He answered it, “Gilhooley.”
“New instructions,” said Haskell, “Buy a video camera. One that goes from wide angle to zoom.”
“Buy one? I got one. Right here in the truck.”
“Records audio as well? My own voice while I’m taping?”
“Records anything within fifty feet or so.”
“That should do it,” said Haskell. “How much Semtex do you have?”
“With me? Almost two kilos.”
“That’s what? Four pounds? It doesn’t sound like very much.”
Gilhooley was beginning to get a bad feeling “Not enough for Whistler’s house, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I’m not. We’re not vandals. It’s too nice a house.”
“So that rules out swastikas sprayed on its front wall.”
“Gilhooley… are you trying to be funny?”
“Just trying to get on the same page, Mr. Haskell. If you’re thinking their cars, I’ve got plenty for that. I could rig them any time I see them parked around town.”
“No,” said Haskell, “that’s too willy-nilly. I’m thinking in terms of a gathering place. Do you have enough for that restaurant?”
“For Mangiamo? Yeah, I guess, but…”
“You’re going to blow it,” said Haskell. “Actually we are. I’m on my way there. I should be landing in D.C. around five-ish, your time. What’s it like across the street from that restaurant?”
“Just… regular commercial. One and two stories. There’s a real estate office. A law firm. A bakery.”
“Is there a place of concealment from which we could tape it?”
“Tape… what? The bar?”
“Well, yes,” said Haskell. “That’s the whole idea. Tape who shows up for this party they’re having and tape the whole building collapsing on them.”
“You want to hit a birthday party? A party for kids?”
“These are not just kids. They are enemies of Islam. That is to say they are enemies of God. Paradise awaits those who slay them.”
What is this, Gilhooley wondered? Has he gone fucking nuts?
But Haskell had expected a degree of reluctance. He said, “Okay, that God part was over the top. The main thing is that Kessler will be there. And you’ll never guess who else. Roger Clew is coming. So is a meddler named Rajib Sadik. And, best of all… are you ready for this? Harry Whistler himself will be joining them.”
Gilhooley knew about Whistler. He’d heard the bartender say it. But it’s the first he’d heard about Clew and some Arab. He asked, “Who told you this? Leland?”
“No, he didn’t. Nor would he. He’s been less than a friend. But happily we have our little birds.”
Gilhooley took that to mean he had someone at State. People in Clew’s position don’t go out for a haircut without leaving word where they can be reached.
He said, “Look… I’m on a cell phone. It isn’t secure. This might not be a private conversation.”
“Not to worry,” said Haskell. “It’s secure on my end. Our words are not floating out there in the ether. I’m assured that only gibberish could be overheard. It’s spatial harmonics. Or something like that. I leave the tech nitty-gritty to others.”
“If you say so.”
“Vantage points, Desmond. You still haven’t answered.”
“Well, let’s see. There’s not much. There are always parked cars. Not directly across though because there’s a bus stop. But the bus stop has one of those shelters with a bench. It’s maybe thirty yards down the street.”
Haskell asked, “Glass enclosed? Or is it solid?”
“Solid except for one side that’s plastic.”
“So that those waiting can see the bus coming. That might do very nicely. Meet me there at six o’clock. You will have planted the explosives in the back among those tables. I’m relying on your vaunted expertise.”
“I’ll think of something.”
“We’ll work the logistics out when I see you. Oh, one more thing. Elizabeth Stride. I’ve decided that she is to be a survivor. She’s not even to be smudged if we can help it.”
Gilhooley grunted. “I wondered why you didn’t mention her. I thought maybe she wouldn’t be there.”
“Count on it. She’ll be there. I have other plans for her. I know how we might spare her. Tell you later.”
A click.
Gilhooley stared at his now lifeless cell phone. Haskell’s actually coming? He wants this on tape? He wants to kill Whistler, Kessler and Clew, not to mention those four Muslim girls and the Arab. That’s a hell of a hit. World class. Lots of headlines. If there’s even a whisper about who’s behind it, where does Haskell think he can hide? Does he think he’s some kind of national treasure just because he supplies oil?
