“Da, da,” Gregor replied. “I understand. Am waiting for wife. She is in hotel.” He pointed across the street at a cheap older hotel.
“Well, enjoy your stay,” the woman said, and walked off.
He watched her go as he pulled a cell phone out of his coat pocket and called his employer. “The girl just left with her boyfriend,” he said. “But there was someone else.”
“Who?” Maplethorpe asked.
“It took me a moment, but long time ago, when I was still working for Ivgeny Karchovski, he met with same woman in Brighton Beach,” Gregor replied. “I was there and heard her name. Marlene Ciampi.”
“The wife of the district attorney,” Maplethorpe hissed.
Gregor noted the fear in his employer’s voice. “Yes, that is her.”
“What was she doing with a Russian gangster?” Maplethorpe asked.
The man shrugged. “How do I know? They did not ask me to join them at table. Perhaps they are lovers, I don’t know. All I know is that she was in the church with the other two and that the door was locked. No one else has gone in or out of church, except old priest. What do you want me to do?”
There was a pause as Maplethorpe considered his options. “I can’t trust that little bitch Carmina,” he said at last. “I can’t afford to have her testify against me.”
“So again I ask, what do you want me to do?”
“I want you to take care of her,” Maplethorpe replied.
“It’ll cost double the last.”
“What? That’s outrageous! Why should it cost more?”
“Because the more I do, the greater the chance that I’ll be caught.”
“Well, just make sure you take care of this problem without it coming back on me,” Maplethorpe said. “Make it look like an accident or something.”
“You let me worry about that. We have deal?”
“Yes. When?”
“You let me worry about that, too.”
“But soon? The trial is in three weeks. I don’t need any more trouble.”
“Perhaps you should have thought of that before.”
“I’ve already heard that from my lawyer, thank you very much. Just take care of it.”
“Okay, boss, no problem. Consider problem gone.”
14
AMIR AL-SISTANI WAS CONVINCED THAT HIS HEALTH WAS slipping away with every hour that passed in the dark. Half naked beneath a thin blanket, he shivered and panicked as another rumbling, wheezing cough escaped his chattering lips. He recalled Grale’s red-stained handkerchiefs and was convinced that he could taste blood in his mouth.
Kept in total darkness, except for the infrequent flashlight beams of his captors and the occasional interrogation in Grale’s cavern, he was disoriented and had no sense for what day of the week it might be, or even what time of day. His memory seemed to come and go, and sometimes he had a hard time distinguishing between dreams and reality.
In fact, lately he’d been having hallucinations. Or at least that’s what he thought they were, such as the most recent event in which he’d been dragged from his sleep by pale, hardly human creatures with big eyes and sharp teeth. They’d pawed at him as he screamed in terror and slipped into unconsciousness.
When he awoke, one of Grale’s men sat next to him. The man was not one of his usual guards, but a stranger who stayed in the dark so that al-Sistani couldn’t distinguish his facial features.
“That was close, friend,” the man said. “Damn Jeremy and Paulito. They were supposed to be guarding you.”
“What were those things?” al-Sistani cried out.
“The others? Why, unclean spirits…as in the Book of Mark 3:11, ‘And unclean spirits, when they saw him, fell down before him, and cried’…only these weren’t crying, they were looking for a meal. Lucky for you I showed up. But I have to go, perhaps we’ll speak again soon. Don’t tell anyone I was here.”
The man left and was replaced a few minutes later by his usual guards. However, he’d visited several times since and seemed to want to help him. al-Sistani never saw the man but knew him by his odor, which was foul, and manner of speech, which was educated and lucid—at least compared to the rest of the rabble. His visitor brought him decent food, instead of the moldy bread and gruel he usually received, and even a wet cloth to wash his face.
“Why are you doing this?” al-Sistani had asked him the last time.
