by Flynn Vince
A block before the bank he stopped and checked his watch. He had ten minutes before he was to meet Christian. The wise thing to do would be to spend that time checking for any surveillance, so he crossed the street and casually strolled down the block. Every so often he would stop and pretend to look in a window. He was actually looking in the reflection to see if anyone was watching him. No one was, and he was getting a little giddy at the new life that awaited him. He would go to Brazil. Over 200 million people and a landscape as diverse as that of any country on the planet. The population spoke Portuguese, English, and a little Spanish, and most important, accents were very hard to detect. Bloodlines from all over the Mediterranean, Spain, and Portugal had been mixing together with the natives for several hundred years. His naturally dark skin would be no more out of place than it would be in his native Saudi Arabia.
Hakim had traveled the coast and found dozens of places where he could simply disappear and start a new life. His only requirement was that he be on the water. He would buy a boat and live on it for the first year, moving from port to port, establishing an identity and making friends. Maybe someday in the not-so-distant future he would settle down and start a family. He wondered about his faith, though. Brazil was not exactly a place where a Muslim could still practice his beliefs and not stand out. For now he would have to keep that part of his life very private.
Hakim was so immersed in thought that he didn’t hear his name being called until Christian was crossing the street. He glanced up to see the look of deep concern on his banker’s face.
“Oh, my gosh… look at you! What happened?”
“A bad car accident.”
“Did the airbag do that to your face? I’ve heard they can really screw your face up.”
“Yes, but it saved my life.”
Christian stood there for a moment, looking him over. “Other than that, how do you feel?”
“Okay… Some broken ribs, but I’ll survive.”
“Well, I’m sorry you had to go through that. Let’s get you inside and get you taken care of.”
Christian led Hakim across the street to the front door of the bank, where a security guard was waiting on the other side of the glass doors. The guard waved to Christian, inserted a key in the door, and opened it. Once inside, the banker thanked the guard and led Hakim through the lobby to his office, where he stopped to grab his own set of keys and pull up his client’s safety deposit box information on the computer.
“Before we head down, can I get you anything to drink… tea, water?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.”
“Do you have your key?”
“Yes.” Hakim couldn’t believe how calm he was. He supposed it had to do with his familiarity with Christian. Still, it would be a huge relief once he got what he needed from the box and disappeared.
They took the elevator to the basement. Christian put him into one of the private rooms with two chairs and a desk and left to get the box itself. Less than a minute later he returned, placed the box on top of the desk, and left. Hakim pulled out his key, inserted it into the lock, and turned it 180 degrees to the left. The lock disengaged and he lifted up the long-hinged cover. Inside were a fresh set of documents, including a credit card with a $25,000 limit, a money belt containing $100,000, and sheaf of corporate bearer bonds totaling $1 million in value. Hakim lifted his shirt and strapped the money belt around his waist. He placed the new credit card and passport in his front right pocket, and then glanced in the large manila envelope to verify that the bearer bonds were in fact inside.
He closed the box, put the key back in his pocket, and told Christian he was done. After the banker put the box away they took the elevator back up to the first floor and then exited the building. Back out on the street, Christian insisted that they get a drink, but Hakim told him he wasn’t feeling up to it. The banker then suggested that he give him a ride back to his hotel, but Hakim got out of it by telling him he needed the air, promising that he would meet him for dinner later, even though that was highly unlikely. They parted ways with a set time and location for dinner. Hakim walked back to his hotel with a bounce in his step that he hadn’t had in some time. He was already thinking about the sailboat he would buy. He knew the exact length and make and knew where he could buy a nice used one. That was if it hadn’t sold in the last couple months.
