It had been a horrific thirty-six hours. Not only had he lost his childhood friend, Andonios, at the hands of another American assassin, but he had also lost his beloved niece, Althea Salameh. His sister had lost not only her lifetime love in Andonios the night before but also the daughter they’d had together. Though his sister and Andonios hadn’t been with each other for years, it was one of those loves that was everlasting. Especially for Saajid’s sister. And even though her daughter Althea had done what she was called to do in serving her god, it didn’t mean accepting her loss was easy. It made it even harder that Althea was such a brilliant young woman. She could have been extremely useful once things were in place in the United States. But she knew the risks in getting involved, and she paid the ultimate price. Only the strong survive, and apparently she was not strong enough.
At first, Saajid had warned Andonios several times not to involve Althea in the game he was playing to try to get his other daughter, Bentley, away from her mother and back in Andonios’s life. But Andonios hadn’t listened. Althea eventually became so embroiled in his affairs, he lost her too. The only good thing about Andonios dying was that he didn’t have to endure the death of his daughter. Saajid and Andonios had both experienced so much loss over the last two years. Sometimes it was hard to understand how all this tragedy could befall such loyal followers of Allah. But every time he picked up the good book and read it, it refueled his purpose and his willingness to give everything he loved if that is what his god commanded.
Saajid knew all the loss and pain would be worth it if he and Husaam just stayed the course. As soon as he refocused his mind, the good news started coming in. He could feel that things were about to change. The best decision he’d made was to call the CIA agent who’d lost his job after bungling a violent mission. Three years ago Saajid wasn’t sure how he would use him, but over the last couple of hours, it was clear that the millions he’d sent him had been worth it. Saajid was right where he wanted to be: in position to be pulling the strings of an entire US presidential election. They were so close now, he could taste it. But he needed to keep his brother calm. He understood Husaam’s frustration in having to wait until the end of the year for retaliation, but establishing power over the American presidential election would be well worth it. The possibilities would be endless.
Saajid’s satellite phone began to ring. It was his American asset.
“Mr. Chapman,” Saajid answered.
“My man in Belgium was able to secure the girl.”
“Excellent,” Saajid stood and paced the room. “What about the agent in the videos online, the one who was after Althea?”
“Dead. I had my guy gut him and leave him inside the house.”
“Are you sure it’s the same man?”
“No, but I had my guy leave a number on the body in case someone else was involved.”
This Doug Chapman was smart. One of the finest agents in America before they tossed him to the wolves. When Saajid told Doug three years ago that he wanted to control an American election, not only had Doug not laughed but he also had great ideas. Saajid knew connecting with Doug would pay off. It was Doug’s idea to become a political fixer. And it was working. Bobby Gibbons was the clear favorite in the upcoming election, but now he would be able to change that in favor of his man. With all the mess that Doug had involved Bobby Gibbons in now, Saajid could sink him like a stone. But Saajid wanted to hear Doug say it.
“Will you be able to tie what’s happened to Bentley back to Senator Gibbons?” Saajid asked. “I sacrificed a family member in order to set this up.”
“It will work.” Confidence was not a problem for Doug. “Especially with the director of the CIA out of the way so she can’t push any of her agents into continuing to look around. Any agent that was on Bentley’s case will be pushed off of it now without Director Hartsfield in the picture. It has all come together perfectly. Now that the man who was after your look-alike niece is dead, there is nothing in our way. I’m sorry you lost her in the cross fire, but it was genius to play her off as Bentley and muddy the waters on who was really involved in moving the money from Everworld.”
“Like I said, Mr. Chapman, it had better work. Your life depends on it. Althea was my sister’s daughter. I spent many years grooming her.”
“Time well spent. I can’t assure you what will happen once Bobby Gibbons is out of the race, but he will be. He was the last to visit the CIA director before she was shot. I had the best tech hacker in the world erase me from entry. He was even able to recharge my old ID to get me in, then erase it from the entry log. It’s like I was never there.”
“What about the security there? Didn’t someone else see you?” Saajid said.
“Yes. Three men. But dead men can’t talk. And as for Gibbons, he’ll have an entire world coming down on him. Running for president will be a distant memory, I assure you.”
“Good.” Saajid took a seat, satisfied.
“Only question now is, do you really control the puppet who will now most likely win the election?” Doug said.
“That is none of your concern. Just make sure all of this business with Althea, Bentley, and any other agent involved is all tied off.”
“Not a problem,” Chapman said. “The last agent involved in the car bomb incident is already as good as dead. You’ll have your scandal all served up on a silver platter.”
“Good work,” Saajid said. “Call me when the agent is dead.”
“What about Bentley Martin?”
“She is very special to me. Her father was like a brother. Just make sure she stays safe.”
“No problem.”
“Your bonus, Mr. Chapman, is on its way.”
