The Assassin (Max Doerr Book 1) (13 page)

“This
is how much we are going to have.” He raised the piece of paper in his hand so
that everyone at the table could see it. 

“Thank
you,” a chorus of voices said. “Lion of Dubai.”

That
meeting happened more than five years ago. And now Halim was known as the financer,
the Lion of Dubai in terrorist circles, and he loved it. The nickname made him
feel like a king.

When
Lazarus entered Stonewall’s room, she sat, leaning back in her black leather
chair, deep in thought. A report from the intelligence chief of the UAE, which she
had finished reading a few minutes before, was playing in her mind. Looking out
through the window, she barely noticed Lazarus walking in.

Lazarus
cleared his throat. Stonewall turned to face him and showed him the chair.

“How
is the Amsterdam work going?” Stonewall asked. “Is Doerr able to do his job?”

“Doerr
is doing quite well. He is almost done,” Lazarus said. “He should return in a few
days. Consider the job complete.”

“Good.”
Stonewall moved forward and placed her elbows on the table. “I am worried about
this report I just received from Kassem.”

“What
does the report say?” Lazarus asked.

Stonewall
clasped her hands together and said, “It is about the Lion of Dubai. We have
tried everything. We unleashed the Israelis and the Saudis, but he knows how to
evade each of them.”

“He
goes to Saudi Arabia a lot,” Lazarus said, turning in his chair. “How come they
can’t get him?”

“You
know how it is over there, one branch goes after the terrorists and another
branch tips them off before the raid. And this asshole is unmarried, which I
find really very hard to believe. He must have a couple of wives tucked away
somewhere. Anyway, the point is, this guy is well respected by many, including
religious leaders, especially because how much money he gives away.”

“True,
but he gives most of his money to terrorists. Doesn’t he? To folks in Nigeria,
Egypt, Pakistan, according to the last report I read. We should really go after
the people who give
him
the money.”

“I
couldn’t agree with you more. But even that has proved hard, since he has
multiple legitimate companies around the world that do legal business. It is
hard to make out which money is legal and which isn’t. I have information here
that he will be in Riyadh next month. The Saudis are getting ready to arrest
him, but I don’t have much hope.”

“I
have the right person in mind who can take down Halim.”

Stonewall
didn’t take the hint, and they continued to talk about the Lion of Dubai until
Lazarus brought the same issue back again. “I think Doerr will be a good option
for this kind of operation.”

“I
don’t think so,” Stonewall disagreed. “We need someone who we can completely
trust. Someone who has worked with the agency for a very long time, and whose
loyalty is beyond question. This Lion of Dubai is a very crafty man. Since we
killed Osama Bin Laden, he has become operationally involved in various
terrorist operations. Earlier, Halim just used to provide funds. But now it
appears he is planning a direct hit on US soil, but we don’t know the details.
We need to bring this guy down.”

“The
intel chief of the UAE is a good guy. Let us send Doerr and another operative
to Dubai. Let them work together. I am sure something good will come of it.”

“You
really have a lot of confidence in this Doerr guy, don’t you?” Stonewall said.

“Yes,
I do.” Lazarus looked at Stonewall through the corner of his eye. “Trust me on
this one. When he takes up a job, he does not think about anything else. He is
totally focused and unafraid. He is one of the best that the agency has
produced. He isn’t called
the assassin
for nothing.”

“Okay,
let me think about it. I’ll talk to some other people and make a decision.”
Stonewall smiled. “I am going to miss you, Lazarus, after you retire. You’ll be
leaving in less than a year, right?”

“Yes,
ten months and nineteen days, to be exact. Have you decided who you are going
to pick as deputy director once I leave?”

“Yes
and no; I have some names in my mind. But I haven’t decided yet,” Stonewall
said. The phone started ringing. Stonewall leaned toward the phone, saw the
caller ID on the LCD display and said, “I have to take this. Thanks for coming
by.”

