The Secret Weapon

by Bradley Wright

  “I’ll be in my office all night. I’ll let the front desk know you’re coming.”

  “Thanks, Mary.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. I’ve got a lot on my plate right now with this stuff in London. Everybody wants answers.”

  “Maybe I can help a little with that.”

  “Oh, Bobby. I sure hope not.”

  “I’ll see you soon.”

  Bobby ended the call as his driver got back in.

  “How bad is it?” Elizabeth said.

  “We’re in real trouble, Beth.” Then to the driver he said, “Take us back to the hotel, please.”

  Beth took his hand. “I’m sure we’ve been through worse.”

  Bobby could tell by her tone that she was hoping to hear him say that they had been through worse. But they hadn’t. He’d never lied to his wife, and he wasn’t going to start now.

  “Sweetheart, I’m not sure we have.”

  11

  London, UK

  King opened the cardboard envelope left by the courier in the lobby of his building. He removed the key and pocketed it, then took out his phone. Sam had texted him the address and the number of the locker where his new phone and assignment would be. He memorized it, then placed his phone inside the envelope. The envelope had a special interior lining. The lining was made of a material King had never heard of; all he knew was that it was indestructible. The reason for this special material involved the plastic tube at the bottom of the envelope. He snapped open the tube and placed it back inside the envelope beside his phone. He then sealed the envelope and tossed it in the bin beside him. The chemical in the tube would release and completely destroy the phone, as well as all evidence ever stored on it. Then he walked out into the cool night air.

  It was just after dinner. London was bustling. As soon as he stepped onto the sidewalk, the city seemed to pour in all around him. People were talking and laughing as they walked by, car horns blared, the underground train announced its arrival at Piccadilly Circus, and police sirens wailed in the distance. King pulled his black ball cap down over his eyes and weaved in and out of people like a gust of wind. Felt maybe, but never really seen.

  The mailbox where his files had been dropped wasn’t far. He recognized the address from a previous use a month and a half ago. It was an N1 Mailbox store. Your basic PO Box and copy shop. Sam only used the same place a second time when the staff at the store had completely turned over. She was particular like that. It used to annoy him when they first got together—the two of them were constantly butting heads—but it wasn’t long after her attention to detail saved his life for the first time that he began to appreciate it. Didn’t mean he ever stopped giving her shit about it.

  King rounded the corner, just away from the madness of Piccadilly. The mailbox store was just up ahead, only a couple of doors down from the bookstore where he’d become a regular. Just as he was about to reach for the door to the store, he popped the collar on his coat and strolled right on by. He had glanced across the street and noticed a woman shoot her glare away from him as soon as he looked in her direction. It ticked King’s instincts and made him nervous.

  King continued down the sidewalk. Who could possibly be watching him? He’d allowed no holes in the execution of his mission to retrieve Bentley. He’d painstakingly mapped out the entire thing. Every day that he had gone to watch Andonios Maragos at his lakeside home, he’d either shadowed Bentley before or after the fact. He’d staked out every corner outside her flat, and no one had ever followed or noticed him. Could this woman be CIA? King didn’t think so, because Director Hartsfield would have had Sam tell him about any agency surveillance of a suspicious man in London.

  King reached for his phone out of habit, but of course it was melting in the magic envelope back in the lobby of his flat at the moment. Sam would have been his call, but he knew she would know nothing about this either. This sort of thing had been the hardest part about not working with his team. Someone had always been there to bounce things off of. Now he had to solely rely on his gut, which had always been good, but it did need some sharpening after a year alone in the field. And right now his gut was telling him that he was sure no one had been onto him. So who was that woman? Could it just be his own paranoia? Was it just a woman attracted to a handsome man across the street? Something told him that wasn’t the case either, so before this woman left the scene, he needed to find out what she was doing there. It wasn’t what he wanted to do, because engaging with anyone when you were trying to avoid being seen was a bad idea. But a worse idea was letting someone get away who was in fact watching you.

  King glanced back over his shoulder and noticed a bus coming his way. Just as it crossed in front of the woman’s line of sight where she sat in her car, he jumped in front of it, then dashed across the street and ducked behind a parked car. He got a few stares from passersby, but he didn’t draw too much attention. The good thing about taking cover in a big city like London is that the people who lived there were desensitized to crazy behaviors because they happened all the time.

  King stayed low on the street side of the parked cars and made his way back toward the passenger side of the woman’s vehicle. He stopped a car behind her and could see her craning her neck in the rearview mirror to try to find him. She clearly wasn’t a professional because she didn’t drive away; not to mention, she’d parked right under a streetlamp that shone directly inside her car.

  The woman started the car, and King surged forward. When he pulled his Glock and tapped the window with it, the woman—the girl—froze in fear. He ducked down to where she could see his face and told her to open the door, glancing at the pistol. She took the hint and unlocked the door. King opened it and slid inside.

  “Who are you?” he said before getting a good look. If he had seen her face in the yellow glow of the car’s interior light before opening his mouth, there would have been no need to ask.

  The girl was Bentley Martin.

