The Camel Club

“And on top of that, they traced one of the murderers, went to his house and were almost killed?”

“Yes.”

“And while they were ‘burglarizing’ the killer’s house, Milton Farb’s home was broken into by these same guys, and they got them on film doing it?”

“But Milton’s girlfriend’s been kidnapped by these people, and so they can’t go to the police about that either.”

“But they didn’t tell you the names of the murderers?”

“I think they only know one of their names.”

“But they have them on film. Did you recognize them?”

“They haven’t shown me the film.”

“Why the hell not?”

“They want to show it to you first.”

“Great, but I’m a four-hour drive away with work out the gazoo, and the president will be here tomorrow.”

“They won’t budge on that, Alex. I tried. They’ll only show it to you. I mean come on. I work for the Justice Department, and they don’t know me. It was a real effort for them to tell me as much as they have. Oliver trusts you, not me.”

Alex rubbed his hair, cupped the phone under his chin and finished putting on his holster. “Okay, so do you have a plan?”

“Well, I was thinking we could come up to see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow! Tomorrow POTUS is here. And he takes precedence over everything, Kate, you know that.”

“I know. But I wanted you to meet with the Camel Club—”

“The what?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. That’s what Oliver and his friends refer to themselves as, the Camel Club. It’s sort of a conspiracy watchdog organization they’ve been running for years. Do you know they were the ones who first got on to the scandal with the defense secretary years ago? You remember, right? He was taking kickbacks for directing government contracts to certain vendors? The Camel Club discovered that through a scrap of information they got from an assistant chef at the White House. It’s really amazing stuff, Alex.”

Alex lay back on his bed and closed his eyes. “An assistant White House chef is spying on the secretary of defense for something called the Camel Club? This is a joke, right? Please tell me this is a joke, Kate.”

“Forget that. It’s not important.”

Alex jumped up. “Not important!”

“Alex, will you please listen to me? They’ve done some incredible investigative work on this case. They really have.”

Alex managed to calm down. “Okay, you all come up here and then what?”

“We attend the ceremony, and after that we all sit down, and they can show you the film and tell you the man’s name. Then we can go from there.”

“Meaning I take all this to the Secret Service?”

“Right. With a name and these guys on film, we have solid stuff. And we have to get Chastity back. Milton is heartbroken.”

“Who the hell is Chastity?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, that’s Milton’s girlfriend. She’s the one who was kidnapped.”

“The FBI handles kidnappings. And every second that goes by the odds are she won’t be found alive.”

“These aren’t ordinary kidnappers. They have a lot more at stake. They’ve called and let Milton talk to her for a few seconds every couple of hours, to show she’s alive. I don’t think they’ll harm Chastity, for now anyway. Things are at a stalemate.”

“And how exactly does Patrick Johnson tie into all this?”

“Well, they were sort of vague on that. I’m sure they’ll explain it more fully to you. From the little they’ve told me, I think they actually have it figured out.”

Alex let out a long breath. He had a day crammed with final preparations ahead of him. He should be totally focused on his work as a Secret Service agent. And yet now he knew the main thing occupying his mind would be the Camel Club. God help me.

“Alex, are you there?”

“I’m here,” he snapped.

“So what do you think? Can we come up?”

Alex actually glanced at his gun, wondering for a fleeting second if it wouldn’t just be easier to end it right now.

“Alex!”

“Yeah, okay. Come on up.”

“And can we bring Adelphia? She’s been really worried about Oliver.”

Alex finally exploded. “Oh, sure, Kate, bring Adelphia. And bring the freaking Monkey and Giraffe Club too. And while you’re at it, why the hell don’t you pop over to the White House and snatch the president. I bet he’d get a real kick out of all this. And he’ll probably give you a ride up here on Air Force One. And be sure and give him my name so he knows exactly whose ass he’ll be reaming out when he gets here!”

Kate’s voice was irritatingly calm. “Okay, I’m hanging up now. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

The phone went dead, and Alex plopped back on the bed just as someone knocked on his door.

“Ford, time to hit it. Let’s go.” It was his squad leader. “Ford, you ready?” he said again more loudly.

Alex jumped up and opened the door. His squad leader stared back at him. “You okay?”

“Never better,” Alex said.

Darkness was gathering as Tom Hemingway walked through the streets of a small town an hour outside of Frankfurt, Germany. He passed through the charming shopping district, alongside a Gothic-style cathedral, ducked down a side street and entered an apartment building. He took the lift three flights up, rapped on the door of the fourth flat down the hall and was told to enter.

There were no lights on, and yet Hemingway almost instantly focused on one corner of the room that was almost completely dark.

“I see your sixth sense has not failed you, Tom,” the man said as he stepped forward with a smile. An Arab, he was not dressed in a djellaba but in a two-piece business suit, although he wore a turban around his head. He motioned for Hemingway to sit in a chair next to a small table. The man sat across from him. Hemingway sensed the presence of others but said nothing about this.

The Arab sat back and rested his hands on the arms of his chair. “Your father was an excellent man and a great friend of mine for nearly thirty years. He knew us; he took the time to learn our language, religion and cultures. No one does that today unfortunately.”

“He was special,” Hemingway agreed. “Very special.”

The man took a small cup of water off the table between them and drank from it. He offered one to Hemingway but he declined. The Arab handed a piece of paper over to Hemingway. “As agreed,” the Arab said. Hemingway put the document away in his pocket without looking at it.

“I’m sure you put a great deal of thought into it,” Hemingway said.

“I have been thinking about these things my whole life.”

“You will ensure that no one claims responsibility?”

The Arab nodded. “It is done. I take it that my people have been satisfactory to work with?”

“It is a testament to their loyalty to you that they have done everything asked of them without question.”

“What happened was not solely for your benefit. Al-Zawahiri, and others like him, they’d been seduced by your country. They had lost their ties to Islam.” He paused. “You are confident about tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Attacking a superpower, that is something never to be done lightly.”