A rush of confidence rumbled through his body, raising his voice a few decibels. Sam had always been malleable. Just like the old days, he would know exactly how to fuck with his mind, and with any luck, could very well dig himself out of this hole.
Sam’s face was stone-cold. He had no expression.
“What about my family, Adly? You could have spared my wife and children. They had nothing to do with this.”
“No margin for error, Sam. Pillow talk would have eventually filtered down through your wife to the rest of the word. Women are like that, if you know what I mean.”
“And my children? A five-year-old girl and a toddler. What possible risk did they present to your bosses?”
“It had to be inconspicuous.”
“Why?”
“I couldn’t just hire a big black guy to mug and shoot you and your wife in the parking lot of the Toluca Lake Trader Joe’s. Questions would be asked. Alarm bells would go off. Who did they know? Who did they work for? A terrorist attack in the Middle East, however, removes any suspicion.”
“And the other innocent people who had to die? Collateral damage so Leviathan could be protected?”
“You still don’t get it, do you, Sam? Looks like I have to spoon-feed you everything, just like the old days. The attack wasn’t just planned for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“The entire resort was teeming with people my bosses wanted neutralized. Russian businessmen who’d screwed us over in the Balkans. Sissy liberals with aspirations to run against the president in ‘free and fair elections.’ And the list goes on. Don’t flatter yourself.”
“That’s what it was all about—settling scores?”
“Not exactly. The score-settling was a nice little bonus.”
“Who are you people? Bombing your own country. Killing innocent people and devastating your economy. For what?”
“I’ve given you enough information to have your peace, Sam. Let it go. Find yourself a new missus, make new kids and start over. It’ll be like nothing ever happened.”
His eyes red with fury, Sam started adjusting the drip controls.
“What are you doing?”
Adly’s heart pounded faster now.
Sam said nothing.
“Sam, you’re not thinking straight. I have nothing to lose. A dead man walking. I just want to protect you. If I tell you what you need to know, you’ll end up doing something stupid and getting yourself killed.”
“Protect me? See this red dial?”
“What is it?”
“A timer. I can either set it to kill you in five minutes so you won’t feel much pain. Or I can set it to end your miserable life in twenty minutes. You’ll get to live a little longer, but you’ll feel every cell of your body breaking down. They say it’s like you’re burning slowly on the inside. Unimaginable pain.”
“I’ll speak! But don’t put your nose where it doesn’t belong. Just because they’re behind bars, it doesn’t mean they can’t reach you.”
“They’re on to me, already. Staking out my old house in Los Angeles. But none of this matters to me. I too am a dead man. You already killed me in Sharm El Sheikh.”
Adly looked away and transported himself to a different place, a different time.
His chest heaved up as he sighed deeply.
“It was a message. A pull of the ear. A business partnership of the titans gone sour.”
“Whose ears?”
“Hassan Islam.”
“Who is he?”
“A powerful tycoon. The big guy in town who owned the franchise of the Spring Roy Sharm El Sheikh. Most of the luxury resorts in the city belong to him. As well as the desalination plant, the private hospital and the airport operation rights.”
“Did he die in the attack?”
“He’s alive. Also happened to be the second biggest arms importer in the country, after the Mubaraks. He fled the country now, living in Spain or somewhere, last I heard.”
“They were competitors?”
“No, partners. A few years before the attack, he and my boss had maneuvered a deal to pocket a commission from the sale of natural gas from the Arab Pipeline. To Israel, no less.”
Sam wasn’t blinking. His eyes were laser sharp and focused on Adly.
“Go on.”
“The Mubaraks didn’t have the balls to reveal they were selling gas to the ‘enemy.’ Under-the-table transactions, and the profits were free for all. The Israelis wanted to do it clean and in the light. A clear sign the peace treaty between us was real, and worth the paper it was written on.”
“And?”
“My bosses wouldn’t have it. This had to be off the grid and out of the national coffers.”
Sam’s expression hadn’t changed one bit, and it made Adly uncomfortable. He still couldn’t read him like he wanted to.
“How were the transactions carried out, if the Egyptians wanted to distance themselves from it?”
“Hassan Islam was the architect of this deal and the main contact with the Israelis. As a private citizen, he could do what he wanted.”
“Then why attack his resort to punish him?”
“No one knows what happened exactly. Overnight, Hassan Islam decided to increase the ratios of the commissions to his advantage. My best guess is that he must have figured he was doing all the heavy lifting and wanted to be compensated for that. Fat cat who became too full of himself. My boss didn’t want him killed, he was still useful. Just to teach him a small lesson.”
“How did you plan the attack?”
Adly looked the other way. There were some secrets of his trade he had planned to take to the grave. But life is sweet.
“How’d you do it, Adly?”
“If you know where to look, there is always a freshly minted terrorist cell starved for money and recognition. Religious fanatics are every bit as corrupt as we were, and bloodthirsty, so it’s not hard to co-opt them for pretty much anything.
