Terminal Rage (36 page)

When he had managed to bring his heart rate under control, a faint ray of hope reverberated through him. Despite his current predicament, he was still alive. If whoever had knocked him out and disconnected his lower half had wanted him dead immediately, that
’
s exactly what he
’
d be. Adly was a professional killer, and he was now thinking like one. The logic of his situation presented an opportunity for Adly to do something he excelled at. To negotiate and haggle for his life. To try to win the upper hand, even from this miserable position of being stripped of his power. He tugged lightly at the drip connected to his body to get someone
’
s attention. Anyone.

A familiar voice cut through the silence.

“It
’
s an epidural. And I wouldn
’
t try to pull it out if I were you.”

In his best “helpless, wounded old man” voice, Adly asked for some water.

There was no answer. Just a clicking sound followed by the smooth hum of well-oiled machinery. His scope of view changed in the process. No longer staring at the ceiling, Adly felt his torso moving up as if his body was on some sort of inclining mechanical bed.

A silhouette of a man sitting in front of him got up from the chair and moved closer.

A ghost
.

Of all the people Adly had feared would come to collect retribution, standing right in front of him was the least likely one. This was simply not possible. Not just because this man lacked the character or the skills to find Adly, let alone take him out.
But because he was supposed to be dead
.

The improbability that this was the guy who had come to settle the bill on behalf of everyone Adly had ravaged made him question his sanity.

Am I hallucinating? Or maybe I
’
m already dead and starting to pay for my sins.

“Sam? Sam, is that you?”

“Why me, Adly?”

This was really happening. The clarity of the voice. The inflection. Sam Morgan was alive. And Adly needed to think fast.

“Whatever you think I did, Sam, it
’
s not true.”

Sam clicked a remote control and switched on an LCD screen suspended in front of Adly
’
s eyes. Footage of Adly speaking off camera and then interacting with Nabulsi and Madi during their trial in 2005 played in a loop.

He turned his head away from the incriminating screen and his eyes met Sam
’
s. The game was up. He might as well save them both the charade of pretending otherwise.

Adly managed a forced grin. “
How’d
you find me, Sam?”

“The Jordanians. They ratted on your Bosnian friend, Demir Salimovic. I dangled some money and shopped around for snuff and kiddy porn until he bit the bait and sold you out.”

“What
’
s this thing attached to me? Take it off. Please?”

“Drip bags. One contains anesthetics and sedatives pumping through your spine. You
’
re paralyzed from the waist down. The other has the exact dose of chemicals to end your life if I turn this red dial.”

Adly stopped smiling.

“Tell me what I need to know, Adly, and I give you my word I
’
ll set you free. You
’
re just a filthy dog on a leash, this much I know. It
’
s not you I
’
m after—I want the guys who called the shots.”

Adly sighed deeply. Even while lying on a bed paralyzed, tied, and facing death, he could still muster cunning. He
’
d manipulated this kid before like soft dough, and he could do it again.

“What do you want to know?”

“Start by telling me why I was chosen to build Leviathan.”

“For a man who
’
s quick to analyze clues and make successful deductions, you sure are slow on the uptake when it comes to understanding yourself, Sam.”

Adly stopped speaking and started gasping for air.

“I have a weak heart. Stop the drugs. I beg you.”

Sam just stared at him silently, unblinking.

“I
’
ll tell you everything you need to know, but get me out of here. Take me to a hospital. The London Clinic. They
’
ll know how to fix me up.”

“A hospital?”

“Yes, after that, I
’
ll give you everything you want. Names. Addresses. Accomplices. Their wives and kids hiding in Europe and America. I
’
ll show you how to take them out and hit them where it hurts. Even Leviathan, I still have access to the building. We could get the pass codes and loot the whole damn thing and split it fifty-fifty. This is my job, Sam.
I can help you.
”

Sam leaned over him with venomous eyes and touched the red dial on the drip.

“All right, all right!”

“Everything.”

Adly, swallowed hard. The foul taste in his mouth was stronger than ever. “You really want to know?”

Sam didn
’
t say anything, but Adly knew the jig was up.

“Because you were the greediest one we found, Sam. Hungry enough to really want the money. And arrogant enough to believe you were special and indispensable. And an outsider to the security software community. Anyone else would have turned us in. You, on the other hand, were the kind of guy who wouldn
’
t ask any questions, let alone the wrong ones.”

“Then why did you have to silence me? You sent me to Sharm El Sheikh to die. It was a trap.”

Adly chuckled like an adorable kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and then proceeded to justify just how delicious those cookies really were.

“Do you have any idea how much money we
’
re talking about? The real estate locked in Leviathan? Billions. Not millions. Billions.”

Sam challenged that logic. “But you said yourself I was chosen for my discretion.”