As he walked down the sidewalk Hakim began to refine the next part of his plan, mainly, how he would island-hop his way to his destination. The boat was in Farmer’s Hill, a little over a hundred miles to the south. There was no direct ferry and he desperately wanted to avoid airports for a while and maybe forever. He was so fixated on solving this problem and leaving tonight if possible that he didn’t notice the car slowing next to him. Suddenly the side door of the minivan opened and then he felt a jabbing pain in the back of his neck and a strong pair of hands grabbing him from behind. He was both lifted and shoved at the same time. He felt completely out of control and overpowered as he was folded and stuffed into the bench seat and the waiting arms of a man he did not recognize. He noted the pain from his ribs, but it was somehow muted. He thought of screaming but couldn’t. Nothing was responding. Not his mouth, not his arms, not his legs. Even his eyes were closing against his will, and then everything went black.
CHAPTER 68
NASSAU, BAHAMAS
RAPP and Butler saw the two men enter the bank and even then they weren’t sure it was them. A few minutes later, though, Dumond sounded the alarm. He was inside the bank’s network and saw whose safety deposit box it was that Nelson was accessing. Butler let Rapp make the call. Did he want to grab both of them right now and see what was in that safety deposit box, or did he want to wait and follow them when they were done? Rapp knew what Butler would prefer. As far as they knew, Nelson hadn’t done anything illegal at this point. Storming into the bank would eventually involve the police and Nelson’s superiors. As long as he wasn’t a flight risk, it was better to leave him out of it for the moment. Butler’s people could keep close tabs on him, and if they found something out in a day or two they could deal with him then.
Rapp decided on a snatch and grab. Coleman had the kit with tranquilizer, flex cuffs, and hood. The minivan with Coleman, Wicker, and Reavers did a dry run while they were in the bank and looked for likely spots on two streets. Rapp wandered into a gift shop across and just down the street from the bank. He greeted the woman behind the counter and asked her if she had any laminated tourist maps. He purchased one and then stood near the front of the store pretending to look at it. They were in the bank for just under fifteen minutes. Rapp was looking in the opposite direction when the target exited the bank. Five of Butler’s men were doing the same thing. They had no idea if the target was alone and they didn’t want to get caught with tunnel vision.
“They’re out.”
Rapp heard Butler call it over his tiny flesh-colored earpiece. Rapp slowly turned his head back in the direction of the bank. Al Harbi and Nelson were standing on the sidewalk talking. After half a minute or so, they shook hands and parted ways. Rapp raised the map an inch and lowered his eyes as the target crossed the street and came almost directly at him. When they’d seen him approach the bank he’d come from the same direction. Rapp wasn’t sure if he was being lazy or bold. It might have had something to do with the condition he was in. The guy looked as if he’d been in one hell of a fight.
He crossed in front of Rapp’s position and continued down the street. Rapp counted to ten and then left the store. He spotted him almost immediately half a block ahead of him. He was wearing a red Budweiser hat that made him easy to find. Rapp held the map in both hands and tilted his head so it looked as if he was trying to read it. Behind his sunglasses, though, his eyes were following the red hat. One of Butler’s guys was supposed to be checking his six right now, but Rapp wasn’t going to leave that kind of thing to someone he didn’t know. Getting too focused on the target was a great way to get a bullet in the back of th
e head. Rapp spun and walked backward for a few steps, pretending to consult the map to figure out where he was. The pedestrian traffic was moderate, which helped. Rapp noted who had been behind him and then spun back around. He noticed a few security cameras that would have to be dealt with later and noted their position just in case the others missed them.
The bus stop was up ahead. Forty feet of empty curb space. Perfect for what they had planned. Rapp lengthened his stride and picked up the pace a bit. Still acting as if he was consulting the map he said, “It looks good.”
When he closed to within thirty feet he gave the signal by putting the map in his back pocket. There was no gunning of an engine. No squealing tires. Nothing that would alert the target. The minivan slowly pulled into the open space fifteen feet ahead of the target. Rapp smiled and moved over for a young couple who looked as if they were on their honeymoon. Rapp closed fast and quietly. His left hand slid into his front pocket and pulled out the short epipen. It was filled with enough tranquilizers to take down a 190-pound man in less than five seconds. Rapp guessed the target was no more than 175 pounds. He pulled the cap off and stuffed it in his right pocket.
