The Aisha Prophecy

by Maxim, John R.

  The sergeant showed it to Karen. “Who’s that look like?” he asked.

  “Unless she has a sister, that’s Rasha.”

  Karen’s next stop, the sergeant at her side, was at the Greek’s Ford Escape. Its right side had been deeply raked by the dumpster. Its engine had quit; it had probably stalled while struggling against the big sand pile. They started their search with the glove box. In it, they found the car’s registration and its proof of insurance. Both were in the name of one Bernice Barrow, of Hilton Head, South Carolina. The registration and the plate did not match.

  They lifted the lid that concealed the spare tire. They could see that it wasn’t seated properly. Sergeant Ragland removed the tire. He let out a breath, He said, “Son of a bitch.” He was looking at the radio, taser and cuffs that had been taken from Eddie Fitch’s body. He saw the extra clip from Eddie’s Glock. Underneath, he found a plastic grocery store bag. In it was a tangled mass of junk jewelry and several of Bernice Barrow’s credit cards.

  They called for other officers to secure the scene and take photographs of all that they’d found. Their next stop was at his motel room.

  In his closet they found an assortment of clothing, some of it still bearing price tags from Wal-Mart. On the closet shelf, underneath the extra blanket, they found a laptop computer. With it they discovered four cheap-looking cell phones, each of them pre-programmed to the same foreign number. These were throwaways, thought Ragland. Use once and discard. These hadn’t been used, but there might have been others.

  Hidden elsewhere, taped to the back of a drawer, they found more than four thousand dollars in cash and another passport, this one Saudi. The name on this one was Mulazim Jabir. He went to the end table next to the bed and found the room’s telephone book. In the front he found the country code for Saudi Arabia. The code was 966, the same as those on the cell phones.

  Karen said, “This is going to be a long night. I’d like to use this guy’s shower.”

  “Do it,” said Ragland. “Nice new clothes in his closet. You two are about the same size.”

  “A quick rinse,” she told him. “Two minutes.”

  Within that time he’d read the email exchanges between Niki Darvi, the younger Iranian, and the owner of the car, Bernice Barrow. Her more recent messages struck him as odd. She’d used upper case letters for emphasis in others, but here they made no sense; they were on the wrong words. He told Karen what he found while she was toweling.

  She said, “So this guy sent them after he stole it. Do we think that he would have left this woman alive?”

  “No, we don’t. I’d better call the Hilton Head cops. And then let’s go talk to Harry Whistler.”

  Roger Clew had used the ride home in the limo to put in a call to Howard Leland. He wanted Leland to hear about all this from him before Leland saw it on the news. He reached for his cell phone, realized he had two. He’d almost forgotten that he had Haskell’s. Elizabeth had taken it from him. He put it aside and used his own to call Leland. He caught him at his home in the Maryland suburbs, likely with a very stiff drink in his hand. He briefed Leland on the bombing attempt.

  He told Leland that, yes, they thought Haskell was behind it. He said, no, they’re all well, just some odd cuts and bruises. He told Leland that yes, Kessler did have the disk, but he truly hadn’t known it before earlier that day. He said that it was safe, in good hands. He did not tell Leland that they had Haskell, that Haskell was locked in the trunk as they spoke, having been crippled by Stride. For one thing, the three girls did not know that either and they could hear every word Clew was saying. Happily, however, they couldn’t hear Haskell except for an occasional dull thump. State limos were built to be soundproof.

  “Sit tight, Mr. Leland. I’ll be back in the morning. I’ll brief you more fully when I see you.”

  Upon disconnecting, he picked up Haskell’s phone. He went into the menu. He found Haskell’s list of contacts. He saw the initials HB and RL who he presumed to be Bentley and Leeds. He’d get Haskell’s full call record later. He noticed a read-out on its camera feature indicating that many photographs had been taken. He pressed a button to show them.

