Grains of Truth (43 page)

Faoud looked up as Ahmed reached the bottom of the stairs, the scarf still in his hand.

Ahmed shrugged. “It matters not. Either way, her fate is now to serve Allah.”

Julia couldn’t be sure he believed her disingenuous pleas. That day was the longest of her life. She hoped it wasn’t the last.

~

The reflection of the setting sun turned the water red—blood red. Alex came striding down the dock to find Jalal standing on the deck of one of several dive boats moored there. Everything was going according to plan. It would take about twenty minutes to reach the yacht, already anchored off the coast. By then it would be almost dark.

As soon as the transaction was completed, the crew would start bringing up the crates, and Jalal would make the call for the second boat to approach. Alex was adamant when he last spoke with James that the speedboat on board the yacht must be made available to return him without delay to Nuweiba.

The smaller, faster boat should get him back there in less than fifteen minutes. He would call and let the others know as soon as he started back. They would wait for him before making their move on the house. He hoped to hell things continued to go according to plan.

~

Mohamed and Sarah sat at a table near another occupied by Henry and Henrietta. Mariette stood on a nearby corner, keeping an eye on the street. The Jeep sat parked half-way down the block. Benjamin and Joshoa had assumed Arab dress and loitered at the edge of the cluster of buildings closest to the compound. Joshoa crouched on his haunches, scratching patterns in the dirt with a stick.

Brad and Linda had taken the van and driven around on the road leading up the low hill behind the compound. The location provided an excellent view of the house and surrounding buildings. Several cars clustered around the front gate. With the aid of binoculars, they could also see both Israelis, who were now in possession of Alex’s two extra revolvers. That rendered all four male professionals armed. Linda chafed at the discrimination but had no choice but to follow orders.

“It’s show time,” she murmured.

Brad, who was watching the Israelis, swung his binoculars back to the compound. A group of men spilled out the gate, piled into the cars and drove away. One car remained beside the wall.

“No sign of Julia. I didn’t see the hunk either, did you?”

“Nope. But at least Arabiyat is out. He led the pack. Let’s get going.” Brad opened his door. They stepped to the front and he opened the hood.

“Okay. Strategic review. We walk down and ask to use the phone to call for a tow truck. Once we’re inside, the others move in. When we hear the signal, I’ll distract your hunk. You find Julia. Got it?”

“Got it.” She hesitated. “What about Bryant? We said we’d wait.”

Brad shook his head. “Listen, goddamn it, every second counts here. We have to strike now, while we have the advantage. I’ll deal with Bryant.” He shook his head again.

“Anyway, I don’t like it. This fanatic son-of-a-bitch is as unpredictable as he is lethal. There’re just too damn many assumptions.”

“Shit!”

Brad followed Linda’s line of sight back to the compound. Ahmed and a black-clad figure were coming out of the gate. They got into the car. He slammed down the hood and the two agents jumped back into the van.

“Acht,” hissed Benjamin, reaching into the folds of his robe for the phone. “He’s leaving and taking her with him.” 

“Come on,” Mohamed ordered as he slapped shut his phone, shot up and sprinted toward the Jeep.

Mariette saw him—the others close behind—and followed at a run.

When Ahmed drove past the two Israelis, they embraced in typical Arab fashion, to shield their faces. As soon as the car turned the corner, they rushed after it.

The car from the house stopped at the corner where the archeologist had stood less than a minute before. It turned right, in the direction of the warehouse.

Mariette leaned over the wheel, shading her face with the brim of her hat, and Mohamed ducked his head under his arm as Ahmed drove by within a few feet of the crowded Jeep. 

“Only the two of them,” said Henry. “She’s in back. The doors are locked.”

The Jeep’s engine roared to life and Mariette pulled out two cars behind.

~

Ahmed pulled up to the side door of the warehouse and got out. Julia shuddered as the car door next to her opened.

