No Remorse (29 page)

“Yes, it was a little unexpected. And I was concerned when we could not contact you afterwards. Father had been receiving threats.”

“Ah, but I always go back home for family visit at this time. Phone service not so good in village.”

Khalid introduced Ziad and the other three men, then asked after Jing-Ho’s wife.

“She in Paradise, praise Allah. Nearly two year now.” Jing-Ho ushered them inside.

Ziad cocked his head. “You speak of Allah?”

“My family from out west, Xinjiang Province. We all true believers.”

“But the statues out front? Blasphemous idols.”

Jing-Ho burst into a fit of high-pitched giggling. “Ah, so. Chinese tradition. Prince Abu-Bakr, he understand. He believe everyone have right to own belief. And he tell me that he want me to feel at home here.”

Khalid laughed. “Father used to say that Islam had become so tainted by the ruthless Wahhabi protectors in Mecca that it had lost its way, and that Islam needed a renaissance, like Christianity. Mecca must be swept clean of the hypocrisy and inhumane rules that have nothing to do with worshipping Allah.”

Ziad nodded. “That’s why my father became one of the martyrs at the siege of the Holy Mosque in 1979. It was only the American weapons that caused them to fail.”

Khalid put a hand on his shoulder. “Soon, brother, we will have the power to properly achieve that honorable ambition. In a new Arabia.”

A hidden partition slid back to reveal a room with a control panel full of monitor screens, switches, dials and lights.

*

“These estates are owned by men of privilege,” Jog said, driving past where the limo had entered, and coming to a stop at the end of the cul-de-sac. “Successful entrepreneurs, old money, and the criminal elite, living in harmony side by side.”

“And I thought I was the cynical one,” Scotty said, and let off a long, tight fart.

The others groaned and opened windows.

“Hey, it’s all that café au lait, okay? Janice reckons I’m lactose intolerant. She’s the one who’s fucking intolerant. Hates my job. Wanted me to quit the Army.”

“Not easy being a Special Ops wife. But if you fart all the time, well jeez, try soy,” Mac muttered.

“I hate soy.”

Jog laughed. “I wonder who Khalid’s meeting?”

*

“Now, please, you do not move,” Jing-Ho said, pressing a button. A section of floor slowly slid back into the wall to reveal a staircase. The old man grinned as Ziad and the others panicked and grabbed their pistols.

Jing-Ho laughed again. “Do not worry. This is a security precaution your father devise.”

Descending ahead of them, Jing-Ho pressed another button on the wall, and the ceiling closed above. Despite his reassurances, Khalid began to feel the familiar sense of panic in the tightly confined space. The profuse sweating, the pounding heart, the dry mouth.

“You have key from your father?”

Khalid took out the key and went to slide it into the lock.

“No! No! No!” Jing-Ho grabbed it. “That is trap. If you insert key, this space become sealed and air extracted. All die. Your father, he have many concern about security.” Jing-Ho held up the key. “See. Key has electronic chip.”

“Then use it,” Khalid said irritably, wiping his face with a silk handkerchief.

Jing-Ho waved the key in front of a concealed proximity detector, and a door swung open. Inside the hidden garage was a truck. He returned the key to Khalid. “Keep it. You will need it again.”

The truck was white with no logo. Its cargo compartment had a roller door at the back, and at Jing-Ho’s request, Sadiq opened it. Inside were dozens of pine boxes, each about the size of a briefcase, secured by canvas webbing. Sadiq jumped up and lifted down one of the boxes. Using a screwdriver, Jing-Ho removed the lid and held out a gold bar that had been inscribed with the letters ‘UBS’.

“There are two thousand two hundred gold bars minted by the Union Bank of Switzerland. Each one kilogram. At current price, they worth about eighty million euros,” said the old man as he placed the ingot in Khalid’s hand.

Khalid sniffed his disappointment. “Is that all of it? The truck is only a third full.”

The little man bowed. “Ah, Highness. At first, eight thousand bars. Your father, he gradually convert to cash and other asset. Five year ago gold price increase and he seal what left in this vehicle for you. When you take truck, my job, it finish. It was honor to serve Prince Abu-Bakr, peace be with him, but now I happy you take gold. I go home to live with family in China.”