“The Good Book says, ‘Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbor, and hate thine enemy. But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which spitefully use you, and persecute you.’ That’s Matthew 5:43–44, friend,” the man whispered. He sidled closer until al-Sistani could feel his bushy beard against his face, and he felt faint as the man’s horrible breath wafted over him. “Besides, I wanted to ask you a question.”
“What question?”
The man hesitated, as if listening to something in the dark, then continued. “Were you telling the truth about the gold?”
“For my freedom?” al-Sistani replied, a glimmer of hope leaping into his mind. “Yes, yes, of course! Get me out of here, and it’s yours. More gold than in your wildest dreams!”
The man didn’t reply at first, but then patted him on the shoulder. “I need to think a bit. After all, the Good Book says, ‘The love of money is the root of all evil’—that’s Timothy 6:10, by the way—not money itself. I don’t love money, but I sure would love to live better than I currently do, and the Good Book doesn’t say there’s anything wrong with that…. We’ll talk later.”
Al-Sistani had been buoyed by the hope that a traitor in Grale’s camp might yet save him. But it had been several days since the man had last visited and he wondered if he had decided against helping him. Not that he planned paying the disgusting infidel with anything except death if he managed to escape, but the lies fit under al-Taqiyya and therefore were approved by Allah.
His despair turned to fear as he heard the shuffling of feet coming toward him in the dark. They might be the unclean souls, the shayteen, he thought, and trembled. But fear turned to excitement when he recognized the smell of his potential benefactor.
“I’ve been thinking about your offer,” the man whispered. “It’s tempting, but we’d never make it out of here. All the passages are watched. Nothing happens in this part of the city without Grale knowing.”
Al-Sistani realized that the man was losing his nerve. “Is there something he desires?” he asked in a panic.
“He can’t be bought, if that’s what you’re thinking,” the visitor said. “He doesn’t care about money or creature comforts.”
“Surely there is something? No man is without desires.”
The visitor was silent and al-Sistani could almost hear him thinking in the dark. “There is someone he is obsessed with,” the man began slowly. “A young woman.”
Al-Sistani saw his opening. “Of course, of course, what man doesn’t desire a woman? You say it is one particular woman—not just any will do?”
“No, it’s one,” the man replied. “He broods about her. I think she’s part of the reason for his black moods. I thought he was above all that, but apparently he’s just another man with sins of the flesh on his mind. ‘Lust not after her beauty in thine heart; neither let her take thee with her eyelids,’ Proverbs 6:25.”
Al-Sistani caught the tone of disgust in the man’s voice and sought to exploit it. “The Qur’an says, ‘Obey not him whose heart we have made heedless of Our remembrance, who followeth his own lust…”
“I see you’re a man of God,” the visitor replied. “That’s a good thing. But even if he lusts after this woman, how does that help me help you?”
“My friends, the ones who can pay you, they might arrange to…exchange this young woman for me. Perhaps with your help this could be managed?”
“Grale would have my head if I was caught helping you, especially if she was involved.”
; “Then you must be very careful until I am safely traded for the girl. Then he’ll be so intoxicated with lust, he won’t care about you. And even if he did, you will have enough money to go anywhere you like, start a new life. He’ll never find you from his little sewer hole.”
“What if I said I want one million dollars deposited in gold, where I say.”
“That is nothing to me. I will give you two million. It’s nothing to me.”
Suspicion crept into the visitor’s voice. “How do I know you’ll pay me after you’re with your people?”
“I swear by Allah, may he take my soul. Ask anyone who knows, the Sheik always rewards loyalty and those who help him,” al-Sistani replied.
“Not good enough,” the man said. “I want something up front.”
Al-Sistani thought quickly. “When you go to my friends, you will instruct them to give you…one hundred thousand dollars. Tell them I said it is for Operation Flashfire. When you have the money, you will assist them with locating and…capturing…this woman. When the arrangements for the exchange have been made, nine hundred thousand in gold will be deposited wherever you ask. The rest, when I am safe.”
