“Ended a few months ago. Johnny Bib hasn’t been able to dig up anything more recent. He doesn’t have a driver’s license or credit cards.”
Rubens nodded. Legally, there was no reason to search the compound where he had gone. Common sense, on the other hand, argued that it should be checked out. Not only was the compound protected by armed guards, Desk Three had traced the limited liability company on the tax rolls to a nonexistent address in Baton Rouge. There was no other listing of the company anywhere.
If they were operating overseas, Rubens could have relied merely on common sense to approve the operation. On American soil, however, he had to take legalities into account — the form of them, if not the substance.
“Is there anything we can connect here to Asad’s murder?” Rubens asked.
Telach shook her head. “They haven’t paid their property taxes in two years,” she said.
“I hardly think that would justify a raid. We’ll have to use the imminent danger clause in our finding,” Rubens told Telach. “I will handle the legal end. Get a force in place.”
“Right away.”
When Telach had gone, Rubens picked up the phone to tell Bing and, through her, the president. Using the finding — the formal document authorizing the Deep Black mission — as the legal authority for the search was not a panacea. It greatly complicated the prosecution of anyone who might be apprehended at the site, since citing it at trial might open a legal Pandora’s Box exposing covert operations around the world. It was one thing to do so in the case of someone like Asad bin Taysr, one of al-Qaeda’s most important leaders. Here, they were likely to capture mere foot soldiers, if they captured anyone at all.
On the other hand, Rubens couldn’t allow whatever Asad had been planning to proceed. If he had a chance to stop it, he had to take it.
He used that exact phrase to explain his reasoning to Bing. Uncharacteristically, she didn’t criticize his decision — in fact, she was so quiet that he almost asked if she was still on the line when he finished.
“You’re proceeding on your own authority, then,” she said finally.
In other words, if something goes wrong, I’ll hang you out to dry.
“Yes,” he told her. “That’s right. We’re following the finding and I’m proceeding as I see fit.”
“Very well,” she said, promptly hanging up.
CHAPTER 107
Charlie Dean met Elsa Williams, the detective from the murder investigation assigned to dig up information on Kenan, at the college dormitory building where Kenan had supposedly lived. Elsa’s loud voice boomed in the small dorm suite, and even Dean felt a little intimidated as she pressed the roommate for information.
“You didn’t think it was
“He was kind of a strange guy. Disappearing is like, his M.O. I roomed with him a couple of semesters ago. Kind of, you know, cool to have a roommate who’s never around.”
“Strange how?” asked Dean.
“Just, you know. Strange.”
“Who were his friends?” asked Williams.
“Didn’t have any.”
Williams reared her head, as if she had to move it to process what the roommate said. “Now I find that
“Well, I was kind of a friend.”
“Were you a good enough friend to lend him your credit card?” asked Dean.
Williams gave him a sidelong glance, but said nothing.
“No,” said the roommate.
“You think he might have used it?”
“No.”
“You sure about that?”
The kid gave him a shrug.
“I’d like to check it,” said Dean.
“Well, like, um, my mom gets the statements.”
“So you don’t really know if he used it,” said Williams.
“I mean—”
“It’s okay,” Dean told him. “Give me the number and I’ll do it for you.”
The young man dug the card out of his wallet and Dean read it as he wrote it down on a piece of paper, allowing the Art Room to hear.
“Just one?” Dean asked.
“All I need. We pay it off every month.”
Williams went back to asking about possible friends. Dean looked again at Kenan’s things, collected in a small pile on his bed. There were no books and only a few clothes; no papers, no pens.
“This is all he had here, huh?” Dean asked the roommate.
“He had more, books and stuff, but he took it with him.”
“And you don’t know where.”
“Nope.”
“You got a lot of stuff,” said Williams, taking a long glance around the room. “Computer, books — what’s your major?”
“It’s chemistry.”
“Tough subject.”
“You bet.”
“He ever borrow money?” asked Dean.
“A couple of bucks, maybe.”
“He pay you back?” asked Williams.
The roommate shrugged. “I guess.”
“You’re a Tiger fan?” Williams picked up a coffee mug with the baseball team’s logo.
“Nah. That’s just for loose change. Half of it’s pennies. And change for the laundry. That’s what Kenan mostly borrowed for. Quarters. Half dollars.”
Williams shook the cup. “You use slugs, huh?”
“No way.”
She picked out something and flipped it at the roommate.
The roommate looked at it. “Well, it’s like Mexican. Pesos.”
“Isn’t worth a dime, I’ll bet. But it fits right where a quarter would.”
“I didn’t use it.”
“Relax,” said Williams, putting the cup back. “We’re not going to bust you for putting slugs in the condom machine.”
“I think I’d like to call it a night,” said Williams after they finished. It was a little after five.
Dean shrugged.
“You disagree.”
“I want to talk to his professors,” said Dean.
“The religion one especially.”
“Him especially.” Since it was Saturday, the teachers weren’t on campus, but the police had obtained a list from the school, along with home addresses and phone numbers.
“Suit yourself,” said Williams.
The religion professor was just leaving his house for dinner. Williams told him they were investigating a murder; he shrugged, but still seemed reluctant to answer their questions.