  A cold wave rolled through King. It had been a while since he’d had the feeling of not knowing what was going on, and he didn’t like it. Whoever the girl was that he saved from the car bomb was a dead ringer, but she was older. And up close, there was just enough difference in her nose that he could tell this was her. He should have remembered the shape of her nose being different than the girl in his apartment from the pictures he had of Bentley. But he’d missed it. And now the questions was what was it going to cost him.

  It was clear she could tell that King knew who she was, but she still didn’t say. So King did the talking. “Answer every single one of my questions, and maybe you’ll make it out of this alive.”

  Bentley nodded.

  “Who is the girl back at my apartment?”

  “A friend.” Bentley wasn’t shaky, even in the face of such danger. “Ever since Karen and I met about a year ago, people have been telling us we look just like twins.”

  The interior light shut off.

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  “You’re American.” She sounded surprised.

  King didn’t react.

  Bentley continued. “I put a tracking chip in her hat, just in case something happened.”

  King wasn’t upset with himself because he didn’t find the chip. There was no way he could have ever known. He needed to move the conversation forward.

  “You almost got her killed.”

  This time it was she who gave no reaction.

  He went on. “Why the swap? Why did you think someone was watching?”

  “My father was murdered last night. It was only logical that I could be next.”

  So much for the theory that Bentley and Andonios had no communication. The direction this entire thing was taking wasn’t sitting well. King didn’t want to let on how much he knew; he wanted to keep Bentley talking.

  “Who was your father?”

  Bentley let out a sigh. “Look, I clearly have a lot of people after me, hence the car bomb that was meant for
me, right? If you knew enough to be there to ‘save me,’ then you know who my father is. Don’t treat me like a kid. I haven’t been a kid in a very long time.”

  King was impressed. “Okay, fair enough. Why do you say ‘a lot of people’ are after you?”

  Bentley turned to face him. “Obviously you don’t mean to kill me, so tell me, who are you? Why did you save me from an attack, only to hold me in your flat? It certainly seems as though you aren’t just some random pervert. You know who I am, it’s only fair I know the same.”

  Bentley was smart, but at least a little naive. That or the bravest girl King had ever met. Only time would let him know the difference. All he knew was that if he were seventeen and in her situation, he wouldn’t be quite so bold.

  “I saved you—saved your friend, that is—now I need something from you. Then I’ll tell you everything I know if you promise to do the same.”

  “I’m not leaving this car, and I’m certainly not going anywhere with you.”

  “Smart, but you don’t have a choice. Your friend is locked in my apartment, remember? I’m not here to play savior, I’m here to keep my country safe. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you the length to which we Americans are willing to go to do just that.”

  For the first time, the light from the street showed a bit of fear in her eyes.

  “What do you want?”

  King nodded across the street and held up a key. “Mailbox 223. Get the envelope and bring it back here. Then I’ll take you to your friend.”

  Bentley was quiet for a moment as she stared out the windshield. “I’ll get the envelope. But I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “You are.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You don’t have a choice.” King glanced down at the gun sitting in his lap.

  Bentley snatched the key from his hand and exited the car. As he watched her cross the street, his mind began to race about all the problems he’d just walked into. He would have to find a way to turn them into solutions.

  Nothing good immediately came to mind. And that was a problem.

  12

  Rafina, Greece

  Saajid Hammoud finished a call with one of his senior generals in one of his several camps embedded in the United States. It was a good call. Everything was in place for the next step in delivering a message to the Americans. They just had to wait for the right moment. He walked back inside. Though he still hadn’t heard from Andonios, it was time to sit with his children and teach them by reading from the Quran. It would help him settle his worry and clear his mind.

  As soon as he stepped inside, his children and his attention were drawn to a pounding at the door.

  “Are we expecting someone?” Saajid asked his wife.

  “No. Not this late.”

  The pounding became more intense. Saajid went to the door. When he checked the peephole, he saw his brother. He immediately opened the door.

  “Husaam? What is it?”

  Husaam pushed his way inside. Saajid’s younger brother looked frantic. His black cornrowed hair that was never out of place was a mess, and his long beard was disheveled in the same way. Husaam had always been the emotional one of the two, a hair-trigger temper as well, but Saajid wasn’t used to seeing him look worried.

  Saajid barely got the door shut before his brother began.

  “He’s dead. They killed him! Those bastards killed him!”

  Saajid’s stomach dropped, and he was confused, but the look on his children’s face sobered him.

  “Not here, Husaam.” He gave his brother a shove.

  “They killed him!”

  Saajid pushed him through the living room and out the back door. Saajid knew exactly who Husaam was talking about, but he didn’t want his children to hear. They too were close to Andonios. All of them called him Uncle.

  Husaam continued what he was saying out the door. “The Americans have done it. I know it was them!”

  Saajid made it outside and shut the door behind him. Husaam turned toward him. The look of worry he’d been wearing had been replaced with rage.

  “They killed our brother. We need to hit them back immediately!”

  “Calm down, Husaam. What happened?”

  Saajid steeled himself for what he was about to hear.