Again the man fell silent. If not for the smell of him, al-Sistani would have thought that he’d left. “Tell me how to contact your friends,” he said at last. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Allah be praised!” al-Sistani replied, and whispered the information. “Did you get that?” But there was no answer forthcoming from the dark.
Several days later, Lucy walked out into the living room of her parents’ loft with two suitcases. “Well, it’s time,” she announced.
“You sure I can’t give you a ride?” Marlene said. “It wouldn’t be any trouble.”
“No thanks, Mom,” she replied. “Besides, I need to check in at the office before I leave, and even you aren’t allowed in there.”
“How about I walk you to the street? It’s dark outside,” Karp said.
“Nope,” Lucy replied. “I called a cab and he’ll be here any minute. It’s also cold out and I wouldn’t want those old bones catching a chill. And isn’t it past your bedtime?”
“Hey, watch it with the geriatric slights,” Karp replied with a laugh. He looked at his watch. “It’s only eight thirty, I still got another half hour in me.”
“I calls ’em as I see ’em,” Lucy responded. “But really, I’m going to wait in the foyer until the cab arrives and then make a dash. Now come on, give me a hug, it could be a while before I get back here…and I’ve about given up getting you to come to New Mexico.”
“One of these days, I promise,” Karp said, and hugged his daughter.
“Deal,” Lucy replied. “And again, I’m sorry about Mr. Reed. He was always such a nice man, and handsome—he dressed like a model.”
“That was Stewbie,” Karp agreed. “And thanks. He’ll be missed at the office.”
“What are you going to do about that case? The Broadway producer.”
“The Maplethorpe case,” Karp replied. “We have a hearing tomorrow. But I’m meeting first with Kenny Katz to talk about what to do…. Stewbie’s services aren’t for a few more days; his mother wanted to wait for his sister to get here.”
Marlene wedged herself between the two to hug her daughter. “It’s time for you to go or you’ll miss your plane. Call when you get to Taos, even it it’s going to be, what, early morning when you arrive? It’s always tough reaching you at the ranch.”
“Yeah, I know,” Lucy said. “Though I have to admit I kind of like it. Peace and quiet. No pesky parents to tell me what to do.”
Lucy started to leave but then turned and embraced her parents one more time. “If anything ever happens to me, I hope you both know how much I love you,” she said, stifling a tiny sob as she stood back.
Marlene reached out for her daughter’s arm. “Is everything all right?”
Lucy sniffled and nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine. I just miss Ned and was having a moment of homesickness for you guys, too.”
“You’re welcome to stay here until he gets back,” Karp said. As usual, he felt at a loss when women were crying.
“Nah, I need to get back and check on the ranch, make sure the animals are okay,” she replied. “And I love it there this time of year. The aspens are turning color and the high peaks have snow on them. I’m okay, I just had a moment there.”
“I don’t blame you for wanting to get back, sounds lovely,” Marlene said. “Do let us know when our new soon-to-be son-in-law gets back safe and sound.”
“I will,” Lucy said more cheerily than she felt. She’d only heard once from Ned in the two weeks he’d been gone, and that was a short text message: I LOVE YOU, BACK SOON. And gone again soon, too, she thought, wondering when, if ever, the dream of the little house on the prairie, kids, and a quiet life would come to fruition. Or are we stuck on this counterterrorism carousel the rest of our lives? Careful, don’t jinx it!
Riding in the elevator, she thought about her last conversation with Ned the night they announced their engagement. As the car from the agency had pulled up on Grand, she’d grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and kissed him hard on the lips.
“Like my dad said, take care of yourself, cowboy,” she’d said, choking up. “I don’t want to be a widow before I’m even a bride. I couldn’t live without you.”
Ned’s smile had disappeared. “Don’t talk like that,” he said. “It’s bad luck. You might jinx it.”
Lucy nodded and nuzzled into his chest. “My bad. I forgot you’re a superstitious hillbilly.”
“Hey, I’m not the one who talks to dead people.”
