Grains of Truth (44 page)

He’d strategically planned it this way to provide the additional incentive for ensuring he made a hasty departure. What if the plan backfired?

“You can use my computer to make the transfer.” Billy waved a hand towards the stairs that led down to the main salon.

Alexander led the way, but not before issuing a few reassuring words to Jalal. He made note of the careful watch Billy’s men kept on the Arab. A startling image of Julia in the hands of that murderous maniac back in Nuweiba sent a ripple of fear up his spine as he descended the stairs. He had to make this work.

The opulence at the bottom gave him pause, if only momentarily. Alex marshaled every scrap of authority he’d ever possessed to deliver his next words. “This is a complicated transaction, Billy. As well as an exceptionally lucrative one.” He knew goddamn well Billy had jacked up the price. He saw confirmation of that flit across the limey’s greedy face.

“The transfer requires two passwords. I have one. It’s in my computer in the hotel safe back in town. A representative of the seller has the other, a man I trust. Once they have the arms, they let him know. Then we initiate the transfer simultaneously.” Did this pure fabrication sound even remotely plausible? Alexander cleared his throat. “You know I almost never get involved in the actual sales transaction. It seemed the best way to set this one up.”

Billy pursed his lips. Alex could tell he wasn’t sold.

“What I can do is access the account and show you that the funds are there.” As he spoke Alex stepped over to the computer on the jeweled table top.

Once the details of the Swiss bank escrow account were up on the screen, Alex stood to his full height and let his gaze roam the room. “I’ve steered a lot of business your way, Billy. You’re going to have to trust me on this one.”

The reptile regarded the many zeroes on the screen with hooded eyes. Suddenly he was all smiles. “All right, Alex my boy, all right.” The smile vanished more quickly than it came. “Just remember it’s a small world we live in, me and you.”

~

Back on deck, Jalal began to issue orders to his men. Billy followed Alex, now itching with impatience to get underway, to the stern where the launch hovered, engine purring. As it backed away from the showy yacht, he looked up at the ant-like flurry of activity of the crates changing hands. The sight left an unusually sour taste in his mouth.

As the launch raced across the water, Alexander felt the wind on the wet patches in the armpits of his shirt. He hoped to god nothing hung up the weapons delivery now. He hoped to god that the others had things under control at their end. Most of all, he hoped to god and all that was holy that they would be in time to save Julia.

~

“I didn’t see a soul except for him and it was very, very quiet.”

“What about Julia?” Mohamed had to ask.

“No sign of her.” After describing what she’d managed to observe of the layout, Sarah looked down at her trembling hands. She wondered if anyone else could hear the violent pounding of her heart.

Brad looked up as Benjamin and Joshoa noiselessly appeared in the doorway. “All quiet,” the Israeli reported. “Only the one car. There are two other doors at the back.”

“We should go now.” Agitation amplified Mohamed’s words in the cave-like room. “Why wait if it’s only the two of them?”

In view of the circumstances, he’s held up admirably well, thought Brad. I hope to hell he doesn’t blow it now. The startling sound of a phone sliced through the air, pre-empting his reply.

“Oui?” said Mariette. “Non, they have moved to the warehouse. Come straight here. We will watch for you.” She closed the phone. “Alexander is on his way. He should be here in less than fifteen minutes.”

~

Linda emerged from the gloom as the solid frame came around the corner. Although he expected something of the sort, Alex jumped back, instinctively reaching for his gun. She held a finger to her lips and motioned for him to follow. They went through a battered door, half off its hinges, to join the others. The beam from a single flashlight outlined their faces ghoulishly in the dark.

Brad laid out the set up.

“I go in first.” Alexander was harsh—uncompromising. 

“Okay. Richter, you two cover the back. Boyd and I’ll cover Bryant.” He was still impressed that Alex had somehow managed to conjure up another gun for Linda.

