Consummate Betrayal

by Yungeberg. Mary

  Ralph took another quick gander at Rowan and clamped his hands tighter on the wheel. Now that his friend had opened up, there wasn’t much he could say to help him. “Your colleagues are experts at getting you out of dangerous situations, and you know Chad and I will help in any way we can. We’ve got a strategy in place for removing Danielle from harm’s way. Your parents and sister are already safe. I won’t tell you about it. That way, no one can get any information out of you.”

  It pleased him to see a spark of hope in Rowan’s dark eyes. “Thanks, Ralph. I need your help with one other thing. Do you still have my briefcase?”

  Nodding, he frowned at his companion. “Yeah, I’ve got your briefcase, but there’s nothing in it. The contents had to be turned over to the CIA.”

  Rowan’s shoulders drooped. “If they didn’t already find it, there’s another hidden section in the briefcase and it holds an ATM card for a Wells Fargo Money Market account that I set up years ago, under the name of James Hawthorne.” Rowan paused and slanted a pensive smile his way. “I used to play a drinking game I called What If and one night I came up with the idea for an assumed name and identity, just in case.” The smile vanished. “I want you to give the card to Danielle. Michael is creating the paperwork necessary to add her to the account as Mrs. Hawthorne. Over the years I managed to stash over a million dollars in that account, and I want her to have it. And, can you take this for me?”

  Glancing surreptitiously from the two lanes of summer traffic surrounding them, he watched Rowan dig in the front pocket of his jeans. Pulling out what looked like a gold coin with the twin towers etched on it, his friend laid it on the console between the seats. “I’d like you to give this to Danielle the next time you see her. She gave it to me last spring.” Rowan looked at him again, the façade shifted and he saw the naked desperation on his friend’s face. “Please tell her I treasured it, but I can’t keep it now. It’ll just get taken and have its meaning misconstrued somehow. Ask her to keep it for me, OK?” The mask slipped back in place and Rowan turned, faced forward in the seat and closed his eyes.

  They drove on in silence. He wanted to tell the younger man so many things, but none of them seemed appropriate given the situation, so he stayed quiet. Rowan eventually dozed and he let him sleep until he noticed the green Sioux Falls – 12 Miles highway sign. He gently touched his friend’s arm. “Rowan, we’re getting close to Sioux Falls. Let me brief you on what’s going to happen. We’ll go directly to the private side of the airport. The Bureau has a jet standing by.” Rowan nodded, eyes bleary with sleep.

  Gripping the wheel harder, hating what he had to say, he continued. “Sioux Falls S.W.A.T. will be there, thanks to your penchant for escaping from custody. By early afternoon, you’ll be in the brig at Quantico. I’m sorry, once we arrive there, I’m afraid you’ll be out of my reach.” He glanced from the road to his friend. “You need to know this. Ainsley thinks you’re a fertile source of terror-related information. He intends to break you down fairly rapidly.”

  Rowan rubbed his eyes and looked at him, the hard mask of stubborn defiance firmly in place. “Ainsley’s in for a big surprise.”

  * * *

  When Ralph swung the Chrysler off North Minnesota Avenue and down the long drive to the private side of the airport, Rowan drew in deep breaths, trying to slow his pounding heart. Overwhelmed by unreasoning panic, he looked at the steel handcuffs enclosing his wrists. Every time he moved, he felt the weight, saw the padlock, and heard the clanking from the other chain that attached to leg irons. They’d parked at a truck stop near the airport so Ralph could lock the restraints around his waist, wrists and ankles. Closing his eyes, he tried to shove the invading terror aside. He’d made his choice and accepted the consequences.

  The car stopped and he opened his eyes. A Sioux Falls armored S.W.A.T. vehicle sat next to the massive hangar. The back end opened while he watched, disgorging six men in full combat gear, carrying rifles. For God’s sake, did they think he was a one-man terror organization? His heart sank when he looked further and saw three news vans and reporters with microphones trailed by camera lugging companions on the other side of the chain link fence that surrounded the airport. Ralph touched him and he jumped.

