"I have been traveling. And yourself?"
"Me, too." I added, "Funny coincidence, I was just talking about you."
"I'm sure you speak of little else these days."
Asshole. "Hey, I've got a life. How about you?"
He didn't seem to understand the idiom and replied, "Of course, I am alive. Very much alive."
"Right. So, what can I do for you?"
"Where are you, Mr. Corey?"
"I'm in New York."
"Yes? I think I am calling a cell phone."
"Indeed you are. The cell phone is in New York, and I'm with it. Where are you?"
"In Libya."
"No kidding? You're coming across like you were down the block."
"Perhaps I am. Perhaps I am in New York."
"Perhaps you are. Look out the window and try to figure out where you are. You see camels, or yellow cabs?"
"Mr. Corey, I don't like your sense of humor, and it makes no difference where either of us is located, since we are both lying."
"Exactly. So, what is the purpose of this phone call? What do you need?"
"Do you think I only call you for favors? I just wanted to hear your voice."
"Well, that's really sweet of you. Have you been dreaming about me again?" I looked at Kate, who was keeping her eyes on the dark road. There was some ground fog now, and it was spooky out there. She glanced at me and winked.
Finally, Khalil replied, "In fact, I have been dreaming about you."
"Good one?"
"I dreamed that we met in a dark place, and that I emerged into the light, alone, covered with your blood."
"Really? What do you think that means?"
"You know what it means."
"Do you ever dream about women?. You know, and wake up with a serious woody?"
Kate poked me in the ribs.
Khalil didn't answer my question, but changed the subject and said, "Actually, there may be a few things you can do for me."
"I knew it."
"First, please tell Mr. Wiggins that even if it takes another fifteen years, I will kill him."
"Come on, Asad. Isn't it time to forgive and get on—"
"Shut up."
My goodness.
"Second, Mr. Corey, the same goes for you and for Miss Mayfield."
I glanced at Kate, but she didn't seem to be able to hear Khalil's end of the conversation. I said to my disturbed caller, "You know, Asad, you can't solve all your problems with violence."
"Of course I can."
"He who lives by the sword shall die—"
"He who has the fastest sword will go on living. There is a poem in my language that I will try to translate for you. It is about a solitary and fearsome warrior, mounted on—"
"Hey, I know that one! My Arabic is a little rusty, but here's how it goes in English—" I cleared my throat and recited, '"Terrible he rode alone with his Yemen sword for aid; ornament it carried none but the notches on the blade.' How's that?"
There was a long silence, then Khalil asked me, "Where did you learn that?"
"Bible study? No, let me think. An Arab friend." I added, to piss him off, "I have lots of Arab friends who work with me. They're working hard to find you."
Mr. Khalil thought about that and informed me, "They will all go to hell."
"And where are you going, pal?"
"Paradise."
"You're already in California."
"I am in Libya. I have completed my Jihad."
"Well, if you're in Libya, I'm not interested in this conversation, and we're running up the phone bill, so—"
"I will tell you when the conversation is ended."
"Then get to the point." Actually, I thought I knew what he wanted. More interestingly, during the silence, I heard a bird chirping somewhere, leading me to believe that Asad Khalil was not indoors, unless he owned a canary. I mean, I'm not good at bird calls, but I know what a bird sounds like, and this bird sounded like one of the nightbirds I'd heard in Bel Air. I was pretty sure this guy was still somewhere in the area, birds or no birds.
Anyway, Asad got down to the real purpose of his call and asked me, "What did you say to me when we last spoke?"
"I think I called you a camel-fucker. But I want to take that back because it's a racial slur, and as a Federal employee and an American, I—"
"About my mother and father."
"Oh, right. Yeah, well, the FBI—actually the CIA and their overseas friends—have some really reliable information that your Mom was . . . how can I put this? Sort of like very good friends with Mr. Gadhafi. You know? Hey, we're men—right? We understand these things. Okay, so it's your Mom, and maybe this is hard to hear, but she has needs and wants. Right? And you know . . . it gets kind of lonely with Pop out of town a lot . . . hey, you still there?"
