Twenty-four Days (Rowe-Delamagente series Book 2)

by Jacqui Murray

  "Eitan. Someone broke into my apartment. We're OK. Mr. Winters managed to get a picture.”

  "It includes a lot of data, Kali,” and he hung up.

  Kali went to Sean’s room, catching Otto out of the corner of her eye in the living room, calmly churning through data, oblivious to the excitement around him.

  When she reached his bedside, he was fumbling with a controller. "Are you OK?"

  "Mom. Watch this,” and he placed his iPod in front of her.

  She watched a video of her apartment from the perspective of Sean’s bedside table.

  “How’d you get this?”

  “Just watch, mom.”

  First, everything was dark. Then, Sandy started barking and footsteps moved through the house. Sandy’s barks grew more frantic with each step until he yipped painfully and a door thunked. Then a body blocked the doorway—eyes those of the stranger in the photo. He opened a box and withdrew one of two syringes.

  Sirens wailed along with Mr. Winters’ voice, "Kali! Sandy! Is everything OK? Kali!" He pounded on the door. The stranger shoved the syringe back into its case and fled.

  "How'd you get this, Sean?"

  "I hooked it up to Itui when you went shopping,” and he slammed through an explanation of how an electric fish powered an iPod. "I recognize his eyes, mom. It’s Paloma's friend, Anchor. What's he doing here?"

  All Kali wanted to know was where the hell had the protection James promised been?

  Chapter Forty

  Day Fifteen, Monday, August 21st, 4 am

  FBI Safe House somewhere in New York

  Kali called Zeke who called James who said he didn’t expect Kali at one in the God damn morning. James agreed to move her and Sean and Otto—and Sandy—to a safe house until this ended. Kali packed bags, dug out one item from where it had been stored since she moved in and stuck it in her purse, talked to Mr. Winters, and an hour later, Zeke and Duck moved her to a government residence three times the size of her apartment.

  When Duck left to check the perimeter, Zeke crushed her to his chest. "This house is so far off the grid, no one can find it.”

  Her mind leaped from the man who dropped a bug in her purse to the attack on herself and then Sean, and again in the hospital.

  Al-Zahrawi always found her.

  “Don’t go anywhere without letting Duck know. We will get whatever you need. Meetings with your Team must be virtual.”

  “Otto’s electricity consumption will give us away.”

  “Eitan’s routing it through ten different locations.” He took her face in his hands. “Take no chances. Al-Zahrawi is too smart.”

  A slow burn started in her gut at those words—he’s too smart.

  “I didn’t start this, Zeke, but I’ll finish it. Al-Zahrawi wants me incapacitated with fear, but that will never happen. He and his jihadi friends have no idea what an angry Christian mother can do when those she loves are in danger."

  He stroked her hair, wishing he could absorb her rage. “When Sean feels up to talking, let me know,” and left.

  Otto fixed his brilliant orbs on Kali. “I sensed an odd tone in Zeke's voice."

  "Ignore him. He thinks we're at the eleventh hour and he must perform the impossible."

  “Are we?” As usual, Otto went right to the point.

  “Maybe, but he’s not the only miracle worker around here.”

  Sitting among the homey Ethan Allen furnishings of the safe house, Otto rolling in circles while Sandy batted at his feet, Kali could easily discount the danger of what her son had put his life on the line to prevent. She leaned back into a chair that still had the tags on it, closed her eyes to block the tears burning behind her lids, and willed her brain to stay strong.

  And then got to work.

  She found what she needed online at an all-night store two blocks away, changed into worn jeans and a beat-up Columbia t-shirt, asked one of the agents to watch Sandy, and ignored him when he asked where she was going. She had a credit card and one-hundred forty dollars in her purse, figured that would get the party started.

  Ten minutes later, she stood at the counter and said, “I need a refresher course.”

  “Sure. What weapon you shoot?”

  Kali awoke with a start, feeling rested for the first time in days. The morning sun beamed through the window. A tree swayed gently in the morning breeze, its bark cracked and lined, leaves limp in the dewy air. The fish tank gurgled as Itui swam and swam and swam, building up a reservoir of electricity. She rubbed a hand over her face, wondering briefly how she ended up in Sean’s room, and padded to the kitchen for coffee.

