Diamond Lilly

by Henriette Daulton

  “Is something wrong Abdul?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Glad you asked. Finally. What are we doing all this for? Are we building a nuclear bomb here? We’re entitled to know,” the man barked angrily.

  Hakim glanced around the table. Dark faces glared at him. They were no longer willing to wait for an answer. “Look, every one of you has worked really hard to transform this building. So be proud of this. We are the ones selected by the leaders of ISIS to inflict a deadly blow to the infidels.”

  Abdul shook his head vehemently. He was having none of it. “Then how come you keep us in the dark?” he shouted.

  Hakim nodded. “I get your frustration. But right now, everything depends on getting back the diamonds we lost. We need them to finance our operation. Without them, our plans will have to change. It’s the reason I haven’t shared them with you yet. So let’s concentrate on what we have to do. I swear, very soon I will have more information for you.”

  A moment of tense silence ensued. Then Abdul kicked his chair out of the way. It crashed against the wall and he stormed out of the room. Jamal followed. Even Mohamed, usually his staunchest supporter, gave him a stark look of disapproval.

  Hakim knew he had to give them something. Soon.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The bell over the entrance of the computer store chimed softly. Expecting a delivery, Hakim went to the front of the shop and found a small balding man, with sallow skin, standing in the reception area. Wearing a beige uniform with “Port Everglades” embroidered on one pocket, and “Bobby” on the other, he clutched a laptop and stared at Hakim with washed-out blue eyes.

  “Can I help you?” Hakim asked.

  “I’m having problems with my computer.”

  Hakim nodded impatiently. “Usually that’s what people come here for. I don’t have much time but I’ll take a quick look. If I can fix it right now, I will. If not, you’ll have to leave it.”

  He reached for the laptop, set it on the reception desk. “All right, what’s it doing?” he asked, his fingers flying on the keyboard.

  “It freezes all the time. I have to keep turning it off and starting it up again.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Bobby Metzer.”

  “You work at the Port?” Hakim asked.

  Bobby nodded. “Yeah. Just got off a little while ago. I work nights.”

  “That’s a big place. What do you do there?”

  “I’m a janitor.”

  Hakim pointed to a chair in front of the window. “Have a seat. I’ll be back in a bit.”

  He took the computer into the shop and went to work. It only took about ten minutes before he stood staring at the picture on the screen. Then he slowly scrolled down.

  “Bobby?” he called out.

  “Yes?”

  “Can you come back here?”

  The man stuck his head around the corner. “Can you fix it?”

  Hakim shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Hakim turned the screen in his direction. “This is what’s wrong.”

  Bobby stared at the picture. His face turned even paler. His eyes went wild with panic. “No, no, that’s not mine. I… don’t know where this came from, but it’s not mine,” he shrieked.

  Hakim pointed at the screen. “This little girl here, she’s what? Six years old maybe?”

  He scrolled further down. “All these kids, Bobby. You’re looking at 8 to 10 years in prison. At the very least.”

  “No, no, please don’t. I thought I took them off. Please don’t call the police,” Bobby begged, his voice quivering.

  Hakim stared at him. “You thought you wiped out the hard drive, huh? Guess what? You didn’t.”

  Tears ran down the man’s cheeks. His chin trembled. “Can you take it off? Please? I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ll pay you. I can’t go to jail. They’ll kill me there.”

  Hakim sighed. “We might be able to work out something, Bobby. Would you want to do that?”

  Bobby nodded wildly. “Anything, I’ll do anything.”

  “You know I’m sticking my neck out for you, so don’t mess with me.” Hakim warned.

  “No! No! Whatever you want, you tell me. Just wipe it clean,” he pleaded.

  “Where do you work at the port?” Hakim asked.

  Beads of sweat dripped off the man’s brow and ran down his neck. “With the cruise ships and the terminals. I clean the terminals. I restock for the cruise ships, stuff like that.”

  Hakim nodded. “That’s interesting work, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose,” the man said faintly.

  “How tight is the security to get on the cruise ships?”

  Bobby shook his head. “It’s really tight, just like the airport. What do you want to do?”

  Hakim ignored his question. “What about the terminals?”

  “You only have to show your boarding pass to get into the terminals.”

  “Which one is the biggest terminal?”

  “Eighteen, it’s the biggest. It’s where the biggest cruise ships dock.”

  “Do you have access to it?”

  Bobby nodded anxiously. “I can get the keys. On my shift there’s nobody in the office.”

  “Draw me a map of the terminal,” Hakim said.

  “What, now?”

  Hakim nodded. “Right now.”

  “Sure… But will you wipe the hard drive then?”

  Hakim glared at him. He got a sheet of blank paper from the copier and handed it to the man with a pen. Bobby drew the terminal and Hakim scrutinized the drawing.

  “One entrance, one exit?”

  Bobby nodded.

  “Security check in the back?” Hakim asked.

  “Yeah. Right before you go out onto the pier for boarding.”

  “Any recesses along the walls?”

  “One over here and another over there,” the man said, drawing a couple of recessed areas along the walls of the building.

