“I’m sorry to barge in on you like this. Is your family at home with you?”
The inspector’s icy grip sent chills down Kadeen’s spine. He quickly released the man’s hand. “No, they’re out for a while trying to give me some quiet so that I can finish a project for work.”
“Well, I promise I won’t keep you long,” Lemieux said, brushing past Kadeen into the house.
Closing the door behind him, Kadeen turned and said, “Welcome to my home. I will try to be of whatever assistance I—”
Suddenly Lemieux swung out with a small leather sap. The metal ball in the end caught Kadeen on the temple, causing his vision to blur momentarily. Then Lemieux was on him. He hauled Kadeen up by the collar and threw him onto the coffee table, which collapsed beneath him.
The air shot from Kadeen’s lungs as the inspector straddled his chest. His large hand grasped Kadeen’s windpipe and began squeezing. Kadeen tried to call out, but he couldn’t. Stunned, he watched as Lemieux pulled a silenced gun from a shoulder holster and pressed it against Kadeen’s forehead.
“Accad,” the inspector called out. “Accad, I know you’re in here! Come out now, or I swear I’ll put a hole in your friend’s head!”
Kadeen tried to shake his head to indicate that Marwan wasn’t there, but he could barely move. Already, blackness was starting to creep in from his peripheral vision.
“Accad! I’ll give you until three to come out! One! Two! Say good-bye to your friend! Three!”
Kadeen squeezed his eyes shut, ready to meet his Maker. Instead, the grip around his throat was released, and air came rushing back into his lungs. He coughed and gasped for breath, rolling onto his side when Lemieux stood.
“I guess that means Accad is not still here,” Lemieux said, sitting back on a chair and lighting a cigarette. Kadeen noticed that he kept the gun in his lap.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kadeen answered, his voice more gravelly than usual.
“Come now, let’s not play games. Your family will be home shortly, and I’m guessing that you would rather have me gone when they arrive, would you not?” Lemieux slapped the leather sap several times into his hand as he talked, the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.
Lord, please get me out of this, but more importantly protect my family. Give me wisdom for their safety and Marwan’s.
“What makes you think Marwan was here?”
“Quit stalling,” Lemieux said, his lips spreading into that serpent’s grin again. “Time is something that is working against you right now. So please start by admitting to me what I already know—Marwan Accad was here.”
“Yes, Inspector, he was here. But he’s gone.”
“I can see that he’s gone. Please tell me where he has gone to.”
Finally a question that Kadeen had no qualms about answering honestly. “I don’t know.”
Lemieux leaned forward in his chair. He tapped ash onto the floor. “Come now, Mr. al-Wadhi. You don’t really expect me to believe that.”
“It’s the truth! I promise you. He stayed here less than a day. I tried to convince him to stay longer so that he could heal. . . .” Kadeen stopped himself, realizing he had said too much.
“Ah, so our Mr. Accad is injured, is he? Please relate to me the nature of his injury. And let me again remind you that every minute you waste is one minute closer to the return of your lovely family.”
“He was shot . . . in the shoulder. We patched him up as best we could. He left the next night.”
Standing to his full height, Lemieux towered above Kadeen, who had only managed to prop himself up on one elbow. The inspector dropped his cigarette to the floor and ground it out with the toe of his boot, then picked up the butt and slipped it into a pocket. “I return to my previous question—where did Marwan Accad go?”
“I told you, I don’t know.”
With speed belying his age, Lemieux was on him. Kick after kick landed on Kadeen’s head and stomach. Then, as quickly as it started, it stopped.
Kadeen gasped for air. He could feel the blood pouring down his face, and the pain when he moved told him he had multiple broken ribs.
When he opened his eyes, he saw Lemieux’s face inches from his own. The inspector was holding Kadeen’s head by the hair. In a menacing whisper that reeked of coffee and tobacco, he said, “Tell me where he’s gone, or I will do the same—and worse—to your wife and children.”
“I told you I don’t know where he’s gone,” Kadeen said, watching Lemieux’s face darken even more. “But . . .”
