Garage Sale Diamonds (Garage Sale Mystery) (43 page)

She looked at Adam, closed her eyes, then opened them again. “No, nothing more. Do you know what it’s about?”

“I’m a police detective now, but my newly discovered father, Greg Bromley over there, is a lawyer who needs a detective in his firm. He also offered to help me through law school if I decided to join his practice. Have you a sneak preview of what’s to come?”

“No, but perhaps it’s just as well. You and your lovely wife must make this decision together.”

“Good point. Thanks for joining our family today and for your critical help with saving lives at the kidnapping. Trust we’ll see you here often.”

“I’d like that.” Her infectious smile showed she meant every word.

109

Thursday, 4:47 PM

Khadija smiled broadly. “Ummi, I have wonderful news. I am in love with Ahmed. We want to marry and have a family. I ask for your blessing.”

This announcement coming as no surprise, Zayneb said, “You have my blessing, sweet daughter, whatever you choose. Like any parent, I wish for your happiness and hope this is the right choice. During your life, you’ve given me so many reasons to be proud of you. Because you are precious to me, it is important that he be gentle and loving with you.” She thought of her own dreadful marriage, unimaginable in her starry-eyed courtship days. “If for any reason this does not work out, I welcome you home with loving arms…and no questions.”

She reached for Zayneb’s hand. “You must never discuss what I’m about to say. Something’s going to happen very soon that is not what it seems. If a foreigner with important information is given political asylum in the U.S., before hiding him in the witness protection program they may make it appear he died instead—to leave a cold trail for anyone pursuing him. So if someone you know well appears to die, it might not be so. You might even see a body bag that doesn’t contain a person, or the government may substitute a different body for a funeral, all done so it seems the person really died. Meantime, this person and his wife or family would disappear to begin a safe and happy life somewhere else with a brand new identity.”

Zayneb stared at her daughter. What was this senseless talk from her child. “I…I don’t   understand. Why should I know this?”

“You must use your imagination when and if the time comes. I love you, Ummi, and will always love you. Every time you see a butterfly, let it remind you that I am well and happy.” She hugged her mother tightly, knowing after today she would never see her again. The pain of leaving this beloved woman who had given her life and cared for her since the day she was born nearly overbalanced her desire to share her future with Ahmed.

This is odd behavior, Zayneb thought, from a daughter whose every mood she’d known since infancy. “Sweetheart, you’re crying. What is the matter?” she asked with concern.

Khadija forced a smile despite tears and fought for composure. “I’m so happy life is good.”

Before hugging her loved ones, Kadija had stashed her suitcases in the car’s trunk. She walked one last time through the familiar rooms of the house where she’d lived her whole life. When the known was good, was it not expected that exchanging it for the unknown would hurt so much?

“I’m going out on errands now,” she said. As if drawn by an invisible force, her mother, Amina and Safia all appeared in the kitchen to wave goodbye. “Wait,” she said, “this is perfect.” She snapped a photo of them with her cell phone, waved one last time and was gone.

• • •

Abdul spent Thanksgiving Day with his family. No need to hurry back to the motel, though he’d sleep there tonight to ride the van with the others the next morning. He wouldn’t have returned to the motel at all tonight, but he shared a room with Ahmed, who expected him there.

Abdul loved his family enough that saying goodbye, while appearing not to say goodbye, was more difficult than he’d imagined. However, his duty to Allah had never faltered. He believed deeply in the holy jihad, grateful to serve Islam even if it meant sacrificing his life. While he enjoyed worldly life, it compared poorly to Paradise, where he envisioned unspeakable pleasures picking luscious fruit, sitting with the prophets, having the seven doors of Heaven open to him and, penetrating willing virgins. He would savor those wonders tomorrow after their appointment with destiny.

n  n  n

Unseen by the other terrorists, at 5:30 Ahmed walked quickly carrying his valise through the motel lobby, out the front door, across the parking lot and into the back seat of a blue car. “Go!” Steve Wolf told the driver. Then he asked Ahmed, “All unfolding as expected?”