  The older man gripped his arm. “I’m sorry, Rowan, but it’s time. As soon as we’re airborne, I’ll get you out of the restraints. Unfortunately, right now I have to play my role…as much as I detest the whole process.”

  Breathless, he jerked his head up and down. “I understand. Let’s just get it over with.”

  Ralph swore, swung open the door and clambered out of the vehicle. The S.W.A.T. team closed around the Chrysler, rifles aimed. He pulled in another quick breath as Ralph opened the passenger side door. His ex-boss had assumed the hard-boiled Navy SEAL persona, eyes hidden behind sunglasses. “Step out of the vehicle please, Mr. Hassani.”

  Not sure how his body would respond, he squinted up at Ralph. His legs moved and he shifted around, swinging them awkwardly to the pavement, leg irons scraping the skin above his ankles. Ralph reached in, took a firm hold on his arm, and spoke in a low voice. “Easy Rowan, I’ve got you. Let me help you out of the car.”

  He didn’t know if he could stand up and walk to the jet. The cuffs, the clanking chains, and the leg irons sent his mind into a tail-spin. Shaking, panic-stricken and powerless to defend himself, he knew he needed to get away, before the two CIA agents came to hang him by his wrists again. But he couldn’t, he’d made the decision…this was what he had to do.

  Ralph pulled him upright and he stood next to the car, swaying back and forth. When the S.W.A.T. team slid closer, rifles poised, ferocious rage swept his errant thoughts aside, and his lips twisted in a sneer. What was wrong with them? Couldn’t they see he was trussed up like a goddamned animal?

  Ralph shoved his sunglasses onto his forehead and looked at him, eyes widening in alarm. “Rowan, son – you gotta shitcan the attitude. Walk with me to the plane, right now. Come on, let’s move.”

  Body rigid, breath coming in short gasps, he glared at Ralph. “Get those bastards out of here. What the hell do they think I’m going to do, call down jihad from the sky?”

  Ralph didn’t let go of his arm, but he swung around. “OK gentlemen, back off. You heard me – roll back, right now. The situation is under control.”

  Jaws clenched, he watched the six men move reluctantly toward their vehicle. Next to him, Ralph sagged and let go of his arm. Sketching a wave at the men, his friend turned to look at him, sweat dripping down the sides of his face. “All right, let’s go. You need to take short steps and let me help you.”

  Rage dissipating as quickly as it had surged, he saw the concern in Ralph’s eyes. He took one step, then another, until they reached the aircraft stairs. Helpless, he stopped and looked at Ralph again. “It’s my foot – it doesn’t bend very well and the chain’s too short. The cuffs – I can’t reach the railings. I’m sorry.”

  Ralph pulled keys from his pocket and crouched down beside him. “Don’t apologize, Rowan. I’ll fix it.” The leg irons fell off his ankles and Ralph stood up. Giving him a gruff smile, his friend unlocked the cuffs and the chain, pulling the clanking restraints away. “There you go. Now take your time and be careful with that foot.”

  Grateful for the simple kindness and humiliated beyond measure, he could only whisper. “Thank you.”

  Ralph squeezed his shoulder. “It’s all right. Now let’s do this before those S.W.A.T. boys have a conniption fit over a loose terrorist.”

  * * *

  Seated across the table from Rodney Ainsley, Muusa Shemal rejoiced. Squeezing his hands together in triumph, he smiled at the televised images of Rowan Milani – in custody again because of his efforts. Let Allah be forever praised. It was a good day for the cause of jihad. Once more the man who had eluded and frustrated him was within his grasp. This time, by Allah’s gracious favor, he would not escape.

  Elated at the ease with which
he’d worked his way into Rodney Ainsley’s confidence over the last five months and how quickly it had paid off, he decided a celebration was in order. Fortunately, the Wynfrey Hotel in Birmingham, Alabama offered an array of dining options that met his epicurean standards. His celebration would commence immediately following his arrival and meeting with the faithful. One of the most intensely devoted groups in the country, the assembly in Birmingham always energized him with their fervor for Allah and jihad.