  He scanned though some fifty that Haskell had taken in the room where the prince had been murdered. There were several of the prince as Haskell had left him. Clew was neither shocked nor surprised. It was the scene as Leland had described it. But there were close-ups of Leland’s personal effects and the contents of his briefcase as well. Meant to serve as proof of Leland’s involvement, but for what purpose? Extortion? Clew didn’t think so. Haskell had to have realized that Howard Leland would sooner resign than submit to it. But that assumes that a man like Haskell would understand a man like Howard Leland. And that he’d never get the disk in that way.

  No, these had the look of a slide presentation that Haskell would make to the Saudis. Followed, no doubt, by a videotape showing the destruction of all those responsible at the hand of Charles Haskell himself. All those named by the prince in his suicide note. And, for good measure, the source of the prophecy. The false Aisha and her lying handmaidens, the prince’s “corrupted” daughter among them. It would have made him quite a hero to some.

  The video tape? It’s in the trunk with him. It’s in the dented camera with which Haskell had attacked him and with which he’d tried to fend off Elizabeth. It’s not going anywhere. It would keep. Clew closed Haskell’s phone. He dropped it into his briefcase.

  Harry had been watching him. “Something you plan to share?”

  Clew let Harry see his eyes flick toward the three girls. “Later,” Clew told him. “Not now.”

  The limo reached Harry’s street. It wasn’t the first. Clew saw that two cars sat flanking the gate on the strip of grass bordering the sidewalk. He saw another pulling up at the near end of the wall, announcing its presence with a flash of its brights. At the far end, he saw a gray van. All headlights were on. All engines running.

  “They’re ours,” said Harry to the others in general. “I made a call from the restaurant.” He flicked a finger toward the van. “Except for those. They’re Mossad.”

  The gates swung open. The limo went through it. Clew saw two men standing on the front lawn, both with automatic weapons in their hands. Clew asked, “On the lawn? Shouldn’t they be concealed?”

  “A show of force, Roger, needs to be shown. They’re there to discourage, not engage.”

  He said to the driver, “Please pull up in front.” He said to the girls, “Go take nice long showers. When you’re done, go to bed, get up early and pack. By this time tomorrow, we’ll be landing in Geneva. You won’t be coming back to this house.”

  Niki, who’d been silent throughout the ride home, said, “I’m not going with you.”

  Shahla said, “Niki, we’ll talk later.”

  “No,” said Niki, “I know what I’m saying. You all forgave me, but that was before. Did those people die in the back?”

  “Yes,” Sadik told her, “At least two so far. But it wasn’t your doing, believe me.”

  “And you helped,” said Shahla. “I was standing doing nothing. It was you who tried to take down that door.”

  Harry said, “Why don’t we do this inside.”

  “No,” said Niki firmly. “Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll call the Nasreens. I have their California number. I’ll tell them what I’ve done, how I’ve betrayed them and how I’ve almost killed all of you. Let them tell the world that there is no Aisha, there are no handmaidens; I’ve made it all up. After that, I’ll go anywhere they send me.”

  “That,” said Sadik, “is what you must not do. You want to make amends? There’s a much better way. Take your shower. We’ll talk when you’re done.”

  The stretch limo had barely fit into the garage. It had to go in at an angle. There was room now that Stride’s car no longer existed. But still room for Harry’s scarred Mercedes. That car, bearing Aisha and Kessler and Stride, was just coming in through the gate. Clew directed it to the thir
d garage door, formerly the Subaru’s space.

  Clew had intended to retrieve Haskell’s camera, but he couldn’t while Aisha was present. His jaw dropped when he saw how Aisha was dressed. And Elizabeth, too. Full length white abayas. He asked, “What’s with… these?”

  “What’s with what?” asked Elizabeth.

  It was only then, it seemed, that she realized how they looked. She fingered the fabric. “These are tablecloths, Roger. Aisha’s burned and she needed to be covered.”

  “Burned badly?” he asked.

  “No, but she’ll blister. Let’s get her inside so I can treat it.”

  Kessler cocked his head in the direction of the limo. He asked Clew. “Still in there?”

  Clew nodded. He said “Still.”

  Kessler said, “At least he’s quiet. Leave him. Let’s go.”

  Clew said, “I’ll be right behind you.”

