by Terry Keys
“Yes, damn it. I’m here. How the hell—”
“I don’t know. Don’t ask,” he said sternly. “Just find out who killed Yoshida, and put an end to this quickly growing international nightmare we have on our hands. Can you do that?”
“I’ll make it work with Mullinski. Paul and I will make it work.”
Chapter 15
I’d already sent a text to Paul and DeLuca telling them the plans moving forward. DeLuca would be on Jay-Z/Beyoncé’s murdered nephew, and Paul and I would tackle Mullinski, Khalid, the Secret Service, and whatever terror group was behind Yoshida’s murder.
I had a one p.m. meeting scheduled with Mullinski, Khalid, Paul, and an unnamed special agent from the Secret Service. The idea was to get us all on the same page, establish some ground rules, and devise a plan.
The chief had given us the Zeus conference room as our war room. Fingers hadn’t turned up anything on the two Middle Eastern men we’d seen in Chinatown. I needed a mistake to be made here. This thing didn’t need to snowball any further. All we needed was some trigger-happy parliament somewhere to hit a button, and a nuclear holocaust would end us all.
I looked up as my door creaked and eased open.
“Mr. Lafitte,” I said, walking around my desk to hug my old friend Paul.
“Good to see you, brother,” Paul said.
“Likewise. The reason I called you in before our FBI/Secret Service party was to fill you in on what I know so far and to warn you about Mullinski.” I offered Paul a chair, and we settled in without skipping a beat.
“Who the hell is Mullinski?”
“FBI guy. He and I have met before.”
“He the one that interrogated you after the Tess Key—”
I put a hand up in the air. “Yes, same tool. I’m going to play nice with him. But just know he’s not easy to get along with.”
“I thought you said there were two FBI guys. And someone from the Secret Service.”
“Correct. Other guy’s name is Khalid Muhami. Younger guy, mid-twenties. Spent a lot of time in the Middle East. Could be an asset. I’m betting they assigned him because of that time spent. Not sure who the Secret Service is sending.”
Paul’s face wrinkled. “What?” I asked.
“I don’t know about this Khalid guy. I mean, you know how I feel.”
“Paul, I’ve known you my whole life. You’ve never made a racist comment, other than a joke here or there like the rest of us. What is this all about?”
“Well, if I’m being honest, our time in the military, 9/11, and . . . I don’t know. The news . . . is what this is all about.”
I shook my head and laughed. “You aren’t serious, are you?”
“As a heart attack, brother. I mean, how do we really know this kid is who he says he is?”
I couldn’t believe I was hearing Paul talk this way. I’d never heard him spout such ignorance.
“He works for the FBI, Paul. They do conduct background checks.”
“The FBI has conducted investigations into hundreds of people. How many have they missed?”
“So, what, he’s a double agent who’s infiltrated the FBI?”
“Possible. Can we be careful, is all? Can we have Fingers run something on him? Off the grid.”
“So we’re profiling the FBI agents now?”
“Only the ones that look like him. They been profiling guys like me my whole life, and I was born here. I don’t feel bad at all that somebody else gets profiled.”
Paul had a point there, albeit a small one. I understood where he was coming from.
“Listen, Knuckles, I’m not saying I won’t shake the guy’s hand, which has happened to me. Nor will I ask to rub his hair, which has also happened to me.”
I said nothing.
“Look, even those people who say they don’t profile do. You’re walking down the street. Two groups of three guys approach. One is a group of white men in business suits. The other is a group of young black men in baggy jeans and T-shirts. Which one you gonna do a double take at?”
I said nothing.
“You don’t have to answer. And actually, by your silence you kind of already have.”
As much as I hated to believe it, Paul was right. I didn’t agree with doing a more in-depth background check on Khalid simply because of his race. But being from the Middle East, I suppose that he could have ties there. Maybe. It just felt like the exact thing I’d fought against my entire adult life.