“Yes?”
“But he left me a number.”
“He left you a number?” Lemieux said, letting Kadeen’s head drop to the ground with a thunk. “Well, why didn’t you say so?”
Grabbing Kadeen’s hair again, Lemieux lifted him off the ground. “Let’s make a call,” the inspector said with another vicious smile.
35
“My cell phone is in my office. That’s the number he’ll recognize,” Kadeen slurred through his swollen mouth. The rest of his face felt just as bad. Blood dripped to the floor as he stumbled down the narrow hallway. The silencer-extended barrel of Lemieux’s gun felt cold on the back of his neck.
Lord, help me to do the right thing, he prayed. Please watch over my family. Do what you will with me, but please protect Rania and the girls.
Upon reaching his office, he stumbled through the door. One of his eyes was almost completely closed, but through the other he saw his phone. Is this the only way? Can I think of no alternative?
He stopped in the middle of the room and turned toward Lemieux. “I can’t believe you’re a police officer and you’re doing this. Can’t we even discuss this?”
“Tick, tock, Mr. al-Wadhi,” Lemieux answered, raising the gun so that it was between Kadeen’s eyes.
Kadeen reached for the phone, and the inspector lowered himself onto a wooden chair in the corner of the room.
“Before you call, let’s make it clear what you are to say. You will tell Accad that your family is in great danger and he must return. You must not mention my name! Are we clear on that?”
Kadeen nodded, but in doing so the room started spinning. He leaned against the edge of his desk.
“If you mention my name, your family will die. If you try any tricks, your family will die. And you’ll want to be sure to be persuasive, because if Accad refuses you, your family will most certainly die.”
The thought of his little girls in the hands of this monster was all the motivation Kadeen needed. Cradling the phone in his hands, he tried to focus his vision on the small numbers. When they began to clear, he started pressing buttons.
Lifting the phone to his ear, he waited.
“Marwan? This is Kadeen. . . . Yes, I know my voice is strange. You’ve got to help me. Remember how you said there might be people coming? You were right. . . . It’s really bad, Marwan. You must come back. . . . Please, my friend, you must. . . . But Rania and the girls—he’ll kill them if you don’t. . . .”
Kadeen watched as Lemieux leaned forward in the chair. He knew time was short before the inspector blew again.
“But, Marwan, you must come back. After all we did for you . . . I don’t know what to say. I thought—”
Suddenly Lemieux was off the chair. He snatched the phone from Kadeen’s hand.
“Listen, Accad, you better get back here, or I swear I will make those little girls die slow deaths! And what I’ll do to the woman, you don’t even want to know! Do you hear me, Accad? Accad?”
Lemieux held the phone away from his face and saw that the screen was black. He redialed the last number, and a moment later the house phone began ringing.
A painful smile spread across Kadeen’s battered lips as he watched the inspector try to figure out what was going on.
“What have you done? What did you do? What were all those numbers you were dialing?” Then a thought must have occurred to Lemieux, because he quickly began pressing
buttons.
“What is this text you sent?” he said, grabbing Kadeen by the back of the neck and holding the phone in front of his face.
Relief washed through Kadeen’s damaged body as he saw the confirmation that his message did indeed go through. Written on the screen were the words:
To: Rania’s Cell
Acts 9:24-25
Kadeen
Slapping Kadeen’s face with the side of the gun, Lemieux again shouted, “What does this text mean?”
With a bloody grin, Kadeen said, “It means you will never see my family, Monsieur Inspector.”
A number of years ago, when Kadeen and Rania first got involved in couriering Bibles, they had worked out a code in case either of them was ever arrested. Both were well aware of the dangers involved in their work and found special meaning in the story of the apostle Paul’s escape from Damascus in the book of Acts. Rania would see the reference and immediately use the escape routes and safe houses established for them and other Bible couriers. Once they disappeared, they could stay underground for days, weeks, or months.
“Looks like your leverage is gone. What now?” Kadeen asked, no longer afraid of the answer.