“Thanks,
Madam Director.” Lazarus rose to leave Stonewall’s office.

“You’re
welcome,” Stonewall said to Lazarus and picked up the phone. “Hello, Senator
Brushback. How are you?”

After
pleasantries, the senator quickly got to the point. “I think Ross Calpone will
make a great deputy director. He is a good communicator, and he knows how to
motivate people. I say let us groom him for the job. We have almost a year in
hand.”

“Ross
may be good in certain areas, but I don’t think I will pick him for the job. I
dug into his file.” This was not the first time Brushback had tried to con
Stonewall. But she knew how to deal with him and play the tough game with the senator.
She had encountered many men like Brushback while she was in the Army. She
neither rejoiced in such encounters nor was she afraid. “He was ready to quit
after just one field job, and the only reason he was kept and promoted was that
the case he worked on was a high-profile case and very successful.”

“So
there you said it. He can bring success. Don’t you think we need someone like
him to jump-start things at the agency?”

“Well,
the job that ended up well fifteen years back was because it was planned very
well by the people at Langley. Ross contributed very little, really.”

“Mrs.
Stonewall, I strongly suggest that you choose Ross unless you want to have a hard
time in the briefing meetings from now on.”

“How
dare you talk to me like that?” Stonewall said angrily and sat up straight.
“Are you trying to force in Ross because his father and his buddies contribute
heavily in your campaigns?”

“That’s
preposterous.”

“Preposterous?
I have your campaign contribution list right here. Do you want me to read it to
you?” Stonewall slammed the phone down.

DOERR
BOARDED A KLM flight from Schiphol airport, heading for JFK. His job in
Amsterdam was done. The plane journey was as uneventful and boring as the cab
ride to his apartment in New York. It was early morning when he returned, and
he could hear the birds chirping.

Once
home, Doerr woke up Gayle. She made some coffee and breakfast for him. After a
chat, Doerr hit the bed, hoping for some sleep. But he felt restless, thinking
about whether the NYPD detective had made any progress with Billy’s case. He
wanted to go to the police department right away, but he was aware that they
would not be open till nine a.m.

Putting
on a black leather jacket over his jeans, he started out at eight thirty the
next morning. The police station was within walking distance. At nine thirty, Doerr
met the detective, who opened a file and rummaged through some papers. Doerr
knew what that kind of behavior meant. The detective did not have any good
news.

“Let
me check something.” The detective pretended to read some report, and then he
put the paper down. “Mr. Doerr,” the detective shifted in his chair and
obviously felt uncomfortable, “we got all forensic reports. And…and we have
reached a wall.”

“What
happens now?” Doerr asked, hoping for something positive.

“I
am afraid, sir, without any further information or tips,” the detective paused
and took a deep breath, “I am afraid that we will have to close this case.”

Doerr
rose without saying anything. He was angry and frustrated but tried to keep his
emotions inside. He turned to leave.

“Wait,”
the detective said.

“What
is it?”

The
detective cleared his throat and then said, “We have Billy’s things that we
took from the murder scene. Our forensic department is done with those. Let me
go and get them.”

The
detective left, and two minutes later, he returned with a box in his hands.
Doerr took it and opened the case as the detective gave him a sympathetic pat
on the shoulder. As he took the box, his eyes became moist, but he controlled
himself so tears wouldn’t fall.

Inside
were Billy’s wallet, his iPhone, a few pens, coins, two notebooks, and a few
other items.

Doerr
promptly returned home and laid the box on a table. He sat silently on the
sofa, staring at the case. Sadness filled his heart, and life felt meaningless
to him. He walked into the bedroom and sat on the stool in front of his piano;
he started playing the Mozart symphony number forty in silent mode.

He
played for an hour, but it did little to alleviate his melancholy. It was
lunchtime, but he did not feel like eating anything; he went back to the living
room and peeked into the box that held Billy’s stuff. He picked up the iPhone
and turned it on. There was very little charge left on its battery. Doerr
played some of the audio recordings. Billy liked to read aloud from his book
and then listen to it later during a walk or train ride.

