Saliha hesitated, then pulled out her cell phone. If something happened to Ahmed she’d never get the rest of her money. She pressed the speed-dial number.
Daryl slowly came awake as if climbing out of a dark and very deep well. It was utterly quiet in the apartment. She had no idea how much time had passed. She looked at the angle of the sun and decided it had only been a short while. She moved her hands to her face and with some effort, worked the tape, then pushed the gag from her mouth. She lay there breathing the rich air, grateful to be alive.
When she finally moved she realized she was wet with something sticky. Then it came back to her. Blood. Still on the floor she turned her head. Across the linoleum kitchen floor was a long, broad crimson streak. At the end lay Karim, unmoving. Slowly, cautiously, Daryl rose to her feet. The cut across her right palm hurt like hell.
The knife was gone. She glanced about the kitchen searching for a weapon in the event Karim was able to attack her again. There was a heavy old-fashioned cast-iron coffee grinder resting on the counter. She took it and approached the man. When she reached him she stopped, listened closely, watching him. No sound at all came from him. And his body never moved. He was dead.
Maybe.
Daryl went behind him, then tentatively reached forward with her left hand and poked him to see if he’d react. He didn’t. Now she poked him even harder. Nothing. She took him by his shoulder and with some effort rolled him onto his back.
She shot upright. Karim’s eyes were open and glazed over. She’d never seen anything like it.
Daryl backed away, bumped into the fallen wooden chair, straightened it, then sat, holding the coffee grinder on her lap like a purse. She’d never seen a dead man before, not like this, not out of a casket and in a funeral home. Then the horror of what had just happened struck her.
She’d killed him.
Daryl sat, contemplating the thought, waiting for the reality to engulf her, for the sense of regret, of guilt, then realized she felt none. The man deserved it. It was him or her and she’d been lucky enough to make it him.
Finally, her numbed mind started to function normally. Get out, she thought. You’ve got to get out of here. The other one will be back at any time. She stood up and moved toward the door. Just as she reached for the doorknob, she saw it turn and an instant later the door opened.
Wu instructed the driver to drop them two blocks from the address he’d been given. His father’s information had been complete, the result of the considerable research skills of the Cyber Warfare Center. He had a description, several photographs, this address, and more. With luck he’d find the laptops at the man’s apartment; with more luck he’d simply surrender it. If not, he had Li.
Taboritska 5. 1001/27. Here it was.
The street entrance was locked. Though Wu didn’t intend to waste time he was not especially in a hurry. He could afford to wait. Just then a gross man waddled down the stairs and caught his eye. Wu gestured for him to open the door.
The concierge held the door open a few inches. He spoke in English as he didn’t know Japanese or Korean or Chinese, whatever it was these two smiling men were. “What do you want?”
“We need to see the gentleman in apartment 27,” Wu said.
The Arab, the concierge thought. He is very popular this morning. “Perhaps.”
Wu understood at once and removed a twenty Euro note from his wallet. The concierge snorted. “You’ll have to do much better than that. Ahmed is a friend of mine.”
Wu doubted that very much. He pulled out a one hundred Euro note, an enormous extravagance. The man nodded. Wu held out the note and it vanished into the man’s palm. He swung the door open. “Upstairs. Three flights. On the end.”
“Is our friend home?” Wu asked.
The concierge shrugged, then vanished through his own door.
Wu went to the stairs and the pair moved rapidly up. Only Li carried a weapon. He drew out his automatic and stood beside the door, his back to the wall. He looked to Wu and nodded. Wu reached out and tried the doorknob. It moved. The door had been broken open. Li took the lead, entered, then called out for Wu to join him.
The place was empty.
“Search,” Wu ordered. “We’re looking for laptops, external drive, thumb drive, anything like that. Be thorough.” The two men set about methodically searching the apartment.
Jeff had the right building but triangulation only worked so far. Frank could not give him an apartment number. Once inside he’d have to figure out where Ahmed was on his own.