Saajid ended the call. He sat back in his chair and took the moment in. He couldn’t help but feel pride. Andonios, Anastasia, and Gregor Maragos, along with Husaam, had all bought into the nanobot technology they thought would be the key to putting them in power. But Saajid had known better, that the long game he had in mind would be much more fruitful. He knew the way to true power wasn’t to fight the most powerful nation in the world, it was to control it. The Maragoses and Husaam never believed it was possible to put their own man in power in America. But now, here Saajid was, incomprehensibly close to making a real difference for his religion and his people.
Saajid’s father had been a great man. But like Husaam and the Maragoses, he had been shortsighted. Killing people off, whether in small acts of terror or massive acts of violence, wasn’t the way to change the world. The Americans had been teaching the world that for years. The only way to make a difference wasn’t to blow everything up but to control it.
If Saajid could keep Husaam on board, they would be controlling the largest, most powerful country in the world, in no time.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Bruges, Belgium
“For the last time, X, we can’t call the number. All it is, is a way to know if someone is still out here trying to find them. That’s why they left it on Karn. It’s their way of making sure Karn was the agent they needed dead. We don’t call, they’ll believe they tied it all off.”
King heard Sam, and could tell she was adamant. But it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He wanted to do what he always used to do: plow ahead and, through sheer force of will, make things happen. This new underground espionage world didn’t lend itself well to that tactic. Sam was a lot better at it; it’s what she did for so long with MI6 before she paired up with him. He had no choice but to listen to her, no matter how much he hated it.
“Mr. Kimball, your plane is ready.” A brunette in a navy-blue flight attendant suit got King’s attention. Jeremy Kimball was one of his US passport IDs. A businessman from Atlanta, Georgia, coming out with a new whiskey. Sam always said it was best, when creating fake backgrounds, to stay as close to the truth as possible. Less margin for error if a question about what he did for a living ever came up. King was as versed in the world of distilling the beautiful brown liquor as anyone, so this fake identi
ty was good and solid.
King gave the flight attendant a nod. “The plane you chartered is ready for me, Sam. I’ll be there in a couple of hours. Have you been able to get a hold of Bobby Gibbons?”
“Not yet.” Sam’s voice hollowed out. “But I’ll keep trying.”
Gibbons not answering Sam’s calls was making King nervous. Though it was still the middle of the night in the States, a man like Gibbons, who was running for president, wasn’t the type to keep his phone on silent. However, there was nothing King could do about it, so he needed to focus on what he could control.
“All right,” King said to Sam as he followed the flight attendant out onto the tarmac. “I need to call Agent Roberts back before I take off. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
“There’ll be a white Mercedes-Benz waiting there for you in Athens. If it’s any other car, do not get in.”
“Roger that. See you soon.”
King ended the call and immediately dialed Agent Roberts.
“We’ve got a problem,” Agent Roberts answered.
Not the way King had hoped Roberts would answer. He froze before following the flight attendant up the plane’s stairs, holding up his finger to let her know it would be a moment.
“Don’t sugarcoat it,” King said.
“I just lost a tail.”
“Shit!” King felt like they couldn’t catch a break. Whoever was pulling the strings on the other side of this was somehow staying one step ahead. He couldn’t help but think that if Sam had been in London with him this entire time, she would’ve already run this thing down. She was the best at putting things together. King was like a wrecking ball. Sam was more of a fox. Regardless, she had made progress on what King thought was the bigger picture in Athens. Now that Mary and Agent Karn were dead, and Bentley was missing, he realized maybe the big picture was actually the problems he never saw coming. They usually were.
“You sure you lost them?” King said.
“They’re gone, but I can’t go back to my hotel. I’m heading to Alice’s place now.”
“Alice?”
“The MI5 agent I’m sleeping with, remember?”
“Got it,” King said as he walked up the stairs and into the jet. “Good, maybe she can help you find Bentley.”
“I’m sorry about your friend,” Roberts said. “I didn’t know him, but I heard he was a good agent.”
King had messaged Roberts earlier to send a cleaner to the safe house. He wanted to keep everything quiet.
“Listen,” King said, changing the subject, “whoever is in charge of this thing with Bentley is a professional. Don’t mess around, or you’ll end up like Karn.”
Roberts didn’t respond.
King continued. “On second thought, don’t bother your MI5 friend about Bentley. Just let her focus on Karen Panos. I need to know if she can be traced back to Husaam Hammoud in any way.”
“Husaam Hammoud? Son of the old terrorist the SEALs took down years ago?”
“Apple apparently doesn’t fall far. Anyway, I need that info yesterday. It could mean nothing, could mean everything.”
“On it,” Roberts said.
“I’m on my way to Greece. Before I find Hammoud, I want that info.”
“I’ll do all that I can. I can promise you that.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
King put his phone away and took a seat. The jet was a Cessna Citation II. His father used to have one a lot like it when King was growing up. The interior was dated in this one, and a lot of memories of the fun times he and his father shared flooded back to him. It was the first time in a long time he’d thought of any good memories of his father. And it was almost enough to make him sick. The day his mom and dad were gunned down in front of him changed his life forever. It was the reason he joined the military at all. But it wasn’t the worst day of his life. That day came not so long ago when he found out his father was still alive. Not only alive, but also the reason his mother was dead. It soured every memory he’d ever had of dear ole dad.
