by Alex Ander
Chapter 18: Throbbing
6:09 a.m. (Mountain Time)
Abigail’s eyelids opened and closed in brief intervals. Her blurred vision sharpened and the familiar dimly lit room came into view. Her head was throbbing and her shoulders felt stiff. Her arms were stretched above her head. Lowering them a few inches, she heard the rattle of steel chain links rubbing against the vertical slats of the bedframe. Handcuffs.
“They drugged you again, Abby. How are you feeling?” Layla was handcuffed to the bed in the same manner as her friend. The girls were lying face-to-face on the narrow bed in the storage room.
Shaking her head several times, Abigail struggled to focus her thoughts. Her voice was quiet and her words were slurred. “Layla, is that you? My head is killing me.”
“You’re lucky…no, we’re both lucky to be alive. I’m surprised they didn’t kill us as soon as they caught us escaping.”
Abigail’s face twisted, while she adjusted her body on the bed to relieve the pain coming from her right side. She had no clue how long she had been unconscious. Her sense of time had been distorted, having been drugged on two occasions. What day is it? She could not tell if it was day or night. All she knew was she was back where she had started. Replaying Layla’s words in her mind, the details of what had happened came back to her. “Layla, are you okay? Did they hurt you?”
“No, I’m all right.” She cocked her head backward and tugged on her restraints. “These cuffs are cutting into my wrists, though.” She tried to ease some of the pressure, but the handcuffs were securely attached.
“Did they drug you, too?”
“No, they just brought me back in here with you. How are you? You’ve been out for quite some time. They must’ve given you a double dose or something.”
“I’ll be fine.” Abigail examined the room. She was tired. Her head and shoulders were hurting, but her mind was searching for a way to escape. “We were so close to getting out. I swear the door was only a few feet away.”
“I know.” Layla shook her head. “I can’t believe I knocked over that vase.”
Abigail thought for a few seconds. “How’d you knock it over, anyway? We were at least ten feet away from the countertop the vase was on.”
Layla made a goofy face and said, “Just clumsy, I guess.” She changed the subject. “So, how are you feeling?”
Abigail cocked her head. “You already asked me that…twice. I’m…fine,” she said slowly. What’s wrong with her? She’s acting weird.
Chapter 19: Stop the Car
8:15 a.m., Washington D.C.
Hardy heard Special Agent Cruz speaking, but she was not talking to him. He could tell she was holding the phone away from her mouth. Her voice got louder when she put the phone against her cheek and spoke to him.
“We found Yamadi.”
“Where is he?” Hardy put his hand on the driver’s shoulder to get his attention. “Stop the car.” The driver brought the SUV to a halt.
“Dahlia traced a call from her target to Yamadi. He’s in Denver. She was only able to pinpoint his location to the city. I had her send the information to Cherry. We’re hoping she can get more.”
Hardy covered the phone with his off hand and got Charity’s attention. He gestured toward her laptop. “Check your email for a message from Cruz or Dahlia.” He took his hand away from the phone. “Where are you now, Cruz?”
“We’re still in New York, but we’re on our way to you. I’m going to see if I can contact the FBI office here and arrange for a plane to take us to Washington.”
He turned to Charity. “Did you get it?”
“Got it,” she said.
“Can you find out exactly where, in Denver, Yamadi is?”
Charity studied the email’s attachments.
“Cherry?” he said, his voice giving away his impatience.
“Yes, but it’s going to take some time.” She was already taking the information from the email and inputting it into her tracking software.
“How much time?”
“I should have an address in…” she did some quick calculations in her head, “about an hour…maybe less.”
Hardy cranked his head around and glimpsed the jet out the back window. “How far is it to Denver, Cherry?”
Agent Thompkins overheard Hardy’s question and answered. “The Denver field office is less than three hours from D.C., by plane, sir.”
Hardy stared out his window for several moments, thinking of his options. He heard Cruz’s voice.
“Hardy, are you still there?”
“I’m here.” Her voice helped him snap out of his trance. Through the rear view mirror, Hardy got the attention of the driver and jerked his head backward. “Agent Thompkins, take us back to the jet.” Speaking into his phone, he continued his conversation. “Cruz, I want you and Dahlia to get to Denver. Cherry and I will meet you there. We’ll have an address by the time we arrive. I’ll call Jameson and have a Hostage Rescue Team waiting for us at the airport. Be ready to hit the ground running.”
“See you in Denver.” Cruz ended the call.
Hardy jumped out of the SUV and jogged toward the jet. The flight crew was pulling up the stairs. He stopped them, boarded the jet and talked to the pilot.
“I can’t do that, sir. I have orders to return to New York.”
Hardy had his phone in his hand, dialing Jameson’s number. “What if I can get your orders changed?”
The pilot shrugged. “If that happens, I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
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Thirty minutes later, Hardy and Charity were buckled in their seats aboard the jet, taxiing down the runway. Jameson had made some phone calls and the pilot was now taking his passengers to Denver, Colorado. Hardy grasped the armrests of his seat, when the jet’s engines roared and the plane shot forward, rapidly gaining speed. Hardy was not afraid to fly; however, he had mixed feelings about the takeoffs. While the sudden rush of speed was exciting, he knew takeoffs and landings were the most dangerous part of any flight.