Jeff examined the building carefully. It was four stories high, any number of apartments. How to close the odds? If he started knocking on doors he was bound to arouse suspicion. If he asked the wrong questions or appeared desperate it would have the same outcome.
He went to the entrance, which he found locked. On the side were three columns of six with names and buttons. Three of the name tags were blank, others were stricken through with handwritten names scribbled over. They were all incomprehensible to him. Of the remaining neatly printed names all appeared Czech, or at least Western.
A middle-aged man wearing the work clothes of a laborer came out the door without looking at him. Jeff caught the door and entered.
Now what?
Ahmed stepped into the room and stopped, stunned at what he saw. His phone rang at that moment but he ignored it. The furniture was scattered everywhere, there was blood on the floor, Karim lay near the kitchen looking dead, and the American woman was standing on the bloody floor holding something, her mouth wide open staring at him with utter shock.
“What have you done to my friend?” he demanded, moving toward her.
Daryl screamed, then shouted, “Help! Help!” as she lifted the coffee grinder to strike him.
Jeff heard the muffled sound from the foyer and bounded up the stairs, taking them three at a time. The shouting stopped, then resumed. As he moved he heard the sound again from above. On the fourth floor he was certain he was there. But now there was no sound at all. He moved quickly down the hallway, pausing to listen at each door, examining them for any sign that would help.
At the last door on the right he heard voices, agitated. One a man’s, one a woman’s.
Daryl.
Jeff grabbed the door handle just as he heard a struggle inside. The door was not locked. He opened it, rushing in at full speed. There was a man holding Daryl against the wall by her shoulders. Hearing noise he turned, but at the same moment Jeff dove into him.
The three went down in a pile, rolling about in the blood, unable to do anything effective because of the limited space. Ahmed never went about Prague armed and had not expected to need a weapon to get what he required from Daryl. The man was a giant, it seemed to him. The woman was crazy; there was no other description for her. She grabbed his right arm and was holding it firmly while the man was working to pin his left.
Ahmed struggled and pulled his arm free momentarily and struck Jeff hard against the side of his face. There was a scramble beside him as the woman struggled with something, then a black object struck Ahmed on the top of his head, then again, then again until finally he stopped fighting. Dazed and confused he lay there as he heard voices, seemingly distant. Then he was being manhandled and he felt himself being tied up. He opened his eyes for the final indignation as Daryl stuffed a soiled rag into his mouth, then tied it in place with a stark look of satisfaction.
Ahmed watched as the couple embraced, tried to focus his thoughts, then passed out.
“My God,” Daryl said. “I never thought I’d see you again.”
“Are you all right?” Jeff asked, never so relieved in all his life. If he’d lost Daryl he had no idea what he’d do.
“I’m . . . I’m all right. Very tired and, frankly, pissed as hell. And it looks like I killed one of our friends,” she said, pointing at Karim. Her hand suddenly hurt and she lifted it up. “I cut myself.”
Jeff took a look, glanced at Ahmed who was unmoving, then went in
to the bathroom. There were no bandages, nothing of use. In the kitchen he opened each of the drawers, finally finding an unopened roll of paper towels. He went back to Daryl who was sitting, exhausted, on the old couch by the window.
“This will have to do for now,” he said as he sat beside her then pulled off several large sheets and pressed them to her bleeding palm.
“How did you find me?” she asked in a near whisper.
Jeff gave her a brief summary including the young girlfriend who’d fled at the last moment. “I was very lucky.”
“It was about time we had some. Then the police don’t know you’re here?”
He shook his head. “I’d have burned Frank and Bridget if I told them. The police were on the same path but moving too slowly.”
“Government.”
“But without me to identify this man they don’t know where to look. By the way, the third guy’s dead, too. He killed Herlicher in Geneva, then was shot to death by the Geneva police.”
