by Vince Flynn
“Sweet!” Jack yelled.
“Yeah,” Nash agreed with some relief. “Your brother shouldn’t even be in there right now.” Nash looked farther down the sideline in search of his wife. She was standing about twenty yards away talking to two of the other mothers. She smiled at her husband and pointed at him. The other two mothers turned and waved at Nash. They were smiling and nodding as Maggie whispered something to them. Nash cringed. He was not used to all this attention. From the moment he had arrived at the field, people had been talking and pointing.
“Dad,” Jack said, as he looked up, “are you famous?”
The comment hit Nash like a slap in the face. He felt himself getting angry, but told himself to take a deep breath. It wasn’t Jack’s fault. He was only ten. “No, Jack, I’m not famous.”
“Well . . . you kind of are. Your photo was on the front page of the paper this morning and you were all over the news last night.”
“Just because you get your picture in the paper doesn’t mean you’re famous.”
“That’s not what my friend Scott said.”
“I really don’t want to talk about it, Jack. I’m not famous, all right?”
Maggie walked up just in time. She slid her arms around his waist and gave him a big hug. “You’re quite the topic around here.”
“Oh . . . God . . .” he moaned.
“Why can’t you just relax and enjoy it?”
“Because it’s not who I am. I haven’t changed. I’m the same guy who’s been going to these games for I don’t even know how many years. The only thing that’s changed is everyone’s perception of me.”
“A perception that’s based on the truth. These people now know who you work for and what you’ve been doing, and I have to tell you,” Maggie said as she lowered her voice, “some of these ladies, like Stacy and Claudia, it’s a huge turn-on for them. Very sexy that I’m married to a spy.”
“I heard that,” Jack said without taking his eyes off the field. “Gross.”
Maggie grabbed him and pulled him in for a group hug. A second later the whistle blew and the game was over. As the two teams lined up to shake hands, Nash began looking around the park for his daughter.
“Where’s Shannon?”
“Not sure.” Maggie looked toward the playground. “There she is— pushing Charlie in the swing.”
Nash watched her push the green bucket that her baby brother was in. He felt a pang of anxiety and asked, “Do I have to let her drive home?”
“Yes,” Maggie said.
“She’s not very good. I mean, don’t get me wrong . . . she’s a great kid, but she can’t drive.”
“Michael, she just got her permit this morning. Do you expect her to be a great driver on her first day?”
“I don’t expect her to be perfect, but . . .”
“But what?”
“She sucks, Mom,” Jack said.
Maggie grabbed his cheeks. “Oh . . . Jack, sometimes, I swear.”
“Mom,” Jack said while shaking free of her grip, “I’m not saying she’s stupid or a bad person. I’m just telling you the truth. She’s a bad driver.”
“Well, maybe you and your father can walk home.”
Jack took a step back to get out of his mom’s range and said, “Can we, Dad? Do you know how funny that would be . . .”
“Jack Nash.” Maggie reached for him, but he was too quick. He scampered onto the field in search of his brother. “He takes after you,” she said to her husband.
“I think he has more than a little of his mother in him.”
“The smartass part comes from you.”
“And the psycho stubborn part . . . who do you suppose he gets that from, you?”
Maggie was on the verge of upping the ante when an elderly couple approached them. “Excuse me,” the man said, “Mike and Maggie Nash?”
The Nashes nodded.
“I’m Charlie Kelly. This is my wife, Mary.”
“Nice to meet you,” Nash said as he shook the man’s hand.
“My grandson plays for Langley.”
“Ohh . . . great,” Maggie said.
“Not today. Your boy pounded us. Pretty damn good player,” he added gruffly.
“Thank you,” Nash said.
Kelly looked across the field, his cloudy blue eyes unfocused, his bottom lip trembling ever so slightly. “I just wanted to say hello.” He couldn’t look at Nash. His wife hung close to his side. “And thank you. I was in the Navy and then I put in forty years at Langley. Clandestine service . . . operations . . . spent most of my time in Europe. What you did,” he finally looked at Nash, “it made a lot of us proud . . . and there’s not many of us left.” He shook his head and then said, “I just thought you should know that.”
Nash was caught off guard. He stammered for a second and then said, “Thank you, sir.”
“Charlie,” the old man said, “please call me Charlie.”
“I will. Thank you, Charlie.”
“Well . . .” he said as he looked toward the cars. “We’ll see you around.”
“Sure,” Nash said.
“Very nice to meet you,” Maggie said. As the older couple moved toward the parking lot, Maggie said, “That was nice.”
“Yeah. We don’t do enough to celebrate those guys.”
Jack returned from the middle of the field with Rory and a couple of his teammates. “Mom,” Jack said as he came speeding up, “are you really going to let Shannon drive?”
“I don’t think it’s any of your business, young man.”
“Well, if she is,” Jack suddenly produced Rory’s lacrosse helmet, “I’m wearing this.”