The big side door of the van slid open. Rapp focused on the target’s head and watched it begin to turn in the direction of the van. He moved as if he was going to pass the target on the left, brought up the epipen, and punched it down on the back left side of the man’s neck. His right hand clamped down firmly on the target’s shoulder and he half-pushed, half-spun him toward the open door. The guy moved like a rag doll. Rapp tossed him into Reavers’s waiting arms and followed right behind him. Coleman was already pulling back into traffic as Rapp was yanking the door closed.
Rapp patted down the target’s pockets. He found two sets of identification, one of which was for Adam Farhat. The photo matched the sketch. “We got the right guy. Nice work, guys.”
Rapp continued rifling through the man’s pockets. He found a phone, a battery for the phone, a room key for a hotel, a money belt stuffed with cash, and a manila envelope stuffed in the back waistband of the guy’s shorts. He put it all in a small duffel bag and then began to go through the contents more closely. He was in the middle of opening the big envelope when Butler came over his earpiece.
“We might have a problem. One of the shop owners is on the street. We think he wrote down your tag and he’s now on his phone. We think he might be talking to the police.”
“Shit.” Rapp looked at Coleman’s reflection in the rearview mirror and said, “Start making your way out to Paradise Island. Just in case.”
Coleman did so without having to ask why.
Rapp pulled out his mobile phone and called the pilots. He told them they might have to make a hasty departure. It was standard procedure to have the plane fueled and ready for this very reason. Rapp tore open the envelope and pulled out a stack of papers. He fanned his way through the heavy stock and fancy seals. “Bearer bonds. Holy shit. A lot of them.”
He stuffed them back in the bag, grabbed the phone, and placed the battery back in its place. It took a while for the phone to power up. Rapp wanted to see if he’d made any calls recently. The message light was on, so he decided to start there. He hit the button and held the phone to his ear. “You dare call me a coward.” The voice had an Arab accent and Rapp thought the man sounded very angry. “What are you? You sneak out of here like some frightened woman while I am in the shower and leave me to fight for myself. Stuck in the middle of America. You will pay! Allah will make you pay. I will tell everyone that you are a traitor. Nothing more than a woman with a man’s genitalia. And that I’m not even sure about. When I am done with my mission I will find you. I will hunt you like a dog and I will make you endure unimaginable suffering and humiliation. And trust me, I will not fail. I will find you.”
“Stuck in the middle of America,” Rapp mumbled to himself. He looked over at the body of al Harbi. His sunglasses had fallen off and his face looked as if someone had beaten the piss out of him. Rapp was trying to make sense of it all when Butler came back over the radio, his voice more urgent than before.
“The police are now on the scene.”
Rapp thought about the message he’d just listened to and made a decision, “Got it. We’re out of here.”
“What about your computer friend here?” Butler asked.
Rapp had almost forgot about Dumond. “I’ll send another plane.
And another thing… I have a room key here for the Towne Hotel. Number twelve.”
“I’ll have it gone over.”
Coleman hit the gas and Rapp ordered Reavers and Wicker to stuff al Harbi into the canvas bag they’d brought along. While they wrestled with the limp body, Rapp called the pilots back and told them they were inbound and he wanted to be wheels up as soon as they arrived. The customs stamps and paperwork had already been taken care of. Rapp cringed at the thought of the police catching a CIA black ops team with a heavily medicated terrorist, one they’d abducted in broad daylight in the middle of one of the world’s most well-known tourist destinations. Whether al Harbi was guilty or not, this was the type of thing that could set off an international incident. Coleman went straight to the private aviation section of the airport.
