“I will have my day of vengeance. You will be mine. By Allah it will come to pass.” Wiping spittle off his chin, he grabbed the remote and punched the power button. He could no longer stomach the endless story of the man who belonged to him, but was once more tantalizingly out of his grasp. Smoothing his disheveled hair, he struggled to regain his composure. Drawing in quick breaths, he thought about how much he loathed the United States with its precious democracy, spawning undisciplined, incompetent fools with no accountability to anyone. A fiasco such as this would never have been allowed in his homeland. When this despicable country and its immoral, filthy culture fell to Islamic rule, on that day, he would rejoice.
* * *
Michael looked at Gabriel’s brooding face as they walked toward the vast warehouse that housed and concealed the covert accoutrement of their lives. “You know Rowan will pull out of this, Gabriel. Once he’s up and around, he’ll be his old self again, you’ll see.”
His phone rang and he stopped, looking at the unfamiliar number in surprise. “This is Ghost Rider. Identify yourself, NOW.” He listened intently. “What do you want, special agent? You aren’t supposed to have this number, and I don’t appreciate you calling.”
Poised outside the yawning door that opened into the interior of the warehouse, Michael leaned against the warm steel wall, shaded his eyes from the sun with one hand and gripped the phone with the other. Gabriel looked at him expectantly and he put a hand over the phone. “It’s that FBI special agent – the younger one, Chad.”
Scowling, he listened as Chad started talking again. “What do you mean? How did you figure that out? Tell you where he is?” He slammed his fist against the steel siding and stabbed the toe of his boot into the ground. “I don’t think so. Listen to me. You want to help Rowan? You let us take care of things and stay the hell out of this.”
Gabriel put a hand on his arm and mouthed What’s going on? He snorted and covered the phone again. “Chad insists he can help us because he’s such a great hacker. He’s being a real prick about it too.”
Gabriel shook his head, gesturing with his fingers across his throat. “Michael, tell the special agent you’ll call him back in five minutes.”
Much as he hated to admit it, when Gabriel called him Michael instead of amigo, he needed to listen. “Special agent, give me five minutes and I’ll call you back.” He stuffed the phone in the front pocket of his jeans and glared at his colleague. “What? You think we should let him help us?”
Gabriel sighed in what he could only guess was irritation. “Michael, think about it. It’s just you and me. We can’t bring in a nurse’s aide to help your mother and we can’t hire any kids off the rez to paint the jet. We can’t because nobody can find out that we’re harboring a man wanted by the FBI, CIA and every Islamic organization on the planet. I think maybe we could use some help from Chad and the other guy, Rowan’s boss.” Gabriel rolled his eyes. “C’mon Michael – so the gringo’s a prick. I’ll be damned. No wonder he got along with Rowan.”
Managing to set his anger aside, he shrugged. “I hate it when you’re right and I’m wrong. His attitude got to me, you know? But I’m not going to tell him where we are. He can help from Sioux Falls for now. Later, if it becomes necessary, we’ll tell him. Sound all right to you?”
Gabriel nodded and punched him lightly on the arm. “You’re a smart man, Michael. Call him back and let’s get started, because it’s going to take a hell of a lot to sort this out and put it right.”
* * *
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Two Weeks Later – Third Week In April
Marta smiled, placing the phone gently in its cradle. What she’d done would nail Danielle. And maybe Rowan Milani would suffer more because of it. He should have known better than to blow her off. Now all she had to do was wait to see what happened. And she must call Muusa. He’d be so happy and proud of her. Besides, he might be able to use Danielle to get to his prize, as he liked to call Rowan Milani.
She giggled as she walked down the concourse. Lots of things could come from her simple phone call to the FBI Regional Office. They’d been extremely interested to know that the missing terrorist had a girlfriend, someone who’d spent every spare minute with him, even after he ended up in the hospital. Remaining anonymous by calling from the phone at gate six, she’d told them about how much time he’d spent digging through Legacy’s passenger records and how he’d seen the sterile area of the airport. Of course, she’d told them about the trip to Chicago, too. She rubbed her hands together… this would be fun.
