“Wait a minute,” Jaziri said, while patting the air. “I’ll move it up to four hundred—still a good price.”
“Not good enough,” stated the Bangladeshi. “I gave you first opportunity to accept the products in good faith. I can certainly sell them on the black market for the price I’m asking, though it would take time. You know this as well as I do.”
Ahmed Jaziri did know this. What he didn’t know was if the Bangladeshi was willing to fall back on his price. “Look,” Jaziri said, “A number of things can go wrong. Perhaps a nuke does not go off or discharge. Perhaps your team is intercepted by certain authorities before they can program the unit for operation. Either way, I lose.”
“There are always chances to be taken in this business and things we can never plan for. That was something Abesh Faruk taught me. He also taught me that warfare was the greatest business on the planet. And where there’s war, there’s a buyer.”
“Then he’s taught you well. Perhaps too well.”
“If the suitcases go off as they should, then you would benefit. Your coffers will be enriched by the recruits who take new territory. They will canvas and control the oil fields and your power on the black market strengthens.”
“Four-fifty then. Just in case the devices are defective.”
“They’re not.”
“And you know this how?”
“They’ve been refurbished with Israeli technology, the best. And Abesh Faruk always provided the best.”
Once Ahmed Jaziri realized that he had been bested, his desire to have such specialized weapons would be the final advantage that extremists had always dreamed of possessing. He was about to make it a reality.
“Five hundred million then,” he caved. “Done. But listen to me carefully, Bangladeshi, and I will repeat what I said earlier. This better go off without a hitch. Any failure on the part of your team, your strategy, or anything else, even if one weapon does not perform as it should, then I will hold you entirely responsible. Do you hear me?”
“I do.”
“But do you understand me?”
“I do.”
“Washington, D.C., Tel Aviv, and Vatican City . . . I want to see them burning and laid to waste within the week, maybe two depending on certain conditions. That’s more than enough time for you to design plans and move your team into position. In the meantime, I will forward the amount of five-hundred-million dollars into your account. From there it will disappear, I’m sure.”
“The conversion into cryptocurrency will take less than a minute. Once done, then the amount will transfer out and the account will be closed.”
Jaziri nodded. “Keep me posted of everything that’s happening. For half a billion dollars, I’ve earned the right to know everything about my investment.”
“Agreed.”
Ahmed Jaziri raised his hand. “No need to see me to my driver,” he said. “I know the way.”
“Please, be careful and watch out for the wild brambles.”
After Jaziri left, the Bangladeshi turned on the lights inside the stone vault. The suitcases were magnificent, he thought. Small things in small packages with large results. In the days to come, he would create a two-man team based on their mercenary needs by paying each member enough that would carry them through several lifetimes, a healthy wage. Then, and in order to keep his anonymity, he would hunt them down in sport to assure that there would be no loose ends. It had always been his mode of operation, and one that had worked well for him over the years.
After running a caressing hand over the images that represented each suitcase—that of Satan, the Antichrist, and the False Prophet—the Bangladeshi eventually shut off the light, locked the shed, and retired for the night.
Within a day or two, he would be a half-billion dollars richer.
Within the days to come, Tel Aviv, Washington, D.C., and Vatican City would all be charred remains.
The Bangladeshi smiled inwardly with everything moving along perfectly.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
Rome, Italy
Three Days Later
Shari Cohen and Kimball Hayden were jubilant and fatigued at the same time. Reaching Rome to start a new life together had been exciting because they would no longer be worlds apart, since she would be employed by the U.S. Embassy in Rome and Kimball at the Vatican.
Their apartment was a two-bedroom, two-bath residence that had a balcony that provided an astonishing view of the Basilica’s dome that was across the Tiber. Today, the sky was a uniform blue with a few scudding clouds, and the sunshine warm against Kimball’s face as he stared skyward with his eyes closed.
“Nice, isn’t it?” Shari walked onto the balcony to stand beside Kimball and placed her hands along the stone railing. “It’s like a dream—almost surreal.”
Kimball opened his eyes. “Rome is God’s country with few cities as beautiful as this one.”
“You’re at peace here, aren’t you?”
Kimball nodded. “Yeah, I am.”
Shari leaned into him, which was cause for Kimball to wrap his arm around her and pull her close.
The scenery from their balcony was magnificent as the two admired the architecture that dated back to five hundred years or older, with these lasting structures a memorial to one of the world’s greatest historical periods.
To Kimball, it was an architectural marvel; to Shari, it was romantic.
They stood on the balcony and appreciated the view from their new home together, the two thinking how perfect and wonderful their world was at the moment.
Soon, however, this idyllic moment would come to a crashing halt.
Darkness was already approaching.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Fiumicino Airport
Rome, Italy
The Following Day
Unlike the day before when it was sunny and balmy, the wet weather was vacillating between a drizzle and a downpour, but never stopping.
At the airport’s exit gate where a woman waited, she wore a hat that had an overlapping brim which covered her brow, eyes, and part of her face. Since meeting with Pope