“Okay, that’s it . . .” Maggie took a step and reached out to grab the sleeve of his sweatshirt but again he was too quick. He darted off across the field. Maggie composed herself as she came face to face with Rory and his two friends. “Nice game, honey.”
“Thanks,” Rory said. “Can Will and Ben sleep over?”
“Well,” Maggie said, caught a little off guard, “your father and I are going to dinner, so Shannon is going to be in charge . . .” Her voice trailed off and she turned to her husband to see if it was okay.
“Nice game, boys,” Nash said.
“Thanks, Mr. Nash,” the two boys said in unison.
“I’m fine with you guys staying over. Have you asked your parents?”
Both boys said they would and ran off to find their parents.
“We’re going to dinner tonight?” Nash asked his wife.
“Yes,” she said with a big smile. “I haven’t spent five minutes alone with you in the past week. Do you have a problem with that?”
“Not at all.” He put his arm around her shoulder. “We’ll eat someplace close by.”
“Wherever you want, honey.”
“Italian?” They started walking toward the cars. Rory ran ahead to see what Charlie and Shannon were doing.
“Sure.”
“And then when we get home?” Nash asked with a hopeful tone.
“We can play spy and you can show me your gun.”
Nash laughed. He looked at Shannon pushing Charlie in the swing. Watched him scream as his brother ran up with his arms out as if he were Frankenstein. Charlie cut loose an earsplitting shriek of terror and then began laughing. Nash smiled and thought to himself, This is the way it’s supposed to be.
CHAPTER 67
NASSAU, BAHAMAS
HAKIM decided to walk to the bank. It wasn’t far and he needed the time to think. Just as he feared, the barn had not burned down. Karim was an idiot, all the more so because he actually thought himself smart. He was an intolerable ass. Hakim kept asking himself if there had been anything else in the barn that could put the FBI on his trail. He had been lucky that he had packed his bag in the RV’s storage compartment months earlier. Karim’s and Ahmed’s packs were hidden under a tarp in the barn just as Karim had ordered. Something about wanting to personally inspect them. It served the fool right that
his need to control every detail had led to his own downfall.
As he exited the hotel into the sunny afternoon he was positive that his only link to Iowa was the conservancy trust that he’d set up to purchase the farm itself. He would have time, though, before they could get to the bottom of that tangled web, and when they did they would find nothing more than a dead-end. The Royal Bank of Nassau was nearly a mile away and he had never set foot in the place. Everything had been handled over the phone. There was approximately twenty thousand dollars in the account to handle expenses and taxes, pocket change compared to his deposits at First Caribbean. They could have it all. Hakim moved up the sidewalk, confident that he was out in front of the coming storm. Besides, Christian was not a good actor. That was one of the reasons he had chosen him to be his personal banker.
A block before the bank he stopped and checked his watch. He had ten minutes before he was to meet Christian. The wise thing to do would be to spend that time checking for any surveillance, so he crossed the street and casually strolled down the block. Every so often he would stop and pretend to look in a window. He was actually looking in the reflection to see if anyone was watching him. No one was, and he was getting a little giddy at the new life that awaited him. He would go to Brazil. Over 200 million people and a landscape as diverse as that of any country on the planet. The population spoke Portuguese, English, and a little Spanish, and most important, accents were very hard to detect. Bloodlines from all over the Mediterranean, Spain, and Portugal had been mixing together with the natives for several hundred years. His naturally dark skin would be no more out of place than it would be in his native Saudi Arabia.
Hakim had traveled the coast and found dozens of places where he could simply disappear and start a new life. His only requirement was that he be on the water. He would buy a boat and live on it for the first year, moving from port to port, establishing an identity and making friends. Maybe someday in the not-so-distant future he would settle down and start a family. He wondered about his faith, though. Brazil was not exactly a place where a Muslim could still practice his beliefs and not stand out. For now he would have to keep that part of his life very private.
Hakim was so immersed in thought that he didn’t hear his name being called until Christian was crossing the street. He glanced up to see the look of deep concern on his banker’s face.
“Oh, my gosh . . . look at you! What happened?”
“A bad car accident.”
“Did the airbag do that to your face? I’ve heard they can really screw your face up.”
“Yes, but it saved my life.”
Christian stood there for a moment, looking him over. “Other than that, how do you feel?”
“Okay . . . Some broken ribs, but I’ll survive.”
“Well, I’m sorry you had to go through that. Let’s get you inside and get you taken care of.”
Christian led Hakim across the street to the front door of the bank, where a security guard was waiting on the other side of the glass doors. The guard waved to Christian, inserted a key in the door, and opened it. Once inside, the banker thanked the guard and led Hakim through the lobby to his office, where he stopped to grab his own set of keys and pull up his client’s safety deposit box information on the computer.
“Before we head down, can I get you anything to drink . . . tea, water?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.”
“Do you have your key?”
“Yes.” Hakim couldn’t believe how calm he was. He supposed it had to do with his familiarity with Christian. Still, it would be a huge relief once he got what he needed from the box and disappeared.