* * *
Clifton Cantor, III, frowned and scribbled notes as he listened to his only son. At fifty-eight, he took care of himself and knew he still looked good. With blonde hair going gracefully to silver and the same clear blue eyes as his son, he maintained a trim six foot two inch frame. After devoting his life to the quiet acquisition of wealth and influence, he enjoyed the effective wielding of both in the causes, political and otherwise, that he deemed worthy. Most people called that lobbying, but he called it getting things done in a civilized manner.
Chad sat across from him at the massive desk in his Georgetown office, rubbing bloodshot eyes. “You know, Dad, things fell apart so fast we didn’t have time to plan. One day we were waiting while Rowan recuperated and the next – all hell broke loose. But I’m telling you, I had to resign. Something’s not right at the Bureau. Somebody somewhere got a lot of money to hand Rowan over to Muusa Shemal, and I’m hoping you can make some inquiries. I’m determined to get Rowan out of this, and I’m going to marry his sister.”
Chad paused to yawn and then continued. “Thanks for getting things rolling at the estate. If only we could have completed the repairs before all this happened. And I know we’ve covered this, but you’re absolutely certain tracing us to Kauai would be impossible?”
Steepling his fingers in front of him, he contemplated his son. “You’ve got a lot on your plate, Chad and I’m happy to help you and your friends. As a matter of fact, I’m having dinner with the president next week. I’ll start there with some discreet probing and work my way down the chain of command. As far as the estate, I’ve hired independent investigators on several different occasions. None of them have been able to find any hint that the property exists. It is deeded in your mother’s grandmother’s maiden name, in case you’ve forgotten. What’s your timeline for moving your friends out there? And do tell me about your, ah…fiancée. I’m most interested in that, I must confess.”
It relieved him to see Chad smile, some of the strain dropping away from his son’s worried face. “Her name is Bettina and you know – I saw her and fell in love.” Chad snapped his fingers, making him smile, too. “It happened that fast. We decided to work on a long-distance relationship, but I know I’m going to marry her. She’s beautiful and smart, and I miss her terribly.”
Chad leaned forward, his face hardening. “Anyway, regarding the estate… The repairs you requested are progressing. Ralph contacted Rowan’s parents and they’ve finalized their affairs. Ralph’s wife Marion can’t wait, and Bettina is ready as well. I haven’t had a chance to talk to Danielle yet, but that’s my next project. Once we’ve removed every possible lever the FBI or CIA could use to force Rowan out of hiding, I’ll talk to his colleagues about moving him. They won’t tell me where he is, but that’s fine.” Chad looked at him and smirked. “If I don’t know, I can’t be forced to tell anyone. When I get everything and everyone in place, we can focus our resources and energy on taking down Muusa Shemal and clearing Rowan’s name.”
Amazed at the enormity of what his son proposed to do for his friend, he nodded slowly. “Are you confident of the team you’ve got in place to accomplish all this?”
Chad smiled and Clifton could see the enthusiasm in his son’s face, despite the obvious weariness. “I couldn’t have a better team, Dad. Ralph’s in for sure and so are Rowan’s colleagues. No worries on that end. I appreciate whatever help you
can give us.”
Giving Chad a sharp nod, he glanced at his watch and stood up. “You can count me in with whatever you need. Stay in touch and keep me informed. Right now, unfortunately, I’ve got to attend a hearing on the Hill. But we’ll talk soon. And son, it’s good to see you.”
* * *
Danielle rested her chin in her hands, elbows on the table as she sat in the kitchen with her second cup of coffee. It was ten o’clock in the morning, warm sunlight poured in through the patio door and just like every other morning, she couldn’t get moving. The inescapable, brutal fact that Rowan was gone left her drifting and apathetic. Despite her brave words to him at the hospital, reality had crashed through the hope in her heart and she knew – she would never see him again.