My “vaunted expertise,” thought Gilhooley.
Shit.
Blowing up is blowing up. It does not get selective. But Haskell wants this thing fucking choreographed so his dream girl gets out without a scratch. He has other plans for her? She might have some for him. Haskell hadn’t told him hardly anything about her, but if she hangs out with Kessler and that crowd she’s got to be more than some groupie. Could he possibly think she’ll just waltz off with him? She’ll turn him into a grease spot.
But, okay. He’ll plant the charge. He knows a good spot. He’ll meet Haskell at six with his video camera. Maybe he can get Haskell to understand the basic concept of overkill. Not to mention the concept of survival.
Failing that, okay, we blow the bar, he makes his movie. Maybe Stride survives it, maybe she doesn’t. He, Gilhooley, won’t know if she does or not because he won’t be hanging around to find out.
Once that blast goes off, he is gone.
THIRTY TWO
Elizabeth had seen the black pickup again. It had almost seemed to be waiting down the road for her to drive out through the gates. But it hadn’t followed. It slowed, then turned off.
A tail only does that when there are at least two. The spotter, the pickup, then radios ahead for some other vehicle to take it from there. The other vehicle would then appear in her mirror unless its driver was good at the job. A good one would have pulled out a block or more in front of her, watching her while she’s watching behind her. A good one would also be a woman, quite possibly. In an unremarkable car, blue or tan. No one ever seems to look for a woman.
But there was no one. She was sure of it now. She had gone two full miles, made a number of turns, and had seen no sign of surveillance. She reached her left hand to the door’s side compartment. She felt to make sure that the weapons she kept there were unencumbered by road maps. Her Ingram Mac-10, a light machine pistol. She also fingered the hilt of her knife, a twin of the one in her purse.
Aisha didn’t know that the weapons were there. Or knew and kept silent. The former, most likely. But Aisha saw that she was driving with uncommon alertness. She asked outright, “Are we being followed?”
“No, honey. It’s me. I’m just a bit spooked. An hour ago, not a care in the world. You didn’t need this on your birthday.”
Aisha was silent for another mile or so. Elizabeth broke the ice. She said, “Shahla told me about your dream. About what your mother said to you.”
“She tells me a lot of things, Elizabeth.”
“But… you do understand that they’re only dreams?”
“I guess, but I don’t choose to think of them that way. I like feeling that’s she’s with me. That she’s watching out for me. I like wanting her to be proud of me.”
“I’m sure that she is. More than proud.”
A small smile. “You think that she would be. Not that she is. I know that you’re not buying into this, Elizabeth. I don’t think you believe that there’s anything else out there. Or are you hoping that there isn’t?”
“Better not be. I’ve run up quite a bill.”
“And you’ll be weighed in the balance and found wanting? Is that it? That won’t happen. You’re kind, Elizabeth. You�
��re strong, but you’re kind. You and Martin defend people who aren’t so strong. That will tip the balance, believe me.”
“We’ll see.”
“In these dreams, my mother tells me what’s already in my heart or at least at the back of my mind. But she does throw in a surprise now and then. She says there is tennis in heaven.”
“Oh, good.”
“She plays with my father in a group that they’ve formed. Do I really believe that? I do and I don’t. But it is a pretty thought, so I’m keeping it.”
Aisha said nothing for another half mile. Elizabeth wasn’t sure how to broach the other subject. She said to Aisha, “Go ahead. Ask me.”
Aisha shook her head. “I don’t need to, Elizabeth.”
“Because you trust me?”
“With my life.”
“Well, you’d trust Qaila, too. So ask. Get it out of your system.”
Aisha took a breath. She said, “Okay. Let’s suppose you were Qaila.”
“Uh-huh. Let’s suppose. Would I know that?”
“Well, sure.”
“I don’t and I’m not, but let’s say I am. I’m now revealing it to you right here in this car. I’m telling you that you’re Aisha reborn. What happens right now, right this minute?”
“I don’t follow.”
