by Flynn Vince
Footsteps could be heard down the hallway and then the voice of a man called out. Karim leveled his gun and glided down the hall in near silence. Ahmed trailed two steps behind. The wide hallway had doorways on the left and the right. Karim bypassed both of them, leaving them to Ahmed. A modern oil painting hung on the wall straight ahead and there were open archways to the left and the right. Karim moved to the right side and took a quick look into the room on the left before springing back to his left so he could get a better angle on the room where he thought he had heard the voice. There was movement. At least one person. Karim charged ahead, his gun ready to dispatch any threat. A man was seated at the kitchen table in a white robe and a woman was standing in the middle of the kitchen, also in a white robe, frozen like a statue with a coffee cup in one hand and a saucer in the other.
Karim would never know if it was the dropping of the cup and saucer and the way they shattered on the stone floor or the woman’s earsplitting scream that caused him to squeeze the trigger, but he did know that it happened without any forethought. The bullet sailed clear through her open mouth and blew out a good portion of the back of her head. An instant later she was on the floor twitching among the broken white ceramic shards of her coffee cup and saucer. Karim glanced at her and then his eyes traveled back to the white cupboards that had been behind her. They were covered with brain matter and blood and looked amazingly similar to the modern painting he had just passed in the hall. His eyes traveled next to the silent man at the table. He was in his fifties and was undoubtedly Arab. The woman could have been his daughter.
The man swallowed hard and then with a quivering lip said, “Please don’t kill me.”
Karim nodded and asked, “What is your name?”
“Khalid,” he said. “Khalid al Saeed.”
“You run the Aramco office in Washington.”
“Yes.”
“You are supposed to be out of the country.”
He nodded. “You are the Lion of al Qaeda.”
Karim was caught off guard. “How would you know such a thing?”
“Your photo is on TV. Both of you.” He pointed over Karim’s shoulder to Ahmed.
Karim felt his gut twist. He tried to stay focused and asked, “Why are you here? You were supposed to be gone.”
“I decided to return early.”
“Your family?” Karim asked.
“They are still in the Kingdom.”
Karim looked to the woman on the floor. Her robe had spilled partially open and he could see that she was not wearing any underwear. “Who is she?”
“A friend.”
Karim nodded, ran a few scenarios through his head, and made a quick decision. He looked at the man’s nervous eyes and said, “Allahu Akbar.”
“No,” the man pleaded. “I am a Saudi. I am a believer. I have contacts… very well-placed contacts. I…”
Karim raised his pistol and shot the man twice in the heart.
CHAPTER 65
NASSAU, BAHAMAS
GEORGE Butler looked across the table and said, “You could have just paid him the million dollars.”
Rapp smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and said, “I suppose.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” Dumond said as he pecked away at his laptop. “The guy was a world-class prick.”
Rapp laughed. It wasn’t like Dumond to offer such a harsh opinion. They were sitting in the Chairman’s Club at Graycliff, the eighteenth-century plantation house turned hotel and restaurant. The place was very private and very British. Rapp had suggested it knowing that Butler had a discreet agreement with the manager. A waiter came into the room with a large tray. He set down three plates and refilled the water and iced tea glasses.
When he was gone, Butler said to Rapp, “You almost lost him. Wouldn’t it have been easier to just pay him?”
Rapp shook his head. “Maybe, but I think a guy like that is just as likely to take your money and lie to you. He’s a thug. He gets his way by threatening people with violence.”
Butler set down his iced tea. “So you hit him with the only thing he really understands.”
“I suppose. It worked, didn’t it?”
“Yes, but you do know I would never have let you lay a finger on him. At least not while he was here.”
“I know,” Rapp said with a slight grin. “I would never put you in that position.”
“Yes you would,” Butler said with dry sincerity.
“Well… at least not intentionally.”
“That has always been your Achilles’ heel.”
“What?”