Shoving the coffee cup aside, she laid her head in her arms. Legacy had reluctantly accepted her resignation, and she’d forced herself to clean out her office, relieved that she could get away from the airport and its memories of the man she’d loved so briefly. Still loved, she thought fiercely. Sitting up, she laid her hands flat on the table and took a deep breath. What if she called her parents? Then she remembered the day she’d told Rowan the story of how her mother met redheaded Dr. Charlie Evans while working part-time as a college student at Seattle’s first Starbucks. He’d laughed with such pleasure. Oh God…her parents would have loved him too.
Grabbing her coffee, she took a long swallow and resigned herself to the painful memories. He’d asked her one day, dark eyes curious and playful, why her last name was Stratton instead of Evans. Embarrassed, she’d stuttered and blushed and finally admitted that she’d been married once – for six months, ten years earlier, to a Legacy captain named Jeffrey Stratton, who flew Boeing 777’s on an overseas route between Chicago and Amsterdam.
The brief whirlwind of romance and marriage had ended when she flew to Amsterdam to surprise him, only to find him bedded down with the lead flight attendant. They divorced and she’d never bothered to change her name. Rowan had kissed her, told her he was sorry. Goose bumps rose on her arms as she remembered him asking whether Jeffrey had ever hurt her. For a few moments he’d become a different man, one she didn’t know, with ruthless eyes and a hard face. Inexplicably frightened, she’d rushed to assure him that Jeffrey’s only sin was infidelity and that he’d never laid a hand on her.
Rubbing the chill from her arms, she decided to take Shasta for a walk and then call her mother. After retiring, her parents had sold their house and began wandering the country year-round in a huge motor home. Tugging on her ponytail, she thought about how happy they were. Always encouraging and unfailingly kind, they’d been her biggest cheerleaders. They’d be ecstatic if she wanted to travel with them for a while.
If she asked, they would help her sell the house. Or, if Derek was interested, he could buy or rent it. She sighed. One day, maybe she would be able to put her life back together and move on, like she knew Rowan wanted her to. But she would never love anyone else, and the emptiness would be with her forever.
A sharp knock at the front door shattered the silence, and she jumped, sending the coffee cup wobbling. Shasta commenced barking and she sighed again. She didn’t want company. Another knock, louder than the first dragged her out of the chair and to the front entryway. Hanging onto Shasta’s collar, she pulled open the door. Jax stood on the front step looking unhappy, along with a man in a black suit, white shirt and black tie, holding out an FBI ID and badge. She squinted in the sunlight. “Good morning Jax. Um, hello sir, did you want to come in? Can I help you with something?”
The two men stepped inside, and she apologized for Shasta’s curiosity. The antsy dog snuffled and growled while she yanked on her collar. “Let me put her in the backyard. I’m sorry, she’s not usually so naughty. She needs a walk. Shasta, come on.”
Both men followed her into the kitchen, and she noticed the FBI agent motioning to Jax, who shook his head. What in the world was this about? Jax caught her eye as she shut the door behind the excited dog. “I’m sorry Dani, but we need to ask you to come down to the police station with us.”
The front door slammed and she heard brisk footsteps. Derek strode into the kitchen in his dusty uniform, sweat marks under his armpits. The acrid scent of jet exhaust clung to his clothing. Removing his cap and thrusting fingers through his flattened hair, her friend glared at the two men. “Jax, what’s going on? I heard the FBI was out at the airport looking for Dani. Tell me this doesn’t have something to do with Rowan Milani.”
Jax grimaced. “Dani, I apologize. This is FBI special agent Gary Hawkins, who usually works out of the FBI Regional Office in Minneapolis.”
The man offered her his hand. “Hello, Ms. Stratton. The FBI would like to question you concerning your association with Rowan Milani. We understand that the two of you were quite close.”