I stood up and grabbed my notepad. A thud rang out as I slapped Paul on the back. “C’mon. We’ll do your background on Khalid. Think you’re going to be disappointed in the outcome though. While we’re at it, I wanna check out Mr. Mullinski too.”
“No, I won’t be disappointed. Either way, I’ll know what we’re up against.”
I nodded and we headed for our meeting.
When we arrived, both Mullinski and Khalid were already seated at the table. The four of us exchanged pleasantries and got down to business. A second later, the door burst open and an attractive middle-aged brunette stormed in. She pulled out a chair and plopped down at the table.
“Special Agent McFarland, U.S. Secret Service,” she said, eyeing us all one by one.
I nodded. “We’re just getting started, so you haven’t missed anything.”
She nodded back and took out a notepad. “I’m not here to get in anyone’s way. Just reporting back to the director. Who’s running this show anyway?”
Mullinski and I looked at each other, and I pointed to him. “He is—FBI Agent Mullinski.”
“Okay. And who might you be?”
I paused for a moment. “Detective David Porter, HPD.”
“Ahh HPD. Local guy. That’s cute.”
Mullinski chuckled but wiped the grin off after I looked over.
I cleared my throat. “I’m not here to get in anyone’s way either. But I was asked to be on this team, and I won’t just be here to take notes.”
McFarland pouted her lips and bit her pen. This one had some nerve, I thought.
“Come into a man’s house and piss on his porch?” I heard Paul mumble under his breathe.
McFarland straightened. “Something you want to add to the official notes, cowboy?” she asked him.
Paul smiled and gestured to the contrary.
I looked Mullinski’s way. “Your show, tough guy. Want to get it cracking?”
Mullinski wasted no time reminding me just why I disliked the guy so much.
“So, which reporter you sleep with to get on this task force?” he said, nudging Khalid who looked shocked by the question.
I scratched my head. “Have to be a whole lot higher pay grade than a reporter to pull this one, Mully. Oh, and have you seen my wife? Hottest reporter in Texas—some even say North America.” I held up my phone. “I can show you a picture if you haven’t.”
“Let’s just get on with it,” he growled back.
Paul covered his mouth trying to hold back a laugh.
I decided I would try to keep my promise to Paul and take the high road. “Listen, Mully. I know you and I got off to a bad start the last time we worked together. But if we don’t put that aside and crack this, it will be to the detriment of us all. Personally, I don’t want to look out my window and see a half dozen Jihadi yielding AK-47s patrolling my street. Do you?”
He nodded.
“Bury the hatchet?” I asked, extending my hand.
“Buried,” he said as he reached out to shake it.
“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, why do you think Jihadis are behind this?” Mullinski asked.
Paul straightened in his seat. “I’ll take that one. Simple. Despite the crap North Korea and others talk in the media, no one else has the balls to do what they did. No one.”
“Precisely,” I added.
Khalid raised his hand. “I know I’m probably the youngest, least experienced guy here, but other than this gut feeling and highly unsubstantiated deduction, do y
ou guys have anything else?”
“Believe it or not, I agree with them,” Mullinski hesitantly added.
I turned to Khalid. “Listen, if I’m wrong I’ll be the first to admit it. These guys have openly declared war on America. They have attacked here before, and they aren’t hiding behind some clever wordplay online. They have the funding, weaponry, and training as well. Who do you think trained bin Laden during the eighties?”
Khalid nodded. “You make some good points, but none of it will mean anything without evidence. My specialty is Middle Eastern history. Believe me, I understand what they are capable of.”
“Okay, so we all agree that’s where this investigation starts?” I asked.
Everyone nodded. For the next hour we shared intel both ways. Anytime agencies played together, you always wondered if the other side was equally sharing everything they knew. And more often than not, neither of you were. Khalid had been tasked with reviewing the video surveillance from the Chinatown area where Yoshida had been murdered. His report hadn’t turned up much, which concerned me. The suitcase exchange between the two Middle Eastern men I’d stumbled across was fairly noticeable. I decided that would be one of the pieces that I kept to myself . . . at least for now.
