Burke's Revenge: Bob Burke Suspense Thriller #3 (Bob Burke Action Adventure Novels)

by William Brown

  Mergen smiled at him, pulled out his cell phone and began pressing buttons. A moment later, he handed the phone to Shaw. He had activated the video feature. Not only did he hear the familiar baritone voice of Aslan Khan at the other end, but he saw the big man’s face up close, studying him. “Good morning, Professor. Have you finished your tour?”

  Startled, Shaw found himself staring at the broad shoulders and barrel chest of Aslan Khan dressed in a white dishdasha. Khan stared back at him, apparently looking at the trendy “campus” clothes the professor was wearing that morning, and frowned. The outfit always impressed the coeds, but apparently it did not impress Aslan Khan. “I thought your quaint American holiday of Halloween was still several months off?” he said.

  “I have a class today.”

  “Ah! And appearances can be deceiving, can’t they? Like what I assume is a knife and a pistol inside your jacket?”

  “You have x-ray vision, all the way from Syria?” Shaw tried to joke.

  “Professor, you know I see everything. If I thought they posed any danger to us, I would have had Mergen and Batir relieve you of them a long time ago.”

  “You mean you can tell them to them try,” Shaw answered as he threw his shoulders back and extended himself to his full height. He was taller than the two younger Khan brothers, certainly leaner, but powerfully built. Still, they each had him by thirty pounds or more. “You can ask that Syrian Army patrol how easy that was. They all ended up dead, as I recall?”

  Khan stared at him for a moment and then nodded. “Perhaps you are right about appearances. Let us hope so anyway.” When Shaw did not rise to the bait, the big man leaned forward and stared into his eyes. “Well, what do you think of our new operation, Professor?”

  “I’m sure the airplanes are very nice, if I gave a crap; but what are they for?” Shaw asked, pointing at them, obviously irritated. “But the Mercedes, the two airplanes, they must have cost the Caliph a fortune.”

  “All are leased, through multiple foreign holding companies.”

  “But a flight school? After 9/11, isn’t that a dead giveaway?”

  Khan’s eyes flashed. “Our long lamented Saudi brothers were students, not skilled fighter pilots and flight instructors. If you learned nothing else by now, you should know that my brothers and I are not in the martyrdom business.”

  “I don’t know what business you’re in. I thought I was supposed to be in charge over here. Why wasn’t I informed?”

  Khan stared at Shaw for a long moment, as if the American were a bug he wanted to step on. “Professor, it was the Caliph himself who directed you to take on this sacred mission to attack the American Special Operations people at Fort Bragg. From what Mergen and Batir have told me, you appear to be doing a most commendable job. While your successes have been somewhat limited, you are to be congratulated; but we need much, much more from you.”

  Shaw was pleased to hear a compliment of any kind coming from the lips of the big bastard, but he bristled at the not-so-subtle qualification. “Yes, well, we’re just beginning, Aslan, but you still haven’t told me what you’re doing here, and what you want.”

  “It is really very simple,” Khan answered as his hard, dark eyes seemed to emerge from the phone and drill down into the smaller man’s skull. “You are to create as much mayhem and destruction as you can over the next three days. It will distract the infidels from what else might be about to happen. Beyond that, the less each of us knows about what the other is doing, the fewer security risks each of us will run. At the appropriate time, you will be brought into the process and given all the relevant details, I assure you.”

  While Shaw’s attention was riveted on the conversation on the cell phone, Mergen had turned away, and stepped to the doorway. He reached back inside, picked up a pair of powerful binoculars that were sitting on a nearby shelf, and scanned the wood line and the entry road in the distance. When Aslan finished talking, Mergen handed the professor the binoculars. “There is a light brown sedan parked beyond the entrance, up near the intersection. Do you see it?”

  Puzzled, Shaw turned and took the binoculars and focused the lenses in the direction Mergen was pointing. “Yes, I see a light brown car. Why?”

  “Do you recognize it? Or the man inside?” Mergen asked.

  “No, I can see it’s a car and that someone is sitting inside,” Shaw refocused the binoculars again. “But I can’t get a clear view of the man’s face. He’s in the shadows.”

