'I know you have.' He said, 'I found your number on your wife's cell phone, so I am calling to express my condolences on her death.'
'That is really sick.'
'And the death of your friend and colleague, Mr. Haytham.'
'You also killed his wife and daughter. What kind of man are you?'
'I don't understand your question.'
'You are going to burn in hell.'
'No, you are going to burn in hell. I am going to live forever in Paradise.'
I didn't respond. There was a silence on the phone, and I could hear traffic noises in the background. Then he said, 'I told you three years ago that I would return, and you saw that I kept my promise.' He added, 'I am an imperfect man, Mr. Corey, and I do not keep all my promises, but when I promise to kill someone, I kill them.'
Again, I didn't respond.
He reminded me, 'You had more to say to me the last time I was here. Well, I know you are mourning the death of your wife, and that makes one… less talkative. And perhaps less arrogant and less insulting.'
Again, I didn't respond, and let the silence continue.
CAU was not listening in on my calls, but they were monitoring my number, and they could trace any incoming calls to their source-which in this case, I was certain, was a cell phone.
As if he knew what I was thinking, he said to me, 'I am now in a moving vehicle and soon this phone will be out the window.' He added, 'I have many phones, Mr. Corey. You will not find me that way.'
'But I will find you. And kill you. I promise.'
'You are not clever enough to find me, nor are you man enough to kill me. But I will find you and kill you.'
'I'm not hiding, asshole. You know where I live, and where I work. If you had any balls, you'd have already tried. Instead, you kill defenseless women and murder men who have done nothing to you, and you also kill your countrymen who trust you. You're a fucking coward.'
He didn't respond to that, and I thought he'd hung up, but I could still hear background noise.
Finally he said, 'Did you think I was a coward when we all jumped from that aircraft? In fact, it was you who looked frightened.'
'No, asshole, it was you who looked scared shitless when I popped off a few rounds at you. Did you piss your pants?'
He didn't respond directly to that, but he said in a less cool voice, 'I told you I would kill that whore, and I did. And you watched her die, bleeding like a frightened lamb with her throat cut.' He told me, 'And I tasted her blood.'
I took a deep breath and said, 'Enough of your bullshit. We need to meet-'
'Unfortunately, we cannot meet this time. However, I promise you that I will be back. And I will kill you.'
'Why are you running away?'
'I am not running away. I have finished my business here, except for you, and you can wait. And think about your fate.'
'Are you frightened of me?'
'Mr. Corey, do not try to provoke me as you did last time. You made me angry, and that is why your wife is dead. And why you are as good as dead.'
'We need to meet and finish this. Now. I will come alone-'
'Please. You are not speaking to an idiot. When we meet, I will pick the time and place, and I will be certain you are alone.'
'Did you come all this way to tell me you're leaving?'
He replied, 'For all you know, I am already gone. Or I could still be here, and I may change my mind and see you before I leave.'
This was starting to sound like bullshit. He wanted me to believe two things-one, he was gone and I could relax, and two, he was still here and I should be very worried.
I said to him, 'You should have tried to kill me when you had the chance, stupid.'
'It is you, Mr. Corey, who is stupid if you think I would kill you so quickly, as I killed your wife. In fact, I have a more interesting death planned for you.' He asked, 'Would you like me to tell you?'
'If it makes you feel better about running away.'
'Well, let us see if you feel better when you hear what I have planned for you.' He told me, 'First, I intend to cut off your genitals. Then I will cut off your face. I will peel it from your skull.' He said, 'The Taliban do that in Afghanistan, Mr. Corey. Have you seen those photographs? The man is alive, but he has no face-only two eyes staring out from his skull. So, of course, we cannot see his fear or his pain-but he can see his own skull in the mirror that we hold up to his eyes. And then we feed his face and his genitals to the dogs, and the man is left to kill himself. And they all kill themselves. Or they ask someone to kill them. Life would not be good without genitals or a face. Don't you agree? And that, Mr. Corey, is what I intend to do to you. The next time we meet. And I look forward to that. So, until then-'
'Hold on. I want to remind you again that your mother was a whore, and she was fucking your great asshole of a leader, who you know had your father killed so he could keep fucking your mother.'
I could hear him breathing on the phone, and I think he was a little pissed off at me.
Finally he said, 'We will meet. Good-bye, Mr. Corey.'
The phone went dead.
Well, that was a good conversation. No beating around the bush. That's what I like about psychopaths. They give it to you straight.
But did I piss him off enough to make him stick around and take a run at me? Would I get face time with him? Was that a poor choice of words?
I was now supposed to call Walsh or Paresi, but… I dialed Boris's cell phone. If Boris was alive, I'd tip him off that I'd heard from Khalil, and advise him to stay awake tonight. In fact, maybe I could get over to Brighton Beach and keep him company. That might be my last and best hope to find Khalil.
My call went into voice mail, and I said, 'Corey. I just got a call from our Libyan friend. Call me ASAP.'
I then dialed Svetlana to see if the place was closed because of the death of the owner.
A man with a Russian accent answered, and I could hear music and loud talking in the background.
I asked for Mr. Korsakov, and the man said he was not available, but he would take a message. I told him, 'Have him call Mr. Corey. It's important.'
I hung up. Well, Boris was apparently still alive, and Boris, I thought, was the canary in the coal mine; if Boris was dead, could John Corey be far behind?
Bottom line here was that Asad Khalil was not going anywhere until he finished his business. I don't know who he hated more-Boris or me-but I was sure that Khalil himself knew who was next on his list.
Back at Bellevue, Kate was still in high spirits, and we sat in the only two chairs in the dismal room and watched some television. The History Channel had a special about Saddam Hussein, comparing him to Adolf Hitler, who was Hussein's hero. I mean, if your role model is Adolf Hitler, you've got a problem.
So we watched TV, but my mind was elsewhere.
In fact, I had seen photos of anti-Taliban fighters in Afghanistan who'd had their faces completely peeled from their skulls, which were red with blood and shredded muscles and ligaments. And Kate had seen this, too, in an info session we'd attended at 290 Broadway, hosted by the CIA, who thought we needed to see the type of enemy they were fighting in Afghanistan. A picture is, indeed, worth a thousand words, and we all got the message and got a little queasy in the stomach, too. And then, of course, it was lunchtime. The CIA are great jokesters.
Anyway, it sounded like Khalil had been hanging out for the last few years in Afghanistan with the Taliban. It was a wonder they could stand him.
I thought about telling Kate that I'd gotten a phone call from Asad Khalil. Oh, by the way, Khalil and I spoke today, and he wants to meet me to cut off my genitals and my face. What do you mean I can't meet him? I can't run away. I'll lose face.
Regarding reporting this phone call to the bosses, I think the five seconds for me to do that had passed.
Of course, I would have reported Khalil's call if there was any useful intelligence to be learned from what he'd
