by Scott Gamboe
"What are we selling, anyway? 'Martyr's Inferno?' Is that some kind of double-talk for a new street drug?"
Tony glowered at the police officer. "Don't worry about things you don't need to know. For the time being, it's enough for you to realize the whole thing needs to go off without a hitch. This is no minor player we're dealing with. Othman's organization has more resources than even my father's syndicate has. It's good to be on his side.
"But first, there is still the problem of your friend, Hunter. He is the unknown in all of this. He told you nothing?"
Matt shook his head. "Nothing at all. He's stubborn that way. I think we had the right angle when we threatened Krista. I just wish we knew how he got away from your men. I told you we should have killed him."
With a snarl, Tony grabbed Matt by the lapel of his jacket and slammed him against the wall. "Do not tell me my business." He pressed his face closer until their noses almost touched. "I say when people live. I say when people die. We need to know what Jim knows."
Matt smiled, ignoring Tony's explosive temper. "Is that why we tried to kill him with a car bomb?"
"You listen to me, cop, because I'm only going to say this once." He thrust a finger in front of Matt's face. "My word is law. Don't test my patience again. If you hadn't told him about the tracking device-"
"I assumed your men were competent," Matt said as he thrust Tony's hands away. "I didn't know they would allow an unarmed man, who was tied to a chair, to escape. And kill them, in the process."
Tony turned on his heel and walked away. "If you think he escaped unaided, then you're a bigger fool than you look. Call your friend and see what we can find out."
Tony clenched a fist and ground it into his other palm. Matt had become a liability. His insolence aside, Matt's loyalty might change if he ever learned the answer to the riddle. Martyr's Inferno.
He tried to relax. He would keep Matt on a shorter leash until the transaction was completed.
#
Jim followed the directions Krista sent him over the satellite phone and made his way to their new hotel room. He kicked the door, and Amit let him in. Although it was a bargain-rate hotel, the room was clean and well-equipped with amenities. The scent of cleaning solutions was thick in the air. The carpet looked newly vacuumed. He set one soda beside Krista, then tossed the second to Amit before opening one himself. He placed a hand lightly on Krista's shoulder.
"Find anything while I was gone?"
"Yeah. First of all, I managed to get Matt's cell phone number, no thanks to you. He has also made calls to Tony's contact. The phone number he and Tony have been calling checks to a prepaid cell phone, so it does us no good. But I've managed to access the cell phone carrier's web site."
Jim rolled his eyes. "Why am I not surprised?"
She stepped on his foot. Firmly. "According to the location of the towers he has been using, he was in Chicago this morning near the Ritz-Carlton. While you were gone, I called my father. He has some people watching the area. They'll be able to get a picture of him and send it to me. Maybe we can use Interpol's biometrics system to identify him."
"Krista, access to the Interpol computers aside, how will your dad's people know who this guy is?"
"Most cell phones available now come with a built-in GPS system. They are usually set up to only broadcast their location in the case of a 9-1-1 call. This particular phone, however, is set up to broadcast on any call, as a default. We can follow the phone's GPS signal right to him."
"How will they recognize his phone's broadcast from any others?"
"Because I downloaded his phone's unique identification number. Now, if you'll stop asking questions, I have a few more things I want to look up."
Jim looked to Amit for moral support, but Amit only laughed at him. He chose to lie down and rest his battered body for what had yet to come. He allowed his eyes to close. His thoughts drifted. The silence in the room was shattered by the suddenness of Krista's voice.
"They got him! They even called his number to make sure they had the right man, and he answered the phone. This is him."
Jim scooted to the edge of the bed, and Amit came over to stand beside him. With a few clicks, Krista brought up the first of four photographs. The man was short, probably about five and a half feet tall, with a slight build. His black beard was neatly trimmed. He had a short, military-style haircut. He wore an angry glower, as if he carried an unbearable hatred for those around him. Jim glanced at his companions. He thought he saw a flicker of something akin to recognition on Amit's face.
"Amit, do you know him?"
"He looks vaguely familiar to me, but I can't place him. He has the facial structure of a Saudi."
Jim slowly turned his eyes back to the photo. "Shouldn't he have a large beard? I thought Muslim men weren't supposed to shave."
"In certain cases, terrorists are told by their religious leaders to shave, or at least to trim their beards, in order to fit in with western society. If they all looked like terrorists, the sleeper cells wouldn't be very effective."
Krista pointed at her screen. "I just gained access to Interpol's site. I'll feed these pictures into the database. Hopefully, he's a known fugitive, and we'll be able to come up with some background on him."
"Will that help us?" Jim asked.
"We'll know shortly."
#
Detective Dave Waters of the Fairview Heights Police Department approached the counter in the hotel lobby. His black wingtip shoes clattered hollowly on the tiled floor. The counter was stained a light brown and polished until it glowed. After a brief wait, a young man in a red vest stepped up. He straightened his tie and tried to smile. The tag on his chest bore the name "Frank."
"Hello, sir, how can I help you?"