  Hakim considered the information. “If I wanted to have some items remain unnoticed, how would I go about it?”

  Bobby shrugged. “I don’t know. How big are they?”

  “About the size of fire extinguishers.”

  Bobby’s face regained a tinge of color. He smiled faintly. “If you let me know ahead of time, I could bring a couple of barrels from the supply storage. Position them along the wall. You could put your stuff in there. We usually keep some empty ones back there for the ships.”

  Hakim frowned. “Wouldn’t anyone get suspicious?”

  “Not if it’s a day when passengers are boarding. At least not for quite a while. It gets pretty crazy around then. You have thousands of people packed in there. If anyone spots them, they’ll probably think they’re there to be picked up by the cruise ships.”

  Hakim rubbed his chin, going over the information. “Give me your phone number and your address. I’ll let you know when the time is right.”

  Bobby shot a furtive look at his laptop. “So, does that mean we have a deal? You’ll wipe it clean?”

  “I’m keeping your hard drive, Bobby. You tell anyone about our conversation, you’re a dead man. Got it?”

  The man shook his head frantically. “I’m not telling anyone, I swear. Can’t I have my computer?”

  “You’ll get it back after we’re done.”

  Bobby nodded weakly. “What is your name?”

  “My name is Nasir Hakim.”

  “When will you let me know?”

  “Probably in a couple of weeks. You make sure you answer when I call you.”

  “I will. I promise,” Bobby whispered.

  On his way out he gave Hakim a look of despair. Not that Hakim cared. On the contrary, he felt really good. Bobby had just provided him with the perfect target for their attack.

  ****

  The next day, the crew began construction of the man trap, an airlocked vestibule, leading to the lab. Once completed, each end would have
a door hermetically sealed to prevent gas from escaping into the rest of the building. The door to the lab would need to be locked in order to open the door leading into the observation room. Both doors had to be special ordered. Despite Hakim’s persistent phone calls to the manufacturer, it took two weeks before they were shipped.

  To avoid any inquiries, Hakim had them delivered to the computer shop, then once again rented a bigger truck, and the men hauled them to the building in Oakland Park. Although he had come to trust Mohamed’s skills, Hakim went over each step of the construction carefully. Dying from nerve gas poisoning was not part of his plan.

  Once the lab was fully sealed off, he bought a small air conditioning unit, and Jamal and Mohamed installed it in the lab’s sole window. When it was in place and functional, they encased the rest of the opening with a layer of wood and foam. Keeping the room cooled with a unit detached from the rest of the building’s air conditioning system eliminated any possibility of the sarin spreading throughout the building. Originally in liquid form, its high degree of volatility could easily turn it into a gas. It would only be a matter of seconds before the vapor concentration would penetrate the skin and result in death.

  By the third week end of August, they were nearly done. There hadn’t been any other outbursts from the men, but Hakim knew it was only because they had been too busy. He couldn’t wait for it to happen again. He called them into the main living area after lunch, and they listened attentively as he explained they would soon have a guest, a scientist who would be working in the newly constructed lab on the second floor.

  Abdul’s brow creased. “A scientist? To make bombs?”

  Hakim shook his head. “We’re not making bombs. Are you familiar with sarin?”

  With stunned looks on their faces, they sat silently for a moment. Then Mohamed spoke up. “It’s a nerve gas. Saddam used it on the Kurds, and Assad used it in Syria.”

  Hakim smiled. “Exactly. We will be making our own nerve gas. This is why this chamber you built, this lab, had to be totally secure. If not sealed properly, one slip could mean the death of each and every one of us.”

  “Making sarin can’t be easy. This scientist, did he ever make it before?” Abdul asked.

  Hakim smirked. “You could say he’s an expert at it. At one time, he was one of Saddam Hussein’s top chemical weapon specialists. His knowledge in the manufacture of nerve gas and its use is as good as it gets. Now, mind you, he’s not a willing participant in this operation. Our brothers in Europe snatched him while he was attending a conference in Brussels. Right now, he is on his way and should be here in the next few days.”

  Jamal who had remained quiet until now, chimed in. “If he’s uncooperative, how will you get him to make sarin?”

  Hakim grinned. “We have the best possible guaranty. We are holding his family hostage in Syria. His wife, his kids, his mother. All of them. So I can assure you he’s going to be quite eager to keep them alive.”

  The three men remained quiet, still stunned by Hakim’s revelation. He continued. “Now, like I said before, this man will do as we ask and I don’t see him attempting a getaway. But as an added precaution, we’re adding a padlock on his room. To keep him safe. In case he has a sudden change of mind.”

  They were getting ready to go back to work, when Abdul pulled him aside. “You told us what we’re making here. Why didn’t you tell us the rest of your plan?”

  Hakim patted the man’s shoulder. “Everything still hinges on getting back the diamonds.”

  “And if we don’t find them?”

  “We will still plan an attack. Only we’ll have to wait until Abboud can arrange another source of funds for us.”