“I think so,” Ahmed replied, hoping Steve didn’t notice the beads of sweat on his forehead.

At the community center, Khadija sat in her van parked in a far corner of the lot. As Steve and Ahmed pulled up beside Khadija, a third car waited in the lot. Ahmed opened Khadija’s door and helped her out. Men in the third car put her suitcases and Ahmed’s valise in the trunk of the blue car. One of those men asked for Khadija’s keys. The three vehicles caravanned a few miles to a commercial building, passed through security points and parked underground.

“Do you understand what you are doing? If you enter witness protection, you must cut off all ties with the world you’ve known. All ties. You will never communicate with people from your past again. Are you prepared to do this?”

“Except for telling my lawyer to sit on the letter,” Ahmed said. Steve nodded.

Ahmed and Khadija exchanged encouraging looks. She fought tears for the loved ones she knew she’d lose, while he fought worry for the hated ones he hoped to lose.

“Okay, then someone here will do your orientation and explain your new identities while we defuse the attack planned by your cell tomorrow morning. Later tonight we will fly you to your new life. In about an hour, Khadija’s car will explode in an accident burning all ‘occupants’ beyond recognition. That’s your safe ticket out of here.”

Kadija nodded. “We understand.”

When Steve left the room, they had a few minutes alone. Khadija touched Ahmed’s hand for strength, her distress still apparent in her tears. Despite programming to the contrary, he reached out spontaneously to take her small hand in his.

“My dearest Khadija,” he said gently, “looking at all that has happened with fresh eyes, I understand it in a new way. If a Muslim’s destiny lies always in Allah’s hands, maybe this is exactly what He planned for us from the start. You, born in America to a Muslim father and American mother, educated to teach the very studies to enlighten me when I arrived from halfway across the world at your house—of all the houses in the world. The next miracle was your choice to teach your knowledge to the stranger in your house, thus opening his mind to totally new ideas. A final miracle is our love for each other.”

Her hazel eyes gazed into his.

“This strange journey brought answers to questions tormenting me my whole life. I know who destroyed my parents. I know who thrust me into a military life I did not choose or want but undertook mistakenly, thinking it God’s plan for me. Many around me reveled in the slaughter but I never liked killing. When they made us wring the necks of chickens and strangle small dogs and torture people, I forced myself because they said this was my destiny. I had no reason to think otherwise despite longing for a peaceful life and a family to love.”

Touched by this knowledge about his life, she felt herself drawn into his revelation. Soon they’d combine their individual chapters into the story of their future. She smiled encouragement.

“As my mother lay dying, she told me my path would be difficult but Allah would guide me. She said to seek truth, use my mind to sift what I see and hear, to think for myself and listen to my heart. You urged me to do the same and showed me how. My mother asked me to protect Amina, the sister lost to me forever, until suddenly there she was in your house. Another miracle.

“The last thing my mother asked was to avenge my parents’ undeserved deaths. In reporting the people who eliminated them to Homeland Security, at last I avenged them. My entire life and all the events occurring here pointed me toward my life’s true meaning in this strange land with you. I think hiding the diamonds in the doll happened by divine guidance, my Khadija.”

She lowered her eyes and caressed his hand in hers. “This many miracles added together do seem like signs pointing our new direction,” she said gently. “But now you look sad. What is it?”

“With very little to give up except the violence I detest, starting a new life without looking back is easy for me. But you, sweet Khadija…you give up your dear family, your job and your happy life. You are the brave one here. I will spend all my days making sure your new life is worth this sacrifice. I love you, my dearest one.”

“I love you, too, Ahmed. From now on, our life—our destiny—is together.”

110

Thursday, 6:01 PM

“Hello, we’re with Homeland Security.” The two men at the motel registration counter showed their badges. “How many of your staff are on duty tonight?”