  “He has been following you.”

  Shaw turned and glared at him, “I was in the backseat. I wasn’t the one driving.”

  “You don’t recognize the man or the car from around campus?”

  “No, I’ve been careful, and I had no idea,” Shaw said as he saw a flash of reflected sunlight from the front seat of the car. “What was that?” he asked.

  “The sun reflecting off his binoculars. Apparently, he has been watching us, much as we are now watching him.” Mergen answered as he took the binoculars from Shaw and returned them to the shelf.

  “Who do you think he is?” Shaw asked. “The FBI?”

  “Most likely, but he is keeping his distance.”

  “I had a run-in with an FBI Special Agent in Cyprus on my way back from Syria.”

  This time, it was Aslan who spoke up. “That was very careless of you,” he snapped.

  “Careless?” Shaw bristled. “No, ‘careless’ was sticking me on that damned fishing boat in Latakia and thinking I could breeze home with no money, no passport, no IDs, and that no one would care about where I’d been or what I’d been doing. Of course the FBI questioned me! It was an agent named Pendergrass, but he had nothing on me. He even visited me in my office a few days ago, with two Fayetteville detectives.”

  “No doubt a result of the other professor who was murdered on your campus,” Aslan Khan quickly replied. “That was unnecessary. Perhaps you thought you were being careful and eliminating a competitor, but you were not careful enough. Likely, he is the one following you now, so we must all be more careful; and that is why your activities on Fort Bragg must accelerate. You must give them new things to worry about.”

  “And if he presses? If he becomes a threat?” Shaw asked.

  “Then you shall have to deal with him, but only as a last resort. Your FBI frowns on dead agents, but enough of that for the moment. That isn’t why I told Mergen we must talk to you. As I said, you have done commendable work up on the Army post. From the descriptions, I assume you used C-4 in the explosions you set off. Where did you get it?”

  “From one of my recruits,” he said as he regained his composure. “He was able to buy it from another soldier, who stole it from one of the arms rooms.”

  “Can you get more?” Khan asked.

  “Unfortunately, no. The last I heard, the Army CID is all over the source and will probably arrest him soon. Last night, I arranged for the contact I used with them — a big, lumbering Army private with limited intelligence — to make a ‘martyrdom attack’ on the big FORSCOM headquarters building. Boom!” Shaw said with a cynical smile. “He was a weak link, and it wouldn’t have taken long for the CID to knock on his door, and then on mine.”

  “So, you made the fellow expendable?”

  “I’d prefer to think he made himself expendable,” Shaw shrugged.

  “How much of the C-4 do you have left?”

  “Not much. He obtained four blocks for me, and I have one left. But I am now working with a skilled chemist. He’s another of my recruits, and he is busy making more C-4 for me, ten pounds more.”

  “How much are you paying him for it?”

  Shaw thought for a second before he answered. “I had to pay $2,000 for each of the original one-pound blocks.”

  “Expensive,” Khan mused, “but under the circumstances…”

  “Yes, the chemist is even more pricey, but he has to buy some restricted materials and cook the stuff. Both of those are very risky. He wants $50,000 for ten pounds, plus another
$10,000 for detonators.”

  Khan frowned. “Yes, I’m sure it is what you Americans referred to as a ‘sellers’ market,’ isn’t it? When are you picking it up?”

  “In a day or two. When he calls,” Shaw lied, suddenly unsure how much he trusted Khan and unsure whether he should show him all his cards.

  Khan thought about it for a moment and then told him, “I need twenty pounds. Thirty pounds would be even better.”

  “Thirty pounds?” Shaw reacted. “You can blow up half the city with that!”

  “I assure you, that is not my intention, Professor, but I need it, nonetheless. Can you get it for me?”

  “I’ll ask him, but it took him three days to make the ten pounds,” he lied, deciding it was best to keep his options open.

  “It ‘took’ him?” Aslan’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you said he was still making it.”

  “He isn’t finished yet,” Shaw tried to backtrack. “He said it has to cool, and cure.”

  “Perhaps my brothers should accompany you when you meet this fellow.”