“Remember the language of the prophecy,” said Elizabeth. “It says you’ll know that it’s true because a veil will be lifted. It does not mean tomorrow. It means now as I speak. Do you feel a veil being lifted?”
“A weight off my shoulders. Does that count?”
“A veil is not a weight. Besides, there’s more. Will you be reaching full womanhood today?”
“You’re my idea of full womanhood, Elizabeth.”
“Keep that thought. You’ve got twenty years to go.”
That made Aisha smile. She was starting to relax. But the smile came and went. “Would you lie to me, Elizabeth?”
“Never have. Never will.”
“Not ever? You promise?”
“There are things that I might elect not to tell you, but this, you may be sure, isn’t one of them.”
Another silence. Another few blocks. Aisha said, “When we get to Lord & Taylor, I’m going to shoplift some jewelry.”
“Say what?”
“I’ll be really bad at it, so I’ll promptly get busted. I’ll make a big scene. I’ll smash the display case. What I need is a criminal record. And a mug shot.”
“Because Aisha reborn doesn’t shoplift. I get you,” said Elizabeth. “Come to think of it, that’s not a bad plan.”
“I like it.”
“Could you wait, though,” said Elizabeth, “until we’ve actually bought things? We’ll be running tight on time as it is.”
“It depends. We won’t be shopping in Junior Miss, will we?”
“Not a chance.”
“Can I get heels?”
“They’re already on the list,” said Elizabeth. “Shiny black ones. And a black cocktail dress with spaghetti straps, bare shoulders. Would Aisha reborn be caught dead in that outfit?”
“Not a chance.”
“Well, there you have it. Case closed?”
“Case closed.”
The Landmark Mall was just coming into view.
Aisha reached a hand to Elizabeth’s arm.
She said, “I love you, Elizabeth. So does God. Or he will.”
“Ask your mother to put in a good word.”
THIRTY THREE
Clew was waiting on the tarmac with his Lincoln stretch limo when Harry Whistler’s Gulfstream rolled to a stop near one of the more distant hangars. Clew stepped out of the limo, his briefcase in hand, drumming one finger against it.
There could be no mistaking Harry Whistler’s several aircraft. They all bore his initials in red trimmed with gold. On the Gulfstream they stood five feet high. Nor was there any mistaking Harry Whistler when he appeared in the hatchway. A great bear of a man with a Hemmingway beard. Wearing a blazer the same shade of red, monogrammed of course, blue pants, western boots. All this topped off with a Tyrolean hat that had a silver medallion on its side with a fan of feathers rising out of it. He’d worn that same hat all the years Clew had known him. Fifteen years now. Even then Harry Whistler had been larger than life. Deliberately and enjoyably so.
He was preceded down the stairway by one of the twins. Either Donald or Dennis. No way to tell which. Tweedledum and Tweedledee, always identically dressed, choosing clothing that would make them barely noticeable depending on where they were working. He knew that he probably would not see the other, or, if and when he did, he still wouldn’t know which. The other would probably stay out of sight and make his own way to Belle Haven. They seemed half Harry’s size. He’d heard people call them “cute.” But they were utterly devoted to Harry and just as utterly deadly. Especially the one who you always failed to see because you were watching the other.
The next man out, close behind Harry Whistler, had to be Rajib Sadik of Hamas. He had the look of a fifty-ish business executive except for a considerable stubble on his face that looked like about a week’s growth. No, not a businessman. Clew had almost forgotten. Sadik was a doctor, a surgeon. He’d emerged with his medical bag in one hand and only a toiletries case in the other. He must not have had much time to pack.
Clew had thought he looked familiar when he saw the photos his researcher had gathered. Now even more so, seeing him in the flesh. But Clew still couldn’t place where he’d seen him before. Most likely in some earlier briefing on Hamas.
Harry Whistler approached him, Sadik at his side. Harry did the introductions. Sadik offered his hand. As Clew took it, Harry was watching his eyes for some sign that he recognized Sadik. Harry’s look seemed one of amusement.
