“Excellent, I like your plan.”
“I thought you would. Apparently they aren’t hard to find, so we should be able to pull it together pretty quickly.”
“Great. Let me know when you know.”
“Where is Hafsah?”
“She went to Jacksonville.”
“Jacksonville, Texas, whatever for?”
“…To get gas.”
Christine waited for me to elaborate.
I shrugged.
“It’s a long story. I think she said something about meeting someone she might know there.”
“Uh huh.”
“Let it go, Christine.”
She gave me a smug look as I turned to walk away.
“I can if you can.” She said.
17
As I drove into the parking lot of Hafsah’s hotel, I observed a man standing outside the front entrance smoking a cigarette. I parked and walked back toward the entrance. The smoker was no longer there.
In the lobby, a couple seated in the reception area glanced at me as I made my way to the bank of elevators.
I found room 314 and knocked on the door.
A moment later, Hafsah, wearing a light blue, full length caftan with a floral pattern in gold embroidery and flared sleeves, answered my knock. Her dark hair was loose and fell in swirls to her shoulders. Her flawless makeup was still in place.
She smiled with genuine delight upon seeing me, and putting her hands on my shoulders, she greeted me with the traditional kiss on both cheeks. It evoked memories of how long it had been since a woman had kissed me. Her hair was lightly scented with a delicate perfume. The scent couldn’t have been any headier to me if she’d bathed in it. It took all the restraint I’d in me to stop myself from taking her in my arms and kissing her with somewhat greater passion than might be considered a traditional greeting.
She took my hand and led me into her suite.
“John, is there something troubling you?”
“It’s just another case I’m working on. I don’t like where it’s leading. I’ve pulled a friend into an ugly situation. I usually watch his back.”
She considered my answer for a moment. I could tell she was thinking through her response. She squinted at me.
“Why would you wash his back?”
I chuckled. “To watch someone’s back, means to provide protection from an unknown threat they might not see coming. It’s a jargon expression or idiom.”
She looked amused, a little smile forming at the corners of her mouth.
“Is that so? I never knew that. You should not have let the cat out of the bag.”
I laughed, she’d set me up and I walked right into it.
“Gotcha!” She said. “Would you care for a drink? Perhaps some wine?”
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
Soon we were settled in the sitting area with glasses of Pinot Noir.
Hafsah sat on the couch with her legs drawn up under her. I sat in an easy chair opposite her with the little coffee table between us.
I couldn’t help admiring her shape and the way the caftan stretched across her thigh. It was painfully evident she wasn’t hiding a gun… or much of anything else.
She caught my eyes.
“Let me tell you about my trip to the town of Jacksonville,” she said. “I drove to the convenience store referenced in the dossier. I went inside to present the cashier with payment before I filled the vehicle’s tank with petrol…”
I found myself smiling.
“…I immediately recognized the clerk as being our subject-Aaron Parviz. He was very friendly, seeing me as a Muslim woman. He asked where I was from, and I told him I was visiting Tyler, from Los Angeles, but I’d been born in Islamabad. He told me he’d also been born there and had recently visited Pakistan. Some of his family is still living in the Waziristan region. I spoke the traditional greeting to him in Pashtu. He responded with obvious surprise and pleasure.”
“Well done,” I said, interrupting her for a moment.
“I then returned outside and fueled the automobile. When I came back into the building, I made small talk and admired a set of drums over in a corner of the store. He told me they were his and he practiced on them when there were no customers.
I nodded my encouragement.
“I asked him if he was in a band or musical group. He told me he was in a band called the ‘Honk Tonk Broncs’, and he showed me a poster on the wall.”
“Very well done,” I observed.
“Ummm,” she agreed. “I pretended to be impressed by this. He seemed very excited by my interest. He went on to tell me the Honky Tonk Broncs are to be an opening act in an up-coming concert here in Tyler. The headliner is someone named Kyle Coltrane. Do you know this name, John?”
“I do, yes. I heard it mentioned just recently. I guess he’s sort of famous in the popular music business.”
Hafsah shrugged. “So I gathered. Aaron Parvis asked me if I would be interested in attending the concert, indicating he might be able to ‘get me in’. I told him I worked for a record producer named Earl Hightower who might be interested in hearing the band play. He seemed enamored with me. I believe he was attempting to discover whether or not I have a ‘significant other’. Is that the correct expression?” She asked shyly.
“I reckon so.” I drawled.
“He told me his name and I introduced myself using the name Nadia Ahmed.”
“How do you keep track of all the false names you use?” I asked.
“I do it the same way you do. It is an acquired skill, John.” She smiled.
“Indeed it is.”
“Does it bother you?”
I took a deep breath. In this war, I’ve used several different names, some for my work, some for my life, in both this century and the last. Her use of a false name didn’t bother me at all. I’d given her my favorite alias. I’d even supplied her with some of my fancy embossed business cards that just had the name “Earl Hightower” and a phone number on them. There was something entirely different, though not unrelated, we needed to discuss. I figured now was as good a time as any for me to bring it up.