  “No. He is very cautious, very skittish. He wouldn’t react well if I showed up with two large strangers. Besides, I meet him on post and you don’t have the requisite passes,” Shaw lied again. “If you try to enter Fort Bragg, it will only trigger questions, lists, and photographs, none of which you want. So, let me handle this.”

  “What is this fellow’s name?” Mergen Khan asked.

  “Al-Karman, Sameer al-Karman,” Shaw answered. “He is a Yemeni immigrant I met at the mosque several months ago.”

  “How devoted is he? Do you trust him?”

  Shaw shrugged. “I’m not sure. He’s a Muslim and attends services, but he grew up in Yemen and claims he has no interest in politics or other people’s causes. He is working on his master’s degree in chemistry; and if he is devoted to anything, I suspect it is money. In that regard, I trust him completely.”

  “Yes,” Aslan sighed. “Like most things in your Western world, Professor, when they corrupt our people it is usually because of money, isn’t it? So, permit me to ‘incentivize’ your transaction with this fellow, as they say on your Wall Street television shows. Tell him I will pay $200,000, double your price for twenty pounds, twice that if he can make me thirty.”

  Shaw blinked. “That should get his attention… and his loyalty.”

  “I sincerely hope so, because I must have it by Saturday night.”

  “Saturday? That only gives him three days. I don’t know…”

  “But I do. If he cannot make all the new twenty pounds, then I shall need the ten pounds he is making for you, and you may have your ten when he finishes the rest. So, Saturday night is my deadline. Is that clear?”

  “If you take my C-4, what am I supposed to use?”

  “Obviously, you must ensure that he finishes the whole lot on time. Besides, you have the guns you stole. You also have the one-pound block of C-4 left over from your previous attacks,” Khan quickly answered.

  “That won’t accomplish very much,” Shaw complained.

  Khan paused for a moment. “Perhaps you are right. I must have the diversions, so you may keep two pounds from that first batch he is making for you, until we know exactly when he will finish the rest. So put it to good use, Professor. It will be an excellent opportunity to test the material he is making, and be certain that the product is as good as military-grade C-4. Rest assured, when I strike with the rest of it, my targets are of such critical importance that I will need all the explosive I can get, and I will have only one chance.”

  Shaw nodded. “All right, but if I can get him to make more C-4, I need the money now. I used my own to buy the first batch, and now I’m broke.”

  Aslan said something to Mergen. His younger brother promptly walked to the rear corner of the hangar, where the cots and the kitchen table were, leaving Shaw behind with Batir. Shaw watched as Mergen opened a suitcase and picked up an empty McDonald’s bag from the floor. When he came back, the bag was full and he handed it to Shaw. The Professor started to look inside and then stopped himself.

  “You’ll find $350,000 in there, Professor,” Aslan Khan told him. “That is to cover your past expenses, the new batch, and any other unanticipated items you may need. I don’t want you to think we aren’t appreciative… and I want to be generous.”

  Shaw stared at the bag, surprised. “Thank you, but don’t leave me out of the other attacks you’re planning, Aslan,” Shaw insisted. “Tell me how can I help?”

  “Your enthusiasm is greatly appreciated, Professor, and I do indeed need your help. Between now and Saturday night, I want you and your cell to become very active. You must distract the authorities from what is really going on. You must redouble your efforts and blow Fort Bragg off the map. You must ‘unleash the dogs of war,’ on these infidels, Professor. ‘Unleash the dogs of war!’ ”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Fort Bragg

  After they left Farrakhan Muhammad’s room in the Trauma Center at Womack Army Medical Center, Special Agent Sharmayne Phillips turned to Bob and asked, “Okay, Sport, what next?”

  “Is the MP guard out of surgery, the one who survived the bomb?”

  Phillips walked over to the central nurses’ station, and was back a few minutes later. “He’s down the other hall, but I don’t know what we’re going to get out of him. They say he’s still pretty groggy.”

  “Well, since we’re here, let’s talk to him anyway,” Bob told her.