"Go on."
"Right." I glanced at Kate, who was giving me a thumbs-up. I continued, "So look, Asad, I'm not being judgmental. Maybe Mom and Moammar didn't get together until after your father—oh, that's the other thing—your father. Are you sure you really, really want to hear this?"
"Go on."
"Okay. Well, the CIA again—they're a very smart bunch and they know stuff you wouldn't believe. I have this really good CIA friend, Ted, and Ted told me that your father—Karim was his name. Right? Anyway, you know what happened in Paris. But I guess what you don't know is that it wasn't the Israelis who whacked him—murdered him. In fact, Asad, it was . . . well, why dig up the past? Shit happens. You know? And I know how you are about holding a grudge, so why do you want to get yourself worked up again? Forget it."
There was a long silence, then he said, "Go on."
"Are you sure? I mean, you know how people are. They say, 'Go ahead. Tell me. I won't be mad at you.' Then, when you tell them bad news, they hate you. I don't want you to hate me."
"I don't hate you."
"But you want to kill me."
"Yes, but I don't hate you. You have done nothing to me."
"Of course I have. I fucked up your plans to whack Wiggins. Can't I get a little credit? Et tu, Brute?"
"Excuse me?"
"Latin. So, it's okay if you hate me, but why should I rub this in? I mean, what's in it for me to tell you about your dad?"
He mulled that over and replied, "If you tell me what you know, you have my word that I will not harm you or Miss Mayfield."
"And Wiggins."
"I will make no such promise. He is the walking dead."
"Well, okay. Better half a pita than none. So, where was I . . . ? Oh, the Paris thing. Yeah, I don't want to speculate or sow seeds of doubt and distrust, but you have to ask yourself the question that all homicide cops ask themselves about a murder. The question is, Cui bono? Who gains? That's Latin again. Not Italian. You speak Italian—right? Anyway, cui bono? Who gains? Who would gain from your father's death?"
"The Israelis, obviously."
"Come on, Asad. You're smarter than that. How many Libyan Army captains do the Israelis kill on the streets of Paris? The Israelis need a reason to whack someone. What did your father do to them? Tell me if you know."
I heard him clear his throat, then he replied, "He was an anti-Zionist."
"Like, who in Libya isn't? Come on, pal. Here's the sad truth. My CIA friends are positive that it was not the Israelis who killed Dad. In fact, the murder, according to Libyan defectors, was ordered by Mr. Moammar Gadhafi himself. Sorry."
He said nothing.
I went on, "That's the way it was. Was it a political difference between Dad and Moammar? Was it that somebody in Tripoli had it in for your father? Or was it because of Mom? Who knows? You tell me."
Silence.
"You still there? Asad?"
Asad Khalil said to me, "You are a filthy liar, and it will give me great pleasure to cut out your tongue before I slice your throat."
"See? I knew you'd be pissed. Try to do a favor and—Hello? Asad? Hello?"
I hit the End button and put the phone down
on the seat between Kate and me. I took a deep breath.
We rode in silence awhile, then I gave Kate the gist of Khalil's end of the conversation, even telling her that he said he'd kill her. I concluded, "I don't think he likes us."
"Us? He doesn't like you. He wants to cut out your tongue and slit your throat."
"Hey, I have friends who want to do that."
We both laughed, trying to lighten the moment. She said, "Anyway, I think you handled him well. I mean, why should you be serious and professional?"
"The rule is, when the suspect has something you want, treat him with respect and importance. When he's calling for something he wants, jerk him around as much as you want."
"I don't remember that in the interrogator's manual."
"I'm rewriting the manual."
"I've noticed." She thought a moment, then said, "If he ever gets back to Libya, he's going to want some answers."
I replied, "If he asks questions like that in Libya, he's dead." I added, "He's either going to go into denial, or he's going to do in Libya what he's done here. This is a dangerous, driven man, a killing machine, whose life is dedicated to settling scores."
"And you just gave him a few more scores to settle."
"I hope so."
