by Tim Tigner
Knowing that the parking lot would be the easiest place to take me out, I ran for the beach. Fast and hard but not so emphatically as to arrive short of breath.
I spotted my targets almost instantly. They were a couple of hundred yards to the north.
Late morning on a weekday was not a crowded time for most local beaches, and Stuart was no exception. Up that way, near the multimillion-dollar homes, they were practically alone. Three figures. Two darker skinned and one dearly beloved.
Time for the most important meeting of my life.
96
The Unexpected
Twenty Minutes Earlier
Florida
FOR WHAT WOULD BE her last ride as a captive—come what might—Katya was back in her damsel-in-distress uniform. Sitting sandwiched between Oz and Sabrina in the back seat of the Charger, nervously stroking the explosive belt, she prayed the revealing red top would still be adjacent to her cutoff jeans in an hour.
Her captors actually did buy bathing suits, changing in the curtained corner of a surf shop while Omar and Shakira watched over her.
As Oz and Sabrina returned to the car, Katya couldn’t help but note that they made a very attractive couple. So lean, fit and energetic. She with flowing dark hair and he with glowing dark eyes. What did they need that they didn’t already have? What troubled them enough to kill for? After her talk with Sabrina, Katya knew it was nothing spiritual.
Up front, with an ominous big backpack snugged between them, Omar and Shakira were wearing casual clothes. Where would they be during the exchange? More importantly, what would they be doing? Katya had struggled to divine some clue to that question, to discern some hint or innuendo, but with the clock nearly run out, she had exactly nothing.
The Charger’s trunk was full. Katya could tell by the way it rode. Probably not an anesthetized body this time. Probably the suitcases she’d seen in the barn. This had the feel of being their last stop.
It certainly would be hers.
They pulled into the public parking lot for Stuart Beach, a county park. Omar stopped the car at the trailhead, next to the handicapped spots.
Oz, Sabrina and Katya got out.
No one was around.
Oz hopped on the phone, presumably to call Achilles. “Stuart Beach. Got that? Stuart Beach. Should take you twenty minutes. See that it doesn’t take twenty-one.”
Oz hung up and spoke to Omar in Arabic through the open window. Although Katya was dying to know what they were saying, she couldn’t grasp a single word.
Omar then handed Oz a black box and a silver key. The objects that had been the subjects of Katya’s nightmares and dreams. At least that was a good sign.
The Charger drove off, and the three former bunker inmates started toward the sand.
Oz held a cell phone in one hand and the little black box in the other. Sabrina held nothing. Katya too, held nothing. But she was wearing the belt.
So what was Oz’s plan? Katya tried to pierce the veil of the presented scenario as they walked toward the water, but couldn’t come up with anything beyond the obvious. Technically, he was complying with the rules of the exchange.
Katya began to get her hopes up that he really was honorable. Misguided and extreme, but a man of his word. She desperately wanted to believe it.
There was plenty of supporting evidence. His behavior in the bunker. The fact that he hadn’t been unnecessarily cruel. Their intellectual discussions.
But she didn’t truly believe it.
Oz was clearly obsessed with secrecy. And both she and Achilles were loose ends.
They walked north, away from the already sparsely populated sand near the trail, toward the virtually abandoned stretch fronting lavish and widely spaced private residences.
Oz stopped at a place near no one and no structure, a blind spot as it were. The three of them turned to look back toward their tracks and waited for Achilles.
They didn’t speak. They just breathed and baked and watched.
And then he came. Running.
Katya’s heart filled with love and pride as she saw the athletic figure bounding effortlessly toward them across the sand. Was that his plan? Just run and tackle Oz, crushing him like a tick beneath the tire of a sports car?
“That’s close enough!” Oz called, holding up the box, the key clasped between the first joints of two fingers, his thumb poised atop the red rocker.
Achilles slowed but kept walking, his eyes active as windshield wipers during a downpour. He held a cell phone in his left hand. His right fist was clenched.