For the first time since his arrival, Brad addressed the others in an icy, sharp command. “The rest of you stay here. You’ll only be in the way. And could cost Julia her life—as well as your own. Do you understand?”

Sarah and Mariette nodded acquiescence while Mohamed emanated rebellion from every pore.

Henrietta, unfailingly, came to the rescue. “It’s all right, Mohamed. We’ve all done our parts brilliantly to get to this crucial point. Now it’s up to the heavy guns.”

No one smiled at the pun.

~

Still in the guise of their galabeeyas, the Israelis floated like phantoms to the rear of the warehouse. Benjamin backed himself into a shadowy corner to cover one of the doors while signaling Joshoa to the other, around a far corner. It was not possible to see them both from any given point. Joshoa melted away into the night.

Once he ascertained that no one else lurked in the vicinity, he looked up at the warehouse. A single-story roof over the door he was to watch joined another wall that abutted a second, much higher, roof. Light shone from a row of narrow windows beneath the highest roof.

A smelly dumpster partially blocked the door. Joshoa pulled the robe over his head, tossed it aside, and climbed onto the top of the dumpster. From there, he hoisted himself onto the first-floor roof and tip-toed to the corner of the old façade. With the skill of an expert climber, he worked his way up, finding niches in the crumbling brick for his fingers and toes. Once making it to the upper roof, he lay on his belly and peered down through the windows into a square, high-ceilinged room.

Apart from a few empty crates, it was completely bare. Except for the woman who stood like a statue in one corner, back against the wall.

Chapter 52

Julia, having shed the loathsome robes after convincing Ahmed to remove the bindings from her hands, had complete freedom of movement. He would’ve known that she would, but why would it concern him? Where could she go?

A single bare bulb hung on a cord from the ceiling in the locked room, next to the one where they’d entered the building. It provided an austere light. She used the time to explore every inch of her latest cell. Like the warehouse, this room sported a row of high windows lining one wall next to the ceiling. Unfortunately, with nothing to stand on, she had no way to reach them. She tried to scale the crumbling brick wall with her bare hands, the only result being more cuts and scrapes. The lock on the door was a simple one, but she had nothing to use as a tool to pry it open.

Patches of dirt checkered the floor where some of the bricks were cracked or missing. In her frantic search, she tripped over one. Hunched down on her hands and knees, she forced herself to stop, to pull in long, deep breaths in hope of slowing the blood ripping through her veins. That was how she came to find the trap door in the floor that led to the underground room. And the guns.

When she heard a woman’s faint voice on the other side of the door, unrecognizable but distinctly speaking English, adrenaline shot back into her bloodstream.

It was time. Somehow, she knew. It was time.

She lowered the heavy lid to the tunnel and backed into the corner nearest the door—with a loaded pistol in her hand. As the endless minutes ticked by, she prepared herself as best she could for whatever would come.

~

Ahmed smirked at the thought of the foolish woman who had gotten herself lost in such a notoriously bad neighborhood. And at her good fortune in coming across him, instead of one of the less scrupulous local thugs.

He waited complacently while she phoned to arrange for a car to come to a location nearby and pick her up. He felt magnanimous now because Jalal had just called to let him know they had the final delivery of guns. 

The last box containing one of the garments from the boutique fit nicely into one of the trunks. He carefully closed the lid and locked it. Beneath the clothes, layers of “wedding gifts” would explain the heavy weight of the trunks. Beneath those, the canisters were concealed—and meticulously secured. The beauty of this particular gas was that it took less than two hundred pounds to incapacitate almost a million people.

They would leave for Jordan first thing tomorrow morning. Ahmed added the trunk’s key to the others on a ring and glided across the floor to the big open door. He felt the need for further bonding with his “fiancée.”

As he inserted a key into the lock of the side room, a dark shape came through the outside door. Even in the dim light, he instantly recognized Alexander Bryant.

Fireworks exploded in his head. What was he doing here?