“Teresa is not dead, she’s a saint and so is alive and in the presence of Jesus. It’s not the same as freaking out because a black cat crossed your path, or thinking that stepping on a crack is going to break your mother’s back.”
“Yeah? Well, how would you feel if you did step on a crack and your mom hurt her back? What then, smarty-pants? Answer me that.”
“Well, okay, I won’t say anything else that might ‘jinx it,’” Lucy replied. “Because if something did happen to you after that, I’d—”
“Ah-ah,” Ned said, covering his ears, “don’t say it!”
Lucy laughed and kissed him again. “All right, all right, lips are sealed against jinxes. I just wish I could go with you. It’s not fair. I’m supposedly part of the team, but I’m always getting left behind.”
Ned brushed her hair from her cheek. “Nobody says you’re not part of the team. But the whole concept behind our group is the fewer, the better. Everything has to be below the radar, and the more people involved, the harder that is to pull off. If you don’t have a specific job to do—like you did in Dagestan—then you don’t go.”
Lucy put a finger to his lips. “I hate it when you and Jaxon are right. Just be careful.”
“I’ll be careful, plus I have Espey, John, and Tran with me.”
“A bunch of old men.”
“A pretty damned tough bunch of old men if you ask me. Hopefully, this time we’ll catch her and put a stop to whatever she’s up to. Then you and I can go back to the ranch for a while.”
“How do you know Nadya’s even down there?”
“We don’t for sure. But Jaxon thinks it’s a pretty good educated guess on someplace to look based on the guys who were at that meeting in Dagestan. Even if she’s not, that’s one of the places we may be able to pick up her tracks.”
“Tracks? Like some sort of skunk?”
“Or a snake.”
“Well, if you find her, don’t bring her back alive.”
Ned’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t expected that kind of a statement from his fiancée. The girl he’d met was so gentle she’d cried when she hit a coyote after the animal darted in front of her truck at night and died. “Damn, Lucy, we’re getting a little bloodthirsty, aren’t we?”
“Maybe. Maybe all of this is turning us into the people we’re after. But all I know is the longer
that woman is alive, the longer no one I know and love is safe. Especially whoever might be trying to catch her. You’ll be there trying to figure out how to get her back safe and sound for a trial, and she’ll spend all of her time thinking about how to kill you. Just kill her, like you were going to do in Dagestan.”
Ned looked deep in her eyes and then nodded. “I get her in my sights again, and she’s history.”
Lucy leaned up and kissed him again, only this time more softly. “Good. Now here’s your ride. Hurry back or I might have to start hanging out at the Sagebrush Inn lookin’ for another cowpoke to give me a poke.”
“Yeah? And I hear some of the gals in the Caribbean are mighty friendly, too.”
“Ned Blanchett! Don’t you dare,” Lucy warned, pushing him toward the car. “I’ll know if you do—women always know—and I’ll make a steer out of you.”
“Wouldn’t that be like cutting off your nose to spite your face? Except it won’t be my nose that gets cut, or your face that is spited. But you just keep them knickers up where they belong, and I’ll be home ’afore you know it.”
“I’ll try.” Lucy laughed. “Adios, mi amor. Vaya con Dios.”
“Y tú,” he answered, and was gone.
In the foyer, Lucy watched the monitor until a yellow cab pulled over to the curb across the street. Waving one last time in case her parents were watching, she walked out the door.
As she stepped down to the sidewalk, Lucy realized with a start that someone was standing off to the side just out of the illumination of the streetlight. She hadn’t seen anyone else on the monitor and tensed, only to relax when she recognized her visitor—a middle-aged woman dressed in a nun’s habit from the fifteenth century.
“St. Teresa! I’ve been wondering where you’ve been,” Lucy said, reverting to archaic Spanish. “I thought maybe I was just in danger too much of the time for you to keep up.”
“I’ve been with you the whole time,” the apparition replied. “You’ve just been too preoccupied to notice. But you’re in grave danger now, my child.”
Capture (Butch Karp Thrillers) Page 16