Nick stared at the image. It was the most incongruous pairing he’d ever seen. Like Hitler next to a ballerina.
Nick tried to remove emotion from the equation and mine the analytical side of his brain. He sensed Jackson watching him and he was careful not to overreact. He didn’t want to give Jackson an excuse to keep him off the case. “Tell me about it, Walt. What does he want?”
“He wants to trade your brother for Rashid.”
Nick kept his voice even. “We’re going to trade an alcoholic gambler for a known assassin? That’s the deal?”
Jackson nodded deliberately, as if he were measuring Nick’s reaction before continuing the discussion.
“All right,” Nick said. “Exactly how many nanoseconds did you wait before you said no?”
Jackson frowned. “He’s still your brother, Nick.”
“He’s dead already and you know it.”
Jackson squeezed the back of his neck like he was juicing a grapefruit. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We just received the fax an hour ago. I’m still trying to assemble a strategy.”
Nick placed the deformed, half-empty water bottle on the corner of Jackson’s desk, leaned forward, and stared hard at his boss. “Now tell me what’s really going on here, Walt.”
Jackson stood and began a slow pace. He carried his large frame smoothly, like a cougar on the prowl. Back and forth he strode. Nick’s eyes followed him like match point at Wimbledon.
Jackson flipped off the overhead lights and pulled a remote control device from his pants pocket. When he clicked a button on the remote, an illuminated image was projected onto the white wall behind his desk. The faces of more than twenty Kurdish terrorists came to life. Some were grainy surveillance shots, while others were clear mug shots. Although their names were unknown to the American public, they were as familiar to Nick as Babe Ruth was to a Yankees fan. They belonged to a militant faction of the Kurdistan Workers’ Party known as the Kurdish Security Force. The name was a direct response to the Turkish Security Force, which had been tormenting the Kurds for more than two decades. They were better known as Kharrazi’s death squad. When President Merrick ordered troops to the area, his intention was to prevent Kharrazi and the KSF from dividing Turkey along ethnic lines.
Jackson passed a laser pointer over the medley of terrorists. “Langley has reported these soldiers missing from Kurdistan. More importantly, three of them have been sighted illegally entering the country. One was detained in a Miami airport. One spotted departing a cruise ship in San Diego. Plus, we already know about Rashid and Kharrazi. I suspect the cockroach theory might be applicable here. For every one we know about there are probably twenty more that have evaded our intelligence.”
Jackson clicked off the projector and turned on the lights. He sat down and kept a careful eye on Nick.
“I’m okay,” Nick said, clenching every muscle that was undetectable. “I need to know everything. Don’t skip a comma.”
Jackson hesitated, then lowered tired eyes. “The CIA had an agent infiltrate the KSF in Kurdistan a couple of months back. Ten days ago he arrived in Toronto with two groups of soldiers, including Kharrazi. He was with the lead group as they were about to enter the United States on horseback. Somewhere in the Canadian Rockies. The agent was with them up until 2 AM Tuesday morning. At that time they were five miles from the border. That’s when Langley lost communications. Kharrazi discovered the plant.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because Thursday morning the agent’s family received a package. The agent’s six-year-old daughter anxiously opened the box she thought was a present from her daddy in Turkey.”
Nick held up his hand to prevent Jackson from finishing the story. He already knew the ending.
Jackson nodded. “That’s right. The agent’s severed head stared back at his little girl.”
Nick covered his face with his hands and took deep breaths. He imagined the look on his niece’s face as his brother’s head was delivered to their home.
“I’ve been going to too many funerals, Walt.”
“Let’s not bury Phil just yet. There’s still reason for hope.”
Nick looked up to catch Jackson’s expression. It was sincere, without pity.
“Why?”
“Because,” Jackson said, “we’ve got explicit directions. There are timetables to be met and corroborating evidence of his health included in the demands. Kharrazi wouldn’t throw those in if he were going to bluff us into believing Phil’s alive.”
“Okay,” Nick said. “Now tell me why we’re just hearing about this plant. Kemel Kharrazi is in Canada with a couple of dozen KSF soldiers-the best trained infantry in the world, and Langley waits until they’ve breached our border before we’re notified?”
Jackson leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “That’s the big question isn’t it? Apparently, Langley felt they deserved an opportunity to bag Kharrazi as he crossed over the border. It’s a gigantic political mess that I’m not willing to navigate right now. Suffice it to say, they gambled and lost. They knew where he was with five miles to go, but Kharrazi is shrewd. He must have taken a more circuitous route. They simply waited too long. Morris admitted as much to me just before you came in. That’s who I was on the phone with.”
“You’re kidding. That asshole actually admitted he was wrong about something?”
Jackson grinned. “You know, I thought the same thing myself.” Then the smile faded and his eyes locked on Nick. “What do you want to do about Phil?”
Nick took a breath and let it out slowly. “Where are they?”
“We don’t know for sure. Surveillance shows them leaving by way of a limousine. Phil seemed to be going under his own will. I’m sure Kharrazi knew just what to offer him. We’ve leaned on every limo company in the city and came up empty.”
“Kharrazi is worth what? Ten billion? He’s got plenty of hush money to spread around.”
Jackson nodded. “Still, we have every runway, train station and interstate covered. The analysts say they’re still in Vegas somewhere.”
“What’s our timetable?”
“Nine AM Eastern time. Rashid needs to be completely free. No tails. No bugs.”
Nick didn’t need to ask what happened if Rashid wasn’t out. He lowered his head and massaged his temple with his fingertips. It seemed like he’d been chasing terrorists forever. Now it felt different. It wasn’t a job anymore. It was personal.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” Jackson said. “What do you want to do about Phil?”
Nick looked up. “What about regulations?”
Jackson grimaced. “I’m going to sit here and tell you the details of Phil’s capture, then preclude you from getting involved because of regulations?” He leaned back and folded his arms across his large chest. “I can take the heat. It’s what I do. But I need to know if you’re prepared to deal with what you might find.”
Nick understood. Identifying Phil’s body would not be easy. He nodded. “I have to try and get him back, Walt.”
Jackson reached into a desk drawer and came out with a pair of airline tickets. He slid them across the desk. “The flight leaves at seven. Take Matt with you. I have every available agent in Nevada waiting for you. Meanwhile the rest of the Team will stay here and browbeat every informant we have. Something’s happening out there. Something bigger than Phil and Rashid.”
Nick reached for the tickets and stood to leave.
“Keep in mind,” Jackson said. “There’s a possibility that this is a-”
“Trap?” Nick said. “Yes, I know. Kharrazi’s too sharp to think we’ll release Rashid. He wants me. That’s what the glare into the camera was all about. Phil is just bait. Kharrazi intends to honor Rashid’s threat.”
A modest grin tightened the corner of Jackson’s mouth. He had the satisfied look of a teacher appraising his star pupil.
Nick put the tickets in his jacket pocket and turned toward the door.
“One other thing,” Jackson said behind him.
Nick turned.
Jackson’s grin mutated into something wicked. “Tell Matt, if he gets a clear shot at Kharrazi. . make it a head shot.”
