Strike Force Delta (11 page)

The DP and brother Jabal were smarter than that. They were experts at leaving no trails. They cleaned up their messes or had trusted people do it for them. More
important, they were even higher up in the Saudi royal structure than Ali, and the closer they were to the top, the more protection they knew they had from the inconveniences of life. So, for a while, Jabal actually did relax.

Once the meal was dispensed with and the dishes were cleared away, two young boys bathed the brothers with hot cloths. Then the girls were brought out.

There were 22 of them as promised. The DP and Jabal could have all of them or none of them. The girls were from all over the world; indeed, the DP's handlers were approached all the time by managers of young women or the young women themselves, asking to be made part of DP's harem, as they knew as much as a million dollars or more could be made if they were selected. That was the case with the more sophisticated ones anyway. Others had simply been sold to the DP's minions as sex slaves. Sophisticated or not, none of them had the faintest idea what could be in store for them on the second floor of the casino. They were all beautiful, but they were all disposable, too. Just the way the DP and Jabal liked them.

A kind of game ensued as the two brothers pretended to compete for the pick of the litter by flipping dice. This ended presently, though, as Jabal's Viagra started kicking in. He selected three blondes—they could have been triplets—and hurried into one of the luxurious private rooms that ringed the ballroom.

The DP let Jabal go, more convinced than ever that he had less class, less style, than he. There was only one woman to be selected here. She was at the very end of the line. Absolutely gorgeous. Perfect body, wrapped in a tight leather pseudo S and M outfit, held together by little more than spikes the size of knitting needles, she was a black-haired vision, looking very vulnerable.

Best of all, she was Asian.

The DP would have her tonight.

The Diamond Prince was almost too handsome to kill.

Li hadn't expected this. He was tall and dark, with the looks of a male model, at least in the low light of the second-floor ballroom. His dark eyes radiated a certain air of intelligence. He had an attractive smile. His physique wasn't too shabby, either.

But she knew all about the DP by now. Her CIA handlers had made sure of that. His extensive connection to 9/11. The billions he'd made selling weapons in Africa. His involvement in the ongoing genocide in the Sudan. The girls he'd murdered, during rough sex, right in this very building. Dashing or not, he was a very bad guy. And he had to go.

But Li was scared stiff. She'd never trained to be an assassin. The furthest she got was a self-defense course at FBI Quantico. But as her Agency handlers had told her, this was war and what she had to do was no different from shooting an enemy general on the field of battle. By her one act, many future terrorist attacks could be prevented. Many lives might be saved. She had to see it through.

She was carrying just the weapon to do it with, too—thanks to no small piece of brilliance on the part of the CIA, considering she'd gone through more security to get into this place than someone coming to see the President of the United States. It all started when her handlers made arrangements with a Bulgarian slave trader to insert her into his cache of young females earmarked for Bahrain this weekend; getting to the Arab country was the easy part. Once on the ground, though, she'd
been taken to a building attached to the casino, stripsearched twice, questioned by the DP's security people, and then strip-searched again—and only then were she and the other girls allowed into the casino itself. Once in, they were frisked, every hour on the hour, until the DP finally showed up and the vulgar chorus line assembled. Bottom line, it would have been impossible to sneak a gun or a bomb or even a knife inside here.

But still, Li was packing a murder weapon, hiding it on her body, in plain sight.

The Diamond Prince had selected her first, from the line of attractive young women. But she was not the only girl that he fancied. He also separated a young blond girl from the others. Barely 17, she was from Slovakia and thrilled she'd been selected, too.

Dismissing the rest of the girls, the DP turned to Li, who was now standing beside him next to the mountain of pillows, and whispered in her ear: “I'll bet you like the clams as well as the oysters.” It was a line from the movie
Spartacus
. Translation: “I hope you go both ways.”

Li rubbed up against him and cooed: “I like it all.”

The DP led them both to one of the nearby bedrooms, making a big production out of taking Li by the arm like a gentleman, while practically pushing the giggling young blonde ahead of him, like a lamb to slaughter.