With the hint of a smile, one hand turned the key while the other deftly turned the knob. He ducked through the door, slamming it behind him. Like a flash of light, he flicked the lock, leapt to the far corner of the room and yanked open the trap door in the floor to grab up an automatic rifle.

Julia stood ramrod straight in the opposite corner with her back pressed to the wall, one arm bent behind. 

Alexander barked a low command. Brad and Linda, flanking the outside door behind him, jumped inside, guns held above their heads. Alex, the Magnum in hand, was already at the closed door where Ahmed had disappeared. He struggled to keep a level voice.

“Sharif, we need to talk. No need for alarm but it’s important.” 

Julia’s nerves snapped at last—at the sound of Alexander’s voice—and she pounced for the door. In a single leap, Ahmed flew across the room and viciously twisted her wrist before she could turn the lock.

He snarled, dragging her back, and leveled his rifle at the door.

“Get down in the tunnel!”

His voice, like that of a beast, caused her to fall back and trip over a hole in the floor. She cried out as she fell. And dropped the pistol.

The cry did it. Alexander Bryant hurled his powerful body at the door with such force the rotten wood splintered into a thousand pieces. On the other side, he nimbly righted himself, gun trained on Ahmed.

Julia crawled toward the pistol on the floor.

In the same instant, glass shattered from above as Joshoa came crashing through the high windows. He hit the ground and rolled, landing in a crouch, weapon fixed on his enemy.

Facing two deadly opponents, the Mujahideen growled like a cornered animal, swinging the rifle wildly between them. 

“No!” screamed Julia as she came to her knees on the rough floor. The ragged bricks cut through the cloth into her skin as her hands trained the pistol on Ahmed.

It all happened horrifyingly fast.

She saw Alex from the corner of her eye hesitate for a fraction of a second and at the same time heard the explosion of shots, assaulting her ears with a terrible, echoing roar.

The man who came through the window crumpled to the floor. A bright red patch sprung up on Ahmed’s white robe, spreading to blossom like an enormous rose unfurling its petals.

Julia caught him just before he hit the ground. She cradled the beautiful, aristocratic head in her lap, tears coursing down her face, distorted by shock and despair. The rising tide of blood soaked her clothing and stained her shaking hands.

“I’m sorry. So sorry.” A heartbreaking sob escaped her dry, cracked lips. “It’s all so wrong…so terribly wrong.”

The sweetest of smiles transformed the face in her lap, now almost as white as the robe once was. The religious icon he wore around his neck lay awash in blood. His voice barely a whisper, Ahmed said, “You are a good woman, Julia Grant. Do not be sorry. I am happy to die for Islam. Happy to die for Allah.”

He took one last breath. And his head fell to the side.

The echo from the gunshots grew fainter and fainter, eventually subsiding into a ghostly, accusing silence, as if final judgment had been passed. The other two men in the room—one standing, one lying on the floor in his own blood—still held their weapons, frozen in time, as they stared at the slain terrorist in the arms of his victim. 

Julia looked up to lock eyes with Alexander, incomprehension and unbearable grief in hers, before they shifted back down to her blood-stained hands.

Chapter 53

All heads turned as the French woman came from the bedroom and closed the door carefully behind her. “I have given her a sedative,” Mariette said. “Sarah will stay with her until she falls asleep.”

For a moment no one spoke.

“Is she…” Mohamed swallowed to steady his voice, “…is she all right? Has she been,” again he faltered, finding it difficult to even say the word, “hurt?” 

Mariette crossed the well-appointed sitting room of the hotel suite to the kitchenette and turned on the faucet to wash her hands.

“Physically, apart from a number of scrapes, bruises and rope burns, non.” A frown wrinkled her forehead and she pursed her lips as she dried her hands. She sank into one of the plush armchairs, rolling down the sleeves of her no-longer white shirt. Her eyes found those of Henrietta, full of compassionate understanding.