Daryl’s eyes turned cold. “Good. I’m sorry for Herlicher, though I doubt he’s any great loss to humanity.”
“Daryl!”
“You try getting kidnapped, tortured, smuggled out of the country, drugged, threatened, then fight your way out and kill a man in the process, and then see how it changes your perspective.” She looked at Ahmed as if considering his future but said nothing.
“You did well,” Jeff said, holding her again.
“I think he’s coming around,” Daryl said.
42
PRAGUE 3, CZECH REPUBLIC
TABORITSKA 5
8:41 A.M. CET
Wu stood back and slowly examined the room as Li methodically went through it again. The only computer belonged to the man who lived here, Ahmed Hossein al-Rashid. Wu would take it just in case. Li had found a cache of key-chain thumb drives. They looked unused but he’d take them as well. Otherwise he hadn’t found what he’d been sent for.
“Collect it,” he ordered. Li placed the items into the man’s computer bag, which was decorated with a large logo of a local soccer team.
Wu lifted his phone. This Ahmed had been the subject of extensive interest to the PLA and the information Wu’s father had passed on to him had been detailed. He didn’t know why the man was important to China but he knew there was some vital connection to justify such an effort. Using a special app designed for agent use, he keyed in the man’s cell-phone number and immediately acquired a location with an address. He entered his current address.
“He’s not far,” he said staring at the screen. “I think he took the laptops with him. Ready?” Li nodded and the two men set out.
This was just Wu’s second field operation and he’d botched the first. He’d not asked if Li had field experience. It was better if the man thought he knew everything about him. What mattered was that he not make any mistakes and look foolish.
On the ground floor the concierge was waiting for them, blocking the exit with his large presence. He held a very heavy walking stick, more like a club, laid casually across his chest. “I should call the police,” he said. “You’re stealing from a tenant.” He indicated the bag Li carried. “You have no right.”
He wanted more money Wu knew. Would it buy his silence? The man should have been happy with what he’d already received. And if he paid, knowing now how he was, he might still call the police. After all, he had to explain to the tenant what happened to his apartment.
The man continued, “I told you Ahmed is a friend of mine. He expects me to look after things for him.” He slapped the club against his chest gently.
Wu turned to Li and spoke in Mandarin. “We cannot trust him.”
Li nodded. In a flash he leaped on the hulking man. Before he could respond Li had struck him against his neck. He toppled over like a felled tree, the club clattering to the floor. Wu looked outside. No one. Without speaking, each man took an arm and dragged the concierge into his apartment. Li immediately searched the rooms, then returned shaking his head. They were alone.
Wu straightened. The apartment had a vile smell. So? What to do? Tie him up and leave him? Wait for him to wake up and give him more money? Every possibility had risks.
Li looked over expectantly. Wu shrugged. “Kill him.”
43
PRAGUE 3, CZECH REPUBLIC
KRASOVA 702/34
8:42 A.M. CET
Groggy, Ahmed slowly opened his eyes and glanced around the room, taking a minute to recall where he was and what had happened to him. He spotted Karim lying not far away, dead. His two best agents, killed within a day of each other.
He looked up and there was the tall American couple, holding one another, looking down at him in a way he’d never hoped to see.
So this is what it’s like, he thought. To be on the other side.
“Do you think the police are coming?” Daryl asked. “We’ve made a lot of noise.”
“I don’t know,” Jeff said.
“Maybe we should just go.”
“We need some answers, I think.” Jeff crossed over to Ahmed.
“There’s a dead man here,” Daryl said. “I don’t know where we are but I don’t want to have to explain what happened.”
“We’re in Prague. And you’re right.” Jeff looked at Ahmed. “I’d say we need a very good reason to leave this one alive, wouldn’t you?”
Despite himself Ahmed knew he’d given away his momentary agitation and fear. So, they were going to kill him. What else could he expect? It’s what he would have done if the roles were reversed.