  "Otto.” Her voice activated the AI as she settled onto the living room couch. “Anything?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will it cheer me up?”

  “I have no humor module.”

  “Hit me.”

  Otto churbled. “As we know, the locations Ankour wanted to see on the Tiger Cruise were the same as those Taggert gave his fiancée, Shalimar. To determine the significance, I hacked Taggert’s email which he doesn’t password protect. He told Shalimar blowing up these six locations could sink the ship. I simulated this and Taggert is correct."

  That woke Kali. "Where are they?"

  "The #3 generator room is outboard and includes hazardous fuel, aft steering so the rudders are destroyed, the battery shop because it shares a bulkhead with the armory and is outboard, the sonar dome, the forward pump room because it is low on the ship and operations berthing because it contains so much flammable material.”

  "Are you sure that would destroy the ship?"

  Otto churbled. Only humans required confirmation. Otto always heard correctly and refrained from speculating unless asked to do so.

  Sean called from his room, "Mom. I have to talk to Zeke."

  Kali raced into his room. "What’s wrong?"

  "I remembered something."

  Monday, August 21st, 4 pm

  Cinco de Mayo Restaurant, New York

  Rowe slipped into the cracked faux-leather booth at Cinco de Mayo Restaurant, Hispanic music and the buzz of customers surrounded him. Dishes clattered as waiters served food and cleared away dishes. Rowe had already scanned the restaurant for anyone out of place and found the escape routes. Now, he leaned back, phone to his ear, listening to Sean’s epiphany.

  “Ankour Mohammed is Gil-dong? You sure?”

  “His father called him that.”

  Then why did Al-alah have Mohammed’s email from his dad?

  Sean continued as though he hadn’t heard Rowe’s question. “I also know why they want Bunker Hill, well, Ankour anyway. He’s obsessed with Paloma. If he destroys her ship, he destroys her.”

  No wonder this plot had a split personality. Mohammed’s goal had changed. He no longer cared if he double-crossed al-Zahrawi.

  “Zeke—are you listening?” Rowe shook himself back to reality. Kali was on the phone. “I know how al-Zahrawi will destroy Bunker Hill,” and Kali explained the significance of the locations Taggert shared with Shalimar.

  Rowe’s brain whirred. "Send me those, Kali. I'll give them to Bobby."

  "Give me what?"

  James slipped into the booth and motioned the waiter for coffee.

  Rowe caught the agent up. “Al-Zahrawi’s plan comes to a head August 30th, when North Korea launches its missile. That gives us nine days.”

  James sent the list to Tess with instructions to call when all locations were cleared.

  “There won’t be any bombs there yet, Bobby. They’ll wait.”

  A waiter poured coffee and dropped a basket of chips between them. "You ready to order?"

  "Coffee. That’s all. I'll share his food."

  Rowe didn’t bother to say he ordered nothing. The waiter grumbled this was a restaurant not a conference room, threw a bill on the table, and left.

  James drummed his fingers. “The only proof we have is a list given to an author. I need more to get the President’s attention.”

 
; Rowe leaned back, both hands around his coffee cup. “Bunker Hill will be alone in the Sea of Japan, exactly like these guys want.”

  James sat up and paged through his phone. “One of yesterday’s bodies is Dinar Hussabi, according to his ID. He’s another NYU student in Al-alah’s elite group.” James texted an address. "His parents live in Lewiston NY. See if he told them anything."

  “Why kill one of their own?”

  James shrugged as his phone rang. "James... Thanks." He walked out with Rowe. "No bombs at those locations. The CNO refuses to talk to the XO without more proof.” James started toward his car, but asked, “When’s your meeting with Admiral Xibon? He still ACNO?”

  “Thursday.” James’s eyes clouded as Rowe called Duck. “We have an errand.”

  Chapter Forty-one

  Day Sixteen, Tuesday, August 22nd, early morning

  On the road between Lewiston and New York

  While Rowe drove west along the I-80, Duck googled the Hussabi's. He refused to wear the sling, saying it got in the way. Nor would he take the pain pills.