  Now he could begin the next phase of his plan. Once Rowan Milani had been transferred to his custody, the ghost agent would make his final home in Egypt, where he would pay for his crimes against Allah for many years. The anticipation of such a richly deserved retribution left him breathless with desire. He gazed for a moment longer at the humbled man. The Brotherhood would have its vengeance – at his hand, as Allah’s chosen instrument. It would be his honor to fulfill that destiny.

  Hearing Ainsley clear his throat, he turned his thoughts back to the present and gazed at the man seated across the table in an impeccable black suit and gray silk tie. His manicured hands and bony face with its receding hairline and carefully combed blonde hair made Shemal want to laugh out loud. Creating doubts about Rowan Milani in this kafir’s mind had been ridiculously easy. But he tolerated the man, because of his groveling, subservient attitude.

  Even now, he spoke like a true dhimmi. “Mr. Shemal, I can’t thank you enough for bringing this treasonous man to our attention last winter and assisting with his capture. It will be my pleasure to remand him to your custody, courtesy of the CIA, once I’ve gleaned the information I need. I don’t expect that to take longer than a week. A close colleague of mine in the CIA will conduct his interrogation at Quantico.”

  Shemal smiled indulgently at Ainsley. “Give me Rowan Milani for a day, and you’ll have whatever information you require. The sooner he becomes my possession and resides in my country, the sooner your Intelligence Community will be free of the blight his presence has created.”

  The FBI’s Director smoothed the silk tie and chuckled. “You’ve never met Senior CIA Field Agent Sal Capello. He’s well respected in the Intelligence Community, and I’ve arranged a dinner meeting for the three of us later this week, if you’ll be available. At that time, he can provide an update on how his interrogation is progressing and finalize plans for transport. If the two of you can come to agreeable terms, he’s indicated that he’d be interested in accompanying Hassani to Egypt as a CIA handler.”

  He continued smiling at Ainsley, but in his heart he felt only revulsion. The Americans were all the same. Dollars always mattered more than honor, and for the right price, he could purchase anyone. But so be it. He’d offer the CIA agent more dollars than the kafir would see in a lifetime, if it would ensure that the agent would trust him completely and not listen to anything Rowan Milani might say about his and the Brotherhood’s activities. It was imperative that he gain custody of the crafty jinn as soon as possible. He nodded. “Mr. Ainsley, allow me to speak personally with agent Capello. I will reward him generously, of course. And I will make our dinner a priority. But now, I must continue my travels. Allah has given me many opportunities to reach out to his faithful in this great country.”

  * * *

  Danielle stared in disbelief at special agent Hawkins, sitting across from her at the beat up metal table in the interrogation room. “You mean I can go? It’s all over and you don’t want me anymore?”

  Hawkins mopped the hair off his forehead in a gesture she’d become familiar with. His smile seemed genuine. “That’s correct, Ms. Stratton. You are free to go, no strings attached.”

  When he pushed back his chair and closed the file with her name on it, she stopped him. “Wait. How did this happen? I thought you were charging me with aiding and abetting a terrorist. How can you just suddenly change your mind? I don’t understand. And what’s to stop you from changing your mind again, later?”

  Avoiding eye contact with her, the special agent stood up. “That information is classified, Ms. Stratton. We determined that your connection with Rowan Milani was innocuous. Let me escort you out. I’m sure you want to collect your things and begin enjoying your freedom.”

  Fighting rising anger, she stayed sitting, staring at the FBI special agent who’d grilled her over and over, asking the same questions in endless combinations, changing obscure details to confuse her and trip up her answers. “Special agent Hawkins, I could have told you – well, I did tell you, many times, that my connection to Rowan Milani was as innocent as he is. You ignored me, accused me of lying, and practically of treason. Don’t tell me that the explanation for my release is classified. Just tell me the truth, like I’ve been telling you.”

  Watching the red creep up Hawkins’ neck, she felt some vindication. But when he smiled at her, his mouth had a sarcastic twist. “All right, Ms. Stratton, come with me. I’ll show you why you’re free to go.” He waved her out of the chair and opened the door.

  Following him down a hallway, her trepidation grew. Why had she argued? Why hadn’t she accepted her freedom and left? Hawkins opened a door and motioned her through. Stepping into a small room with a TV on a cart, she turned to look at him. “What’s this about?”