  “Ramaad kept trying to check in, but the gate guard hadn’t been updated by the men at Andonios’s house.” Ramaad was the head of the security detail Saajid had sent to watch over Andonios in London. “Ramaad said he had to drive out to the lake to see what was going on because no one had checked in before shift change. The gate guard went to the house and found them all dead. The front door was wide open. How did the Americans find him? We have to send a message that this won’t be tolerated. And we need to do it right now!”

  Saajid felt sick. But thinking about another American agent taking the life of another one of Saajid’s closest friends quickly transformed the nausea into anger. However, he was not like his little brother. Though he wanted the Americans to pay for what they’d done more than anything, he was patient. It had to be done right. This did change his plans, however. He was going to hit the Americans a little bit at a time with what they’d built in the US. Now he was thinking it would be best to give it to them all at once.

  “Saajid!”

  Saajid heard his brother, but he was so caught up in his thoughts it didn’t register. The most important part of his long-term plan wouldn’t be ready for a while in Washington, DC. It would be the game changer he’d been working on for years. No matter the damage they could do in the States with all the people they have put in place, it paled in comparison to his plans for Washington. So they were going to have to be patient for a while longer, no matter how difficult that would be.

  “Saajid! Answer me!”

  Saajid snapped out of his trance. He moved his blank stare to his brother’s eyes. There was a fire inside them. The first step in the process would be managing his brother’s anger. It had always been one of Saajid’s biggest challenges. This time would be no different.

  “You need to center yourself, brother,” Saajid finally said.

  “What? Center myself? Are you kidding me?”

  “Husaam.”

  “They killed our father, Gregor, Anastasia, and now Andonios, and you want me to center myself? Father would be so disappointed in you.”

  Out of sheer reflex, Saajid shot his hand forward and slapped Husaam across the face. Husaam was shocked. Saajid may have been using violence as a tool to serve his religion, but he had never personally laid hands on his brother. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his wife standing just outside; she was surprised as well.

  Husaam was quiet for a moment, then began to nod his head. “I shouldn’t be surprised that you aren’t ready to act, Saajid. You’re always too busy planning to carry out our father’s work.”

  This cut Saajid to his core, but he didn’t react.

  Husaam continued. “Once again it will be me who follows through with retaliation. Who actually fights our enemy. Just like last year, when all of your planning with your technology came to nothing. It was me who struck the only blow, sending your message of death—against your will, mind you—to the Americans visiting Athens. While you are forever plotting, I am showing the Americans that we will not tolerate their ignorance. This, apparently, will be the same.”

  “You will wait until I have everything in place in Washington.” Saajid was stern. His fists were clenched and his jaw was set. He couldn’t let his brother’s bravado and quick temper ruin the bigger picture. Not now.

  “You will wait, brother. I will act.”

  “I have already acted, Husaam.” Saajid said. “Did I not tell you how it would pay off to take down the American agent that had been in Athens tracking us for more than a year? Just be patient! The credentials and check-ins you got out of him will pay off. Just like waiting for me to get things together in Washington. What I am doing is bigger than just scaring the United States. W
e can control it!”

  “Meanwhile, another of ours, Andonios, dies without retaliation? No. Like I said, you plan, I will act.”

  Husaam began to walk away, but Saajid stopped him with a palm to the chest. Husaam ripped his brother’s arm away, then shoved him. The force caused Saajid to fall to the floor.

  “Just stay out of my way, Saajid. I am going to the US myself to see this through. Nothing will stop me.”

  Husaam stormed off.

  “Husaam!” Saajid shouted.

  Saajid’s wife, Aiza, hurried over and reached out her hand to help him up. Saajid slapped her hand away and rose to his feet. For the first time, he was going to have to go this alone. No Husaam and none of the Maragos family to assist him. He could finally do it his way.

  “Saajid, Husaam has gone off like this before. It nearly got all of us killed.”

  Saajid swung his head in Aiza’s direction. His blood was boiling. He slapped her across the face. “You will not speak to me in this way. I am not worried about my brother. If he goes and gets himself killed, it will be for the cause. But it will not interfere with my plans.”

  Aiza took a step back. “I’m just looking out for all of us. Please.”

  Saajid looked at her again. Her lip was bloodied. He was disappointed in himself for letting his temper get the best of him. He nodded for her to continue.

  “The last time Husaam went off like this, he ruined your plans.”

  Saajid walked toward his wife, and she cowered as he came close. She jerked her head away as he brought his hand up to wipe the blood from her lip. Once she saw he meant no more harm, she let him caress her cheek.

  “Last time Husaam ruined my plan, he actually knew my plan. This time, I have kept him mostly in the dark, for this very reason.”

  A fearful half smile crossed Aiza’s face. He kissed her on the forehead. “Clean yourself up before the children see.” Then he walked away.

  As he ascended the stairs, he ignored his children’s attempts at affection. His mind wasn’t in a place for them. He was sad that his oldest friend, Andonios, was gone. But mostly, he was angry. Anger, unlike with his brother, focused Saajid. And he was extremely focused on taking the fight he’d been organizing for more than eleven years straight to the United States of America. They needed to feel what he was feeling. But most of all, they needed to see the error of their leaders’ ways. And whoever killed Andonios would see their ways, their very lives, soon come to an end.