By the time they pulled onto the tarmac the duffel bag was zipped up and the engines on the G550 were spooling up. Coleman wheeled the van around to the rear cargo door. Rapp jumped out with the small duffel bag and headed straight for the ground-crew guy who worked for the local aviation company. Rapp slid him a hundred-dollar bill and made small talk while Wicker and Reavers wrestled the big duffel bag into the rear cargo compartment. Coleman dumped the van in the lot and trotted back to the jet while the cargo door was secured. Rapp followed him up the steps and hit the button to raise the stairs. There was a moment of hesitation while he wondered if they should retrieve Dumond, and then he decided he could do without him for a few hours. What they didn’t want right now was for the tower to lay down a ground stop.
All four men took their seats and buckled in as the plane taxied. Rapp tapped his earpiece and said, “George?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t forget the tags on the van.”
“I won’t.” There was a pause and then Butler asked, “Do we have confirmation?”
Rapp looked down at the small leather duffel bag and grabbed both passports. The photos matched the sketch Butler’s man had provided. “It’s him,” Rapp said. “Nice work, George. We owe you big.”
“Maybe you could get me one of those medals like Mike got yesterday.”
Rapp laughed at Butler’s dry attempt at humor. “I’ll do one better. I’ll make sure you get knighted.”
“That would be much better.” Butler laughed. “I’ll talk to you in a few hours. Nice work.”
“Thanks.” Rapp pulled out the earpiece, took the small radio from his belt, and set it on the table in front of him.
Coleman looked at him and smiled. “Is there any feeling better than this?”
Rapp returned the smile. “Not in our line of work.” The plane reached the end of the runway and didn’t even pause. It spun around, put its nose into the wind, and kept going, the two Rolls Royce turbofan engines propelling the plane forward like a rocket. Seconds later they were airborne and banking to port over the water. Rapp looked across at Coleman and said, “One down and two to go.”
“Yeah. We’d better wake him up and see what he knows.”
Rapp looked over his shoulder at the rear pressurized cargo door. “In a minute. I wanna go through this stuff first and then I should call Irene.”
CHAPTER 69
OAKTON, VIRGINIA
THE bodies were dragged to a basement closet and Ahmed sopped up the blood with some towels while Karim quickly searched the house to make sure they were alone and checked to make sure all the doors were locked. Then they set about researching their opponent. The internet was an amazing thing. Computers were sparse where Karim had grown up and the internet was strictly forbid
den. His spiritual leader, Imam bin Abdullah, had warned them all that the internet was Satan’s invention to corrupt the world. Ahmed, however, had spent much of his youth surfing the world wide web and knew his way around. They started out with the two newspapers that they found on the kitchen table. They were filled with propaganda about Mike Nash and his career.
They settled in the Saudi’s opulent office. He had two computer screens on his desk and a bank of large flat-screen TVs on the far wall. There was not a single mention of them or the bodies in Iowa, but the TV and internet were abuzz with speculation. The two photos were everywhere. You couldn’t watch five minutes of a cable news program without their images being splashed across the screen. They were the lead story of every online newspaper Ahmed checked. They had already figured out Ahmed’s name and there was significant speculation that the other photo was none other than the Lion of al Qaeda. Karim had been alarmed at first, but now he saw the benefit.
He had successfully pushed Mike Nash off the front page. He was the story and they were only in the early stages of this match. After tonight, he would be the story for years to come. He would prove to the world the audacity and bravery of the Lion of al Qaeda. Hakim would be shamed and hunted to the far corners of the world. After tonight no one would believe his lies.
Ahmed showed him how they could access public records to get the information they needed. Karim was shocked what they could find out with just a name. Where people lived, how much they paid in property taxes, when they purchased their home and for how much, phone numbers, where they went to school, it was all there. There was no privacy. There was even an online encyclopedia that had a brand-new page devoted to Mike Nash. It gave his full bio. Where he was born, his athletic accomplishments, when he joined the Marine Corps, when he got married and to whom. It listed his four kids by name and age. Karim was dumbfounded that such things could be so easily unearthed.