  "Mr. served twenty years in the Army. Met Mrs. at the USO. County records show they lived at the same address thirty years. House is paid off, no liens. IRS records indicate they own Mac's Mechanics. Bought it ten years ago for cash and turn a small profit every year. They have a savings account, stock, and an IRA. No expenses for gardeners, maids, or manicures with nominal purchases of clothing, shoes, and that sort of stuff."

  He paused to read something. “Local stories recount the couple's heroic son Dinar who serves on America's front lines as a submariner.”

  The two men drove on in silence, stopping at a truck stop near the intersection of the 25A and the I-90 West to fill up with gas, use the restroom, and get coffee. When they got back to the car, the rear tire was flat, as was the spare. It took a while to find an all-night gas station, but they did, paid the exorbitant fee the manager required, and were on their way.

  "Things patched up with Kali?"

  A big rig thundered by, its power vibrating in Rowe’s chest. He considered what to tell Duck when the phone saved him. "Speaking of.”

  "When the formulized varnish of the sonar shield is exposed to the varying salinity, pressure, and temperatures in the ocean, as well as the movement of the currents, it degrades." She chewed something crunchy. “How fast depends on the sub's speed and travel route. My best guess is a week.”

  “Will Otto alert you when that happens?” Rowe asked.

  “Otto isn’t sonar."

  "Thanks, Kali.” He called James and shared the news.

  "A week is just in time for the missile launch.” Tess said something. “No bombs on Bunker Hill means someone the CO trusts is bringing them. The question is how do you reach a cruiser underway.”

  An hour later, Rowe took Exit 25A and elbowed Duck awake. “We’re here.”

  Duck downed the last of his cold coffee while Rowe wound through a quiet residential neighborhood and puttered by the Kerr Street address. It was a 1960's-style, one-story brick structure with a peaked roof, freshly-painted wood shutters, and a chimney off the back. A winding sidewalk and three concrete steps led to a shining black wood door. The tree-shaded driveway stopped at a one-car free-standing garage. A pristine wood slat fence blocked Rowe’s view of the backyard. The landscape was neat and trimmed and a whirly bird decorated the front yard. It looked like a nice middle-class place to grow up. How had Dinar ended up a terrorist?

  "No car in the drive. Maybe in the garage.”

  They parked two doors down and waited. Lights winked on along the street and breakfast smells floated from kitchen windows. Car engines roared to life as people left for work. A sixtyish woman with wispy white hair smiled at a couple in their twenties, the man with his shirt off, the woman in an airy tank top. They smiled back. Two women in jogging suits walked by and a sturdily built Hispanic woman let herself into one of the homes with a key. No one cared about the two men in the Benz.

  At 8 am, Rowe knocked on the door and got nothing. He called the auto shop and asked for Mr. Hussabi.

  "We expect him and the Mrs. back this afternoon. Can I help?"

  "Oh—gosh. We're friends from out of town. Any chance you have his cell?"

  The man laughed. "Like I'd give that out."

  Rowe slipped the phone into his pocket. "Let's have breakfast and take a tour."

  Lewiston sat on the USA-Canadian border between Niagara Falls and the historic Fort Niagara. No matter where you were, you heard the background rumble of the Falls. Rowe breathed in the pure air. If the wind blew right, some of the four million cubic feet of water crashing over the crest every minute would sprinkle Lewiston.

  They stopped at the Orange Cat Coffee House on Center Street. The hostess greeted them like long lost friends.

  "Hey, good to see you two. Thanks for dropping in. I can give you a booth or a window?"

  "Window, please. Maybe we'll see our friends while we're waiting." When the hostess didn't react, Rowe pushed, "Do you know the Hussabi's?"

  "Oh, no. I'm only here for the Peach Festival. You two here for that?"

  Rowe shook his head and Duck nodded. The hostess giggled. "Your waitress is Claudia." She gave them water and left with a peek over her shoulder at Duck. He grinned.

  "Hi! My name is Claudia! Are you here for the Peach Festival?"

  This time, Rowe let Duck respond. “Absolutely.” He gave Claudia a dazzling smile.

  "Then you might like our Peach Pancakes."

  "Are they tasty, Claudia?" Duck flashed white teeth at the twenty-something waitress.

