NanoStrike (17 page)

In the lobby, he showed Adiba’s photo to the concierge. The guy had never seen her. He turned over the picture to where Adiba’s father had written the name of his other daughter. That drew a blank as well. When he returned to the room he had a message from Eudon’s assistant, Keisha.”

Quinn called her back.

“Mr. Eudon’s office.”

“This is Detective Quinnborne, I called earlier.”

“Hello, Detective, I am Keisha. I told Mr. Eudon of your call. He instructed me to help if I can.”

“I was hoping to meet him.”

“Mr. Eudon’s schedule is packed this week. Perhaps if you explain what you want?”

“I believe Mr. Abdul Ahmed and Ms. Adiba Qasim have been abducted. I understand they recently met with Mr. Eudon. He may be able to help.”

“Please allow me to relay this information to him. I will call you back.”

“Time is of the essence, Ms. Keisha.”

Quinn hung up, frustrated. He hated waiting, but what else could he do? In London, he’d be in control. Operating in a foreign country was like wearing an itchy suit; no matter what he did, he was uncomfortable. He sat on the bed and flicked through a week-old copy of the
Jerusalem Post
. At least it was in English. Suspicions and speculation about the London attack were still front page news: Who was Allah’s Revenge? How did they fit with al-Qaeda? Threat levels were elevated across the Western world.

The business section led with Nazar Eudon’s shift into alternative energy. Apparently, Eudon Oil’s shares had dropped more than fifty percent. No wonder Nazar Eudon was busy. The article speculated on a possible takeover. Bonds were coming due, and the company might not get the loans refinanced because of the stock price. Quinn didn’t understand the details, but he got the idea: Nazar Eudon and his company were in the shitter.

Then Superintendent Porter, the division chief, called.

“Quinnborne, Frank briefed me about you losing Abdul. I want you back in Jerusalem tonight. Fareed Marker from Special Branch arrives late this evening. Update him, then get out of Israel before you cause an international incident! You’re on the 11:00 a.m. flight tomorrow.”

“Sir, I can’t bail on the kid. It’s my fault he got taken.”

“Frank told me you weren’t listening. Quinn, you’re not the right man for the job. Fareed speaks Arabic and Hebrew. He’s got connections with the Israelis. You’re a liability. You’re off the case. I want to see you in my office on your return.”

“Yes, sir.” Quinn hung up. He stared blankly at the cheap prints hanging on the wall, then he kicked the bed.

“Fuck.”

The phone rang again—Keisha calling back. “Detective, Mr. Eudon is most upset to hear that Abdul and Adiba may be in danger. He’s willing to meet you this afternoon. Do you have a vehicle?”

Quinn had his Fiat. “I rented one in Jerusalem.”

“Ah, no, you can’t cross the border in a rental. I will send a car for you. Can you be ready in an hour? You’ll need your passport to cross into Jordan.”

“No problem.” Quinn didn’t understand how meeting Eudon could help either, but at least he was doing something.

He called Scott. “Scott. I need your help.”

“Shoot.”

“I’ve got a meeting with Nazar Eudon in fifty minutes.”

“Okay.”

The line went quiet, just a low static hiss. Quinn searched for a way to avoid telling Scott everything. There wasn’t one. “I’ve been recalled. They’re flying in a replacement from Special Branch.”

“Oh?”

“Scott, damn it, I’m not going to leave Abdul here. I’m going rogue. I need a cell phone. I might need money.”

Scott responded immediately. “Take the meeting with Eudon. I’ll arrange the phone. I can’t believe they sent you without one. Morons . . . and Quinn?”

“What?”

“You’re a good cop.”

Quinn’s throat tightened. “Thanks, Scott.”

“Bring the kid home, safe.”

“I will.”

He waited thirty minutes in the lobby before a sleek black Mercedes pulled up. The driver held the rear door open for him.

“Mind if I ride up front?”

“As you wish, sir.”

They pulled away and headed for Jordan.

“I’m Quinn, by the way.” He offered his hand to the driver, who shook it warily.

“Mufeed,” he volunteered.

“So we’re crossing the border?”

“Mr. Eudon lives in Aqaba, in Jordan.”

“You from there?”

“I was born and raised in the capital city, Amman.”

“How long have you worked for Eudon?”

“Twelve years.”

“What’s he like?”

Mufeed focused on the road for a few seconds before replying. “He’s a very powerful man.”