A look came over the inspector that resembled that of the devil himself. Lemieux brought the handle of the gun down on Kadeen’s head once, twice, three times. But when Kadeen began to crumple to the ground, Lemieux held him up.
Kadeen was very near blacking out when he felt the inspector slapping him on the face and heard his voice as if it were coming from a great distance. “Wake up! Wake up! I’m not done with you yet!”
Kadeen’s mind was on autopilot as he teetered just this side of consciousness. “How may I help you, Inspector?”
The barrel of the gun pressed up against the bridge of Kadeen’s nose. He heard Lemieux growl, “I will give you one last chance to tell me where Accad is before I put a bullet in your brain!”
“But don’t you know, Monsieur Inspector? Greater love has no man than to lay down his life for his friend.” The peace Kadeen felt in his heart overwhelmed the pain in his body. Lord, I am yours. . . .
“Well, if that’s true,” Lemieux said through clenched teeth, “you’re about to show a whole lot of love.” Then he pulled the trigger.
Part Three
36
Goddard finally arrived in front of Kadeen al-Wadhi’s house.
“What took you so long?” Lemieux sniffed when Goddard got out of his cab.
“It’s a long way from Beirut,” Goddard replied, refusing to take the bait. “Any sign of Accad?”
“No, it’s been quiet.”
“What about the family?”
“I said it has been quiet.”
“But you’re certain they are in there?” Goddard pressed.
“I am not certain of anything at this point,” Lemieux said. “From the look of the carport, one vehicle might be gone. But we must not waste any more time. We need to go in now. I’ve circled the house, and cut glass tops the entire wall. If anyone is in there, the only way out is through one of these two gates.”
Goddard walked around one corner of the wall. In the shadows of the setting sun, he could see that the cut glass did surround the villa as Lemieux said. However, it seemed to him that a heavy rug or rubber mat of some sort, if it were thrown on top of the glass, could easily provide safe passage over. Looking at the impatience on Lemieux’s face, though, caused him to decide to keep that thought to himself. Instead he mentally prepared himself for a possible foot chase.
As he approached Lemieux, the inspector sneered, “I trust my analysis of the situation has met with your approval?”
Rather than answer to the negative, Goddard replied, “How do you want to work this?”
“If Accad is half the man we give him credit for, then he already knows we are here. So you ring the buzzer while I cover the carport gate.”
Grateful to get a little distance from this man, Goddard quickly agreed.
“Remember—he is a very dangerous man,” Lemieux said as he trudged along the wall.
Goddard stared at the light behind the front window for a minute, trying to detect any shadows or movement. Seeing none, he pressed the button. He faintly heard the buzzer inside. After waiting half a minute, he pressed it again.
Still there was no answer. He looked at Lemieux, who signaled for him to go in. Goddard sighed as he pulled out a small leather packet with tools for picking locks. A European policeman gains entry without permission into a house on Moroccan soil. Is this technically breaking and entering? I suppose that’s the one nice thing about having Lemieux along; I can’t imagine anyone trying to put cuffs on him.
With a click, the gate opened. After a couple knocks on the front door, he used the same tools to enter the house.
As soon as the door opened, he saw the damage. Pulling his gun, he dropped to a squat. A fight had occurred in the front room. Furniture was broken, and there was blood on the floor. The blood began in a small pool in the middle of the room by a broken table, then trailed down the hall.
After getting his bearings, Goddard stood and cautiously made his way through the house, sweeping each room as he passed it. The blood droplets he was following led to a closed door at the end of the hall.
He leaned with his back against the wall to prepare himself, then pushed hard through the door. Leading with his gun, he rapidly surveyed the small room. It was clear of threats, but not clear of people. Lying back across the desk with his legs still hanging over the side was a man with a bullet hole between his eyes. He had obviously been beaten, and he was now just as obviously dead.
Goddard fought revulsion at the sight. It didn’t matter how many dead bodies he saw, he still had a visceral reaction each time. Walking back to the front door—partly to alert Lemieux and partly to avoid the smell—he called the inspector in.