The bedroom was done in the same bad taste as the pillow-happy ballroom. Lots of flashy silk and cheaplooking Chinese lanterns. The DP forced the young girl onto the bed; she was still laughing, but a little nervously now. Then with a gush of charm, he poured Li a glass of champagne. She watched him carefully, making sure
he didn't slip anything into the flute, like a roofie or worse. Only after she saw him take a sip from his own glass, poured from the same bottle, did she pretend to sip hers as well.

The bed was equipped with leather restraints. The DP drained his champagne and then without another word tied the blond girl to the bed, first by the ankles, then by the wrists. Then he ripped the tiny negligee from her body. When the girl somewhat playfully complained the DP was being too rough, he slapped her hard across the face. It was only then that the young girl realized something was not right here.

Li knew what was going to happen next—her CIA handlers were well aware of the DP's
modus operandi
. Once the young girl was restrained, the Prince would wrap a silk scarf around her neck. Then, while fondling her, he would begin to draw the silk tighter, slowly choking her, up to the brink of asphyxiation. Then he would have sex with her near-lifeless body and, once depleted, would finish the job with his diamond-encrusted fists. Li was surprised, though, that it was all happening so fast. In a weird way, she'd been expecting a little more foreplay.

The DP stripped down to his shorts and refilled his champagne glass. He ran his hands up and down's Li's body, this as the girl on the bed started to cry. Her weeping only served to further stimulate the DP. He drained his second glass, then moved back toward the bed, silk scarf in hand. The girl began begging for her life, but again, this only increased the DP's excitement.

He put the scarf around her throat. The young girl screamed—but it was no use. The bedrooms here were virtually soundproof. Besides, no one in the casino
would ever come to her aid, even if they'd heard her cries. Again, this sort of thing went on here all the time. As the CIA men had described it, it was the casino's
kink du jour
.

Hovering over the young girl now, the DP looked over his shoulder at Li and winked. She blew him a kiss of approval. He smiled and pulled the scarf tight. The girl began gasping for air. A little tighter. She tried to let out another scream—but this time nothing came out. The DP removed his shorts and started to climb on top of her. That's when Li walked over and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. He turned back to her, certain she wanted to get in on the action. Instead, he saw in her hand one of the spikes that had been holding her outfit together. It was long and sharp and shiny. Without hesitation, Li plunged it into his left eye.

There was surprisingly little resistance going in. The spike was nine inches long but was essentially a carpenter's nail. It went through the pupil, then the entire eyeball, and then into the DP's brain as easily as if it were going through butter. There was very little blood, too, and only the slightest sucking sound. Li gave the spike one last thrust, pushing it all the way in, and then let it go. The DP just stared back at her—his remaining pupil going wide—baffled by her sudden betrayal. He reached out, not to grab her but just to hold on to something, anything. Li just took a step back. He fell to the floor with a thud.

Then the words just tumbled out of her mouth: “Now you'll need a patch, too—just like your brother.”

The girl on the bed tried to scream again. But Li immediately put her fingers to her lips, even as she was loosening the scarf.

“Just stay quiet,” she hissed at the girl. “You can still get out of this alive.”

Still, the girl begged Li to untie her—but Li knew better. If the girl stayed tied, then the DP's minions could never accuse
her
of killing their boss, at least that's what she hoped.

So Li just followed the plan. She left the girl as she was, calmly fixed herself up, straightened her costume, and went out the door, closing it tightly behind her.

The only people in the ballroom were the servants. Li walked by them summoning up the best imperial air she could muster.

“They want to be . . .
alone
, ” she said to one, in passing.

The servant simply nodded. He considered Li lucky. The DP rarely left witnesses to his indiscretions.

She walked across the ballroom to the private elevator. As she was getting on, two middle-aged men, twins, were getting off. They both looked dim-witted and drunk. They were also giggling like schoolgirls. She hit the down button and went to the first floor. Crossing the crowded casino, she slipped out the side entrance, where she knew a carousel of limousines awaited.