Quinn noted the pause. “D’you enjoy working for him?”

“Yes, he pays me well.” Mufeed slowed as they approached two lines of cars waiting to pass into Jordan. “Here’s the border. You’ll need your passport.” They stopped once on the Israeli side, drove a hundred yards across no-man’s land and had their documents checked again by the Jordanians. Both the Israeli and the Jordanian crossing-guards were friendly with the driver. They cleared the border in five minutes.

“You cross the border often?”

“Enough.”

Quinn tried again to shift Mufeed out of monosyllabic land. “So, let me ask you, Mufeed. You’re an Arab. Do you hate the Israelis?”

“No. I don’t hate anyone. But it’s complicated.”

“Sure seems complicated to me,” Quinn said. “I see Arabs and Israelis walking around together like nothing’s wrong with the world, just doesn’t fit with what we read in the newspapers back home.”

Mufeed changed the subject and gave Quinn an Aqaba travelog, pointing out interesting features of the city as they drove through.

Quinn didn’t give a damn about Aqaba. He wanted to know about Nazar Eudon. Reading between the lines, he understood that Mufeed’s boss was a frightening son-of-a-bitch. Judging by their reception at the border, he guessed the border guards got ‘back-handers’ from Eudon’s chauffeur. Mufeed probably had a piece of that action as well.

Quinn doubted he could get more information, and he didn’t want to piss off his ride more than he had, so he stopped talking.

They pulled up at a pair of high wrought-iron gates. A guard came out of a sentry box. He checked Quinn’s passport, and he made Mufeed show a pass.

Thorough, Eudon liked his privacy.

As the car stopped in front of the house, a small Asian woman waited at the bottom of the entrance steps.

“Detective Quinnborne?” she said.

“Please, call me Quinn.”

“And you must call me Keisha.”

“Okay.”

They were both smiling.

“Please, follow me. Your meeting will be brief, I’m afraid. Mr. Eudon leaves for the US in an hour.” She walked ahead of him up the steps in a skirt short enough to show the beginnings of her butt cheeks. Through a tiled hallway, they entered a side room with book-lined walls. A small conference table stood at one end, and a fancy-looking desk at the other. “If you’ll wait in the library, Mr. Eudon will join you.”

Quinn browsed the books, most in English, but also French and Spanish titles, and many languages he had no idea about. Did Eudon read them or were they for show?

The door opened and a short, dapper man came in. In pressed blue slacks, a pale yellow shirt, and a gray cravat, he reminded Quinn of a mannequin.

“Mr. Eudon. Thank you for meeting on such short notice, oh, and for sending the car—nice ride.”

Eudon shook hands firmly but ignored Quinn’s attempt at camaraderie. “Detective Chief Inspector Quinnborne?”

“The same.”

“Of the Metropolitan Police Service in London, I understand.”

“Right again.” Quinn continued to try for lighthearted, even though Nazar’s smile looked closer to a smirk.

“I’m curious. What brings a British policeman to Israel?”

“I came here with Abdul. We were scheduled to meet someone in Jerusalem yesterday.”

“Associated with the terrible events in London, I presume.” Still with the smirk.

Heat rose in Quinn’s face. It had been a long day; there was only so much of this supercilious prick he could take. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the nature of the meeting.”

“I understand, Detective. Please forgive my curiosity.” Nazar switched to a serious face. “Keisha tells me Abdul and Adiba were abducted. Is that correct?”

“That’s what we believe.”

“Was that before or after your meeting, Detective?” The beginning of another smirk showed on Nazar’s face.

Quinn stared hard at the little man. Nazar Eudon was easy to dislike. He shelved the ‘good cop’ act. “I understand you met Abdul and Adiba recently?”

“Yes. Abdul attended my company’s press briefing in Eilat. He struck me as an interesting young man. We come from similar backgrounds. I asked him to join me for supper. He had made arrangements to spend time with his girlfriend, so I invited her along. They indulged an old man for most of the day, and I persuaded them to stay the night. Unfortunately, I left early the next morning and didn’t see either of them again. I do hope nothing unpleasant has happened to them. They are a charming couple.”

Quinn pulled out the picture of Adiba. “Is this her?”

Nazar tilted his head. The action reminded Quinn of a chicken looking at scratch. “Yes, although the picture doesn’t do her justice. Abdul has quite a catch there, I think.”

“What about this girl?” Quinn turned over the picture and pointed to the name.