“Are you okay?” he asked her, stopping just six feet out.
“Careful!” Oz warned. “Don’t blow it.”
“Same as last time,” Katya replied.
“Show me the medal,” Oz said.
Achilles raised his right hand and produced the gold bauble like a magician with a coin.
Oz smiled and handed Sabrina his cell phone, freeing a hand. “A fair exchange. My treasure for yours.” He took a step forward with the box and key extended like a handshake. His thumb still on the toggle.
Achilles mirrored his pose with the medal, then closed the gap.
“First the medal,” Oz said. “You’re bigger than I am.”
Katya expected Achilles to object, but he raised his hand like a man about to play a winning card.
Picking up on the air of confidence, Oz cautiously raised his black box back out of reach before extending his open palm.
Achilles slapped the medal down. He left his palm atop Oz’s, sandwiching the precious trinket between their grips.
He met Oz’s eyes.
The two stood that way, staring silently at each other for what felt like forever, while Katya barely breathed. Then, faster than Katya could comprehend, Achilles somehow whipped Oz around. Before she knew it, Oz’s back was to Achilles’ chest and Achilles’ back was to the ocean. Achilles had the medal-holding hands pinned between their bodies and the black box-holding hands clamped against Oz’s heart.
Katya screamed.
Sabrina screamed.
Oz yelled, “What are you doing? Are you crazy?”
97
Black Box
Florida
KATYA ALMOST SHOUTED the same questions as Oz. Was Achilles crazy? Had the stress finally broken him? Had the threat to her so twisted his heart that it cut off the blood to his brain?
Surely not.
Surely he was somehow, some way, a single invisible, inconceivable, unbeatable step ahead.
If only she could rotate the belt. Then she wouldn’t be stuck standing there like a dumbstruck damsel-in-distress. Then she could pounce on Sabrina and press the bomb to her spine. But in that regard, Oz was one step ahead—thanks to the superglue.
“Your plan failed,” Achilles growled.
Oz said, “Release me immediately, and I’ll let her live. Don’t make me press the toggle. Her blood will be on your hands.”
“Go ahead,” Achilles said. “Expose your last card.”
“No!” Katya said. “Don’t! Achilles, what are you doing? I don’t trust them either, but I know the box works.”
Achilles didn’t look at her. He kept his gaze on the bordering vegetation. “How many of them are there?”
Katya answered, “Two. Oz’s brother and Sabrina’s sister.”
Achilles smiled, as if that made sense. As if it somehow vindicated a core conclusion. “What kind of guns do they have?”
“The kind that fit in a backpack, I think.”
“You haven’t seen a long gun?”
“No.”
Achilles looked at Sabrina long enough to issue a command. “Call them. Tell them to come here. With their guns still in the backpack.”
“Enough!” Oz said. “I’m going to count down from three, then I’m going to turn Katya’s spine into shrapnel. Then my gunmen are going to come out here and escort us safely away while you wail and mourn over the two halves of her bloody corpse.”
Ka
tya couldn’t believe she was actually living the nightmare. The literal countdown to the end of her life. With Achilles standing by.
He wouldn’t even look at her. His eyes were back on the trees bordering the beach.
She turned toward Sabrina, who wore a similarly surprised expression. As their eyes met, Sabrina shook her head.
“Three!” Oz said.
“You were very insistent that I tell no one about the medal,” Achilles said, his voice and gaze unwavering. “You had to, of course, but that was what did it.”
“Did what?” Oz asked, voicing Katya’s question.
“Convinced me that you’d never let me get away. There was no way I could unsee it.”
Oz rolled his eyes. “It’s not a question of seeing. It’s a question of having. That medal has great sentimental value to my family. Receiving it was a great honor.”
“All true, I’m sure. But you wouldn’t risk everything to reclaim it. Unless it could ruin everything. Your whole plan.”
“That’s ridiculous. It’s just a piece of metal. Precious metal. Symbolic metal. But metal nonetheless.”