  "Oh, everything with peaches is tasty!" She blushed. Duck grinned.

  Rowe tried again. "We're trying to find our friends, the Hussabi's. D'you know them?"

  She gave him a big smile. "I sure do. Thought they were in Canada."

  "They’re back today. Would you let us know if you see them?”

  “Sure will. And what can I bring you from our world-famous kitchen?”

  Duck looked at Rowe and back to the waitress. “Peach pancakes with everything."

  Claudia grinned. "You-all are big enough to eat pancakes with everything, now aren't you?"

  Duck grinned back. "But just the right size for our clothes, donchu think?"

  She giggled. "Oh, for sure!" and skipped to the kitchen.

  Rowe and Duck took turns going to the restroom and got back as the food arrived.

  "Here you go. Steaming and tasty!"

  As she arranged the plates, Rowe said, "I heard the Hussabi’s son is a hero."

  "Oh sure. He works on one of those submarines and fought in Iraq." She looked so impressed, Rowe saw no need to tell her submarines were nowhere near Iraq. She turned to Duck. "If you-all are going to be around this evening, be sure to come to the Ice Cream Social at the Farm Museum. Everyone goes."

  Duck leaned forward and put his chin in his hands. "You too?" When she grinned, he puckered his forehead in thought. "We could stop by. Yeah."

  She giggled all the way to her next table.

  They stayed for an hour, but it became clear Claudia knew nothing more so they paid the bill and left. Claudia walked them to the door and hugged Duck.

  From there, they walked up and down the Village streets, chatting with merchants and asking about the Hussabi's. With less than 3,000 residents, Lewiston depended upon tourism to survive. Today, summer still supreme, it pulsed with life. People going about their business while tourists sauntered down the wide sidewalks. After an hour, Rowe was convinced the Hussabi's were Mother Theresa only saintlier and the men returned to Kerr Street to wait.

  The Hussabi's arrived around two pm. They were a grey-haired couple dressed in matching jeans, polo shirts, tennis shoes. Mr. Hussabi helped Mrs. out of the car and they held hands as they walked up the sidewalk.

  "Mr. and Mrs. Hussabi?" Rowe called as he limped toward them. He smiled his most disarming smile, making sure his hands were at his sides. "My name is Dr. Zeke Rowe and this
is my associate, Duck Peters." He wondered what they thought of two burly strangers waiting outside their home, but they smiled back with genuine warmth.

  "Hello there. Nice to meet you. Are you the two asking around about us?"

  Rowe grinned sheepishly. "We're friends of Dinar. Wanted to say hi."

  That got even bigger smiles. "Please, come in. You drove up from New York? My goodness. Let me make coffee for you. We’re just back from Canada. What a wonderful country, our northern neighbor."

  They hustled Rowe and Duck inside, sat them in matching easy chairs across from a brown plaid sofa with heavy oak arms. To the side was a bookcase neatly stacked with paperbacks. Family pictures covered one clean white wall featuring a grinning youngster with eager eyes as he grew from preschool through high school. The Hussabi’s chatted from the kitchen about Niagara Falls, the Peach Festival, and so many visitors.

  "Dinar promised to come see us, but he's so busy. He’s what they call a Machinist Mate—keeps the sub’s engines running."

  His wife gave a proud smile. ‘Virginia, Nuke MM’—that’s what we put on the Care packages. ‘Virginia, Nuke MM’ and it always gets to him.”

  Rowe asked, "When is he coming home?"

  "Oh, you know children. He said the end of August, but what with the deployment schedule and all. You have children, Mr. Rowe? How about you, Mr. Peters? Well, we always know he means well."

  They returned with a tray of coffee, cups, sugar and real cream, and a plate of sandwiches. They sat, insisted the men eat, and prattled on about Dinar.

  "I got an email from him," and Mr. Hussabi pulled his laptop onto the table, pecked in a username and password, and spun the computer around so Rowe could read the message.

  Dear mom and dad, I'm bringing friends from the sub. They want to visit Canada. I think we’ll be there August 31st. I am excited to see you again. Love, your son, Dinar.

  Rowe sat back, folded his hands, and tried to figure out how to tell them.