had to be stopped!"
"Mmm," I said, thinking of the servant salaaming to the floor, thinking of the dupes slaughtered at Rhamaz, and the innocent people killed on the beach. Foxx wanted dogs to be treated like humans, but he didn't mind treating humans like dogs. But as Alice said: "I can't tell you now what the moral of that is, but I shall remember it in a bit."
We sat in silence for a few minutes. Uri said, "I'm starting to feel like Harpo Marx. Don't you want to ask me something? Like how a smart genius like me got into a mess like this? Or maybe you'll answer me something. What are you planning to do with us now?"
"A good question Mr…?"
"Mr. Moto. But you may call me Quasi."
Foxx smiled. "Excellent," he said. "Really excellent. Perhaps I should keep you both around as my court jesters. Tell me," he was still looking at Uri, "what other talents have you got to recommend you?"
"Talents?" Uri shrugged. "A little song, a little dance. I make a nice omelet."
Foxx's eyes chilled.
"That will be enough! I asked what you do."
"Bombs," Uri said. "I make bombs. Like the one that's sitting in the box at your feet."
Foxx's eyes widened before they narrowed. "You're bluffing," he said.
Uri shrugged. "Try me." He looked at his watch. "You've got half an hour to see if I'm lying. You think we'd walk in here, two crazies alone, without any aces to pull in a Jam? You think that one over, Mr. Leonard Foxx."
Foxx thought it over. He looked under the desk. His dog was also under the desk. He snapped his fingers and the dog ran out, scampering over to Foxx's knee, jumping up and watching him with canine love. Foxx picked him up and held him in his lap.
"All right," he said. "I'll call your bluff. You see, nothing holds me in these hotel rooms. I'm Sheik Ahmed Sultan el-Yamaroon, I can come and go. But you, on the other hand…" He snapped for his guards. "Tie them to their chairs," he ordered in Arabic. He turned back to us. "And I assure you, gentlemen, if the bomb doesn't kill you in half an hour — I will."
Uri started to dive for the boxes. I stood up and punched him silly in the jaw, as three guns fired, crack-crack-crack — missing him only because I'd changed his direction.
Stupid move. He'd never have made it. The boxes were well over ten feet away. And not worth dying for, in any case. There was no bomb in them, only a remote. It's not that I don't believe in heroics. I just believe in saving them for one of two occasions. When you can't lose. And when you've got nothing left to lose. I didn't make it out as either — yet.
I figured Foxx would take his guards and go. And somehow, even tied to the chairs, the two of us could manage to get to the boxes and press two buttons. The first to warn Kelly who'd be sitting in the lobby and the second that would, two minutes later, set off a noisy explosion in the flight bag. Not a real bomb. Just a big bang. Enough to rip open the plastic bag. Enough to send black smoke shooting in the air. And enough to summon the Beirut police, whom Kelly would direct to the eleventh floor. A do-it-yourself police raid.
Plan Two, the if-you-don't-hear-from-us-in-an-hour-get the-cops-anyway plan, didn't have much of a chance of working. Not if Foxx was good to his word. If the bomb didn't kill us in half an hour, he would. The cops would still come, but they'd find our corpses. An excellent illustration of a Pyrrhic victory. But a lot can happen in half an hour. And there was plenty of time to go for heroics.
We were tied to the chairs, our hands to the chair arms, our feet to its legs. Uri came to just as Foxx and his goons were departing. Foxx stuck his head back through the door.
"Oh, one thing I didn't mention, gentleman. We found a friend of yours sitting in the lobby."
He opened the door a little wider. They tossed Kelly onto the Persian carpet. He was bound, hand and foot, his hands behind him, and black and blue bruises were rising on his face.
"Now he tells us," I said to Uri.
Foxx closed the door. We heard him lock it.
"All right," I said. "Now here's the plan…"
They both looked at me as though I really had one.
"Sorry," I said. "Gallows humor. Where's the bag, Kelly?"
Kelly painfully rolled himself over. "Okay, Pollyanna. Here's your good news. It's still in the lobby."
"And here's your bad news, Mr. Big," Uri was giving me the angry uncle look. "Even if we manage to make it go boom, the cops wouldn't know to come up here. Why did you slug me, you stupid jerk? We had a better chance when we weren't hobbled."
"First of all" — I was getting mad, too — "what better chance? Considering Kelly was already gone."
"Okay. But you didn't know that then."
"Okay. I didn't know it, but I still saved your life."
"For a half an hour, it was hardly worth the trouble."
"You want to spend your last moments raking me over?
Or do you want to do something about trying to live."
"I suppose I can always rake you over later."
"Then move toward the box and set off the bomb."
Uri started walking his chair to the boxes. It was inch by inch "Favus?" he said. "Why am I doing this? So the Beirut police can get a little outing?"
I was walking my chair over toward Kelly, who was bellying his way over to me. "I'm not sure why," I grunted at Uri. "Except Leonard Foxx and his troup of blue goons won't go further away than the lobby. They'll be sitting there counting up half an hour. Maybe they'll get scared when they see the cops. Make a dash for it. Leave the hotel. Or maybe they'll somehow lead the cops here. Or maybe they'll think we've got bombs all over."
"The cops will think or Foxx will think?" Uri was still four feet from the boxes.
"Hell, I don't know. I'm Just saying my maybes."
