Flower of Heaven (23 page)

Answa and his henchman posing as his mute brother entered the terminal and were greeted by Singh. The pilot had been instructed to go through the routine for engine trouble by pretending to do a series of checks at the controls of the aircraft and had been threatened by Answa that his wife in Khatamori would be killed if he revealed where they really came from. Kocon was to await a phone call from Answa in two days and, in the meantime, was to check in at the Radisson Hotel adjacent to the airport. Answa could be very persuasive. Singh briefed Answa on what had transpired and flashed a copy of the Saturday edition of the Boston Globe which reported the apparent success of the kidney transplant on Ahmad the day before. All three men boarded the stolen vehicle and headed for Singh’s apartment just off Route 495 in Medway. The drive took about thirty minutes and was mostly in silence except for occasional questions from Answa who was pleased at Singh’s new appearance.

“Our primary target will now have to be Ahmad, and if we succeed there, we will take care of Mr. Elliott after that. Once that is over, no one can stop me from the crown in Khatamori. No one!” muttered Answa. “We must find a way to get into the hospital undetected. Ahmad will be highly medicated and sometimes the reaction to medication can be deadly,” he said with a sneer. “I have a plan for us and we will discuss this over dinner tonight. Fajid, you have disposed of Abou?” he continued.

“Yes, that has been taken care of and it may be quite some time before the police realize that only one of us remains. With my new look and name, no one will suspect anything.”

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CHAPTER 22

Answa entered the small apartment that Singh had rented and prepared to execute his plan to assassinate Ahmad at Mass. General. He retrieved a suitcase that his henchman carried and proceeded to the bathroom. After opening and placing the suitcase on the floor near the sink, Answa began to create his disguise. He reached for a beard and began to place it on his face. When it looked perfect, he reached for a pair of rimless glasses and put them on. Next he reached for a turban and carefully put it on. When he was convinced that the disguise looked genuine, he went into the suitcase again and pulled out a Polaroid camera. He stood against a plain solid wall and asked Singh to take his picture, making sure that the picture did not go below his chest. Singh took several of these to be sure at least one came out to Answa’s satisfaction.

Once an adequate photo was chosen, Answa cropped the photo and inserted it with paper glue inside the passport he had with him. The name on the passport was Sanji Mubarrah from Khatamori. There, in fact, was a real Sanji Mubarrah and he was the spiritual leader for Muslims in Khatamori. Mubarrah, however, was still in Khatamori and leading its people in general prayer services for the wellbeing of King Ahmad. Answa even had the Muslim spiritual robe to make his disguise complete. If he couldn’t get into the hospital to see Ahmad with these credentials, no one could.

Late Friday evening, he had Singh drive him to the Copley Hotel in Boston where he registered for a room under Mubarrah’s name. He then told Singh and his henchman to steal another car and head back to Medway with their own phony credentials. If their plans succeeded, they would meet on Sunday at another hotel, The Belmont Hotel on Boylston St. If either did not show up at the Belmont, the other would know that one had failed, either in killing Ahmad or Bob Elliott.

On Saturday morning, Answa headed by taxi for Mass. General carrying a concealed gun with a silencer attached under his robe, pleased with the result of his disguise and carrying his fake passport for identification. The day was cool, but sunny, as his taxi pulled up to the main entrance of Mass. General. He immediately proceeded to the Visitors’ Desk and asked where the chapel was.

“Third floor, down the hall on the left, you can’t miss it,” the receptionist blurted without so much as looking up.

Answa boarded the elevator and headed up to the third floor, making sure that he did not attract too much attention, even though his garb would have appeared out of the ordinary in this Boston surrounding. As he arrived and entered the dimly lit small chapel, he could not help but notice a tall and large-shouldered clergyman kneeling in a pew at the front, near a small altar affixed with a crucifix in the center. The chapel was simple but provided quiet solitude for family members in need of an area to pray for their loved ones following surgery or struggling with some debilitating or life-threatening procedure.

Answa entered a pew at the rear of the chapel and tried to size up the large man up front. He proceeded to that area and tapped the man on his shoulder.

“Excuse me, Father, are you the hospital chaplain,” he muttered in somewhat of a British accent.

“No, I’m not, my name is Father Merrill, but Father O’Malley, the one you’re looking for, should be here in just a few minutes,” responded Father Dick, at first not giving this religiously clad figure much attention.

“Father O’Malley, you say, thank you, I need to introduce myself to him as I have come a long way to pray for my king and to ask him to assist me as I visit him later on.”

Father Dick focused on the Arab and asked, “By your king, you are not by any chance referring to King Ahmad from Khatamori are you?”

“Why, yes, of course. I am Sanji Mubarrah, the Imam of Khatamori and the king’s personal spiritual counselor. I have just arrived from our country to pray over my king and to bring all the good wishes from the people of his kingdom.”

Suspiciously, Father Dick followed, “and the queen, she is here as well?”

“Oh, yes, Queen Farah will be by his side almost day and night I believe. They are nearly inseparable.”

“She was here in the chapel just about fifteen minutes ago, a very petite woman, I thought.”

“Oh, no, Father, you must be mistaken, Queen Farah is quite tall and not of Arabian descent, she originally comes from France and does not have the darker skin like most Khatamori women.”

“I see, I guess I really did not get a close enough look at her, it’s pretty dark in here, but this woman was dressed in a robe and I assumed it was her,” Father Dick went on as he eyed Answa very carefully now.

Before Father Dick could question Answa further, Father O’Malley appeared and walked directly toward Father Dick.

“Father Merrill, are we ready to go down to see the king now?” he chimed.