“How soon can we move it?” Khalid asked, throwing the ingot to Sadiq. “We have reason to believe that Israelis are trying to steal father’s assets.”

Jing-Ho shrugged. “Can one of your men drive?”

“All of them.”

“Then you take it now. I prepare exit.”

“Good. Sadiq, you drive. Ali can go with you. We’ll wait on the main road.” Khalid turned to the old man. “Now, where is the rest that my father promised?”

Before Jing-Ho could respond a red light on the wall began flashing. He spoke urgently. “Please follow. Quickly! We have intruder.”

It hadn’t been difficult to tail Khalid’s limousine with the GPS tracker Scotty had hidden underneath the rear fender. The extensive properties gracing the tree-lined lane competed for the most impressive architecture behind high walls, with the usual elegant gardens, tennis courts, croquet pitches and swimming pools, although Mac’s attention was mostly directed at the security measures.

Scotty pointed at a wheel-rut track that ran along the back of the stately homes. “Fancy a bit of off-roading, lads?”

Ignoring the restricted entry sign, Jog switched his lights onto low beam and drove slowly along the firebreak, a narrow, overgrown track with high stone retaining walls at the back of each property on the top side and a steep drop on the lower side. He stopped about two hundred yards before the property where Khalid and his men had gone inside.

“I cannot go further, or they may see the lights,” Jog said. “I doubt any fire trucks will need to access the track tonight.”

Mac nodded. “We’d better find out where the others are. We can’t go in before they arrive.”

Jog had called Marcel after they’d learned Khalid was going out. He and the others who’d helped them take down Emil Bladelescu ten days earlier were on their way. “Maybe twenty-five minutes,” Jog said. “I’ll wait in the car to direct them.”

“Okay. Schmidt, you go up the hill to keep watch. Scotty and I will find the way in. Any problems, we’ll switch to Plan B.” Plan A was to ambush them as they left the house for the limo, and Plan B was to ambush the limo after it left the house, before it reached the freeway. They would take Khalid and Ziad to Jog’s farm and release the others with the ransom demand.

Mac checked his Glock and the radio and stepped out of the car to join Scotty and Schmidt. After last night’s rain, the ground squelched underfoot. Schmidt scrambled down the slope, across the storm drain, and up the other side into the pine forest, until he was high enough to see into the property. Mac and Scotty walked along the track until they came to a twelve-foot concrete wall topped by a chain-link fence that had signs warning it was electrified.

“CCTV cameras on each corner of the house,” Schmidt said over the radio. “None on the back fence. No sign of dogs. There’s an old outbuilding twenty yards from the house. Not a lot happening. The limo driver’s having a smoke. Wait—”

Mac glanced at Scotty. They started back towards the car. Plan B.

“It’s okay. The driver’s just stretching his legs on the front steps.”

Back at the retaining wall, Mac climbed on Scotty’s shoulders. Inserting his fingers and toes in the narrow cracks where the walls of the adjoining properties met, he climbed up and stood on a metal rail running along the top of the wall, where he could see through the chain-link fence into the estate. “We’re going to need insulated bolt cutters.”

“I’ll go back to the car. Jog’ll have some,” Scotty said. “Otherwise, we might have to—”

Schmidt’s voice came over the radio again. “
Merde!
There’s four guys with subs running across the lawn! They ours?”

“Negative,” came Jog’s voice over the radio. “Ours are still a good ten minutes away. Cops?”

Schmidt was panting like a dog in heat. “These guys, they’re pros… Masks and vests, all the gear… Maybe cops... Limo driver’s down… They’re running to the front door.”

Fuck no! This is
our
raid, you bastards.
But Mac could do nothing as he watched the men in black place explosives on the door hinges. They had no police signage on their vests, so they weren’t cops. A puff of smoke appeared and almost simultaneously a muffled crack. Two men rammed the door. The men disappeared inside.

Almost at the same moment, the wall he was standing on began to rumble and shudder, as though an earthquake had hit.

A section of wall began to roll back on the rail towards where Mac was standing.