"You forgot one," said Kelly, from a foot away now. "Maybe this is all just a bad dream."
"I like that," I said, tipping my chair so it fell on the floor. "Now maybe you'd like to try and untie me?"
Kelly inched up till his hands were near mine. He started, awkwardly, to grapple with my ropes. Uri reached the spot next to the desk and dive-bombed his chair onto the floor. He nudged at the open box with his chin. It tipped forward, spilling its contents. The remote plopped out and fell beside him. "No!" he said suddenly. "Not yet We've got twenty-three minutes to set off that bomb. And maybe, as our master is fond of saying, maybe the explosion will send Foxx up here. Better we try to get a little loose first."
Kelly wasn't getting me any looser. Uri eyed the random junk on the floor. "I got it," he said. "I got it, I got it."
"Would you like to say what?"
"Wire cutters. I remember I threw in some wire cutters. There's just one problem. The wire cutters are in the second box. And the damned box is too far under the desk. And I can't get in there, tied to this chair." He turned his head in our direction. "Hurry up, Kelly. I think I need the luck of the Irish. The luck of the Jews is running out over here."
Kelly started crawling over toward the desk. It seemed like a football field away. Finally, he got there. He used his bound feet like a probe, and nudged the box out into the clear.
Uri stared. "My god. It's locked."
Slowly I said, "And where are the keys?"
"Forget it. The keys are on a chain around my neck."
A long moment of terrible silence. "Don't worry," I said. "Maybe this is all just a bad dream."
Another silence. We had ten minutes.
"Wait," Uri said. "Your box was locked too. How did you open it?"
"I didn't," I said. "I threw it at a guard and it opened by itself."
"Forget it," he said again. "We'll never get the leverage to toss the thing."
"All right. The aerial."
"What about it?"
"Get it."
He grunted. "Got it. What now?"
"Fish for the box. Scoop it up by the handle. Then try to flip it as hard as you can."
"Dammit. You may not be so dumb."
He did it. It worked. The box crashed against the side of the desk, opened, and rained all the junk on the floor.
"That's really a terrific lock, Uri."
"You're complaining?" he asked.
Kelly was already cutting him free.
"Ouch!" he said.
"You're complaining?" Kelly asked.
We made it with almost five minutes to spare. Perfect timing. We set off the flight bag. The cops would arrive in less than five minutes. We headed for the door. We forgot it was locked.
The other doors weren't The ones that led into the rest of the suite. I found Wilhelmina on top of a dresser, and tossed my stiletto over to Uri Kelly took a knife from a kitchen drawer.
"The phone!" I said. "My god, the phone!" I dove for the phone and told the operator to send up the oops. As she was saying "Yes, sir," I heard the explosion.
All the doors to the hall were locked. And all of them were made of unbreakable metal. All right. So we'd wait We couldn't lose now. We were back in die drawing room, the place where we'd started. Uri looked at me. "You want to
scatter or stay together?"
We never got to decide.
The door flew open and the bullets started flying. A submachine gun, ripping up the room. I dove behind the desk but I felt the bullets burning my leg. I shot and got the gunner through his blue-robed heart, but two reinforcements were coming through the door, spitting bullets all over the place. I fired once and they both fell.
Wait a second.
I'm good, but not that good.
A long moment of eerie silence. I looked around the room. Uri was lying in the middle of the carpet, a bullet hole gouged in the padded vest. Kelly's right arm was all red, but he'd dived for cover behind a sofa.
We looked at each other and then at the door.
And there was my old pal, David Benyamin.
He was smiling a damnedable one-up smile. "Don't worry, ladies. The cavalry is here."
"Go to hell, David."
I dragged myself over to Uri's body. My leg was leaving a bail of blood. I felt for his pulse. It was still there. I opened the vest. It had saved his life. Kelly was holding his own bloody arm. "I think I'll get a doctor before it starts to hurt." Kelly wandered slowly out of the room.
The Shin Bet guys were all over the hall now. Opening and the Lebanese cops made a fairly interesting combinadoors, taking prisoners. And then came the cops. The Beirut police. Talk about strange bedfellows, the Shin Bet tion.
"Lebanon will use this story for years. They'll say 'How can you accuse us of helping Palestinians? Didn't we work with the Shin Bet once?' By the way," Benyamin added, "we got Leonard Foxx. Beirut is happy to give him away. And we'll give him back to America gladly."
"One question, David."
"How did I get here?"
"Right."
"Leila got me word you were going to Jerusalem. I alerted the airstrips to tell me when you got there. Then I had you tailed. Well, not exactly tailed. The army car that took you to your hotel was ours. So was the cab that drove you to the airport. The driver saw you get on the plane for Beirut After that it wasn't too hard. Remember — I checked Robey's phone calls for you. And one of the numbers was the Foxx Beirut. I never figured Al Shaitan was Leonard Foxx, but I did figure out you were corning here and I figured you could use a little help from your friends. We've got a guy at the Beirut Airport — well, we had a guy — his cover's blown now. You're turning green, Carter. I'll try to finish fast so you can pass out Where was I? Oh yes. I was waiting in the lobby. Three guys with me. We found out MacKenzie wasn't in his room. So where was MacKenzie? One guy went to look for you in the bar. I went to check the operator. Maybe MacKenzie called another roam."