“Some people have the Midas touch… you, on the other hand… have all the grace of one of those American footballers who bashes the quarterback into submission.”
“Thank you,” Rapp said with a smile.
Butler’s phone vibrated. He didn’t bother to pick it up. He simply looked down at the screen, read the message, and said, “We have located our banker.”
“Christian?” Rapp said.
“Yes, his last name is Nelson. He has a flat over in the Grove not far from here.”
“Do your boys have eyes on him?” Rapp asked.
“Not yet. A car is on its way, but we have his mobile, work number, and email account all monitored.”
Rapp smiled. When it came to national security and secrecy the Brits could move five times faster than the Americans. “Do we know if he’s on the island?”
“According to customs… yes.”
“I’m in,” Dumond announced, raising his hands in the air as if he’d just won an Olympic medal.
“Where?” Butler asked.
“First Caribbean Bank.”
“Impossible.” Butler looked nervously back toward the door. “How did you do that so fast?”
Rapp leaned in and waved off Butler’s question. “If you really want to know, maybe you guys could take a walk on the beach later.”
“But…” Butler tried to press the question.
“No,” Rapp said, knowing where it would lead them. Butler was a techie at heart. “You two will start talking about all of your trapdoors and back doors and portals and hashes and injections and my eyes will glaze over and then I’ll get a headache. So you guys can go over all that later. For now,” Rapp said, turning all of his attention back to Dumond, “I want to hear about the financials of Adam Farhat.”
Dumond was the ultimate multitasker and had never stopped typing. “Sweet mother of Jesus!” he announced with his eyes still fixed on his laptop.
“What?” Rapp asked.
“He has over thirteen million dollars in this account. Almost ten of it deposited this week alone.”
“That would make sense,” Butler said. “Payments for the drugs.”
“What else?” Rapp asked.
“Looks like he runs some kind of coffee import company.”
“What about payments? Where has he been sending money?”
“Other than this hundred thousand dollar debit, which was probably to General Scumbag, there’s nothing. Only deposits.” Dumond squinted at the screen and pecked at a few keys. “He also has a safety deposit box.”
Butler’s phone started ringing. He glanced at the caller ID and then answered. “Hello.” He listened ten seconds, his eyes growing a touch more alert by the second. “And we have people in place?” He listened again for a few seconds and nodded enthusiastically. “Good. I’ll be back to you shortly.” Butler set the phone down and said, “Apparently Mr. Nelson just got off the phone with his superior at the bank.”
“And?” Rapp asked.
“One of his more important clients would like to access his safety deposit box this afternoon.”
“Is that normal for a Saturday?” Rapp asked.
Butler shrugged as if to say who knows. “These banks all make exceptions for their better clients.”
“Where’s Nelson right now?”
“Leaving his flat. We assume on his way to the bank.”
Rapp looke
d at Butler for a long moment and then without saying a word both men stood.
Dumond looked up. “Where are you guys going? Our sandwiches just got here.”
“Bring it with,” Rapp said. “You can eat in the car.”
CHAPTER 66
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
THE match was a blowout. McLean was up 14-1 over their hated rivals the Langley Saxons. The difference this year was Rory Nash and everyone knew it. The thirteen-year-old had eight of his team’s points. Nash watched intently as Rory sliced through the Saxons’ defense. Any other game he’d be on the bench at this point, but McLean’s coach wanted retribution for last year’s blowout. Langley had one big defender whom Nash had been watching all game. He had reminded his son before the game to keep an eye out for him. The kid was a head taller than every other player on the field and was known to lay out at least one opponent per game. As Nash looked out on the field Rory was moving from right to left cradling the ball. He sliced between two defenders and it looked as if the big kid from Langley was finally going to get his shot at Rory. At the last second, though, Rory slammed on the brakes and pulled off a perfect roll dodge. The big kid sailed past Rory with an angry grunt as he tried to command his large frame to do the impossible. Rory closed on the goal, moving to his left as he went. He faked once and froze the goalie and then again as he closed the gap. His feet were dancing along the edge of the crease. He faked low to get the goalie to bite and then the stick snapped around the back of his head, the ball arching softly through the air to the opposite side of the crease, where one of his teammates snatched it and snapped it into the open net.