“I don’t understand, Detective. What about her?” Nazar got a sudden itch at the side of his nose.

Quinn caught the body language. Nazar understood something. “This is Adiba’s younger sister, Lana. She’s missing too.”

Nazar’s lips formed a tight line. “Adiba came because she was with Abdul. I do not know her family.”

“Did you and Abdul talk about Allah’s Revenge?”

The sudden change of topic didn’t faze Nazar. “We never mentioned them. In fact, the first I knew of them was a few days later, after that dreadful Al Jazeera video . . . all those poor people.”

“Do you know what kind of gas they used?” Quinn asked.

Nazar blinked once. Then his face turned to stone.

“I invited you here, Detective, because I am fond of Abdul and Adiba. I did not believe I could help, but I was willing to try. However, I do not like to be insulted at any time, and particularly not in my own home. Keisha!” His assistant came in immediately. She must have been standing at the door. “The Chief Inspector is leaving. Good day, Detective.” Nazar turned on his heel and marched from the room.

“This way, Detective. Mufeed is waiting.”

Quinn followed her micro-skirted butt, listening to the clip-clip of her stilettos.

“Please give Mr. Eudon my apologies, Keisha. I’m culturally clumsy. I meant no harm by what I said. If you hear from Abdul or Adiba, please contact me at the Dan Hotel in Eilat.”

When he got back to the hotel, Quinn called Scott. “Nazar knows something. What I can’t figure is why he reacted to the younger sister’s name.”

“Do you think he’s the money behind Ghazi?”

“Could be. Maybe he’s got both girls and Abdul locked up in his mansion. Maybe anything. I don’t know, can’t get my arms around it.”

“Ghazi sent another e-mail,” Scott said.

“Why e-mail Abdul if he’s holding him?”

“He addressed it to Special Branch; he knows they’re monitoring the account.”

“That’ll make it look even more like Abdul’s in bed with Ghazi. What does he want?”

“Same list of prisoners.”

“That’s dumb. Why should the Israelis give in this time?”

The line went quiet. When he spoke, Scott’s voice had lifted a half octave. “Haven’t you seen the news?”

“I’m in Israel and I don’t speak Hebrew, remember?”

“Holy Shit! You haven’t heard about the G20?” Scott filled Quinn in on the massacre.

“How come the Saudis survived?”

“Official line is they don’t know. Praise Allah.”

“Yeah, right. What are the Israelis going to do?” Quinn asked.

“Who knows, but the Americans will be pressuring them to act. Their VP was killed . . . What about you?” Scott asked.

Quinn let out a long sigh. “Dunno. I thought of going back to Nazar’s pad, uninvited—he’s left town, traveling to the US, according to his hot assistant.”

“Hot?”

“Whatever. I’m not sure what I’d gain, and I’m wary of spending an extended period in a Jordanian prison.”

“Look, Quinn, a cell phone is on its way, should be there in the morning, and some US dollars. Why not wait till the Israelis and Americans make a decision on the prisoner release?”

“Without a plan, doing nothing may be all I’ve got. I’ll call you tomorrow on my new phone. And Scott . . . thanks again.”

“Sure, get some rest.”

Quinn turned on the TV and found CNN. It didn’t take long to catch up: The British Prime Minister, the US Vice President, the French and Canadian Prime Ministers, the list was unbelievable. Leaders of nineteen of the twenty most powerful countries in the world were dead. Suspicion about the Saudis was rife. Baffled biotech experts speculated about the gas. The opening ceremony was scheduled to be televised. Fortunately, the organizers had it on a five-minute delay. The pictures hadn’t been released, yet. But it was only a matter of time before everyone understood what these crazies could do to a human body.

Chapter 20

Nazar felt well rested after the long flight from Aqaba. With a final touch of ownership, Keisha straightened his tie, and he stepped from the plane at Sky Harbor Airport, Phoenix, Arizona into one hundred and twenty Fahrenheit. In the parched desert heat Nazar’s eyes were drying out as he descended the plane’s steps and crossed under its belly to a waiting Jeep. His driver skirted a line of commercial airplanes, following a painted road to a shiny silver helicopter, which waited, blades drooping like a wilted flower.

Nazar climbed in and nodded to the pilot.

“Welcome aboard, Mr. Eudon. I’m Samuel.”

The large, black pilot shook his passenger’s hand. “Better put on your cans.” He offered a set of oversized headphones then busied himself with takeoff duties.