An hour after the plane had departed and leveled-off, Hardy’s phone rang. He did not recognize the number. “Hardy,” he said.
“Hardy, this is Director Burroughs of the Secret Service. I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”
“Director Burroughs,” said Hardy, trying to disguise the surprise in his voice. “No, not at all—what can I do for?”
“I got to thinking about your concerns over why Abigail and Layla were skiing in a restricted. My focus gradually shifted to Layla and her possible involvement in the kidnapping.”
Hardy sat straighter in his seat.
“I knew it was a longshot, but I set loose several agents, tracking down everything they could on her. Anyway, I wanted you know what we discovered.”
Hardy was so focused on his conversation with Burroughs he did not hear Charity trying to get his attention. “What did you find?”
Burroughs pushed around some papers on her desk. She found the one she wanted. “Layla is not Layla.”
Chapter 20: Uncomfortable
6:28 a.m. (Mountain Time)
For the last fifteen minutes, Abigail had been thinking about her and Layla’s escape attempt, intermittently quizzing Layla and not getting straight answers. Abigail reviewed the events in her mind, leaving her with more questions than answers. Layla was the one who had wanted to ski in the restricted area. How did she know about the break in the boundary fence? Why didn’t she check on the man lying on the trail? She let me approach him first. Abigail closed her eyes and shook her head. If she could have reached her sore eyes, she would have rubbed them. Maybe, I’m not thinking clearly.
More time passed and Abigail could not shake the nagging feeling. “Layla, I have to know. How did you hit that vase? It’s bugging me. You were right behind me and we were nowhere near it. You would’ve had to go out…of…your…way…” Abigail’s voice trailed off, the loose ends in her mind falling into place lik
e the tumblers on a lock. Her stomach churned, while she stared at Layla.
Seeing the sudden recognition on Abigail’s face, Layla’s demeanor changed and her facial features hardened. She fumbled around in her thick hair and produced a small key. Slipping it into the keyhole in one of the handcuffs, she turned the key and the cuff opened. She did the same thing to the second handcuff before standing and gawking at Abigail. “You’re just too smart for your own good, Abby.” Layla walked to the door and pounded on it. She took a few steps backward, rubbing her wrists. The door opened and more light spilled into the room, forcing Abigail to squint. A man of Middle-Eastern origin appeared behind Layla and spoke to her in a foreign language.
“We’re packing up. We need to leave as soon as possible,” said Yamadi.
“What happened?” asked Layla. “We weren’t supposed to leave for another six hours.”
“Our man in New York called me on my cell phone. We can’t take the chance the communication slipped past the surveillance agencies.” He pointed at Abigail. “What about her?”
Layla rotated her head toward Abigail. “She’s figured out who I am.”
Yamadi shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t matter at this point. Just make sure she understands her safety depends on her cooperation.”
Layla spun her head toward Yamadi. Her concern must have been evident, because he observed her before re-assuring her that everything was still on track. “That’s good.” She motioned toward Abigail with her thumb. “I’ll get her ready to go.”
Yamadi put his hand on Layla’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We will succeed.” After a short pause, he added, “Allah is proud of you, Calista.”
After Yamadi had left the room, Calista strolled toward Abigail, stopping near the edge of the bed. Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she spoke in English. “Oh, Abby…I’m afraid things are going to get uncomfortable for you now.”
Chapter 21: Layla…Calista
Hardy dug his fingertips into his forehead, hoping to relieve some stress. “What do you mean Layla is not Layla?”
“Layla Bassily is actually Calista Nasser, a twenty-year-old Egyptian woman, who spent a year in France after leaving Egypt when she was eighteen. While in France, she worked at a local Antiquities shop that specialized in Egyptian artifacts. Her trail stopped a year ago. It was presumed she had returned to her home country, but we weren’t able to find any evidence of that.”
“How was she able to enter the U.S. as Layla…”
“Bassily,” said Burroughs, helping Hardy with the name. “We’re working on finding that out, but we think Calista got the real Layla to complete the paperwork for the foreign exchange program. Then, Calista forged the photo with a recent picture of herself. We have agents trying to get in touch with the real Layla’s parents and Layla herself.”
Hardy could not believe what he was hearing. “So, a twenty-year-old girl, posing as a teenager, was able to not only circumvent the student exchange process and get into the U.S., but also outsmart the Secret Service, befriend Abigail and get one step away from the President.” Hardy rubbed his face with his free hand. He had been awake for more than twenty-six hours and his eyes were stinging from the lack of sleep. He had been trained to function with little-to-no sleep, but even he had his limitations. He was not a machine. Massaging his eyes, he felt a hand on his left shoulder. He saw Charity mouthing something to him. Speaking into his phone, Hardy said, “Can you hold on a second, Director Burroughs?” He turned his attention toward Charity and raised his eyebrows.
Charity gestured toward her laptop. “I’ve got the address of where Yamadi was when he got the call.”
“Where?” asked Hardy.
