“Oh, yeah. No doubt.”
“Salif Hamad. Would you believe it? Such a quiet guy. But if it was Hamad, it kind of begs the question, why are you here? The feds aren’t going to get their warrant, now.”
“Want to bet?”
“What’s to search for? You’ve got the guy. End of, surely?”
“Sorry, Kelvin. This isn’t going away. Not yet. The feds are suspicious people. They hate mysteries. Who did it is only half the story. They’ll keep on coming till they find out why.”
“Why has nothing to do with us.”
“I believe you. But the feds think otherwise.”
“How come?”
“Hamad worked for you. The other dead guys worked for you. They don’t think that’s a coincidence.”
“Of course it is. And you need more than a coincidence to get a warrant.”
“They do have more.”
“Like what?”
“I have it here. I can show you. But before I do, I want to get something straight.”
Taylor’s phone began to ring before he could reply. He excused himself, answered it, and listened for a few moments.
“Sorry,” he said. “My housecleaner’s on the way up. I need to go let her in.”
His feet clattered down the metal steps. The door opened. Footsteps came into the hall. Two sets. Both heavy. Then the door closed again and Taylor started back upstairs without a word being spoken.
“I’m back,” he said, emerging from the stairwell. “Sorry about that. What were you saying?”
“Does your housecleaner come up here?” I said.
“Yeah, she will. But not for an hour or so. She does downstairs first. And don’t worry. She doesn’t speak English. So, you wanted something?”
“Yes. Assurances. I’m taking a big risk. No one knows I’m here. If anyone finds out what I’m showing you…”
“Understood. And don’t worry. Discretion is my biggest virtue. Now, let’s see what you’ve got and maybe we can help each other.”
I took out the set of photos Lavine had given me from Mansell’s phone and handed them to Taylor.
“It looks like Iraq,” he said, studying the first one.
“It is,” I said.
“Where did you get them?”
“One of your ex-employees took them. On his phone.”
“Which one?”
“James Mansell.”
“I remember him. He wasn’t one of the five victims, though?”
“We’re not sure. We know Hamad tried to kill him. If he succeeded, we haven’t found the body. But he certainly took Mansell’s phone. He had it with him, last night, when he died. He was trying to protect it.”
“Strange.”
“Very. And the question the feds are asking is, why did he want the phone so much?”
“No idea. Call records? People’s numbers?”
“No. The FBI have analyzed everything. There must be something else.”
“I can’t imagine what.”
“They’re thinking, maybe the photos?”
“Surely not. How could someone’s vacation snaps be worth five lives?”
“I don’t know yet. Have a look. Tell me what you see. If I can convince the feds the photos aren’t significant…”
“Got you,” he said, starting to thumb his way through the pile. “I’ll try. Let’s see what we have. Guys in their barracks. Guys in the desert. More guys in the desert. Some girls-not ours. Guys in vehicles. One of our convoys. One of our trucks.”
“What’s that Arabic writing on the back?”
“ ‘Danger. Keep Back. Authorized to use lethal force.’ ”
“Is that normal?”
“Completely. All private contract vehicles have signs saying it. In English, and in Arabic.”
“Oh. OK. Keep going.”
“This next one is, this one is, well, it looks like it could be the inside of one of our trucks.”
“What are all the containers?”
“Organ carriers, for transplants. Big on the black market.”
“Valuable?”
“Very. That’s why we have to guard them. Those and the drugs, obviously.”
“Why would Mansell photograph them?”
“No idea.”
“They don’t look like regular ones. Usually they’re like picnic boxes.”
“Right. These are special. The country’s in a mess right now, so most of the organs have to be flown in. They need built-in monitors, fluid pumps, all manner of gizmos. Because of the time from harvesting.”
“OK. So what about the rest. Anything?”
“I don’t think so,” he said, glancing at the remaining pictures. “They just look like souvenirs.”
“I see.”
“So that’s cleared things up? We’re good?”
“No. Sorry, Kelvin, but that’s nowhere near good enough. I can’t go back to the FBI with ‘they look like souvenirs.’ I need more.”
“There is no more. I looked at the pictures. I told you what I saw.”
“The SWAT teams are suiting up, right now. They might not wait till tomorrow morning…”
“So, stop them.”
“Then give me something to work with.”
“Like what? There’s nothing in those pictures. They’re irrelevant.”
“Then I’ll see you in the morning,” I said. “And I’d wear old clothes, if I were you.”
“No, wait,” he said. “Forget the photos. Let’s try another approach. We work with the government all the time. It’s a complex machine. Sometimes the wheels get a little jammed up. I’m thinking, maybe that’s the kind of situation we have here?”
“I don’t know. What do you do, in that kind of situation?”
“We unjam the wheels. Lubricate them. Get them moving again.”
“How?”
“Money usually works.”
“How much?”
“Depends how many wheels are jammed.”
“Say, three? Aside from me.”
“A hundred thousand. You keep whatever’s left.”
“How about a million?”
“Don’t push your luck.”
“I wonder if they’ll raid this place, too?”
“Five hundred thousand.”
“Imagine them checking these walls, digging around for concealed hiding places…”
“Seven fifty. Fifty now, the rest when the case is closed.”
“I keep whatever’s left, after the wheels are moving again?”
“Right.”
“How about the coffee?”
“Forget the coffee. I’ve got the fifty downstairs. I’ll go get it.”
“Thanks. And tell your guys they can stop hiding.”