Jeff had no intention of killing the man but knew it was to his advantage for him to think it likely. He glanced at Daryl. Given her state he wasn’t so sure of her intention. He knelt down.
“You see your partner there, dead? That will be you if we don’t get some answers. I’m going to remove the gag but you have to nod your head to show me you understand. If you make a sound I will just kill you and to hell with the information. Do you understand?”
Ahmed nodded. Jeff reached forward and slowly untied the cord holding the gag in place. He pulled the dirty rag out and waited as Ahmed drew several deep breaths.
“What’s this all about? Tell me everything,” Jeff ordered.
Ahmed hesitated but only briefly. There was, he realized, no point in resisting in the extreme. They already knew a great deal from Geneva. “I was instructed to take you and learn how much progress you’d made in your research. That was all. I only took the woman because she was with you.”
“Who gave you orders?”
Ahmed allowed himself a small smile. “I can’t tell you that.”
Jeff considered the nonanswer. The man was Iranian; Iran was all but at war with the United States and poised to detonate a nuclear bomb at any time if reports were accurate. Only the CIA and Israelis, through the very clever use of a Trojan, had managed to cause any significant delay, or the program any real damage. If this was an Iranian operation, then that meant the Trojan he and Daryl had been researching in London and Geneva was Iranian.
And that made no sense at all. It was far too sophisticated.
“What do you know about what we were researching in Geneva?”
“Nothing. It is not my field.”
“What did your superiors want to know?” Daryl asked, steel-eyed.
Ahmed refused to look at her. “They didn’t say. Just to find out how much you knew.”
“Ahmed,” Jeff said, using the man’s name intentionally to let him know he knew it, “Iran did not design this virus. We know that. Who did?”
Ahmed wondered the same thing himself. “I have no idea. That is not something I would be told.”
“What do you do in Prague?” Daryl asked.
“I’m a student.”
Jeff said, “Don’t be foolish, Ahmed. I can find a plastic bag in the kitchen. Do you think I’ve forgotten what you did to Daryl?”
Ahmed eyed the man carefully. No, this one might threaten him but he did not believe
for a moment he would kill him, or even torture him, not enough to make a difference. No, it was the woman he feared. There was a coldness there now that he’d not seen when they’d first taken her. What was the point in withholding what they wanted to know? It was of no use to them.
“I supervise people and occasionally carry out orders.”
“You mean you’re a terrorist,” Daryl snapped.
Ahmed laughed. “Hardly.”
“You kidnapped us. You were going to murder me.”
“Of course I wasn’t going to kill you. I do not kill, I do not bomb. We gather information. That is all, I assure you.”
“Get the bag, Jeff,” Daryl ordered. “This SOB is lying.” She moved much closer to him and squatted down. As Jeff went into the kitchen she said in a low voice, “Let’s see how you like it. I’m going to enjoy this.”
“All right, all right,” Ahmed said. “I will tell you everything. It is not so much. I supervise, like I said. We do this and do that, not so much.”
“And that woman?” Daryl said. “What about her?”
“What woman?”
“The one I found in your apartment,” Jeff said returning with a plastic shopping bag.
“Saliha, you mean? My girlfriend. What did she tell you?”
“The way this works is, we ask the questions. What does she do for you?” Daryl asked.
“She’s my girlfriend. What do you think she does?”
“That’s right, smirk,” Daryl said. She glared at him a moment, then snapped, “Give me that. He needs to learn manners.” Jeff handed her the bag. Daryl deftly slipped it over Ahmed’s head without preamble and closed it around his neck.
Ahmed reflexively drew a deep breath, the bag sticking across his mouth. He felt claustrophobic and in the grip of a panic attack. “All right, all right,” he said, his voice muffled by the plastic. “I’ll tell you.” She held the bag a moment longer before removing it. “Every few weeks I receive an e-mail. I copy the attachment to a USB key chain. She takes it to Turkey, then on to Iran.”
Trojan Horse Page 25