As the van rolled through the entrance of a small airport, the Emir fought a smile. The next stage in his captivity would be the next stage in his quest to damage the infidels. He would get time in court, Judy had told him, and he would have a chance to say whatever he wanted to say. At first he had been instructed not to say a word about his capture, but now Judy encouraged him to talk as loudly and as often as possible about the circumstances of his kidnapping at the hands of Americans. Although he had been captured in the United States, he intended to continue his story — he’d told it so many times to Judy that he himself almost believed it now — that he had been yanked off a street in Riyadh.
Judy believed it; that fat fool would believe anything.
The van lurched to a stop, and the FBI men helped him out and into a blinding snowstorm. They led him forward, and in seconds Yasin could smell jet fuel as he approached a large aircraft. He’d expected some sort of corporate jet, but instead it was a large cargo craft.
He began walking up the ramp with the men on either side of him. At the top of the ramp there was no snow, only several men who stood at attention.
They were wearing camouflage uniforms.
They were soldiers. American military.
The FBI man tapped Yasin on the shoulder. “Have fun at Gitmo, asshole.”
The FBI man smiled. “Right now she’s in custody in Denver.”
They gave him one more try to walk forward, but when he refused, four muscular young men grabbed his arms and legs. He was lifted into the air and carried inside the aircraft. Seconds later the ramp lifted, and it closed on the Colorado snowstorm, stifling his screams of protest.
Jack and Melanie enjoyed their dinner, their wine, and their conversation. They had not seen each other in weeks, and although their last parting had been awkward, the chemistry between them seemed undamaged.
Ryan was glad Melanie had not asked too many questions about the cuts on his face. He told her he was back into his MMA classes and a new student had gotten a little overzealous in training. She seemed to believe him, and the conversation had drifted off his face and onto all the news about his dad’s upcoming inauguration and the near disaster in Russia and the averted war between India and Pakistan.
Melanie told Jack about Rehan. He had been on the news to some degree, and the CIA/NCTC analyst was careful to keep her detail in the realm of open-source information. Ryan pled ignorance and showed his fascination in her work, but he was, himself, careful to avoid conveying anything that might make her suspicious that he knew more than he was saying.
But then she said something that made him lose his polite but only mildly interested gaze.
“Too bad they let his number-two guy slip away.”
“What’s that?” Jack said.
“I think it’s been on the news, in Pakistan, at least. Yes, I’m sure I read it in
Jack nodded, then said, “How about some dessert?”
They ordered dessert, and Jack excused himself to go to the bathroom. When he was out of view, Melanie stood quickly and stepped outside the restaurant; her mobile phone was already to her ear when the door shut behind her.
She waited for a moment for an answer on the other end, her eyes fixed on the lobby of the restaurant, careful for any signs that Jack was on his way back to the table.
“It’s me. He was there, in Pakistan…. Yes. There is no doubt in my mind. When I told him Khan was still alive he looked like he’d been poleaxed. No, of course it’s not true, but right now he’s in a bathroom stall, no doubt calling someone in a panic, trying to get confirmation.”
The young woman listened to her instructions, acknowledged them, then ended the call and rushed back inside tyo wait for her date to return to the table.
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