“My former employers didn
’
t get to control a country of one hundred million people for more than thirty years by leaving themselves exposed. You did a good job and seemed benign enough, but they couldn
’
t risk the fact you had seen their inner workings.”

“And did you think I was a threat, Adly?”

“I tried my best to dissuade them. I liked you, Sam. But in the end, when you
’
ve done this job as long as I have, you understand it
’
s never personal. Just an everyday business decision.”

“You murdered my family. That
’
s personal.”

“You have to see this from their perspective. The moment you were privy to their vulnerabilities, you became an enemy. And in our world, it
’
s a zero-sum game when it comes to adversaries. George Bush said it best,
‘
you
’
re either with us, or against us
’
.”

A rush of confidence rumbled through his body, raising his voice a few decibels. Sam had always been malleable. Just like the old days, he would know exactly how to fuck with this mind, and with any luck, could very well dig himself out of this hole.

Sam
’
s face was stone-cold. He had no expression.

“What about my family, Adly? You could have spared my wife and children. They had nothing to do with this.”

“No margin for error, Sam. Pillow talk would have eventually filtered down through your wife to the rest of the word. Women are like that, if you know what I mean.”

“And my children? A five-year-old girl and a toddler. What possible risk did they present to your bosses?”

“It had to be inconspicuous.”

“Why?”

“I couldn
’
t just hire a big black guy to mug and shoot you and your wife in the parking lot of the Toluca Lake Trader
Joe’s
. Questions would be asked. Alarm bells would go off.
Who did they know? Who did they work for?
A terrorist attack in the Middle East however, removes any suspicion.”

“And the other innocent people who had to die? Collateral damage so Leviathan could be protected?”

“You still don
’
t get it, do you, Sam? Looks like I have to spoon-feed you everything, just like the old days. The attack wasn
’
t just planned for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“The entire resort was teeming with people my bosses wanted neutralized. Russian businessmen who
’
d screwed us over in the Balkans. Faggoty liberals with aspirations to run against the president in
‘
free and fair elections.
’
And the list goes on. So don
’
t flatter yourself.”

“That
’
s what it was all about—settling scores?”

“Not exactly. The score-settling was a nice little bonus.”

“Who are you people? Bombing your own country. Killing innocent people and devastating your economy. For what?”

“I
’
ve given you enough information to have your peace, Sam. So just let it go. Find yourself a new missus, make new kids and start over. It
’
ll be like nothing ever happened.”

His eyes red with fury, Sam got up and started adjusting the drip controls.

“What are you doing?” Adly
’
s heart pounded faster now.

Sam said nothing.

“Sam, you
’
re not thinking straight. I have nothing to lose. A dead man walking. I just want to protect you. If I tell you what you need to know, you
’
ll end up doing something stupid and getting yourself killed.”

“Protect
me
? Ha! See this red dial? It
’
s a timer. I can either set it to kill you in five minutes so you won
’
t feel much pain. Or I can set it to end your miserable life in ten minutes. You
’
ll get to live a little longer, but you
’
ll feel every cell of your body breaking down. They say it
’
s like you
’
re burning slowly on the inside. Unimaginable pain.”

“Fine. Fine—I
’
ll speak! But don
’
t put your nose where it doesn
’
t belong. Just because they
’
re behind bars, it doesn
’
t mean they can
’
t reach you.”

“They
’
re on to me, already. Staking out my old house in Los Angeles. They nearly killed a federal agent there. But none of this matters to me. I too am a dead man. You already killed me once in Sharm El Sheikh.”

Adly looked away and transported himself to a different place, a different time. His chest heaved up as he sighed deeply.

“It was a message. A pull of the ear. A business partnership of the titans gone sour. The franchise of the Spring Roy Sharm El Sheikh is owned by a man called Hassan Islam. A powerful tycoon. The big guy in town. Most of the luxury resorts in the city belong to him. As well as the desalination plant, the private hospital, and the airport operation rights.”

“Did he also die in the attack?”

“No. He
’
s alive and well. He
’
s also the second biggest arms importer in the country, after the Mubaraks. He
’
s fled the country now, living in Spain or somewhere, last I heard.”

“They were competitors?”

“No, partners actually. A few years before the attack, he and my boss had maneuvered a dirty deal to pocket a commission from the sale of natural gas from the Arab Pipeline. To Israel, no less.”

Sam wasn
’
t blinking. His eyes were laser sharp and focused on Adly.

“Go on.”

“The Mubaraks didn
’
t have the balls to reveal they were selling gas to the
‘
enemy.
’
The transactions happened under the table, and the profits were free for all. The Israelis wanted to do it clean and in the light. A clear sign the peace treaty between us was real, and worth the paper it was written on.”

“And?”

“My bosses wouldn
’
t have it. This had to be off the grid and out of the national coffers.”