“Sweet!” Jack yelled.
“Yeah,” Nash agreed with some relief. “Your brother shouldn’t even be in there right now.” Nash looked farther down the sideline in search of his wife. She was standing about twenty yards away talking to two of the other mothers. She smiled at her husband and pointed at him. The other two mothers turned and waved at Nash. They were smiling and nodding as Maggie whispered something to them. Nash cringed. He was not used to all this attention. From the moment he had arrived at the field, people had been talking and pointing.
“Dad,” Jack said, as he looked up, “are you famous?”
The comment hit Nash like a slap in the face. He felt himself getting angry, but told himself to take a deep breath. It wasn’t Jack’s fault. He was only ten. “No, Jack, I’m not famous.”
“Well… you kind of are. Your photo was on the front page of the paper this morning and you were all over the news last night.”
“Just because you get your picture in the paper doesn’t mean you’re famous.”
“That’s not what my friend Scott said.”
“I really don’t want to talk about it, Jack. I’m not famous, all right?”
Maggie walked up just in time. She slid her arms around his waist and gave him a big hug. “You’re quite the topic around here.”
“Oh… God…” he moaned.
“Why can’t you just relax and enjoy it?”
“Because it’s not who I am. I haven’t changed. I’m the same guy who’s been going to these games for I don’t even know how many years. The only thing that’s changed is everyone’s perception of me.”
“A perception that’s based on the truth. These people now know who you work for and what you’ve been doing, and I have to tell you,” Maggie said as she lowered her voice, “some of these ladies, like Stacy and Claudia, it’s a huge turn-on for them. Very sexy that I’m married to a spy.”
“I heard that,” Jack said without taking his eyes off the field. “Gross.”
Maggie grabbed him and pulled him in for a group hug. A second later the whistle blew and the game was over. As the two teams lined up to shake hands, Nash began looking around the park for his daughter.
“Where’s Shannon?”
“Not sure.” Maggie looked toward the playground. “There she is- pushing Charlie in the swing.”
Nash watched her push the green bucket that her baby brother was in. He felt a pang of anxiety and asked, “Do I have to let her drive home?”
“Yes,” Maggie said.
“She’s not very good. I mean, don’t get me wrong… she’s a great kid, but she can’t drive.”
“Michael, she just got her permit this morning. Do you expect her to be a great driver on her first day?”
“I don’t expect her to be perfect, but…”
“But what?”
“She sucks, Mom,” Jack said.
Maggie grabbed his cheeks. “Oh… Jack, sometimes, I swear.”
“Mom,” Jack said while shaking free of her grip, “I’m not saying she’s stupid or a bad person. I’m just telling you the truth. She’s a bad driver.”
“Well, maybe you and your father can walk home.”
Jack took a step back to get out of his mom’s range and said, “Can we, Dad? Do you know how funny that would be…”
“Jack Nash.” Maggie reached for him, but he was too quick. He scampered onto the field in search of his brother. “He takes after you,” she said to her husband.
“I think he has more than a little of his mother in him.”
“The smartass part comes from you.”
“And the psycho stubborn part… who do you suppose he gets that from, you?”
Maggie was on the verge of upping the ante when an elderly couple approached them. “Excuse me,” the man said, “Mike and Maggie Nash?”
The Nashes nodded.
“I’m Charlie Kelly. This is my wife, Mary.”
“Nice to meet you,” Nash said as he shook the man’s hand.
“My grandson plays for Langley.”
“Ohh… great,” Maggie said.
“Not today. Your boy pounded us. Pretty damn good player,” he added gruffly.
“Thank you,” Nash said.