Chapter 16
The clocked ticked away minute by minute, inching ever so close to four p.m. DeLuca would be bursting through my office door any second now, and I wasn’t looking forward to it. I’d spent the afternoon trying to work up a positive spin on assigning her to the local rapper homicide instead of working the Yoshida murder with me.
She knocked once and opened the door. I slowly looked up and made eye contact with DeLuca. I gestured at the chair in front of me.
“It’s okay. I’ll stand,” she said.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Care to explain how I get dumbed down to this Jay-Z/Beyoncé bullshit?”
“Not really,” I said. “But I’m sure you aren’t going to let me off the hook that easily.”
“Cut the shit, Porter. I’m serious. I’ve busted my ass since I’ve been here in Houston, and this is the thanks I get?”
She had a point.
“Feels like we had tryouts, and I just found out that I made the B team.”
I laughed.
“Well, I’m glad you find this funny. Maybe I should just go back to New York.”
My face stiffened. “Listen. You’ve impressed the hell out of me. And been a huge help and a great detective mind. Chief said he wanted my best, so you got the gig.”
Her stance softened slightly. I gestured for the chair again. “Look, no one is trying to sideline you here. The truth of the matter is, he asked for my best so I’m sending him my best. Would you have liked it better if I’d sent Paul as my best?”
She pouted. “No. I guess not, since you put it that way.”
I smiled again. “Well, that’s the only way I can put it.”
My phone buzzed. I put a hand up to DeLuca and turned my speakerphone on.
“Talk to me, Fingers.”
“Okay, well, you ain’t gonna believe this. One of those damn Indian fellows we ran an ID on from the Chinese market came back hot.”
“No, I believe it. That’s why we’re looking into them. So?”
“Well, one of the guys came back with nothing. Mohammed Doe.” Fingers laughed.
DeLuca shook her head. “Really?”
“You can find humor in anything,” Fingers said.
“Okay, children,” I scolded, shaking my head.
“Yeah, the other guy is Rokan Sheth.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Someone who isn’t supposed to be here,” Fingers said.
“Well, how the hell did he get in?” DeLuca asked.
“Good question. I used some software to track the suitcase they exchanged. It took me awhile, but I found the plane it traveled here on. Don’t know what’s in it, but obviously it’s important. I checked the plane’s manifest, and there was only one passenger with a Middle Eastern-ish name—Kahlan Sumladi.”
“And who the hell is that?” I asked.
“No one. Absolutely no one. When you do a background on the guy, he’s clean as a whistle. But that whistle only goes back about a year. Nothing before a year ago on this Kahlan guy. No Facebook, no Instagram, nothing. Guy was a ghost. So I’m thinking—”
I interrupted. “You’re thinking Kahlan is actually Rokan Sheth,” I said.
“Bingo.”
“So give me the rap sheet on Sheth,” I said.
DeLuca stood up and mouthed, “Gotta run. Have to find this killer before Jay makes a song about it,” she said, winking at me.
I knew that conversation wasn’t finished, but at least she didn’t seem too pissed. I gave her a thumbs-up and turned my attention back to Fingers.
“Sheth is second cousin to the number two and three on the United States terror watch list. Someone who would no doubt be detained and questioned, to say the least. Made several trips back and forth from the Middle East. Then about three years ago the trips stopped.
“They stopped because he started using fake passports to move around. And the two guys in the video never said a word to each other. They didn’t even acknowledge the other was there. The exchange was fast and very suspicious. Not at all how two guys on the up and up would have been exchanging a suitcase. And he used an alias to sneak into the country. So we know he’s up to something.”
“Have you looked to see if Kahlan has checked into any hotels? I doubt at this point they’d be that stupid, but stranger things have happened.”
“Yeah, I checked already. Nothing. Probably had a half dozen fake IDs that he’ll keep cycling through.”