  Sergeant Ragland had called from the gate asking Harry to open it up. He said that he had a few questions. He pulled up to the front in his Belle Haven squad car. Officer Karen Hoffman was with him. She looked as if she’d just dressed for golf. Harry, still limping, met them both at the door and directed them into the library. The sergeant carried a laptop computer.

  Karen looked him over. “Are you sure you’re Harry Whistler? You look like you’ve been living in a dumpster.”

  “Very funny. I’m waiting. We’re low on hot water.”

  “All the girls are okay?”

  “They’re our problem with the water.”

  The sergeant said, “We saw the posse outside. Do you expect to be hit again tonight?”

  “A few friends have dropped by. Just in case.”

  “I’ll be straight with you, Harry. I’ll tell you what we’ve got. We expect that you’ll do the same for us.”

  “If I can”

  “We might know who planted that bomb,” said the Sergeant. He showed the Greek passport. “Do you know this man?”

  Harry studied the face. He read the name. “Sam said that someone he called Zeke the Greek had claimed to be an old friend of mine. But no, I’ve never seen this one.”

  “Well, he isn’t Greek, he’s Saudi.” Ragland showed the other passport. “His name isn’t Zeke, it’s Mulazim Jabir. We found cells in his room set to call a Saudi number. Did you see him at Mangiamo this evening?”

  “Never laid eyes until now.”

  “Then why would you order his car to be moved?”

  “What car was that? You mean the one double parked with its engine running? I just didn’t like the look of it, Dave.”

  “Of him either, I guess. Did one of your people leave the Saudi on a toilet after bashing him and cutting his strings? I know it wasn’t Sam. He’d have snapped him in two.”

  The sergeant didn’t wait for an answer. He handed Harry the snapshot that the Saudi had on him. “This is Rasha, is it not? Was this Saudi after Rasha? Did Eddie Fitch spot him watching your girls play tennis? Were they there that night? Is that what got Eddie killed? Did that piece-of-shit kill Eddie with the knife we found stuck in the ceiling?”

  Harry raised a hand. He said, “Dave, slow down.” He was looking at the photo of Rasha in hijab. “Let me get Elizabeth and Martin in here. Hold your noses, however. They haven’t bathed either. Then I’ll ask you to take it from the top.”

  Kessler barely recognized the face in those passports as the man he’d disarmed and immobilized. The man had posed neatly groomed when he sat for the photo and not with one eye hanging out of its socket. Kessler only shrugged and said nothing.

  A few minutes later, Elizabeth learned that the Ford Escape this man had been driving was owned by her friend, Bernice Barrow. Not only the car, but the laptop. She had asked Sergeant Ragland, “So he stole them from her?”

  “Elizabeth… he killed her. She’s dead.”

  Kessler reached to take Elizabeth’s hand.

  The sergeant said he’d called the Hilton Head’s Sheriff’s Department after leaving this man’s motel room. She’d been found late Monday by people she worked with after failing to appear at her office. She’d been found in a closet, tied to a chair. She’d been strangled to death, but first she’d been tortured. She’d probably been dead since late Friday.

  “They’d suspected a neighbor. A known drug user. But now I guess we know better.”

  Elizabeth dug her nails into Kessler’s hand. She turned her head to look into his eyes. He knew Elizabeth. He knew what the look meant. It was partly a wish that she’d had a chance at him. And a hope that he’d made that man suffer.

  Karen saw it. Ragland didn’t. She looked Kessler in the eye. She said, “Witnesses reported seeing him with a gun. He used it to shoot a man on the sidewalk before stumbling back into the smoke.” She opened her purse and, tilting it forward, displaying her own service pistol. “A Glock. Like this one. It has not been recovered. We think the gun they saw was Eddie’s Glock.”

  “Then it might still turn up,” Kessler told her.

  “Maybe in my car if I leave it unlocked? Maybe shoved under my seat?”

  “I’ve heard of stranger things happening.”

  Karen held his gaze. Her look was not disapproving.

  Karen said to Sergeant Ragland, “I don’t think he was the bomber.”

  “He would seem to be a viable suspect.”