We drove on, and I noticed there was no traffic on the road at all. Only an idiot would be out on a night like this at this hour.
Kate said to me, "And you still think Khalil is in California?"
"I know he is. He's in the Santa whatever mountains, near or on the Reagan ranch."
She looked out the window at the black, fog-shrouded hills. "I hope he's not."
"I hope he is."
CHAPTER 54
Route 101 took us into Ventura, at which point the highway left the hills and became a coastal road. The fog was really thick, and we could barely see twenty feet in front of us.
I did see the lights of the Ventura Inn Beach Resort to our left and said to Kate, "That's where I got engaged."
"We'll come back here on our honeymoon."
"I was thinking of Atlantic City."
"Think again." After a few seconds, she thought again and said, "Whatever makes you happy."
"I'm happy if you're happy."
Anyway, we were doing only about forty miles an hour, and even that seemed too fast for the road conditions. I saw a sign that said SANTA BARBARA—30 MILES.
Kate turned on the radio, and we caught a news replay from an earlier broadcast. The news guy gave an update on the big story and said, "The FBI now confirms that the terrorist, who is responsible for the deaths of everyone aboard Flight One-Seven-Five at Kennedy Airport in New York, as well as four people at the airport, is still at large and has possibly killed as many as eight additional people as he flees from Federal and local law enforcement authorities."
The news guy went on, reading incredibly long and convoluted sentences. Finally, he wrapped it up with, "An FBI spokesperson confirms that there appears to be a connection between several of the people who have been targeted by Asad Khalil. There is a major press conference scheduled in Washington tomorrow afternoon to update this important and tragic story, and we will be there to cover this development."
I switched to an easy listening station.
Kate said, "Did I miss it, or did that guy not mention Wiggins?"
"He didn't. I guess the government is saving that for tomorrow."
"Actually, it's today. And we're not going to make that morning flight out of LAX."
I looked at the dashboard clock and saw it was 2:50 A.M. I yawned.
Kate unpocketed her cell phone and dialed. She said to me, "I'm calling the Ventura office."
Kate got Cindy Lopez on the line, and asked, "Any word from the ranch?" She listened and said, "That's good." What wasn't good was that apparently Douglas Rat-Fink had already called because Kate listened further, then replied, "I don't care what Doug said. All we're asking is that the agents from the Ventura office, who are in Santa Barbara, meet us in Santa Barbara, call the ranch, and tell the Secret Service we are driving to the ranch to meet with their detail." She listened again, then said, "Actually, John just spoke to Asad Khalil—yes, that's what I said. They have established some sort of rapport, and that would be invaluable if a situation developed. That's right. I'll hold." She covered the mouthpiece with her hand and said to me, "Cindy is calling the Secret Service detail at the ranch."
"Nice move, Mayfield."
"Thank you."
I suggested, "Do not let them mess us around with a telephone conference. We will not accept any calls from the Secret Service. Only a meeting in Santa Barbara, with FBI and/or Secret Service, followed by an invitation to the ranch."
She said, "You're going to get a piece of this if it kills you—aren't you?"
I replied, "I deserve a piece of it." I added, "Khalil not only murdered a lot of people who served their country, but he also threatened my life and your life. Not Jack's life, not Sturgis' life. My life, and yours. And let me remind you, it wasn't my idea to put my name and photo in the papers. Someone owes me, and it's time to pay."
She nodded, but didn't reply. Cindy Lopez came on the line. Kate listened, then said, "Forget it. We are not discussing this over an unsecured cell phone. Just tell me where we can meet them in Santa Barbara." She listened, then said, "Okay. Thanks. Yes, we will." She hung up and said to me, "Cindy says hello and when are you going back to New York?"
Everyone's a comedian. "What else did she say?"
Kate replied, "Well, the FBI detail is in a motel called the Sea Scape, north of Santa Barbara, not far from the mountain road that leads to the ranch. There are three people from the Ventura office there—Kim, Scott, and Edie. With them is a Secret Service man, who is acting as liaison. We are to go to the motel and tell them about your phone conversation with Khalil, and no, we cannot go to the ranch, but we can wait at the motel until dawn in case something develops and you're needed to chat with Khalil, by phone if Khalil in cuffs, not you."