Harry settled the question. He said, “Yes, you’ve met. Dinner party. Geneva. Twelve years ago. Kessler knows him, too, even back before that. Stride met him later, but she wouldn’t remember. She was mostly in a coma at the time.” He touched a finger to two spots on his abdomen. “My friend here dug two bullets out of her.”
“Wait a minute,” said Clew. He was looking at Sadik. “Yes, I remember. Weren’t you Harry’s doctor?” The name was Emil something. It wasn’t Sadik. It was a Swiss name. Or German.
Harry said, “That’ll keep. We’ll get caught up soon enough.” He gestured toward Clew’s briefcase. “Done some homework?”
“Oh, indeed,” Clew told him. “I’ll have to go through this with Kessler and Stride, but we have forty minutes; let’s use them.”
He signaled his driver who was also his bodyguard. The driver opened the limousine door.
Harry and Sadik both sat facing forward. Clew took the seat opposite, facing the rear. The twin sat up front with the driver. Clew had opened the electronics-laden work table that folded out from under his seat. He drew a micro disk out of his briefcase and inserted it into the work table’s slot. He played both recordings that he’d made.
The first was the one he’d already sent to Harry, his first conversation with Leland. It was filled with speculation, short on hard information. He’d hesitated before playing the second, the one that gave the text of the suicide note, the one in which Leland said he’d have to resign. Harry told him, “No secrets from my friend here.”
“Well, he’s also a friend of Yitzhak Netanya, to say nothing of Abbas Mansur of Iran.”
“As for Netanya, this cat’s out of the bag. As for Mansur, we’ll deal with that later. Go ahead and play the tape, Roger.”
Clew did so. Harry listened. When they got to the wording of the suicide note, Harry had him back up and repeat it. Clew said, “I’ve transcribed it. I have several copies.” Harry said, “I still want to listen.”
He heard all the names of those accused by the prince. He asked, “No Elizabeth? Why no Elizabeth?”
“No idea,” said Clew. “But your friend here’s dead meat.”
“We’ll deal with that as well. Play the rest of the tape.”
Next came Leland’s recital of the names of the conspirators. He said to Clew, “I assume you have files on these three.” Clew patted his briefcase. “Right here.”
Harry took a moment to chide Sadik. These names were what Sadik had promised Netanya as the price of Netanya getting him to Belle Haven. Harry said to him, “See? We didn’t need you after all.” Sadik answered him, saying, “You will.”
Clew had already reached into his briefcase. He took out his Beretta and set it aside. Sadik eyed the weapon with distaste. Clew drew out three folders. “I have more than names. I have the whole lives of all three.”
In fact, he’d brought dossiers on more than the three. He also had a file on Rajib Sadik, but that one was considerably thinner. No reference to any past connection with Harry. No reference to him ever being… Emil… Emil…
Freundlisch? Yes, that was the name he’d heard in Geneva. Dr. Emil Freundlisch. He remembered.
He said to Sadik. “Aren’t you Dr. Freundlisch?”
“Sadik. Dr. Rajib Sadik.”
“So you’ve converted to Islam?”
Harry raised a hand before he could answer. Harry said, “Long story. I’ll fill you in later.” He tapped the work desk. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Clew set down the three folders facing Harry and Sadik. Each of them had photographs clipped to its cover. He said, “I didn’t have time to put these on a disk. Otherwise I could have shown them on the limo’s computer.”
“This is better,” said Harry. He spread them out side by side.
Harry touched the first of these with his finger. “Charles Haskell,” he said. He was talking to Sadik. Haskell was posing in a hardhat and jumpsuit on one of Trans-Global’s offshore rigs. It had been clipped from an annual report.
Clew told them, “That one’s the best we could find. These were pulled together quickly. We’re looking for more. I don’t think he likes to be photographed.”
Harry Whistler asked Clew, “Have you ever met him?”
“Not really. He’s shown up at a couple of receptions at State. He didn’t pay any attention to me. He was there to get his hooks into Leland.”
Sadik asked Harry, “You’ve not met him either?”
The Aisha Prophecy Page 33