Fear City (19 page)

Yousef stiffened. Everyone knew that people named in Sheikh Omar's fatwahs did not have long for this world. President Anwar Sadat was a prime example. And Kadir knew Yousef was well aware that Omar had been plotting a double assassination against his fellow Egyptians, Mubarak and Boutros-Ghali. The UN bombing fit beautifully into the imam's plans. One could almost see the hand of Allah Himself in this.

“Why tell your uncle anything?” Kadir said. “The fewer who know of our plans, the better.”

“I agree,” Mahmoud said.

Yousef was silent for a moment. “I will have to think on this.”

“Don't think too long,” Kadir said. “We take the Qatari's money tomorrow. And if we don't have our”—a quick glance around—“preparations completed, we will have to let the opportunity of a lifetime slip past.”

A
toot
drew their attention: Salameh's car was pulling to the curb.

“Where to from here?” Salameh said as they climbed in.

“The storage space,” Mahmoud said. “We might as well bring more supplies back to the garage while we are out.”

“We'll have only the trunk,” Kadir said.

He wasn't about to drive with a container of nitric acid on his lap.

“We'll fill it with whatever we can and make another trip later. We've got to speed this up if we're to have two bombs by Friday.”

“Two?” Salameh said.

“We'll explain along the way,” Kadir told him.

Salameh hit the gas and they roared onto Kennedy Boulevard.

 

6

As Dane watched the jihadists standing on the sidewalk, he wondered if Jack was having better luck following the mystery Arab than he'd had last week. It looked like these three were arguing. About what? Then an old Chevy Nova pulled up and they all piled in. Dane started his Plymouth and had it moving by the time they took off.

He hadn't identified the guy behind the wheel yet, but he would. Only a matter of time. Whoever he was he drove like a drunk, weaving back and forth and drifting over his lane lines.

The Nova led him on a meandering path down Kennedy to Communipaw Avenue, then onto Mallory where they turned into the driveway of a storage locker place called the Space Station. The driver hopped out and punched in a code. As the gate slid back, they drove in and pulled around to the back. Even if Dane had the code, following them in would be pushing his luck way past its tensile strength. So he cruised past, turned around, and found a spot with a good view of the place.

From what he'd seen, the facility consisted of a huge, two-story U-shaped building lined with roll-up doors; the base of the U looped around the back end of its lot. A single long, straight building—also two stories—ran up the valley of the U, leaving wide driveways on each side.

Twenty minutes later they pulled out and headed back the way they had come. Dane followed, wondering what the hell they'd done in there—drop-off or pickup? He didn't know if it was his imagination, but the back of the Nova seemed to be riding a bit lower.

He tried to stay as close as he could without being obvious, allowing only one car between his and theirs as they made their way back to Kennedy. But then the light ahead turned amber. The Nova sped up while the car ahead of him stopped. Again! Dane wanted to get out and throttle the driver. Instead he sat and watched the Nova sail away. This was getting to be a habit.

A tracker … he needed to attach a tracking transceiver to that damn car. Trouble was, he didn't know where they parked it. And if he knew where they parked it, he probably wouldn't need a tracker.

Besides, the only tracker he had was taped to a brick of C4.

 

7

“For some strange reason,” Drexler said, staring at the photo, “I feel I've seen this one before.”

After Klari
ć
dropped off the photos, Nasser had called Drexler to set up a meeting where he and Trejador could have a look at them. Normally he would have called Trejador directly but he didn't want to speak to the man who had ordered Danaë's death. Not yet. He was afraid he might betray his warring emotions.

More than anything in his life, Nasser wanted the High Council to appoint him an actuator. As an actuator, he often would be called on to put all his personal feelings and priorities aside and act in the best interests of the Order. Nasser understood that. He was ready to assume that responsibility.

But he didn't know if he could have ordered the torture and murder of Danaë. Yes, she was a prostitute, a call girl, a whore. She sold her body to pleasure men. A nobody, as Klari
ć
had called her. But she was a beautiful nobody who'd shared Trejador's bed. Many times. To dispose of her like so much trash … Nasser didn't know if he had that in him.

But no one could know that. If Trejador or Drexler suspected that he might put his emotions before the Order, they would not recommend him for actuator. If the subject of Danaë arose, Nasser might have trouble hiding his emotions. Not from Drexler. No worry about a man who didn't seem to have any emotions except anger, and even that was icy on the rare occasions he let it show. He was too self-absorbed to notice anything as subtle as conflicted emotions. But Trejador … Roman Trejador was another story. He would see through whatever façade Nasser erected.

And so he was relieved when Drexler had called back to say that Trejador had other business that required his personal supervision for the next few days and could not attend. So the two of them would meet at Drexler's place.

“Who?” Nasser said.

Drexler turned the photo around. “The young one.”

Nasser had studied the photos on the way over. The older bearded man in the driver's seat had been photographed through the windshield, and so his face was somewhat indistinct. But Klari
ć
had caught the younger one as he'd exited the car and his features were sharp and clear.

“Your driver thinks they might be FBI.”

Drexler's smile was tolerant. “Yes. So Klari
ć
told me. He showed initiative in bringing his camera. Do you see why I choose the operatives I do? An American never would have thought of that.”

“Yes. He's quite innovative.”

Nasser wondered if an American operative would have thought to slice off Danaë's tattoo, cure the skin like animal hide, and use it as a key fob.

“Not innovative enough, I fear. Did you see the papers?”

Nasser fought to keep the wave of revulsion from showing on his face. He chose his words carefully.

“You mean about the … whore?”

“Yes. Didn't they assure us that she'd never be identified?”

“They did.”

“It's that Reggie, I'll bet. Burning her face and cutting off her hands were good ideas, but throwing her in the river? They had to know she'd wash up somewhere. Simply burying her would have been better.”