“Come.” He took her arm and led her to the cavernous room, back to the same table and chair. The camera equipment was gone. In its place, a number of scratched wooden crates lined the wall next to six large, expensive-looking new trunks. There was  also a stack of boxes that appeared to contain a new coffee maker, a digital clock radio and other small household appliances.

“Sit.”

She sat. He studied her bowed head for a moment before going back the way they came. Julia tried to see, through the woven grill, anything in the vast, near-empty space that might be of importance, or of help. Holding her breath, she listened intently but heard nothing: no sounds to indicate the presence of anyone else. She was alone. Until Ahmed came back carrying several shopping bags. They bore the name of the boutique where they’d shopped for her clothes. He placed them next to the trunks and turned, regarding her speculatively.

“It saddens me to think that I cannot trust you, Julia.”

She again dropped her head. At this point, any response might only make matters worse.

“You must surely realize that your failure to cooperate would inevitably result in harm coming to your beloved Mohamed.” He smiled. “As well as his wife and precious son. Come. I will put you where you can do no harm.” He steered her to the front room, then through a side door. This space was maybe six-hundred feet square, she guessed, with a towering ceiling, like that of the warehouse.

As he started to leave, she blurted out, “Please, Ahmed, can’t you untie my hands? The ropes are too tight. They’re cutting my wrists.”

Chapter 51

They huddled in the entrance to an abandoned building near the warehouse.

“Okay,” said Brad. “Plan B. We know there are at least two entrances, one with rolling doors for the trucks and a side door for pedestrian traffic. Richter, you and your man circle the perimeter. Look for other exits. And check out the back alley for more vehicles.”

As the two Israelis stole away, he pressed his lips together. “Henry, do either of you feel up to going in for reconnaissance?”

Before the elderly agent could answer, Sarah’s fingers closed around his arm. “No. Let me do it.” She directed a reassuring smile at Team L’s expressions of concern. “You might be recognized. They don’t know me.”

“I’ll go,” said Linda decisively.

Sarah’s curls bounced with the side-to-side motion of her head. “If Julia sees or hears me, it’ll reassure her—and put her on her guard.” She turned back to Brad. “I can do a pretty convincing dumb blonde routine.”

Henrietta broke the stalemate. “It’s a rather good idea, I think.” She smiled down at the eager volunteer. “Apart from being an unfamiliar face, she presents no visible threat.”

Brad looked over at Linda to find her head cocked to one side. He blew out his cheeks to release the pent up air. Bob Bronson would crucify him for this. 

“She could pretend to be lost.” Linda’s impish eyes assessed the anti-war activist. “Can you cry on cue?”

A nervous grin lifted the corners of Sarah’s mouth. “Spent a few summers on the boards with Berkeley Rep.”

A hush fell while Brad considered the options.

“Okay. Just get in and ask to use the phone. Pretend to call your hotel for directions. And then get out. Try to get a feel for the layout. And if there’s anyone else in the building.”

His lips almost disappeared as he scrutinized Sarah’s grim determination. “If you see Julia, do not—under any circumstances—attempt to communicate. No heroics, Sarah. You can’t accomplish anything alone. You’d not only risk your own neck, but Julia’s as well. Understood?”

She straightened to her full five-foot-two and ripped off a snappy salute. “Yes, sir. Understood, sir.”

~

The big doors in front were rolled down and securely shut. Inky darkness now cloaked the narrow street leading to the side door of the lofty building, creating a forbidding tunnel. A scuttling noise in a pile of garbage caused Sarah to jerk back.

She shivered, poised on the precipice of peril, and real tears sprang to her eyes, no thespian skill required. The side door was closed, so she knocked and then, without waiting for a response, turned the knob. Unlocked, it creaked when she pushed it open.

“Hello? Is anybody here?”

A dim lamp burned on a desk in a corner of the room. Two other doors led from it: one, of regular size, closed; the other, a high double metal door, rolled halfway up, leaving a gaping opening into a big, open space. Sarah moved toward it, fighting against the fright tingling up her spine. A sinister silence permeated the air. So far, she could see nothing but emptiness on the other side.