“I had used Demir Salimovic for the odd job here and there, and he had never let me down. When this came up, I knew he would take care of business. He infiltrated a Jordanian terror cell, handpicked Nabulsi and Madi, and trained them for the job.”
Sam moved closer. Still expressionless. Not one blink.
“The attack was a message from my boss to Hassan Islam. A reminder of who held the guns in our country.
“I don’t expect you to understand it, but it’s normal. It’s how business is conducted when you’re that high up in the food chain in our part of the world. And it works. It worked. Hassan Islam never again raised his head.”
Sam took a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly.
“Give me a name, Adly. Your boss.”
Adly motioned with his head for Sam to kneel down and whispered, “Come close.”
Even in the face of death, the terror of his boss clasping his heart prevented him from speaking his name out loud, just in case he was listening.
§
Sam looked at Adly’s lips and contemplated the sounds that had just passed through them. A name he had waited to hear for the last six years.
“Now I can set you free, Adly.”
He pulled out a barber’s blade from his back pocket and slashed Adly’s throat from ear to ear. A pink mist sprayed in the air, followed by a fountain of red exploding everywhere. Sam stepped back just in time to avoid being sullied by Adly’s tainted blood. He waited until his body stopped fluttering, then placed his hands on Adly’s face and closed his eyes.
“You’re free now, you despicable son-of-a-bitch.”
He unhooked the Egyptian from the epidural and stuffed him into a body bag.
Then he dragged the corpse from the truck he’d converted into an interrogation room.
The intricate setup had been designed by the
Omani brothers on his team. In a previous life, the one was an anesthetist and the other a successful hepatic surgeon.
A van Sam had parked nearby at the edge of the Norcombe Wood had a big enough trunk for Adly’s body and the more incriminating tools Sam had used. He doused the empty truck with gasoline and set fire to it.
After a solemn three-hour drive east during which Sam shed a few silent tears, he arrived at an abandoned building site in Essex. He parked at a designated spot, got out and waited about a hundred feet away.
About twenty minutes later, a masked man driving a similar vehicle showed up. A black-market cremator. Sam handed him a thick wad of cash, they exchanged van keys, then drove off in each other’s vans.
Later that day, Adly’s body would be converted to ashes, as if he or his despicable crimes had never existed.
THIRTY-ONE
Friday, December 7, 2012—9:32 a.m.
Manhattan, New York
Amelia Ridgley studied the faces of the two women sitting across the glass conference table. She couldn’t decipher what they could possibly have in common with her.
One of them was a young Asian woman, possibly Thai, with long black hair woven in an elegant Dutch braid extending halfway down her back. The liner around her thin lips accentuated her expressive mouth. Her eyebrows were plucked to perfect thin lines curving sensually over her forlorn brown eyes. Eyes that transmitted a deeper disposition. Someone with profound, even painful experience on her shoulders, despite her youth.
The Asian sat mute next to an older woman with a softer face. About mid- to late-fifties with straw-colored hair tied in a neat bun.
A silent, protective, even maternal bond seemed to connect her to the young woman next to her.
A few weeks ago, Amelia Ridgley had received a call summoning her to this meeting today at the law offices of Sidmann and Gershwin in downtown Manhattan.
She hadn’t been briefed about its purpose, other than it was a summoning she could hardly afford to miss. The two women sitting across from her were already there when she arrived. Since neither of them came across as lawyers, Amelia concluded they were also clueless as to the purpose of the meeting.
Bernard Gershwin hurried into the conference room, followed by two sharply dressed assistants, a man and a woman in their late twenties. He apologized for being late and sat down at the head of the table. A short man with a stout figure and a perfect egg-shaped shining head, Gershwin slipped his spectacles down his smooth forehead and snapped his fingers to his male aide, who dutifully placed a folder in front of him.
“Thank you for coming today,” he said in an all business, no small talk tone.
He lowered his glasses and studied each of the three women as if he too was confounded by their stark differences.
Amelia was certain a high-powered lawyer like Gershwin would have at least known her by name, if not by her face plastered on the news media.
The tension in the room melted after Gershwin plunged right in and introduced them to each other.
Orapan Apirakkan was a young Thai woman who had been trafficked into America for prostitution until she escaped her captors.
The woman next to her was Gloria Perez, who ran a shelter for sexually abused women in North Hollywood. Orapan had been in her care for almost a year now.
These revelations only furthered Ameila’s intrigue as to what could possibly connect her to these two women.
Gershwin tightened his eyes and peered from behind his glasses at Gloria Perez.
“Ms. Perez, does Ms. Apirakkan understand English? We’ve arranged for a Thai interpreter for her, if she needs him. He’s waiting outside.”
Gloria glanced at the Thai woman and smiled. “Orapan has a good grasp of English. If there is anything she doesn’t understand, she’ll tell me and I can explain. What is this all about, anyway, Mr. Gershwin?”