“No, Hafsah. What troubles me is the fact you have other Mossad agents here with you, and you haven’t bothered to mention it.”
Her eyes widened and she nearly spilled her wine.
“How did you know? Who told you?”
“I didn’t know, for sure, until you just confirmed it.”
She closed her eyes, those oh so beautiful eyes.
“I am sorry, John. We are in the practice of being discrete. I did not think you needed to know.” She said, urgently leaning forward to engage me. “I mean it, John, I am truly sorry.”
“Yeah, well sorry don’t cover it. How many are there and what is their purpose?”
She took a deep breath.
“There are four of us, in total. We are two women and two men. I am the lead agent. The other three are support and logistics specialists. They also handle communications and provide security for me. How did you spot them?”
“I first saw them in the dining room, that first morning. I saw them again tonight. It’s what I do.”
“Yes, you are very good. I know I should have told you from the beginning.”
“Trust is a choice, Hafsah.”
“You must try to understand, John. I didn’t tell you because I am not permitted to do so. It was not about trust. Mossad has a certain way of doing things. I am just a servant, not the master.”
I smiled and touched her cheek.
“I do understand. I am a servant myself, remember?”
Hafsah took my hand in hers and searched my eyes.
“John, please understand. I’d no intention of deceiving you. If you want to meet the other members of my team, I will call them in here.”
“No. It might be better if they don’t know that I know. One of them would inform your superiors. That could create some unforeseen complications. Don’t you
think?”
She was thoughtful for a moment.
“Will you tell your superiors?” She asked, watching me closely.
“Hafsah, I’m not working for any government agency. I’m helping you because you came to me. I don’t have to report this to anyone.”
“That is good. I am sorry, but I’d to ask the question.”
I decided to give her some encouragement.
“Let me tell you what I’ve learned. My associate, Christine, has discovered a guy by the name of Nat Baha purchased an electric guitar, an amplifier, and some other things at a local pawnshop, two days ago. He’s looking for additional equipment they didn’t have. Christine is going to arrange to have the pawn shop call Mr. Baha and tell him they now have that equipment.”
Her jaw firmed and fire came into her eyes.
“Do you know where he is staying?” she asked, excitedly.
“No, he paid for the things he bought with cash and only left a phone number.” I handed her the slip of paper with the number written on it. “I expect it’s a throw away phone, but you can have your team check it out.”
“Thank you, this is excellent. We will set up surveillance on the pawn shop. We may be able to take Hakim when he shows up for the rest of the equipment.”
“No, we have additional fish to gather in the net. I know you are only tasked with getting your cousin, Hafsah, but I want to stop the whole bunch of them. Hakim came here to lead an attack. Eliminating him might delay the attack, but it wouldn’t stop it.”
“That is not my mission, John. I must stop Hakim, by any means necessary and at the first opportunity.”
“Hafsah, listen to me. Many lives are at stake here. We have a chance to stop a terrorist attack, and get Hakim in the process. He’s been here long enough to organize these men and plan an attack on a specific location. If we just take Hakim, it won’t stop the attack. Can you let that happen?”
I could see she was struggling with the question.
“I will have to ask my superiors for direction in this matter.”
“I don’t think so, Hafsah. I’m not asking your handlers in Tel Aviv or Jerusalem for anything. I’m asking you. Will you help me stop the attack from ever happening?”
She looked deeply into my eyes. After a moment she nodded.
“Yes, John. We will stop it together.”
I chuckled. “We are quite a pair. Each of us wanting to trust the other, but each a product of our training.”
“Sadly, yes. But, John, I want you to know I have grown very…fond of you. I would never deliberately do anything to hurt you…”she trailed off.
“…And I you, but you already know that, don’t you?”
She smiled brightly. “I was hoping it was so!”
We held each other’s hands for a moment. The desire to kiss her was nearly overwhelming me.
She must have sensed my inclination, and shared it, because she met me half way.
As we kissed, I was aware she could be trying to seduce me and use my male weakness to manipulate me. Could be, but I believed in her sincerity and I was sensitive to her own vulnerability. I didn’t completely lose my head, but I was nearly overwhelmed by the sheer sensuality of the moment.
When we both came up for air, Hafsah’s eyes were twinkling with delight. I found myself grinning like the Cheshire cat! I felt like I was sixteen again. Astonishing, considering the year I was born.
That thought brought back to earth with a horrendous impact.
18
As the men were sharing the evening meal, Aaron Parvis spoke up.
“I met a fascinating Muslim woman at the store today.”
“Hah! To you, all women are fascinating,” said his friend, Jahander Khalid.
“Well, pretty much, yeah,” Aaron said. The two men grinned at each other. ”But this woman has just moved here from L.A., and she speaks Pashtu.”
The other men at the table now gave him their full attention.
“Now you’re talkin’, a California girl! What does she look like?” Jahander asked?
“She’s beautiful. Dark eyes and complexion, a brilliant smile…”
“How about her body? Is she a ten, or a hen?”