“It looks like a small shop in a business district in Denver.”
“Is he still there?”
Charity shrugged her shoulders. “This address is the last known location of his cell phone. The phone went off the grid shortly after Dahlia’s asset made the call to Yamadi. My guess is he either turned off the phone or destroyed it, thinking it may lead us to him.”
“Get that address to Cruz.” Hardy returned to his phone call. “Is there anything else, Director Burroughs?”
“That’s all I have right now. If anything comes up, I’ll let you know.”
It was time for Hardy to share what information he had. “I’m on my way to Denver. We have a lead on a man named Ashar Yamadi. He may be involved in this. We intercepted a phone call between him and one of our assets. There’s something going on, but we’re not sure what it is.”
“Wait a minute.”
Hardy heard her shuffling papers and her voice faded away before coming back again.
“What was that name again?”
“Ashar Yamadi,” said Hardy.
“Son of a…” her voice trailed off.
“What is it, Director Burroughs?”
“Calista Nasser’s mother re-married after her first husband died almost twenty years ago, taking the name of her current husband. Any guesses on the last name of her late husband?”
Hardy already had the answer halfway into Burroughs question. “Yamadi,” he said, letting his head fall back onto the headrest of his seat. “What about any living relatives?”
“Calista has two older brothers.” Burroughs scanned her paperwork. “One is named Ashar.”
Thinking, Hardy spoke under his breath, but loud enough for Burroughs to hear. “Ashar Yamadi is Calista Nasser’s half-brother. This can’t be a coincidence. They have to be involved.”
Burroughs agreed. “I’m going to get everything I can on Ashar Yamadi.”
“You won’t find much, I’m afraid. He’s new to the game and apparently hasn’t left a trail.”
“Still, I need to investigate. Let me know when you’ve confirmed Yamadi’s location.”
Hardy got Charity’s attention, as well as the last known location of Yamadi’s cell phone. “I have it right here.” He passed along the information to Burroughs with some final words. “Don’t do anything, until I get there. I want in on this operation. My people will be waiting for me when I land in Denver.” Receiving Burroughs’ word that she would hold off on initiating an assault, Hardy disconnected the call and told Charity what he had learned.
Hardy checked the time on his phone. He had more than an hour before the plane landed in Denver. With nothing left to do, except wait, he asked the flight attendant for a couple of blankets and pillows. When she returned with them, he took one of each and motioned toward Charity. The flight attendant handed the remaining blanket and pillow to Charity. Reclining in his seat, he put the pillow behind his head and covered up with the blanket. He had been trained to get sleep whenever and wherever it was possible. Sometimes, he could sleep and sometimes it was difficult. This was not going to be one of those difficult times. Less than five minutes after closing his eyes, he was asleep.
Chapter 22: Denver
9:45 a.m. (Mountain Time); Denver, Colorado
Denver International Airport (DIA) is the largest airport in the United States in terms of land area and the sixth busiest in the U.S. in traffic with more than fifty-four million passengers. DIA also boasts the longest runway in the country at sixteen thousand feet. One hundred and thirty-three gates are spread over three concourses. The passengers of the Gulfstream V that had just landed were not headed for any of them.
Special Agent Cruz and Dahlia descended the stairs attached to the jet and hurried toward one of two black SUV’s. Cruz opened the front passenger door and got in, while Dahlia climbed into the back seat behind Cruz. When the women were inside and had their seatbelts on, Hardy put the SUV in ‘drive’ and drove away from the jet. The second SUV, with a four-man FBI Hostage Rescue Team inside, followed.
Hardy saw Dahlia and Charity in the rear view mirror. The two women had not been officially introduced to each other. “Charity, meet Dahlia…Dahlia meet Charity. Charity is the team’s Information and Technology Specialist. Any questions on computers and intelligence, sh
e’s the go-to person.”
Charity twisted her upper body and held out her right hand. “Pleased to meet you,” she said with a smile.
Dahlia shook her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.” After a few seconds of studying Charity, Dahlia added, “If you’re the computer genius, then am I safe to assume it was you who tracked me down back in New York, two months ago.”
Charity affirmed Dahlia’s assumption.
“That was nice work. I have some experience with computers, too. May I ask how you did it?”
“First, I tried my facial recognition software, but you never faced any of the surveillance cameras.”
Now it was Dahlia’s turn to smile.
“Once Hardy identified you by your clothing, I used the cameras to find you getting into your vehicle. I was able to get a partial plate number, which I ran through the DMV in California and got lucky; only one Jeep Renegade matched the partial plate.”
Dahlia nodded. “Nice,” she said. “You said your facial recognition software…” she let her voice trail off, waiting for clarification.
“I’m also a programmer. The software was something I’ve been tinkering with for a few years. Working with the FBI, I’ve been able to finish it and put it to good use.”
Overhearing their conversation, Hardy glimpsed the women through the mirror. They seem to be hitting if off. “I hate to break you two up,” Hardy cranked the steering wheel to the left and navigated the SUV into traffic, “but we need to focus on the mission.”
Dahlia leaned toward Charity and whispered to her. “I’d love to see your work some time, if you don’t mind.”
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