As she stepped into the warehouse, she gasped at finding herself face-to-face with the imposing—and beautiful—Ahmed Latif.

The pure white galabeeya did nothing to diminish the menace of his expression. “Yes? May I help you?”

~

Slippery Billy Hirschfield sat at the lapis lazuli-topped table he used for a desk. It was one of the luxurious touches he found irresistible about his new yacht, along with the solid gold bathroom fittings and custom Lalique crystal light fixtures. He reveled in the tasteless ostentation. In spite of the astronomical price demanded by the compulsive-gambling, down-on-his-luck Saudi Arabian prince, it turned out to be a bargain once it led to the biggest arms deal of Billy’s shady career.

He scowled down at the computer on the desk. It told him that the funds for this deal hadn’t made it yet into his bank account. If Alex Bryant weren’t involved, he wouldn’t have come this far and the customer would be shit-out-a-luck. Billy always operated on a cash-only basis. For that matter, if it weren’t for Bryant and his sterling reputation, he sure as bloody hell wouldn’t be using his own personal yacht for the delivery.

He loved saying that: his own personal yacht.

“’Ere they come, sir.”

Billy looked over the top of reading glasses at his steward. “Thanks, mate.”

He tossed the glasses on the table and rose to straighten the collar of his Italian silk shirt, glistening in an extraordinary shade of incandescent green. As he passed a full length, gilt-edged mirror in the foyer, he paused to admire his reflection, pulling down the sleeves of his white linen jacket and patting gold chains, too numerous to count, that dangled around his bony neck.

On deck, the other boat bumped up against the side and he started to call out for the assholes to be careful. Then he saw Alex stepping up, and he restrained himself as he sauntered over to greet the great commander.

“Alex, you old dog. This is all a bit beneath your usual modus operandi, ain’t it?”

Alexander kept the contempt from his face at Billy’s crass greeting as they shook hands. “Hello, William, good to see you.” He made a point of looking around before adding, “Nice boat.”

“Yacht, Alex my boy, yacht.”

Jalal boarded behind Alexander, who turned to make introductions. The three men moved into the hold where Billy nonchalantly gestured at hundreds of neatly stacked crates. He reached into the open top of one and pulled out a handgun.

The Arab’s initial aversion to the man was instantly eclipsed at the sight of it, and the crates—crates filled with weapons that would provide the means for the elimination of hundreds of thousands of the enemy: the enemies of Islam.

A smirk contorted Billy’s thin lips as he watched.

Alex read both men like headline news. Christ, he thought, this is like navigating a minefield. What if these guns actually make it into the hands of terrorists? Could he live with himself if they somehow managed to pull off their heinous crime? But what else could he have done? Under the circumstances, it was the only way he could think of to save her, to save Julia.

Billy interrupted Alex’s misgivings with a murmur near his ear. “It was bloody damn good luck for you that I ’ad everything you needed available nearby.” Truth be told, he’d shorted an order for the renegade regime in the Sudan to fill this one. Not to worry, he’d put ’em off. He’d also substantially increased the price.

They returned to the deck. Jalal pulled out his phone. Before he could make the call for the other boat, cruising nearby, to approach for the pickup, Billy held up a hand. “Not so fast there, mate. Our business ain’t finished yet.”

He twitched his head at Alex and the two men stepped over to the rail. “So, where’s me bob, mate?”

Alex placed a reluctant hand on Billy’s shoulder. “In escrow. I’ll make the transfer as soon as I reach shore.”

A second ticked by, then another, before Billy turned to face him. As he did, he brushed back the left side of his jacket to make sure Alex saw the gun holstered underneath. “Ain’t nobody—or no thing—going anywhere until I get paid.”

The man’s eyes glittered in the fading light, like the deadly snake Alex knew him to be. He, in turn, kept his eyes pointedly averted from the gun. All of Billy’s men would be armed to the teeth—as would the Jihadists in the boat nearby. The muscles in Alex’s jaw began to pulse, the way they always did when he found himself in combat. His mind raced to think of a way to defuse the potentially explosive situation.