"Got it." I added, "You understand we're going to the ranch."
"Take it up with the Secret Service guy at the motel." We continued north, not making good time, but after a while, there were signs of civilization, and then a sign said
WELCOME TO SANTA BARBARA.
The coast road passed through the south edge of the city, then veered north away from the coast. We continued north up Route 101 for about twenty more miles, and the road swung back to the coast. I said, "Did we miss that motel?"
"I don't think so. Call the motel."
I thought a moment, then said, "I think we should save time and just go on to the ranch."
"I don't think you understood our instructions, John."
"How can we find that road that goes to the ranch?"
"I have no idea."
We moved slowly through the fog, and I could sense, but not see, the ocean to our left. To our right, I could see that the ground rose, but I couldn't see the mountains that Kate said came right down to the sea in some places. In any case, there were very few roads that entered Route 101 at this point. In fact, I hadn't seen one in some time now.
Finally, to our left, was a flat, open piece of land between the road and the ocean, and through the fog was a lighted sign that said SEA SCAPE MOTEL.
Kate pulled into the lot and said, "Rooms one-sixteen and one-seventeen."
"Drive to the reception office first."
"Why?"
"I'll get us two more rooms and see if we can get some snacks ana cofee.
She pulled up to the front office under a canopy, and I got out.
Inside, a desk clerk saw me through the glass door and buzzed me in. I guess I looked respectable in my suit, even if it was crumpled and smelled.
I went to the desk clerk and showed him my credentials. I said, "I think we have colleagues registered here. Rooms one-sixteen and one-seventeen."
"Yes, sir. Do you want me to call them?"
"No, I just need to leave them a m
essage.
He gave me a pad and pencil, and I scribbled, "Kim, Scott, Edie—Sorry I couldn't stop by—See you in the morning—J.C." I gave the note to the clerk and said, "Call them about eight. Okay?" I slipped him a ten and said casually, "How can I find the road to the Reagan ranch?"
"Oh, it's not too hard to find. Go north another six tenths of a mile, and you'll see to your left Refugio State Park, and to your right is the beginning of the mountain road. Refugio Road. But you won't see a sign." He added, "I sure wouldn't try it tonight."
"Why not?"
"You can't see anything. Near the top, the road makes a lot of switchbacks, and it's real easy to zig when you should zag, and wind up in a ravine. Or worse."
"No problem. It's a government car."
He laughed, then looked at me and said, "So, the old man is home?"
"Just for a few days." I asked him, "Am I going to have trouble finding the ranch?"
"No. It's sort of at the end of the road. Bear left at the Y. There's another ranch to the right. You'll see some iron gates if you bear to the left." He again advised me, "It's a tough drive in the daylight. Most people have four-wheel drive." He looked at me to see if he was getting through, wanting, I'm sure, to give it his best shot so he could say to the State Police later, "I warned him." He said, "It will be light in three hours and some of this fog might burn off an hour or so after sunrise."
"Thanks, but I have six pounds of jelly beans I have to deliver before breakfast. See you later."
I left the reception area and got back to the car. I opened Kate's door and said, "Stretch a little. Leave it running."
She got out and stretched. "That feels good. Did you get us rooms?"
"They're full." I slid behind the wheel, closed the door, and lowered the window. I said, "I'm going to the ranch. You staying or coming?"
She started to say something, then let out a sigh of exasperation, came around to the passenger side and got in the car. "Do you know how to drive?"
"Sure." I drove back onto the coast road and turned north. I said, "Six tenths of a mile, Refugio State Park to the left, Refugio Road to the right. Keep an eye out."
She didn't reply. I think she was angry.
We saw the sign for the state park, then at the last second I saw a turnoff and cut the wheel right. Within a few minutes we were headed uphill on a narrow road. A few minutes later, the fog got worse, and we couldn't have seen the hood ornament if there had been one.
Nelson Demille - [John Corey 2] Page 67