They took the elevator to the basement. Christian put him into one of the private rooms with two chairs and a desk and left to get the box itself. Less than a minute later he returned, placed the box on top of the desk, and left. Hakim pulled out his key, inserted it into the lock, and turned it 180 degrees to the left. The lock disengaged and he lifted up the long-hinged cover. Inside were a fresh set of documents, including a credit card with a $25,000 limit, a money belt containing $100,000, and sheaf of corporate bearer bonds totaling $1 million in value. Hakim lifted his shirt and strapped the money belt around his waist. He placed the new credit card and passport in his front right pocket, and then glanced in the large manila envelope to verify that the bearer bonds were in fact inside.
He closed the box, put the key back in his pocket, and told Christian he was done. After the banker put the box away they took the elevator back up to the first floor and then exited the building. Back out on the street, Christian insisted that they get a drink, but Hakim told him he wasn’t feeling up to it. The banker then suggested that he give him a ride back to his hotel, but Hakim got out of it by telling him he needed the air, promising that he would meet him for dinner later, even though that was highly unlikely. They parted ways with a set time and location for dinner. Hakim walked back to his hotel with a bounce in his step that he hadn’t had in some time. He was already thinking about the sailboat he would buy. He knew the exact length and make and knew where he could buy a nice used one. That was if it hadn’t sold in the last couple months.
As he walked down the sidewalk Hakim began to refine the next part of his plan, mainly, how he would island-hop his way to his destination. The boat was in Farmer’s Hill, a little over a hundred miles to the south. There was no direct ferry and he desperately wanted to avoid airports for a while and maybe forever. He was so fixated on solving this problem and leaving tonight if possible that he didn’t notice the car slowing next to him. Suddenly the side door of the minivan opened and then he felt a jabbing pain in the back of his neck and a strong pair of hands grabbing him from behind. He was both lifted and shoved at the same time. He felt completely out of control and overpowered as he was folded and stuffed into the bench seat and the waiting arms of a man he did not recognize. He noted the pain from his ribs, but it was somehow muted. He thought of screaming but couldn’t. Nothing was responding. Not his mouth, not his arms, not his legs. Even his eyes were closing against his will, and then everything went black.
CHAPTER 68
NASSAU, BAHAMAS
RAPP and Butler saw the two men enter the bank and even then they weren’t sure it was them. A few minutes later, though, Dumond sounded the alarm. He was inside the bank’s network and saw whose safety deposit box it was that Nelson was accessing. Butler let Rapp make the call. Did he want to grab both of them right now and see what was in that safety deposit box, or did he want to wait and follow them when they were done? Rapp knew what Butler would prefer. As far as they knew, Nelson hadn’t done anything illegal at this point. Storming into the bank would eventually involve the police and Nelson’s superiors. As long as he wasn’t a flight risk, it was better to leave him out of it for the moment. Butler’s people could keep close tabs on him, and if they found something out in a day or two they could deal with him then.
Rapp decided on a snatch and grab. Coleman had the kit with tranquilizer, flex cuffs, and hood. The minivan with Coleman, Wicker, and Reavers did a dry run while they were in the bank and looked for likely spots on two streets. Rapp wandered into a gift shop across and just down the street from the bank. He greeted the woman behind the counter and asked her if she had any laminated tourist maps. He purchased one and then stood near the front of the store pretending to look at it. They were in the bank for just under fifteen minutes. Rapp was looking in the opposite direction when the target exited the bank. Five of Butler’s men were doing the same thing. They had no idea if the target was alone and they didn’t want to get caught with tunnel vision.
“They’re out.”
Rapp heard Butler call it over his tiny flesh-colored earpiece. Rapp slowly turned his head back in the direction of the bank. Al Harbi and Nelson were standing on the sidewalk talking. After half a minute or so, they shook hands and parted ways. Rapp raised the map an inch and lowered his eyes as the target crossed the street and came almost directly at hi
m. When they’d seen him approach the bank he’d come from the same direction. Rapp wasn’t sure if he was being lazy or bold. It might have had something to do with the condition he was in. The guy looked as if he’d been in one hell of a fight.
He crossed in front of Rapp’s position and continued down the street. Rapp counted to ten and then left the store. He spotted him almost immediately half a block ahead of him. He was wearing a red Budweiser hat that made him easy to find. Rapp held the map in both hands and tilted his head so it looked as if he was trying to read it. Behind his sunglasses, though, his eyes were following the red hat. One of Butler’s guys was supposed to be checking his six right now, but Rapp wasn’t going to leave that kind of thing to someone he didn’t know. Getting too focused on the target was a great way to get a bullet in the back of the head. Rapp spun and walked backward for a few steps, pretending to consult the map to figure out where he was. The pedestrian traffic was moderate, which helped. Rapp noted who had been behind him and then spun back around. He noticed a few security cameras that would have to be dealt with later and noted their position just in case the others missed them.