Kelly looked across the field, his cloudy blue eyes unfocused, his bottom lip trembling ever so slightly. “I just wanted to say hello.” He couldn’t look at Nash. His wife hung close to his side. “And thank you. I was in the Navy and then I put in forty years at Langley. Clandestine service… operations… spent most of my time in Europe. What you did,” he finally looked at Nash, “it made a lot of us proud… and there’s not many of us left.” He shook his head and then said, “I just thought you should know that.”
Nash was caught off guard. He stammered for a second and then said, “Thank you, sir.”
“Charlie,” the old man said, “please call me Charlie.”
“I will. Thank you, Charlie.”
“Well…” he said as he looked toward the cars. “We’ll see you around.”
“Sure,” Nash said.
“Very nice to meet you,” Maggie said. As the older couple moved toward the parking lot, Maggie said, “That was nice.”
“Yeah. We don’t do enough to celebrate those guys.”
Jack returned from the middle of the field with Rory and a couple of his teammates. “Mom,” Jack said as he came speeding up, “are you really going to let Shannon drive?”
“I don’t think it’s any of your business, young man.”
“Well, if she is,” Jack suddenly produced Rory’s lacrosse helmet, “I’m wearing this.”
“Okay, that’s it…” Maggie took a step and reached out to grab the sleeve of his sweatshirt but again he was too quick. He darted off across the field. Maggie composed herself as she came face to face with Rory and his two friends. “Nice game, honey.”
“Thanks,” Rory said. “Can Will and Ben sleep over?”
“Well,” Maggie said, caught a little off guard, “your father and I are going to dinner, so Shannon is going to be in charge…” Her voice trailed off and she turned to her husband to see if it was okay.
“Nice game, boys,” Nash said.
“Thanks, Mr. Nash,” the two boys said in unison.
“I’m fine with you guys staying over. Have you asked your parents?”
Both boys said they would a
nd ran off to find their parents.
“We’re going to dinner tonight?” Nash asked his wife.
“Yes,” she said with a big smile. “I haven’t spent five minutes alone with you in the past week. Do you have a problem with that?”
“Not at all.” He put his arm around her shoulder. “We’ll eat someplace close by.”
“Wherever you want, honey.”
“Italian?” They started walking toward the cars. Rory ran ahead to see what Charlie and Shannon were doing.
“Sure.”
“And then when we get home?” Nash asked with a hopeful tone.
“We can play spy and you can show me your gun.”
Nash laughed. He looked at Shannon pushing Charlie in the swing. Watched him scream as his brother ran up with his arms out as if he were Frankenstein. Charlie cut loose an earsplitting shriek of terror and then began laughing. Nash smiled and thought to himself, This is the way it’s supposed to be.
CHAPTER 67
NASSAU, BAHAMAS
HAKIM decided to walk to the bank. It wasn’t far and he needed the time to think. Just as he feared, the barn had not burned down. Karim was an idiot, all the more so because he actually thought himself smart. He was an intolerable ass. Hakim kept asking himself if there had been anything else in the barn that could put the FBI on his trail. He had been lucky that he had packed his bag in the RV’s storage compartment months earlier. Karim’s and Ahmed’s packs were hidden under a tarp in the barn just as Karim had ordered. Something about wanting to personally inspect them. It served the fool right that his need to control every detail had led to his own downfall.
As he exited the hotel into the sunny afternoon he was positive that his only link to Iowa was the conservancy trust that he’d set up to purchase the farm itself. He would have time, though, before they could get to the bottom of that tangled web, and when they did they would find nothing more than a dead-end. The Royal Bank of Nassau was nearly a mile away and he had never set foot in the place. Everything had been handled over the phone. There was approximately twenty thousand dollars in the account to handle expenses and taxes, pocket change compared to his deposits at First Caribbean. They could have it all. Hakim moved up the sidewalk, confident that he was out in front of the coming storm. Besides, Christian was not a good actor. That was one of the reasons he had chosen him to be his personal banker.