She climbed into the nearest one—the driver asked her no questions. He immediately turned the car around and headed for the airstrip just down the road. From here the plan was simple. The same CIA-owned Gulfstream that had brought her and the rest of the Bulgarian cache to Bahrain would be landing here again. In fact, it should be touching down right about now. It wouldn't even shut off its engines. Li would climb aboard and they would be halfway to Ramstein
Air Base in Germany before anyone discovered the DP's body.

She leaned back against the limo seat and let out a long breath. Maybe then it would hit her, she thought. Maybe once she was out of this horrible place and back in the arms of civilization she would break down and shed tears over what she'd just done. There was a distinct horror in taking another person's life, she was sure. But the feeling hadn't arrived yet. At the moment, she was still rock hard and steel willed.

The limo arrived at the airstrip—but this was not the same place Li had first seen this afternoon. Back then, it looked like nothing more than a patch of asphalt in the middle of a field of sand. Now it looked like a military base. She counted more than a dozen F-15 fighters parked along the runway. Each plane was brightly lit and had mechanics nursing it. Not only were these people here, but there were also soldiers—or at least heavily armed men in uniforms—guarding the jet airplanes.

The driver pulled in about halfway up to the airstrip. There was a small gate here where most people boarded their private planes. Li lowered her window and miraculously heard above the whine of the idling military jets the sound of a Gulfstream's smaller, higher-pitched engines. She looked up to see the familiar green and white aircraft pass overhead, turning for a landing. This was the CIA transit plane.
Thank God
, she thought.

The limo driver turned to ask her if this was where she wanted to go—but stopped before he could say anything. His eyes suddenly went wide. Li stared at him for a moment, then looked out the back window of the limo. There was a line of vehicles with flashing lights coming up behind them.
Police cars. . .
.

Her heart sank. These cars belonged to the Bahraini cops. Several were always parked in the casino's back lot. At least a half-dozen of them were surrounding the limo now, the flashing lights creating weird shadows everywhere.

A small army of armed men jumped from the police vehicles and ran up to the limo. Some were in uniform; others were obviously plainclothes bodyguards. They all had their guns drawn and were pointing them right at her.

At the same moment, Li realized the CIA Gulfstream had landed. It taxied up to the small gate, not 20 feet away. She could see through the limo's windshield to the plane's cockpit, making out the face of the pilot plus one of her handlers. She almost cried out to them—but it wouldn't have done her any good. They sized up the situation with Li and her limo—and kept right on going. Back out to the airstrip, where, engines screaming, they immediately took off again.

Leaving her behind.

Suddenly the door beside her opened and two men stuck their heads in. They immediately started yipping and pointing at her. She recognized them. They were the twin idiots she'd passed on the elevator. The Gebeebs, the DP's dim-witted cousins. They were the ones who'd found the DP dead.

Suddenly someone pushed them out of the way and took their place in the door.

It was Jabal Ben-Wabi, the Patch. Smelly, drunk, ugly. He was holding Li's bloody spike in his hand.

“You bitch!”
he screamed at her.
“You American bitch!”

He launched himself into the back of the limousine, grabbing her arm and twisting it. Instinctively she started to fight him off. But he began slapping her and then punching her—hard. Then he put his face right up to hers.

“I'm going to kill you,” he hissed at her. “And when I do, the whole world will be watching. . . .”

Ryder was freezing in the desert. He saw sand dunes and scorpions and even a few palm trees off in the distance. Yet, his hands were covered with ice and his feet were encased in snow. It was like he was standing at the North Pole
and
in the middle of the Sahara. As for his late wife, she was nowhere in sight. That's why he wasn't sure if this was a dream or not.

Then, from behind, a voice beckoned to him:
“Get up. We've got a problem.”

Ryder opened his eyes to find Red Curry, the team's other senior pilot, shaking him awake.