“I sure wouldn’t kick her out of bed.”
“Hah! As if you could get her into one.”
“Enough of this lewd talk!” Nat Baha slapped his hand on the table. “Is this woman married?”
“No, she’s single. I think she might’ve been flirting with me.”
“You think every woman is flirting with you,” said Jahander.
Nat Baha scowled and said, “You say she is Muslim. Is she a woman of virtue, or a typical Westernized whore?”
“I believe she is devoted to the Prophet—may his name be forever adored. Her appearance was very traditional, in both dress and manner.”
“Then do not speak of her so disrespectfully. What is her name?” asked Nat Baha.
“Nadia Ahmed. And get this, she works for a guy in the music business.”
Nat Baha sat up straight.
“How did you come to meet this woman?” He asked.
“She’s just a customer. She was buying gas.”
“Who does she work for?”
“She says his name is Ed, or maybe Earl-something. Evidently he’s some kind of music producer or talent recruiter.”
“Did you not ask her for more details?”
“Well, uh, no. I was more interested in her. She seemed pretty excited about the concert, though.”
As the conversation moved on to other things, Nat Baha considered what Aaron had told them. Was meeting this woman just a random encounter, a divine portent, or something more sinister? Perhaps it was nothing more than an interesting coincidence.
Nat Baha didn’t believe in coincidence. He broke into the light hearted banter.
“Did you tell this woman… what did you say her name is?”
“…Nadia Ahmed, from California.”
“Did you tell Miss Ahmed that you will be performing with the band at the concert?”
“Yep. I offered to get her in. She said she would discuss it with her boss. Maybe he’d be interested in seeing us play.”
Nodding, Nat Baha said nothing further. As he mulled over the possibilities he stroked his beard, watching the men at the table. The lead guitar player, Jeff Tolbert was a problem. The others had vouched for him, saying Tolbert had recently converted to Islam. Baha didn’t trust him. Why had the man not selected a Muslim name? He was training well enough, but was he a true Muslim? The man’s skills were only marginal. Could he be counted on when the killing began? No, there was something amiss.
Nat Baha felt the presence of the angel and as he opened his mind to the unheard voice, he knew then what must be done.
Jeff Tolbert would not be missed.
19
I was a little late getting to the office the next morning. Christine was already seated at her desk, wearing a striped sweater in forest green and black, with silver jewelry. She’d her shining red hair loosely braided and pulled forward over one shoulder. She looked up from her computer screen as I approached her desk.
“I have some bad news, John. I arranged to have the pawn shop call Nat Baha about the foot pedal thingy. He told them he’d already gotten all the equipment he needed.”
“The Vox Wah, wah,” I said.
“Wah, wah, wah.” She said, making a sad face.
I’d to smile.
“That is bad news. It was such a good lead and pretty much our only lead.”
“Well, maybe not our only lead. I’ve been researching local recording studios and other places where musicians gather. Sure enough, a guy by the name of Nat Baha has been asking around about setting up a recording session.”
“Outstanding! Tell me more.”
“He wants to record a heavy blues guitar session. He appears to be shopping prices. As you know, getting a record made is as easy as pie, if you have enough money. Getting it reproduced, p
romoted, marketed, shipped and sold is a whole different story. It takes industry connections and some very deep pockets.”
As usual, Christine’s observation was critical. I’dn’t even considered the cost.
“What would it cost to get a demo record made?
“I don’t know. What with studio rental, paying sound technicians, and whatever else, probably at least a few grand. All that would get you is a single CD and maybe a digital version of the recording. You could carry it around with you and play it for your friends. If you wanted to do anything commercially productive with it, you’d need an agent to get it in the hands of the movers and shakers. You know, get it to someone who could make a real record and promote you as an artist. Nobody would ever hear your music, without someone promoting it.”
“I guess it’s like a lot of other things, you get what you pay for. I imagine there are many different ways to get all that done.” I speculated.
“Sure, but if you do it yourself, they’re all incredibly expensive. The best way is the traditional way. Get a recording contract with a reputable record company. That way, the company bears all the up-front cost and risk. They have everything in place from providing studio space, a producer, sound technicians and studio musicians, to promotion and marketing people, whatever it takes to produce a successful and profitable record. They can even handle concert booking and travel arrangements.”
“Yeah, but our boy doesn’t have a recording contract. He’ll have to pay for everything himself, studio musicians, sound technicians, getting the CDs, packaging, shipping, advertising, the whole nine yards.”
“He’s been telling people he has his own back-up band, so he won’t need studio musicians.”
“That won’t save him much money, and he still won’t have any name recognition or ready-made market for his recording.” I mused.
“Do you know if he’s some kind of millionaire? It will cost many thousands of dollars to do all that, unless he develops some name recognition.” Christine said.
…Name recognition. Could he be thinking once he was identified as an international terrorist, responsible for mass murder in the U.S. and other countries, people would want to buy his record to hear his music? I didn’t think so. He wanted people to hear his music as soon as possible, before he became known as one of the most twisted people in history.
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