Derek started cussing under his breath, and she tossed him a frown of irritation as she grasped special agent Hawkins’ hand in a quick grip, then let go. “Yes, we were very close. I’ll be glad to answer any questions you have, especially if it will help Rowan.”
Special agent Hawkins gave her a shrewd look. “This is about helping yourself, Ms. Stratton. We’d like to leave now, if you don’t mind.”
When the special agent pulled handcuffs from his belt, she gasped and sat down. Shoving aside instant panic, she looked from Jax to special agent Hawkins. “Am I in some kind of trouble because of being Rowan’s friend?”
Jax scratched the graying stubble on his cheek before responding. “Dani, there’s no easy way to say this. After you’re questioned today, the FBI does have the authority to detain you if they deem it necessary. I’m afraid your association with Rowan has left you in a precarious position.”
Derek spoke before she could respond, staring with hands on his hips at Hawkins. “This stinks. I knew that guy was big trouble. Special agent Hawkins, she wasn’t involved with the crap Milani was into. I’ve lived with her for four years, and I’ve known her for over ten. She worked for an airline. We went through 9-11 together. There’s no way she’d ever betray her country.”
Derek’s outburst had given her a chance to regroup. Hoping she looked and sounded convincing, she lifted her chin and stood up, holding out her hands. “OK, I’m ready, let’s go. Arrest me if that’s what you need to do. I’ll be happy to answer any of your questions. I have nothing to hide. Derek, please keep an eye on Shasta for me.”
* * *
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Three Months Later – Third Week In July
Rowan sat cross-legged on a grassy bluff near the edge of a ravine. Gauging the depth of the brush covered slope that dropped almost like a cliff in front of him, he estimated it must be at least several hundred yards to the bottom. Rolling up the sleeves of his blue work shirt, he wiped sweat off his forehead even as it trickled down his chest. Hot and sticky at midmorning, the simmering threat of thunderstorms built steadily in the western sky.
Laying his hands in his lap, he contemplated the scars on his wrists. He hated looking at them, almost as much as he hated the two men who’d caused them. Flexing his hands and then rubbing them vigorously together, he grimaced. Sometimes his fingers tingled and didn’t always work they way they were supposed to. But at least he hadn’t lost the use of his hands entirely.
Eyes closed, head flung back to embrace the sun’s rays, he breathed in the aroma of warm grass and prairie soil. At first he’d thought he was losing his mind, because he relived the trauma of hanging from the meat hook by his wrists every night. The faces of the two agents haunted him when he woke in the darkness, heart pounding while he waited, straining to hear heavy footsteps coming down the hall.
Georgia Cristo had noticed the dark circles under his eyes and explained Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Of course she wanted to help him. But nothing could make him tell her about his experience at the hands of the two men. As far as he was concerned, once he killed them, the nightmares would end and so wou
ld the stress.
Thinking about Georgia, his lips twisted in a rueful smile. She was a good woman, a good person, and had persisted in calling him Mr. Milani from day one. Earnest brown eyes boring into his, she’d told him that she didn’t want him to lose his dignity. He’d laughed and she’d been offended. No matter how many ways he tried to explain it, she couldn’t understand that he’d already lost so much more than his precious dignity.
Georgia had fed and bathed him while his wrists and foot healed inside the casts and while his right shoulder was immobilized in an awkward sling. She encouraged him, got him to laugh once in a while and offered uncomplicated friendship. At the direction of her doctor husband, he worked on endless therapy for his hands, wrists and shoulders, walked everywhere to strengthen his left foot and hoped he might walk without a limp someday. The couple had devoted their time and resources to saving his life. He could never repay them.
Picking up a stick, he stabbed it into the dirt. Distant thunder rumbled and he looked up, saw dark swaths of rain dipping from low black clouds. It still looked miles away, but he could smell it on the light breeze. Flinging the stick over the edge of the ravine, he let his head hang and closed his eyes. A thin line of sweat made its way down the side of his face. Hopelessness settled over him like a suffocating cloud.
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