  As they turned and headed off down the other corridor, Pat O’Connor stopped them and said, “If you two don’t mind, I’m going back to JSOC. No telling what the General’s gotten himself into while I’ve been gone. But keep me posted, Bob.”

  “Roger that, Pat.”

  “And if you need anything, anything at all…”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t,” Bob answered as he turned and walked away down the hall. “Just keep him out of this and off our backs for a while.”

  “Roger that!” Pat O’Connor and Sharmayne Phillips answered at the same time as they all walked away.

  Most of the other treatment rooms were empty, except the one in the center on the right. It had all the usual signs hanging on the door from, “Quiet,” to “Oxygen in Use,” to “Visitation Limited to One Family Guest at a Time,” and the names of the attending nurses and doctors. Next to the door was a card holder with a placard with the patient’s name, “Danielson,” with no reference to rank. It was the typical Army hospital system that Bob was all too familiar with, which identified patients and even doctors and nurses by surname and never by their military rank or position. Inside, as with Muhammad’s room, there was a single hospital bed along the far wall with the usual complicated array of digital monitors, IV poles and bags, tubes, wires, and a male doctor with a white gown and clipboard. He turned, studied Phillips’s uniform for a moment, and frowned. “Have you two checked in with the desk?” he asked. “Visitors aren’t…”

  “I’m sure they aren’t,” Sharmayne Phillips smiled. She already had her credentials wallet out and held it out for him to see. “Unfortunately, this is a murder investigation and we need his help.” Turning back to the pristine white sheets on the bed, she saw that Danielson’s eyes appeared groggy, but they were open. “We’ll only be a moment.”

  The doctor shrugged and backed away. “Why not, I’m only his doctor.”

  As they approached the bed, Bob had a better opportunity to look down at the MP. His face was battered and bruised, and he looked glassy-eyed. His right arm was in a cast, his leg heavily bandaged from a gunshot wound, and head bandaged. However, given what the young man had been through, Bob had seen worse.

  “Specialist Danielson,” Bob began. “Do you remember what happened to you last night? The explosion? The big black guy with the paper bag in front of JSOC Headquarters?”

  As Danielson turned his head and looked up at him, his eyes suddenly cleared. “That fat bastard with the paper bag? Damn straight I do. H
e shot me in the leg, but I got off four in return before everything blew up. I got him, didn’t I?”

  “Good enough, Specialist. Now, tell me a little about the perp. In your report, you said you and your partner, Corporal Haggerty, were patrolling the grounds around the building, when you saw him walking up the sidewalk holding the bag in his left hand, right?” Danielson nodded. “So, you challenged him and told him to put the bag on the ground, right?” Danielson nodded again. “So, he set the bag down and pulled his .45 out, right?” Once more, Danielson nodded. “Now, I want you to close your eyes and picture what he did in those last few seconds after he started shooting, but before the bomb went off. What did he do?”

  Danielson thought about it for a moment, and finally said, “He shot and then we shot, and he started to run, just a few steps, until the bomb went off.”

  “Was he running toward his car?”

  “Yeah, but he was looking to his left, toward the street, not his car; and then he got this weird expression on his face, like maybe he was surprised at what he saw.”

  “Surprised?” Bob asked. “Did you see anything out there? Anything he might’ve seen? Try to picture it. Another car? Another man?”

  Danielson frowned, his eyes still closed. “I don’t know; it all happened so quick. There were cars in the parking lot, plenty of them, but not much traffic on the street. No, I take that back. There was another car stopped further back, near the corner. It was beige or white, or maybe gray, something light anyway; but as I said, Haggerty and I were focused on the guy and the bag, and I have no idea who was inside the other car. It was too far away.”

  “Hey, you did great,” Bob reassured him. “You had your bell rung. I’m surprised you remembered that much. One last thing. He had the bag in one hand and the .45 in the other. When he put the bag down, did you see him pull out his cell phone?”

  “No, I never saw a phone.”

  “Not in his hand, not at all?”

  “No, if he had one, I never saw it.”

  Bob paused and looked down at him for a moment, waiting to see if he had any further thoughts. When they didn’t come, he said, “That’s enough for now, Specialist Danielson. Get some sleep, you’ve been a big help.”