  Their eyes met and he could see Abdul wasn’t satisfied with his answer. After a moment of hesitation, the man shrugged and walked away. He had told Abdul the truth. Without the diamonds, there would be no supplies to manufacture the nerve gas they needed for their attack. He desperately wanted to see it through. Time was of the essence. He had to find the diamonds.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Art called her into his office as soon as she got to work. Not one to waste time on niceties, he got right to the point. “What’s going on with the diamond heist?”

  She filled him in on the FBI agent’s visit.

  “So you’re saying they’re putting a lid on the story?” he huffed.

  “Yep. We can’t print it, Art. Not now anyway.”

  “And are they giving you the first shot at it when it can be printed?”

  “Maybe.”

  He shook his head. “Well, in that case, I want you to stop wasting time chasing a story we can’t print. I need your article about the Russian mobsters by the end of the week.”

  Jessie protested. “Let me stay on the Thomas story. It’s not over yet—”

  He cut her off abruptly. “No. Do as I say and concentrate on your assignment. If you want to go on, do it on your own time. Not mine.”

  Hardly able to contain her anger, Jessie stormed back to her desk. Lonnie was waiting for her. He raised his eyebrows. “What’s going on?”

  She shook her head in frustration. “Art doesn’t want me to continue investigating the diamond theft.”

  She brought him up to date, then went on to tell him about Liam.

  “Sounds to me like this could lead to more than a professional exchange of information.”

  She sighed. “It was only dinner, Lonnie. He’s got a sense of humor and I like him, but seeing someone is not a priority right now.”

  “Really? How many years do you intend to wait before you start dating again? You might as well become a nun at this stage.”

  “Why is everybody so concerned about me having a relationship? It’s not exactly something you put a time frame on,” she protested.

  “You should at least give it a chance. Maybe there is something there or maybe not. You’ll never find out unless you go out with the guy, at least more than once,” Lonnie pointed out.

  “We’ll see,” she sighed before planting a kiss on his cheek.

  After Lonnie left, Jessie glanced around to check if Art was still there. She didn’t see him. She found Emily’s number and dialed. After a few rings, she got a recording asking to leave a message for the Newhart family. She left her name and number then turned on the computer. She pulled up her unfinished story about the Russian mobsters and the white slave trade and went over her notes.

  A few years earlier, a Russian Kingpin had her kidnapped and held prisoner on a freighter during her probe into a political plot to take over the U.S. presidency. There were some arrests made at the time, but it did little to stop the Russian mob from expanding their business. Although she was aware there was a major problem in the area, what she discovered stunned her. She quickly learned the sex slave trafficking was at an all-time high. While some mobsters were rounded up and arrested occasionally, there never seemed to be enough evidence to bring forth convictions. If any witnesses were even brave enough to come forward originally, by the time the cases came close to trial, they suddenly developed amnesia or disappeared altogether. After interviewing cops and district attorneys involved in the prosecution of the criminals, Jessie found it to be a constant source of frustration for them. A true case of revolving doors in the justice system.

  It became even more apparent after she visited a couple of the strip clubs known to be mob owned, and tried to interview some of the young women working there. Everywhere she went, she met a wall of fear and silence. Once, when she approached a dancer at one of the clubs, a big thug grabbed her and threatened her life before he shoved her out on the sidewalk.

  She leaned back in her chair, thinking about it for a while. There had to be a way to make contact with some of the girls without drawing the Russians’ attention. No doubt it could be tricky or even dangerous, yet she was determined. She decided it was worth another shot.

  After leaving work, she bought a sandwich and a bottle of water at a gas station, and drove out to a
strip club known to be linked to the Russian mob. Located on 441 at the southern edge of Broward County, the one-story building was painted a stark black. Silhouettes of dancers, cut out of plywood, and painted pink, were nailed on the front. A huge neon sign on top of the flat roof flashed “The Doll House” in bright pink lights.

  A narrow alley on the side of the building led to a dirt parking lot in the back. She drove past a dozen vehicles and backed into a spot between two pick-up trucks. She now had a clear view of the back entrance to the club. She pulled out her sandwich and munched on it. Hopefully some of the girls working at the club would be coming out after their gig was over, and she would get a chance to talk to them.

  Over the next half hour, she finished her lunch, balled up the paper wrapper, tossed it on the passenger floor and sipped her water while never losing sight of the door. So far, the only traffic consisted of men coming and going, some of them glancing at her curiously, while others pretended not to see her.

  Another hour went by, and she was about to give up, when a young woman stepped out the backdoor carrying a large trash bag. She headed toward a dumpster located on the other side of the property. Jessie jumped out of her car and caught up with her. Startled, the woman turned toward her and for a moment, Jessie was taken aback. Facing her was a young girl, painted like a porcelain doll with large brown eyes and short black hair. Her ruby red mouth turned down at the corners as she stood staring at Jessie fearfully.

  “Don’t be afraid, I don’t mean to harm you. My name is Jessie. Can we talk for a moment?”

  The girl hesitated. “What do you want?” she asked with a heavy accent.

  Jessie smiled at her encouragingly. “What is your name?”

  She lowered her eyes and tried to walk around her. “I cannot talk to you.”