He closed his eyes to help keep the jet’s interior from further reminding him of days that never meant what he’d thought they meant.
The next thing King knew, the tires were screeching against the runway. The force threw him forward as they landed in Athens. Somehow he’d managed not only to fall asleep but to remain completely passed out the entire flight. He hadn’t realized how much his body needed it.
The plane slowed to taxi speed, and the flight attendant approached. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of any service to you, Mr. Kimball. You just looked like you really needed the rest.”
“Yes, thank you,” King said as he sat up. “It’s been a long few days.”
“Well, you’re awake now. Would you like a drink for the road?”
For some reason King’s father was still lingering in his mind. He remembered something his dad told a colleague on one of the rare occasions King had attended a work function with him. His dad told an old, balding fat man in a ritzy-looking suit to never turn down a dollar, a drink, or a damsel in distress. King never forgot the proud smile his dad wore when he turned to him and told Alexander not to forget it either. He hadn’t realized it, but King didn’t suppose he had turned down any of those things over the years. Not even once. And he wasn’t about to start now.
“Bourbon, neat. And don’t go gentle.”
“You’ve got it.” She winked and turned to go pour his drink.
As excited as King was to see Sam—it was by far the longest they’d gone since they met six years earlier—he was even happier to see the missed call from Agent Roberts and the subsequent text that read, Call me. I know who Karen really is.
Sometimes two hours is a lifetime when it comes to such high-stakes matters. When he looked at the time and did the math in his head, the sun was about to come up back on the East Coast. More answers, good or bad, would be coming in about Bobby Gibbons soon too.
He couldn’t help but feel that was when the real work would begin.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Washington, DC
“Bobby!”
Bobby Gibbons was in a deep sleep when he felt someone shaking him.
“Bobby!”
Registering his wife’s voice, his eyes shot open, and she was standing over him. The light from their master bathroom shone behind her.
“Christ, Beth. What is it?”
“I just woke up, and on my way back from the restroom I saw that your phone had just stopped ringing.”
Bobby sat up. He didn’t understand the urgency. “Yeah, okay. So what? My phone must have been on silent.”
“Bobby, there must be twenty-some calls you’ve missed tonight!”
That got his attention. He shot his hand over to his right, fumbled on the nightstand for his phone, then his reading glasses. The screen was bright to his unadjusted eyes. Sure enough, there were dozens of missed calls. The majority from the same number—one he’d never seen before. Bobby had been in a lot of tight spots in his life. Marines often seek out those spots. But the pit that formed in his stomach at the sight of all those missed calls was a black hole big enough for his entire world to fall through. Something was desperately wrong.
Just as he glanced at his phone, noticing it was five in the morning, an incoming call flashed on the screen. Same number that had been attempting all night long. His first thought was to ignore it. He should run the number by Mary and see if any of her CIA tricks could find out who the caller was before he answered their call. If he would even want to. But the overwhelming curiosity wouldn’t let him wait. He was about to be very happy it didn’t.
“Hello?” Bobby answered. His wife was wringing her hands as she sat on the edge of the bed next to him.
“Bobby Gibbons?” It was a woman with a British accent.
The scene of the London car bombing, which according to Doug he was ultimately responsible for, flashed in his mind. “Who wants to know?”
“You really ought
to leave your ringer on when you sleep. Especially when you’re wanted for the murder of the director of the CIA.”
Bobby threw the covers off him and sprang out of bed so fast that he knocked Beth onto the floor. He had to take a deep breath before he could answer because this woman’s words had stolen his air entirely.
“The CIA director is just fine. I just spoke with her last night.”
“That’s exactly why the CIA and probably the police are on their way to your house right now. To bring you in for questioning.”
“Who the hell is this?”
“Mr. Gibbons, we need to be able to trust each other right now.”
“Trust each other? I don’t know who the hell you are. And you’re calling me telling me my friend is dead, when I know better because I was just with her.”
“Are they there yet?” the woman asked.
“Who? Is who here?”
Yellow lights glowed through the shades on the windows at the front of the house. Beth walked over, peeked between two of them, then turned back to Bobby. “Two black SUVs.”
“What’s going on? How did you know someone was coming to my home?”
“Like I said, it’s the CIA coming to take you in. Mary Hartsfield and three security agents were gunned down just after you visited her at her office last night. Your name was the last thing she said to an agent over the phone. I can help you, but I need you to help me too. And you’re going to have to decide right now, or I won’t be able to help at all.”
“Some men are getting out of the SUVs, Bobby,” Beth told him from the window.
“That should help your decision,” the woman said.
Then his phone vibrated. It was a text message from the same number the woman was calling from. He opened it and saw a link to a news story by the Washington Post Online. The headline read, “CIA Director Shot and Killed.”
Bobby felt as if something was squeezing tightly around his chest. He couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Mr. Gibbons, if you don’t move right now, I can’t help you.”
Alexander King Thriller Series: Books 1-3 Page 13