Dave flipped open his wallet and displayed his badge. "Detective Waters, Fairview Heights PD." He pulled a photograph from his jacket. "Have you seen this man?"
Frank's eyes flew open wide. His pulse was clearly visible at his throat. "Umm . . . no, sir. I don't know who that is."
"Get your manager for me. Right now."
"Yes, sir." The clerk ran off and disappeared through an oak door. He returned a few moments later with an attractive woman in a conservative black dress.
"I'm Donna Williams, the night manager. What seems to be the problem, officer?"
Dave held out the photo once more. "I need to find this man. He was seen entering this hotel. I know for a fact that this employee of yours knows where he is."
Frank looked to his manager for support. She held up her hand. "I'm sorry, officer, but we don't allow our guests to be harassed. Unless you have some type of warrant, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the premises."
Dave folded his hands behind his back. His deceptively cool demeanor belied a scarcely concealed threat. "The man we are looking for is wanted for several homicides. He is also considered armed and dangerous. If you tell me where he is, we'll place the building under surveillance and wait for him to leave. Once he's gone, a small team will inspect the room for any co-conspirators. If you want to play tough, I'll come back with a warrant. We'll have our full SWAT team make a forced entry to your lobby, complete with tear gas."
Donna's eyes flew open wide, and she walked a few steps away, chewing her lip in apprehension. "I have your word this situation will be dealt with quietly?"
"Yes. We don't want to start anything inside the hotel. There are too many risks with this many people around. If you work with us, we'll work with you."
She let out a deep breath. Her eyes dropped to the carpet at her feet. "Okay, Frank. Tell him what you know."
CHAPTER 14
"Oh, my God!" Krista sat bolt upright, one hand over her mouth.
"What is it?" Jim asked as he slid closer.
"The guy in the pictures is named Othman Ahmad bin Fouad. He's wanted by the NSA, among other agencies, for several acts of terrorism. Interpol believes he is here in the United States on some type of covert mission."
Krista brushed back a lock of her hair, which she had recently dyed red. "Here's what Interpol says. He was born in Saudi Arabia. His family moved to Iraq and settled in Mosul. Othman's father was a member of Saddam Hussein's government. At a young age, he was sent to Afghanistan, where he attended various terrorist training camps. After several years of schooling, he moved to the West Bank. He spent the next three years planning terror attacks against Israel. Because of that, he was still in Israel during the U.S.-led invasion of Iraq in 2004. Two years later, his father was killed by Iraqi government forces during one of their sweeps. According to a close associate, who is now a resident at Guantanamo Bay, Othman blames the United States for the death of his father. He has shifted his hostilities toward America.
"There's not much else. He's a member of an extremist faction of Sunni Muslims, closely allied with both al-Qaeda and Hamas, called . . . I guess we should have expected this. He's with Mukkadas Atesh. Holy Fire." She looked back to Jim, her eyes wide. "According to Interpol, several CIA contacts in the Middle East believe Othman has come to the United States to carry out an attack which, if successful, would make September Eleventh pale in comparison. How could Tony possibly be involved in this?"
"I hate to say this, Krista, but that's irrelevant at this point. He has to be stopped. Regardless of the consequences to us."
"We have to find Tony, as soon as possible," Amit said. "Does your computer have Wi-fi capability?"
"No," she said softly. "I didn't bring the card with me."
"Okay. We'll find him from here, then try to get to him before he moves."
"How will we do that?" Jim asked.
"I can handle it." Krista drummed her fingertips on the table. "I used to figure out Tony's taxes for him every year, so I have all of his financial information. He also had me keep track of the finances for his other identities. I have the data on all of his credit cards and bank accounts. Give me a minute, and I'll find out where he has been spending his money."
She accessed her computer once more. A few clicks of the mouse called up various files she had on Tony. Jim watched with one eyebrow raised as she casually slipped past the firewalls of three different financial institutions and checked into their databanks. Within a half-hour, she had a list of restaurants and a hotel, all in the Fairview Heights area, where Tony's various credit cards had been used.
Jim leaned closer to the screen and studied the data she had found. "Okay, we check the hotels first. It's getting late, so he's likely to be there. If we come up empty, we can look into the restaurants and bars he has been visiting."
"I have another idea." Amit lightly tapped his fingers on the desk. "If Krista waits here, she can watch for Tony to use a credit card, which will give her the new information in real time. She can call us, and we'll be able to go right to Tony."
Jim hated the thought of leaving Krista alone, but he knew Amit had a point. He tapped a finger on Krista's prepaid cell phone. "If Halliton or Lakin calls, don't answer it. Who knows what their part in all of this is."
She set the phone on the table next to her computer. Jim pulled her to her feet and hugged her tightly. "You be careful, okay? And don't answer the door. Don't even look out through the peephole. We'll have a key card for the room. If something should go wrong, we'll call the room from downstairs first, to let you know we're coming up." He kissed her lightly on the lips and lifted her chin with his hand. "Will you be okay?"
She pulled him close one last time. "I'll be fine. Watch yourself out there, James."