“I
gotta go.” That was Billy’s voice, and then there was a silence. Then the sound
of a scuffle could be heard, and then there was silence again. Then Billy asked
something, and somebody said, “Where is your father?”

That
must be the murderer!
The voice was familiar. He played it
again.
“Where is your father?”

Doerr
knew that voice. “Samuel,” Doerr yelped, walked to the glass door, and then to
the balcony.

“Samuel!”
Doerr screamed and punched the glass door. The glass cracked and gouged his
knuckles, blood gushing from his shredded skin.

“Samuel!”
he screamed and threw the iPhone.

It
was all too clear now. Samuel killed Billy so that Doerr would be restless and
would easily fall into his elaborate trap. Samuel used him to kill the DEA
administrator to collect a hefty sum. But now, Doerr swore, he would do
anything to get Samuel. His two missions – to find and eliminate his son’s
killer and to kill Samuel – had become one and the same.

IT
WAS A bitter cold Sunday morning in January. The temperature on the display
board showed 37 degrees. Doerr picked up his groceries and headed home with the
yellow plastic bags dangling from his hands. Some people on the road to his
apartment wore sweaters, most wore a jacket of some kind; one young man walked
around in shorts, eager to show his vitality. 

Doerr
didn’t like the flu-infested, often ice-covered, cold January month at the best
of times, let alone when he was carrying groceries.

He’d
made a promise to Gayle before their marriage that he would always pick up the
groceries. To him, a promise was just that – a promise. It didn’t change with
time, situation or anything else. Gayle had volunteered to do the grocery shopping
many times, but he wouldn’t let her. To overcome the problem, Gayle had often
stocked up before Doerr came home.

The
five grocery bags in one hand and four in the other would have been strenuous
for anyone else but not for him. He carried them easily and passed Rosco Video,
the cheap DVD store that sold Russian movies for $2.99 a pop. As Doerr took the
next step, his eyes fell on the beggar wearing a torn jacket, which was so pale
that it was hard to tell what its original color was.

Doerr
stopped at the beggar, dropped the grocery bags and took out his wallet.
How
does this man survive in such temperatures without catching bronchitis?
He wondered.

He
glanced at the old slippers on the man’s feet. He dropped three twenty-dollar
bills and pointed to the shoe shop across the road and said, “Get a pair of
shoes.”

The
man said nothing but raised the dollar bills as a token of thanks.

Doerr
nodded as he picked up his bags and slowly walked away. When he reached his
apartment and pressed the switch for the doorbell, he panted a little. Gayle
opened the door at one ring of the bell.

He
gently dropped the bags on the floor and asked, “Will this be enough for a
week?”

“Of
course, but will your stay at Langley be longer than a week?”

“I
don’t know. But the possibility is always there. They can send me somewhere for
one week, one month or even longer.”

“But
if you have to go out of the country for an assignment,” Gayle said, touching
his shoulder, “you will come home before going, won’t you?”

“Maybe
not.” Doerr laughed. “They can send me to the other side of the world with just
a few seconds’ notice.”

“I’m
worried, Max. Aren’t you?”

“I
am. I worry if they will let me work on Samuel or not. If they do, when will it
be? I just can’t stop thinking about him.” Doerr clenched his fists. “I feel he
is getting away little by little every day, and I can’t do anything about it.
Sometimes I feel he is following me and laughing at me.”

“Maybe
you should stop thinking about him.”

“How
can I?” Doerr looked at her eyes. “I always have chest pain. Samuel seems to be
sitting on my chest all the time.”

“But
when you find him, what are you going to do?”

“I
am going to put a fifty-caliber bullet through his fucking head. Just like he
made me do. Then I will lacerate his body with a knife, just like he did to my
son.”