“Uh, very soon, Father, but this is the king’s spiritual leader who’s just arrived and would like to join us, is that possible?”

“Surely it’s possible, Father Merrill, but with all the security down there, how do we know that this man is who he says he is. No offense, your holiness.”

“The king does not have many enemies, I can assure you, and here is my passport to substantiate my identity, Father O’Malley,” Answa responded.

O’Malley glanced at the passport photo inside and seemed convinced of its authenticity. Father Dick was not so convinced. Why hadn’t Françoise mentioned him before, perhaps because she still was a Catholic and not close to Mubarrah or the Muslim faith, or that she simply was too preoccupied to remember that Mubarrah was coming. Nevertheless, Father Dick was not about to take chances. He excused himself to go to the bathroom before they headed to the recovery area, knowing that Father O’Malley would wait for him to return before heading down to the recovery area.

Once out of the chapel, Father Dick headed straight for the nurse’s station near the elevator and asked for the telephone number in the exclusive restricted area where Françoise was resting. As the phone rang, Father Dick felt bad about disturbing her but wanted to run Mubarrah by her.

Françoise answered groggily, obviously having awakened from a much needed sleep following a few days of restlessness.

“Richard, what is it?” Françoise shouted.

“Françoise, there is a holy man here who says he is Ahmad’s spiritual counselor in Khatamori, his name is Sanji Mubarrah. He wants to see Ahmad to pray over him but I wanted to make sure who he was first.”

“Yes, Richard, Sanji is Ahmad’s friend and counselor. Does this man wear a turban and does he have a long beard?”

“Yes, he does, I’m sorry to have awakened you. Get some rest.”

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CHAPTER 23

Harry, in the Providence FBI office, began checking any non-commercial flights landing at any airport in Massachusetts or Rhode Island. One of the agents assisting Harry noticed the arrival of a Falcon jet at North Central Airport in Lincoln. The agent followed up on the plane’s identification number and attempted to match it to Maine records, the location the plane had arrived from. There were no records of two brothers owning the aircraft. The agent called the business in question and one of the brothers picked up the phone. He explained to the agent how his brother had died two years earlier of leukemia. He further explained that the company no longer owned a plane and certainly never owned a Falcon jet.

Harry arrived at the small airport in Lincoln at 10:00 a.m. and, with another agent already there waiting for his arrival, proceeded toward the Falcon jet parked near a hangar at the far end of the terminal area. The staircase to the plane led to a partially open doorway as they approached, guns drawn. Harry and the other agent cautiously ascended the stairs and burst into the plane. The noise startled the pilot who was sprawled out on a sofa at the rear of the plane.

“Is anyone else in here,” Harry shouted.

The pilot shook his head.

The two men carefully proceeded toward the pilot with the second agent looking behind them as Harry neared the pilot. Harry ripped off the tape and asked, “Who are you and why are you here?”

“My name is Captain Ed Kocon and I am the private pilot for King Ahmad Maurier of Khatamori. I was held at gunpoint by the king’s cousin, Answa Talon, and instructed to fly here yesterday. They said they had my wife back in Khatamori and if I didn’t do exactly as they said, they would kill her and then me. What else could I do?”

“Let me see your passport.”

Kocon reached for his jacket’s inside pocket and, sure enough, the passport appeared legitimate and American issue.

“Where is Talon?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know. He and his bodyguard met another man at the terminal and left about twelve hours ago.”

Harry raced to his car and picked up his car phone and told the dispatcher to put him through to the agents stationed at Mass. General.

“We’re now looking for three men, possibly four, and we have evidence that they landed here in Rhode Island sometime yesterday. Have someone go to the king’s suite back at the Westin and see if they have or can get us a photo of this Answa Talon, the king’s cousin. We have reason to believe he may attempt to get to the king at Mass. General.” The agent said he would get right on it.

Harry responded by letting the agent know that he was leaving for Mass. General and would be there in less than an hour. He then told the agent back in the plane to have other agents on hand in and around the Falcon jet in the event that Talon and his men returned there.

Harry’s Ford Fairlane headed up Route 95 toward Boston at speeds exceeding eighty miles per hour and he had his flashing lights going without the siren turned on. He was always amazed at how motorists rapidly got out of your way when they saw flashing lights in the rear view mirror. He was sure that many of them were thinking that the flashing lights were meant for them as they exceeded the allowed speed limit on the highway.

He grabbed his car phone again and this time asked the operator to connect him with field agents at Mass. General.

“This is Agent Harry Esten and I need to speak to one of the FBI agents watching King Ahmad’s recovery area.”

Agent Hannaway answered, “Hannaway, how can I help you Harry?”

“Has anyone tried to visit the king today, other than the queen and Father Merrill?”

“Only the hospital chaplain who stopped by earlier, why?”

“Call me if anyone else comes within fifty feet of that area. I should be there in less than an hour.”

Answa and Father O’Malley were glad to see Father Dick return and they were ready to head down to the recovery area. As they left the chapel, Answa couldn’t help but notice the “Out of Service” sign posted on the front of the elevator. It instructed users to use the elevator at the far end of that floor instead. Father O’Malley was upset at seeing this sign as his walk was slow, the result of a bad knee he had incurred in a fall some years earlier. He knew all too well that the far end meant halfway around the floor, completely at the opposite side of where the chapel was located. As they began to proceed toward that direction, Father Dick noticed the anxiety in Talon’s face and the perspiration that appeared on his brow. Talon knew that the journey to the king’s room would take longer now that Father O’Malley slowed the pace significantly.