He looked to Amit, who nodded. They left the room, choosing the back stairwell as their route out of the building. Amit went through the exit door first. He circled the parking lot, then got into his truck. He drove around to the door, and Jim hopped into the passenger seat.
They had just left the parking lot when the streets came alive with police squad cars, lights flashing. They swarmed over the road, blocking the way forward and backward. Amit cranked the four-wheel drive knob. He turned the wheel over hard and stomped the accelerator. The engine roared in response. Jim held tightly to the door and console as the big truck slammed into the curb. They went into a yaw, but Amit fought for control. He righted the vehicle as they careened across a weed-choked field onto another street.
The police responded instantly, and the chase was on. Amit made several last-second direction changes, but the officers stayed with them.
"We can't outrun them," Jim warned him, eyeing the lights in his mirror. "By now, they've got cars converging on us from all over."
Amit nodded curtly, his jaw set firmly. "I just want to open a little breathing space between us and them before we bail out. We'll have to separate. Find a phone and call Krista to set up a meeting place. Hopefully, they don't know about her, so they won't raid the room anytime soon. They'll focus their efforts on catching us."
"Or, more specifically, me," Jim added. "Just give me a heads-up before you jump out."
Amit slammed on the brakes and whipped the wheel to the left. The truck roared down a dark, narrow alley. He extinguished the lights. They raced along the trash-infested pavement in near-total darkness. The truck sideswiped a large metal garbage bin and lurched to the side. In the glow of a distant light on the side of a brick wall, Jim could see that the alley branched to the right and left up ahead. Amit tapped the parking brake with his left foot as he downshifted the automatic transmission into its lowest gear. The engine howled, and the truck slowed sharply. He spun the wheel to the right. They slid around the corner, striking the wall on the far side with a brief shower of sparks.
"There's a trash dumpster up ahead," Amit said. "Jump out here."
Jim nodded. He opened the door and leapt from the truck. He landed with a jolt and rolled over several times before coming to rest. He scampered on all fours, sliding behind the trash dumpster just moments before the flashing headlights of the first police cruiser lit up the alleyway. The siren was deafening in the tight quarters.
Three more squad cars screamed past him, then the alley fell silent. He waited another few minutes before he emerged from hiding. On a sudden impulse, he opened the lid to the dumpster, hoping to find a change of clothes. To his chagrin, all he found in the trash was mounds of rancid discarded food, so he eased the cover back in place. He stayed close to the walls of the buildings as he ghosted along the alley. Although he tried door after door, he could not find one unlocked.
"I guess I shouldn't have turned down the chance to join Matt at the lock picking school," he muttered under his breath. He reached the end of the alley. He glanced to the left and right, then stopped to consider his options. Before he went any further, he silenced the ringer on the satellite phone. The last thing he needed was for Nick Halliton to call again, making the phone ring when he was trying to sneak through police lines.
#
Moments after Jim and Amit left the hotel room, Krista decided she was hungry. She almost called for room service, but thought better of it. She packed her computer into the backpack and grabbed her wallet and cell phone. The elevator and stairs were both located at the far end of her floor. She tapped the elevator call button and waited.
Just ten feet away, the door to the fire stairwell opened, and a black-clad, hooded police officer eased into the hallway. He motioned for several others behind him to follow. At the other end of the hallway, a similar scenario played out.
"Miss," the first officer whispered, "the elevator has been turned off. Go down the stairs and get outside, quickly. We have a situation up here."
Krista nodded. She clutched her backpack tightly as she sprinted down the stairs. Something had
gone terribly wrong.
She reached the ground floor and left by the main doors. There was a taxi parked out front. The "available" light was on, so she climbed in. As she rode safely away from the hotel, she dialed the number to Jim's satellite phone. The line rang, and rang, but there was no answer.
"Where can they be?" she asked herself.
She ended the call and sat motionless while she tried to decide her next course of action. She was so deeply entranced that when the phone rang, she let out a light gasp. She checked the caller ID: Nick Halliton. Jim had warned her not to answer the phone for Nick. But he had not counted on the police getting involved. Should she answer? Could Nick help them? Whose side was Nick on?
#
The phone rang endlessly on and on, but Krista did not answer. "Damn," Nick said softly. He tossed the phone onto the seat of his car. Jim had not answered, either. Could the police raid have netted Jim? He doubted it. When Nick arrived at the hotel where the second GPS track had led him, there were officers all over the building. Some had secured the perimeter, while others escorted guests into a safe area of the property. A detachment of SWAT officers passed in a long line into the building. Nick waited tensely for the outcome. He wished he had thought to bring his police scanner, which would have given him a world of information. It might have even told him where Jim was.
He made another phone call. Time was running out.
A woman's voice answered. "Okay, Ryan, what do you want this time?"
"Are you still in the office?"
"Yes. I'm putting in for overtime on this one."
"I need you to call the Fairview Heights Police Department. From the office phone, so you can identify yourself. I think they are in pursuit of a suspect named James Hunter. Tell them they are to back away and not apprehend him. It's critical that he be allowed to go free."