Amelia Ridgley remained quiet and listened with her hands entwined on the glass table in front of her. At her age, very few things in life surprised her anymore. But this was different. She had no idea where any of this could go.
Gershwin waggled his finger to a third assistant waiting at the door to let him know an interpreter would not be needed.
“We have asked you here today to fulfill a series of bequests to each of you by one of our clients.”
Amelia hated it when lawyers used vague terms. “What do you mean by bequests? Like a will?”
“Not at all, Ms. Ridgley. Our client is alive but they have requested to remain unnamed. They have earmarked certain funds and benefits they would like to disburse to the three of you present in this room today, for reasons I will disclose shortly. It is my client’s belief that each of you will understand more about their motives than anyone in this law office.”
“I am intrigued, Mr. Gershwin. Please proceed.”
He scanned the documents in front of him and then looked up at the Thai woman.
“Let me start with Ms. Apirakkan. It is our understanding you have a pending application for humanitarian refugee status in this country. Ms. Perez’s organization attempts to facilitate this for all the women they look after. The expenses involved and the time required is daunting.
“My client has instructed us to retain on your behalf the services of the top immigration law firm in California. With our oversight, we shall not rest until your application for refugee status based on humanitarian reasons is concluded to your benefit, and as soon as possible.”
Orapan’s eyes almost popped out of her head and, looking with disbelief at her friend, asked to confirm what she had just heard.
Gloria paraphrased in simple English the legal benevolence Orapan had just been granted, and they whispered between them.
“Orapan wants to know who your client is, Mr. Gershwin. You said she would understand when you reveal the bequest, but she doesn’t.”
“My client is aware there will be keen interest to know who they are. But one of the conditions they’ve placed for the bequests is for their identity to remain concealed.
“Having said that, my client has asked me to read a short message to each of you after the bequests have been made, which I assure you will shed light on their actions.”
“I understand. Please go ahead with Orapan’s message then.”
“Not quite yet, Ms. Perez. We’re not done with her yet. In addition to the legal assistance for her immigration status, my client has made a financial gift to Ms. Apirakkan.”
Gershwin paused and looked up from over his glasses again as if they were only good for reading documents, but a lousy membrane to discern people.
“Three hundred thousand dollars, to be used for her education and rehabilitation, disbursed through this office with the guidance of Ms. Perez.”
Orapan clutched Gloria’s hands hard as they both tried to deal with an even more intriguing revelation.
“That’s not all.” Gershwin looked up.
“A further two million dollars will be gifted to her for a safe and dignified future. The first million to be disbursed over five annual installments of two hundred thousand dollars. And the second million to be paid out as a lump sum on the sixth year. The structure of the payment schedule is designed to protect her from herself and from other opportunistic people. It is intended to allow her to mature into her newfound wealth.
“Our office has been provided with sufficient funds and instructions to commence a private investigation into the human trafficking ring that brought her into this country in the first place. Once we have sufficient evidence, we’ll present it to the authorities and bring charges against the main suspects involved.”
Gershwin didn’t wait for Orapan and Gloria to process what they had heard. He sipped on some water from a pretentious-looking designer glass, cleared his throat and spoke.
“I will now read the message.
“Dear Orapa
n,
“I told you once I wanted to give you something I never had—a choice. Now I want to give you something else—an explanation of how I came to know you in the first place.
“I met your older brother Luk in Sharm El Sheikh seven years ago, several days before he and my family perished in a horrific terrorist attack.
“He worked as a chef in a Thai restaurant at the hotel where my family and I were staying. After lunch one day he came to us and we thanked him for the delicious food he had prepared. We became friends and spoke every day.
“One afternoon when he was off-duty, I found him standing on the beach. He seemed distraught, maybe even crying. We started talking and he opened his heart to me. He told me your story. How you were abused by your stepfather, who then sold you to traffickers.
“Ever since you disappeared, Luk’s dream was to make enough money to try to find you one day and save you.
“He even had a whole deck of photos of you that he gave out to people who he thought could help him. I was one of those people.
He told me he screamed when they came to take you, saying he would never stop looking for you, Orapan. He never did.
“After your brother and my family died in that attack, I took it upon myself to continue his mission. His loss had become mine. It took me close to six years to track you down.
“This gift I am giving you is a tribute to the undying love your brother had for you, which reflects what I feel for my own murdered family. May his soul and that of everyone who died on that day rest in peace. And may you find eternal happiness and safety in your new life. And your new country.”
“End message.”
Orapan’s eyes were as wide as saucers and her hands covered her gaping mouth. The tears came after.
Amelia finally understood where this was going.
Gershwin turned his attention to Gloria.
“Ms. Perez. Your turn. My client would like to set up an endowment in the amount of twenty million dollars to support the work of the North Hollywood Women’s Shelter, to ensure it never ends. A separate gift of five million dollars will also be made for your immediate needs. This should be more than enough to upgrade your main shelter location to a larger and better equipped facility so you can take in more women. Are you ready to hear your message?”
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