  Grabbing the remote, Hawkins punched buttons. “You might as well see it here. I recorded this just an hour ago.” A video started and she stood, arms crossed, watching a gleaming white Learjet land on what looked like a military base. The jet taxied to a stop and soldiers armed with huge rifles surrounded it. The camera panned closer as the door to the jet opened and the stairs lowered. A man appeared in the doorway, and she gasped. Was that Rowan’s boss, Ralph? It was, and he gestured to the men with rifles. Two of the armed soldiers ascended the stairs and disappeared inside the aircraft.

  Hand over her mouth, she watched wide-eyed as Rowan stepped into view at the top of the air stairs, flanked on either side by a soldier. Unwanted tears filled her eyes as she remembered the first time she’d seen him, standing in the doorway of a private jet. But this time, he was restrained and the soldiers held onto him as he took halting steps down the stairs, head bowed.

  Once on the tarmac, he never looked up and the two soldiers hustled him into the back seat of a black Suburban. It drove away fast, followed by another Suburban. The camera shifted and she saw Ralph standing alone in the doorway of the aircraft, looking forlorn. Wobbly with shock, she leaned against the wall and wiped away the tears that strayed down her cheeks.

  The screen turned to snowy static, and special agent Hawkins stepped in front of the TV. “Well, Ms. Stratton, now you know. Rowan Milani purchased your freedom. Apparently he had an attack of conscience when he heard you were going to be prosecuted. He surrendered in exchange for your release.”

  Staring at the abominable man, she wanted to slap the smug smile from his face. But he wasn’t worth the effort. Rowan had traded his life for hers. How much would he suffer? Swallowing past the hard lump in her throat, she looked at Hawkins. “I’m ready to leave. Can you show me the way out of here, please?”

  Thirty minutes later, clutching the meager belongings she’d relinquished nearly three and a half months earlier, she stood outside, blinking in the sunshine. Looking across the parking lot, she stopped, thoughts swirling. It felt so strange to be free of special agent Hawkins and the endless questions, free to walk home and curl up in her own bed, free to cry her heart out over Rowan.

  A movement caught her eye and her mouth dropped open. In the far corner of the parking lot, Chad leaned against the red Mustang he’d been so proud of last spring. Smiling, he waved her over. “Hi Danielle, how are you holding up?”

  The kindness in his voice had her blinking away fresh tears. “Hello Chad. I’m afraid I’m not doing too well. What are you doing here? I thought you’d be gone… Didn’t you resign?”

  Chad gave her a quick hug and opened the passenger door. “Climb in and let’s talk. I’ve got a proposition for you. And don’t worry
– we’re going to get Rowan back, just as soon as we finish putting our plan together.”

  After she slid into the car, Chad slammed the door and sprinted around to the driver’s side. Observing how he folded his long frame into the low-slung Mustang, she smiled sadly. Rowan had told her how much he liked Chad, and she could see why. His sunny personality must have been a constant uplift. “I’m dying to hear your proposition. But I’m worried sick about Rowan. How can you get him out of this mess?”

  Chad shot her an enigmatic smile as he swung the car out of the parking lot onto Minnesota Avenue. “How’d you like to relocate with Rowan to a secluded beach estate on Kauai?”

  * * *

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Sunday Afternoon

  Sitting slumped over on the narrow bed in the eight-by-eight foot cinderblock cell, Rowan wondered when the interrogation would start and what would happen to him. His uneasy gaze wandered from the small steel sink and toilet in one corner, then up to the tiny black camera high in the opposite corner. He twisted around, trying to reach a spot between his shoulders. The orange jumpsuit with Quantico Brig stenciled across the back scratched him in all the wrong places.

  Succumbing to rising panic, he stood up and limped to the door, the slam and clank still echoing in his mind. Constructed of solid steel, the only openings were two sliding metal plates inset at floor and waist levels so the guards could cuff and shackle him before he left the cell, and release him after locking him inside. Sitting again, he closed his eyes, propped his elbows on his knees, and rested his head in his hands. Waiting was part of the hell.