“Yes, with a serial number. A traceable history. It identifies the recipient. It also marks you as Saudi Arabian, not Maltese.”
“Enough games,” Oz said, turning red. “Two!”
“So I asked myself, what foolproof means could you conjure up to ensure that I died with your secret? Your first thought was probably to lure me into a trap. A kill box. The crosshairs of a sniper rifle. But you knew I’d anticipate that. And you knew Katya would try to tip me off. So what was left? What clever trick? What sneaky deception?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Oz proclaimed.
But Katya saw that he did, and her stomach relaxed a little.
Then Achilles revealed the conclusion that made everything clear. All his actions up to that point. “The box I’m pressing against your heart. It’s not the black box. It’s a second bomb.”
Katya felt the muscles around her eyes and jaw slacken. She saw that Sabrina, too, was completely surprised.
“So here’s what we’re going to do,” Achilles continued. “Sabrina is going to call your siblings here, with their guns in their bag. They’re going to set the bag down. Then Sabrina is going to remove the real black box and set it on the ground. Then one of them will take the bag to the parking lot while the other disarms the bombs. Which one is the technician?”
“The brother,” Katya said.
“I think not,” Oz hissed. “Best they come here with their guns in their hands. It’s a bit more messy, but you still lose. You might snap my neck, you might not, but Katya will surely die.”
Achilles ignored the protest. “Once the five of us are alone with no guns present, and Katya is freed from the belt, then I’ll tell Sabrina where her sister can find the medal. When she reports having it in her hands, you walk away.”
Katya immediately grasped the logic of splitting them up that way. It created balance. If Achilles were to attack Oz and Omar while she grappled with Sabrina, Shakira would come running with the guns. That was the Saudis’ safeguard. On the other hand, if the Saudis tried to renege, she and Achilles could run away faster than Shakira could bring her guns to bear. That was their safeguard.
What Katya didn’t get was the talk about finding the medal. It was in Oz’s hand.
Oz smiled. He’d clearly reached the same conclusion. “Nice try, but they already know where to find the medal. They’ve been watching us through binoculars. They know it’s in my left hand.”
Achilles powered Oz’s left hand around in front of his face, then slid his grip down onto Oz’s wrist. “Is it?”
Oz stared at the object now exposed in his hand. “A fake!”
“Do we have a deal?”
98
Just In Time
Florida
STARING DOWN AT THE DUPLICATE, Oz almost laughed through his tears at the irony. Beaten at his own game. Outmaneuvered with a swap he hadn’t seen coming.
Now it was Shakira running to the parking lot, rather than him and Sabrina.
Soon Omar would be disarming his little black boxes, rather than triggering them.
Then Achilles and Katya would walk away, rather than being blown away.
Was there nothing Oz could do to stop it? No trick he could pull? No force he could apply? Think, Osama. Think!
Omar approached, tool bag in hand, somehow looking simultaneously defiant and defeated.
“I’m in the parking lot,” Shakira reported over the speaker on Sabrina’s phone. “Where do I go?”
Achilles, who still had the black box pressed to Oz’s chest, ignored Shakira’s question. “Have Omar disarm the bombs.”
Oz strained his brain in search of leverage, but found none. It wasn’t just the bombs in play, it was Achilles’ superior strength. Oz said, “Omar will disarm Katya’s belt with the key, then you tell Shakira where the medal is. Once she has it in her hand, Omar will remove the belt without tripping the booby traps. Agreed?”
Achilles said, “Agreed.”
Omar opened his bag and extracted a silver key, some wire cutters, and a big pair of scissors.
Ten minutes later, Oz and his team were back in the Charger, with both the real and fake medals in his hands.
Oz could live with the fact that he’d lost a battle but won the war. Yes, his pride was stung and swollen from having been outmaneuvered. Yes, the fact that he would be leaving the country while Achilles and Katya were breathing was unfortunate.
But his plan would still succeed.