“Two of us,” the desk manager said. We’re the 3:00 to11:00 shift.”

“An incident will take place at your motel tonight. We have the authority to take over your facility, but we’d prefer your cooperation so nobody gets hurt.”

Panic clouded the desk manager’s eyes. “I don’t have the authority to…”

“Correct. We have the authority here. Is your motel full?”

“Far from it. We have guests in,” he consulted his computer, “only twenty-three rooms.”

“Good. I need your motel map, the one showing guests their room location.” He studied this map and circled several units. “Listen carefully. You must evacuate people in every room except these six.” He tapped the circle. “Call all other occupied rooms and tell them to come to the lobby immediately while you investigate a gas leak. For anyone who doesn’t answer their phone, presumably because they’re not there, freeze their door locks so they must come to the lobby to refresh key cards. Tell the people warned of the gas leak to check in with you at the desk when they reach the lobby. Then mark them off by room number and freeze their locks also. When the rooms are empty or lock-frozen, except for these six, give me that list. Do it now and thank you for your cooperation.”

Wide-eyed, the clerk complied. Disgruntled, concerned guests began filtering into the lobby demanding to know what was going on. Some brought their suitcases.

“Here is the list,” the clerk said fifteen minutes later.

“If these people press you for information, say you won’t know until the gas company techs report to you. You’re going to hear some bangs and when you do, tell the guests not to worry, that the gas company has everything under control.

“All your hotel rooms have one door and one window facing the parking lot, correct? Okay, so only one way out of a room…through the door. Right?”

The desk clerk nodded like a dashboard doll.

“Fine. This man is going to stay with you. He’ll say he’s from the gas company and help with crowd control. On the chance your facility is damaged during this incident, the government will make swift repairs at our expense.”

He spoke into his phone. “Go.”

At his command, teargas canisters fired through the windows of the six rooms produced quick results. As the terrorists stumbled out coughing and gagging, operatives tasered them, cuffed their hands behind their backs and taped their mouths. They loaded the subdued men into waiting vehicles and drove away.

The operatives outside the sixth room reported that no one came out. “That’s the room Ahmed shared with…” he looked at his clipboard, “Abdul. Call Ahmed and ask why that man isn’t here.”

The waiting repair team already began window replacement when guests were allowed to return to their rooms. Some checked out on the spot, others after retrieving belongings from their room. Some stayed when told the problem was solved.

When the teargas abated, another team searched the six rooms, removed the terrorists’ belongings and drove that gear away in another van. Within an hour, the scene had returned to normal.

“Ahmed says Abdul has his own car and planned to spend the day with his family with no curfew for returning tonight. We could pick him up at his house or wait until he returns here.”

“Okay, freeze his lock. We’ll wait for him.”

TV evening news didn’t mention the motel incident, but did report a fiery car crash off the GW Parkway near Turkey Run Park, identification of victims withheld until notification of relatives.

111

Thursday, 7:04 PM

She answered the ringing phone. “Hello, Ma’am. Are you Zayneb Hussein?”

“Yes.”

“This is Highway Patrol calling. Is your daughter Khadija Hussein and is your husband Mahmud Hussein?”

“Yes.”

“There’s been an auto accident. We have some bad news. There are casualties.”

Silence.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes.”

“Another man was in the car with them. His name is Ahmed Jalaal. Do you know him?”

“Yes, he is our houseguest.”

“I’m very sorry to tell you none of them survived the fire that engulfed their car.”

Zayneb screamed and dropped the phone. She bent forward, keening and rocking in place. Later, as her initial denial slid away, she tried slowly to process the information. How could Mahmud perish in that car when she knew he lay under the garden in the back yard? Or was that the hideous dream, not this? Had she lost the ability to distinguish reality from fantasy? She rushed outside to see for herself but found the garden’s soil undisturbed and the new plants in their same positions. Was this a terrible mistake or…what had her daughter said earlier that made no sense?