“Listen, I’ve got a few FBI names I’d like you to run for me.”
“FBI guys?”
“Yeah.” I gave him the names.
“So if they’re FBI, why are you running a background check on them?”
“Long story. Let me know what you find out, and don’t let anyone know about this inquiry.”
“Okay. What are you trying to learn about them?”
“You report back to me on anything that you find interesting. I’ll decide if it’s important. Good work today. Send over everything you have on Rokan Sheth.”
I disconnected and waited for my email to beep. Who are you, Mr. Rokan? Who are you?
Chapter 17
I’d scrolled through Rokan’s entire file. I was convinced he was a shady character, but he had nothing on record. I needed to find him. He was using fake I.D.s to hide his movement. And if nothing else, he’d met up with a ghost to exchange a package. His package exchange was less than forty yards from where Yoshida had been killed. Having family members at the top of the U.S. watch list, coupled with the Chinatown appearance and the fake passports, told me I needed to zero in on him and fast.
My gut was telling me to let Mullinski and Khalid in on this intel, but I at least wanted to wait to hear back from Fingers first.
Suddenly my phone was ringing. I hadn’t expected that Mullinski’d be blowing up my cell phone so quickly.
“You asking me out to dinner now or what?” I said, laughing.
“Hardly. I’m back in the Zeus conference room. You might want to get down here for this. Now. And hurry!”
What the hell was going on now?
I shot Paul a text and told him to meet us. As I dashed across the building, people were scurrying all over the place. I almost got knocked down twice, narrowly dodging two beat cops. What the hell was going on? I sped up my pace.
When I reached the door and opened it, the words burned through my ears and imprinted on my brain. “Houston, America has another death on its hands. Iraqi President Sivan Awad is dead of an apparent heart attack.”
Mullinski’s face was beet red. He slammed a closed fist into the conference room table, making a drink spill. Khalid stood with his hand covering his mouth. Noticeably less angry than Mully, he seemed shocked by the news. A min
ute later Paul joined us, and we all listened in horror and formulated our own end-of-the-world scenarios. This was bad.
Iraq had been the last country to agree to sending their leader to the U.S. for the Summit. Their main concern had been the safety of Awad. And now he was dead. And I didn’t believe it was a heart attack that did it.
I saw the remote for the TV on the table top across the room. I scrambled over and pushed the Off button.
I sat down at the conference table. “Mullinski, call the director of the Secret Service—now. Paul, get Chief Hill on the phone and get him in here. And somebody text McFarland too, I guess. I need the FBI’s top brass in on this too.”
Less than five minutes later, Chief Hill burst into the room. Mullinski had finally gotten the director of the Secret Service and the FBI on his personal cell phone and had them on speaker. McFarland joined us as well.
Mullinski set his phone in the center of the table and I got right to it. “Director Burke, pleasure to talk to you again, sir. Too bad it’s under these circumstances. I will get right to it. As of yesterday only a select group was informed of the whereabouts of the other world leaders who are here in Houston. Yet somehow President Awad was murdered. And I bet with one hundred percent certainty a video will surface soon. I know you probably can’t explain that, so I won’t ask you to. Here is what I do want. I’m going to tell McFarland where the remaining dignitaries will be taken. All of them. You can’t effectively protect them spread out across Houston. Reduce the number of people who know down to almost nothing. Whack your last list in half and then in half again.”
McFarland opened her mouth to object, but I put my hand up to stop her.
“No one knows this city better than me and the HPD. We aren’t going to lose another president on Houston’s watch. I won’t tell you the location over the phone, but I promise you they’ll be the safest there. One way in; one way out. Chief Hill and I will handpick a few from our Special Forces unit for this detail. Again, the only way this works is if the number of people in the know is extremely limited. Establish secure lines of communication back to the dignitaries’ countries.”
“Porter, I’ve known you a long time, many years, and you’ve never let me down,” Burke said. “McFarland, after this call, get me the details from Porter ASAP. Is that understood?”