  “For one thing, I saw him; he was inside when it blew. The first thing you learn on your first day of bomb school is to get a safe distance away. For another, a man who sounds like this character was seen videotaping the cars parked outside and talking into the camera. That sounds more like a surveillance to me.”

  Kessler hadn’t seen any camera. Nor had he thought to check the man’s pockets. He asked, “Did you find it? The camera?”

  “When we do, we’ll know what he was saying.”

  Karen said, “You know, I’ve been kicking myself. I saw him at the bar the night Eddie was found. He was sitting right there within reach.”

  The sergeant touched her shoulder. “You couldn’t have known. I saw him myself the next day. I never checked him.”

  “Yeah, but..something else. There was something going on between him and Gilhooley.” She paused to ask Kessler, “Have you met Gilhooley.” His blank look was his answer. He had not. Elizabeth, however, squeezed his hand again. She had. Or she had knowledge of him.

  Karen said, “All I noticed was some kind of tension. I don’t know what else to call it.” She turned to Harry Whistler. “When you made your toast. When everyone moved to the back of the bar. He didn’t. He stayed up close to the door. I’m reaching here. You should know that I know that. But it’s almost like he knew what was coming.”

  Harry asked, “Have you questioned him?”

  “Couldn’t find him. He’s gone. And he left his truck. It’s still where he parked it. Turns out it was stolen from a town in West Virginia a few days before he showed up here.”

  “You’ve searched the truck?”

  “We will when we’ve towed it.”

  “And the laptop,” asked Harry?

  “We’ve only looked at the emails. Some were sent here when she was already dead. Two Hilton Head cops will be flying up to get it. They’ll be taking the car back as well. We don’t need them. They want them. They’re evidence.”

  “And you brought it here because…”

  “So we might leave it. Accidentally. It might have files that are nobody’s business and have nothing to do with what happened to her. Someone might want to clean it up a little.”

  “Very thoughtful of you, Dave. I’ll remember it.”

  Sergeant Ragland said, “We’re almost done here.” He asked Elizabeth, “You’re not Muslim, are you?”

  “I am not.”

  “But the girls were.”

  “They were,” said Elizabeth, “and they are.”

  “Sorry, I just thought… they might have put it behind them.”

  “They have not. It’s their faith. They’re quite devou
t.”

  “Including Rasha?” he asked.

  “Especially Rasha.”

  “Okay, no offense. What I’m trying to get at… she seems to have been the primary target. I’ve read that Muslims want to kill all apostates. I’m just wondering if that’s what’s behind this.”

  “A handful of Muslims feel that way, yes. So do a handful of Christians and Jews. All religions have their lunatic fringe.”

  “Fair enough. Can we speak to her?”

  “Maybe tomorrow,” said Elizabeth while rising.

  “Sure,” said Karen, rising with her, as did Ragland. “Maybe when we come back for the laptop.”

  Harry stood at the window watching them drive away. He said, “Good. Not a word about Haskell.”

  Kessler nodded. “Only about this man named Gilhooley.” He said to Elizabeth, “You reacted to the name.”

  She told him that she’d seen him, was suspicious of him; she’d seen him or his truck once too often. She’d asked Sam Foote to keep an eye on him for her, but Sam seemed to think he was okay. “I’m not blaming Sam. but…”

  “No post mortems,” said Kessler. More likely, he thought, she was blaming herself for not confronting this man then and there. “You heard Dave and Karen. They both had regrets. I’m sure Sam has his own. They do us no good whatsoever.”

  Harry grunted. “You knew that Sam worked for me?”

  “In Italy. Known as Bigfoot. I’d heard.”

  “You heard what? In a nutshell.”

  “That he never stops coming.”

  “Well, I suspect,” said Harry, “that he’s probably decided that he’s had enough of retirement. He’s going to want Gilhooley. And he’ll find him.”

  Elizabeth said, “Haskell should know where he’s gone.”

  “Yes, he might. And we’ll talk to him. Not now. Let him cook. But assume that by morning some witness will remember seeing someone being thrown in Roger’s trunk. Someone might even have it on video.”