Nasser wanted to scream,
Simply leaving her alone would have been best! Because she knew nothing!

Instead he said, “Why do you keep that Reggie around anyway? He's not in the Order.”

“That is
exactly
why I keep him around. It costs the Order nothing to house him and a meager stipend keeps him fed and clothed. The important thing is he'll do anything I tell him and has no direct connection to us.”

“I don't trust him.”

Drexler laughed. “Do you think I do? Do you remember that story he cooked up a couple of years ago about seeing the supposedly dead Tony in a taxi?”

Nasser nodded. Reggie had gone on and on about how tracking down this miraculously alive Tony fellow—who was listed by the North Carolina police as a murder victim—would lead them to the hijacked millions. Nasser and Drexler had wasted a lot of time and effort toward that end with no results.

“I think he was afraid of becoming disposable and thought he had to come up with something to justify his continued existence.”

“I do trust Klari
ć
, however,” Drexler said. “But as much as I appreciate his enthusiasm, his opinion as to these observers' identity is quite another matter.”

“How so?”

He tapped the photo. “Unless the FBI has changed its hiring practices, this …
boy
is far too young to be any sort of agent, especially a field agent.” He reversed it to stare again. “And yet I am almost certain I've seen him before. I just don't know where.”

“What about the older one?”

Drexler picked up the photo that gave the clearest view of the driver's face. “He, on the other hand, looks rather old to be a field agent. But if he is an agent, he must be working on his own time.”

“Why do you say that?”

“When Klari
ć
voiced his opinion, I was naturally alarmed. So I called one of our brothers in the Bureau to have him check out the FBI's interest in that mosque. He called back just before you arrived to say the Bureau had been very interested in the mosque's imam, Sheikh Omar. But after numerous false leads and dead ends, they dropped surveillance in mid-January.”

“Then who are these two?”

“Considering their age difference, they could almost be father and son. Perhaps they have something personal against the mosque.”

Nasser considered that. “Possible. But then why would the older one follow me, as he did last Wednesday?”

“That concerns me. If his interest is our jihadists—are you
sure
they have agreed to change their target?”

This was the third time since Nasser's arrival that Drexler had asked for confirmation.

Nasser spread his hands. “Who can be sure of anything when dealing with fanatics? Right now Kadir and Mahmoud appear to have overruled Ramzi Yousef. I will reconfirm that when I drop off the money tomorrow. But Yousef's uncle is with al-Qaeda, and for some reason al-Qaeda finds the World Trade Towers especially attractive.”

“They
must
leave the towers alone.”

Again, Nasser wanted to know why but knew asking was futile.

“I'll stay in close touch with them up until Friday. But you had a thought on my being followed?”

“Yes. If the watchers' interest is in the jihadists, the older one could have seen you pick up and drop them off and decided that made you a person of interest as well.”

“If he's interested in Kadir and his cohort, for whatever reason, he may well stumble onto their bomb-making activities.”

“Exactly my concern. Let's have Reggie and Klari
ć
pick them up and find out what they know.”

“After they botched their last assignment?”

“I wouldn't say they botched it. They learned from the whore what we needed to know—that our secret is safe—and now we no longer have to concern ourselves with her.”

Nasser kept his voice even. “I'll get right on it.”

“But we'll work it differently this time. I want to be there when they question the young one. I want to know why he looks familiar.”

“Very well.” A new aspect of the situation occurred to him. “What if the watchers already know of the bomb plans and are waiting to gather hard evidence?”

Drexler shrugged. “What of it? Then we'll know.”

“So will Klari
ć
and Reggie.”

“I hadn't thought of that. If that happens, Klari
ć
and Reggie will become immediately expendable. I'll arrange for the contingency. Meanwhile, I'll have Klari
ć
drive you down to Reggie's quarters and you can brief them both at the same time.”

In the same room with the two men who had tortured and murdered Danaë … the day was getting worse and worse.

 

8

The knock on his door startled Reggie. The old building was mostly deserted. When he opened it and saw Klari
ć
and al-Thani, he knew what it had to be about.

“Now wait a minute,” he said, backing up. “I can explain about the girl.”

Al-Thani gave him a disgusted look. “Did I mention anything about the girl?”

“Well, I saw the papers and—”

“Shut up and listen,” al-Thani said. “This is about something entirely other.”

Well that was good news at least. Bad enough she'd washed up, but at least at first no one had known who she was—except him and Klari
ć
, and they weren't about to talk. As long as the Order stayed in the dark along with everybody else, all would be cool. Then he'd seen the headlines this morning and damn near shit his pants. He wouldn't have been surprised to get kicked out on the street.

Reggie leaned on the wall next to his room's only window.

“What's up?”

Klari
ć
was holding what looked like photographs. Al-Thani pointed to them and said, “Show him.”

Reggie took the stack—maybe half a dozen or so—and started shuffling through them. He blinked in shock, then straightened off the wall when he came to the third.

“Holy shit! It's Lonnie!”

“You know one of them?” al-Thani said.

Reggie showed him. “Yeah. This one. It's the guy I drove up with the truckloads of girls.”

Al-Thani gave him a
yeah-right
look. “Oh, is this like seeing the dead Tony?”

“I wasn't shitting you about that and I'm not shitting you about this. This guy is the fucker who broke my knees! Where'd you find him?”

Klari
ć
said, “I take picture of him in this morning.”

“Where?”

“In front of a mosque in which we have an interest,” al-Thani said. “It appears this young man and the other have an interest there as well.”

“The place in Brooklyn where I picked up your little buddy Kadir a while back?”

“No. This is in Jersey City. You may be interested to know it is now Kadir's mosque, so you may see some familiar faces.”