Unfortunately, the Americans would now know what had caused the explosions and how the bombs had been planted. That knowledge would assuage the terror and blunt the economic impact.
But the King would be thrilled.
Sensing his internal struggle, Sabrina put her hand on his leg.
“What now?” Omar asked, as they exited the guest parking lot of a neighboring condominium complex.
“No change. The airport in Orlando,” Oz replied.
Omar hit the gas.
“So we’re okay with them alive?” Shakira asked.
“We’re fine,” Oz replied. “Without the medal, Achilles has no proof. That leaves the FBI with two options. Either they choose to believe him, and in so doing, admit their own failure. Or they choose to blame him, and claim to have swiftly delivered justice. Which do you think they’ll choose?”
Nobody answered aloud, but three heads nodded. They understood organizational politics.
“If they go with option one,” Oz continued, “the kingdom’s defenders will just go into overdrive. The lawyers and lobbyists and oil execs will work the boys’ clubs and back rooms, exactly as they did the last time. Without proof, even the FBI can be drowned out.”
“We learned that from 9-11,” Omar added.
“Exactly.”
“What about Uncle Asim?” Shakira asked.
That was a bit trickier question. A complication. On the one hand, if the farmer disappeared this very day without having made any arrangements, it would give credence to Katya’s captivity story. It was what lawyers would call a strong supporting detail. That would be worse for them. On the other hand, if Asim stayed, he would now certainly be picked up. That would be worse for him. And then them—if Asim talked.
Sabrina turned and stared at Oz with fire in her eyes. “Yes, what did you have planned for Asim if we let Katya and Achilles go?”
“It’s no problem,” Oz said without missing a beat. “We’ll have Asim meet us at the plane.”
Oz had paid an old family acquaintance handsomely in cryptocurrency to use his corporate jet to fly them from Orlando to Barcelona. Oz had considered hitting the Caribbean, which was much closer, either as a stepping stone or a temporary hideout. But he decided that a half measure would be too risky. Islands were scarcely populated. Word would get around, and then they’d be easy to find.
Barcelona, by contrast, was a huge nexu
s. A hub for Europe, the Mediterranean, and Africa. And it was as international as cities came. They could easily blend in. And it was only an eight-hour flight away. They’d be on the ground before dawn tomorrow.
Sabrina relaxed at his reply.
As Shakira called Asim with the urgent news, Oz turned his attention to rubbing sticky gunk off his father’s medal. Achilles had duct-taped it under the cover of the fuse box beneath his repainted car’s hood. Oz would have liked to duct-tape Achilles to a car engine and watch him roast. Since that was now unlikely, he’d have to settle for watching thousands of other Americans burn.
Oz checked his watch. Just under four hours.
“How long to the airport?” Sabrina asked.
“Two hours,” Omar and Oz replied in tandem. “We’ll be airborne just in time.”
99
Tight Connections
Florida
I HUGGED KATYA like no man had ever hugged a woman before. I wrapped my arms around her so completely and tightly that I half expected the water within us to merge like two pools, bringing the rest of our bodies along.
Her tears started flowing the instant the key turned in the black box, extinguishing the diode on her belt. I could only imagine what that horror had been like. Living day and night with a guillotine ever hovering over your head.
Then Oz’s older brother went to work removing the belt. I had half a mind to snap every one of his fingers when I saw that he’d glued the burlap to her flesh. But I kept both my control and my focus on target.
Once all that remained on Katya’s waist was a ring of coarse fabric, I had Omar disarm both bombs. He only had wire cutters and a big pair of scissors, but he made do. Clearly, the Saudi expat was good with his evil little hands.
Removing the detonators was important. I wanted the bombs as evidence, not necessarily against Oz, but in support of my story. And I didn’t want to be carrying armed explosives around. I noted that the detonators were homemade. Good enough for Katya’s belt, but obviously Oz hadn’t considered them sufficiently sophisticated or reliable for his big project.