“What’s happened here?” Lemieux asked when he saw the damage in the front room.
Goddard pulled out his phone to check the photo DuVall had sent. Although his face had been disfigured, there was still enough resemblance that Goddard could be confident that this was the man in the back room. “Follow me,” he said.
“Marwan Accad’s killed him,” Lemieux said immediately upon entering the study. “We’re too late.”
Goddard was still stunned by the murder scene. “But why would Accad do it? Our information is that they were close friends.”
“That’s not the issue,” Lemieux insisted. “The only issue is hunting down Accad before he kills again. Get this place dusted for prints and searched for physical evidence immediately. But first, get Accad’s picture to every police station, bus station, train station, TV station, airport, and seaport in Morocco. He’s very likely still in this country. We cannot let him escape.”
37
At eight Monday morning, Tariq’s satellite phone rang, but he didn’t care. He was serving Dalia breakfast in bed and didn’t bother to answer it. An hour later, it rang again, but this time Tariq was in the shower and did not hear it. An hour later, it rang yet again, but this time he had left it in her apartment. He and Dalia were spending yet another day together, so all of Ramy’s urgent calls went unanswered.
Winter was almost upon them, but the romance of Tariq Jameel and Dalia Nour was blooming like the Nile Delta in spring. After breakfast that chilly morning, they headed to the Cairo Tower, 185 meters high, and held hands as they gazed out across the teeming city below and competed to see who knew more landmarks than the other. They quickly spotted the Egyptian Museum and the Citadel and the Rafeeq Ali Mosque and the Mosque of Ibn Tulun, but after these the skyline began to blur into a never-ending sea of hotels and apartments and office buildings, all shrouded in a brown, dusty, polluted haze.
“Have you ever been to the pyramids?” Dalia asked.
“I’m ashamed to say it,” he said, “but no, I actually never have.”
“Me neither,” she exclaimed. “Let’s go! I want to see them up close and race c
amels in the desert!”
“You mean ride camels in the desert?” Tariq asked.
“No way—I mean race them!” she replied with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
Tariq was amazed by her energy and her passion for life. It was refreshing—and addicting—so he shrugged his shoulders. “Let the race begin!”
They took a taxi to Giza, where they climbed the shaft inside the Great Pyramid and peered into the great empty sarcophagus, imagining all the treasures this ancient wonder once held. Then they hired a guide and two camels and trotted deep into the desert.
Nothing more was said about Naguib Mahfouz’s brush with death or about Tariq’s parents or about the car accident he said he had been in or the injuries he had supposedly sustained in the wreck. There was no need to speak of Goddard or Lemieux or Monte Carlo or Rafeeq Ramsey. With her, he wasn’t on trial or under investigation or having to watch his back. They could just play like young lovers, and for Tariq, it was a cup of cool, refreshing water for a dry and thirsty heart.
“Hey, Tariq, bet I can beat you to the Sphinx!” Dalia shouted. “Loser pays for dinner!”
No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she gave her camel a good, hard slap on its backside and took off down the dunes.
Tariq’s competitive juices started flowing immediately, and he quickly gave pursuit, leaving their bewildered and not-too-happy guide behind, shouting curses into the fall breeze. Dalia was good, as if she had been raised riding animals. By now, she was forty or fifty meters ahead of him, her beautiful dark hair blowing wildly behind her. But he wasn’t about to go down without a fight. He crouched, kicked harder, and began to pick up speed.
Up the first dune they went and down the other side. Then again and again, and as they approached the crest of the last dune, Dalia briefly vanished from sight. But only for a moment, as Tariq was closing fast.
Dalia was shouting back at him, taunting him, teasing him, making him all the more determined to win. He kicked harder and harder still, trying to extract every last bit of energy from the three-year-old camel beneath him, but in the end it was not enough. Dalia reached a startled group of tourists near the base of the Sphinx about half a length ahead of him and then veered back toward the desert to slow down and catch her breath.
The Witness Page 13