“There’s a truck inside!” Schmidt yelled over on the radio, between breaths. “Get clear! They’re getting ready to drive it out.”

Mac edged along the retaining wall, taking care to stay clear of the electrified fence, stepping over the rollers as the door opened. It seemed apparent that if they had gone to the trouble to hide a truck inside a camouflaged bunker, it had to contain something important. Captive kids, maybe. Were Sophia and Danni in there? “We’ve got to stop that truck,” he said into the radio.

A voice yelled from inside the bunker. “Go, Sadiq! We’ll join you on the road!”

“Okay, Ziad!”

The truck started up and gray smoke belched out of the bunker. Diesel fumes gouged inside Mac’s nasal passages and he suppressed the urge to sneeze. The front of the truck emerged slowly and the driver grated the gears as he eased the truck out onto the muddy ground. As it passed beneath, Mac dropped the short distance onto the cargo compartment and grabbed the front edge. The truck turned sharply left onto the track. His legs slid across, almost swinging off the edge as he ignored the pain spiking through his fingers and clung on to the front seam. He glanced back into the bunker. It was empty. Branches beside the track scraped the topside of the truck and Mac buried his face into his armpit to stop being scratched and blinded.

Jog’s vehicle appeared ahead, blocking the track. Jog’s head was resting against the driver’s window, as if he was asleep, or dead. The truck stopped and the driver tooted the horn.

“Don’t move, Jog.” Mac said. “Stay in the car. I’ve got it.”

The car stayed put. Jog didn’t move.

There was a pause, as the men in the truck considered what action to take. The horn sounded again, more insistent. Mac pulled out the Glock and slid forward. If there was a passenger, it was more likely he’d be the one to get out.

Nobody got out.

The driver reversed a few feet and revved the engine. He was going to ram Jog’s car.

The passenger door opened. A man emerged, looking around, pistol in his hand. He stepped down, but got no further. Mac shot him in the back of the head. Pulling himself forward, Mac dangled upside down into the cabin and fired twice at the driver, who was riding the clutch. The truck lurched forward, then stopped, throwing Mac onto the wet ground, thumping the air from his lungs. He lay there, gasping for breath, as Scotty and Jog came up and stood over him.

Scotty shook his head. “This is no time for slacking off, lad.”

He mouthed a suitable response.

Scotty and Schmidt rolled the two bodies into the gully while Jog went to check the cargo compartment. Then Schmidt found a cloth and began to clean up the blood so he could drive the truck.

“It’s locked,” Jog said. “Could be anything in there—drugs, even a bomb. We need to get out of here, mon ami, before those other guys come out.”

Mac got to his feet. “Who the fuck are they, I wonder? Why are they after Khalid? Jog, you guys drive the truck. Scotty and I need to go back in there. We’ve gotta get Khalid to get Sophia released.”

Scotty frowned. “I think we should wait, lad.”

“Take my car,” Jog said. “I’ll let the other guys know that you’ll meet them at the start of the lane.”

Mac and Scotty climbed into the car and reversed along the track while Schmidt edged the truck forward. He followed the truck along the lane past the house, heading towards the freeway.

As they neared the beginning of the lane there was a bright flash, followed by an ear-shattering
BOOM!

“What was that?” Mac yelled. He slammed on the brakes.

He and Scotty jumped out of the car as a fireball roiled skywards from the house, morphing into a mushroom cloud that floated in slow motion into the night sky. The fiery core of the explosion cast an eerie red light on the pieces of house and furniture beginning to rain down.

Scotty thumped the roof of the car. “Come on, Mac, we’d better move, before we get impaled by a flying missile. There’s naught left of the place. Khalid is oh so fucked.”

Mac slumped at the wheel. He drove off slowly, feeling totally gutted.

“You must have been followed. Please hurry, Highness,” Jing-Ho said, crawling in front of Khalid along a narrow tunnel.

“Y’Allah! My father warned me of this!” Khalid kept his eyes closed and tried to breathe steadily. He could scarcely control his arms and legs, and Seth had to help him along the stuffy, confined space. “They’re Israelis. They’re after father’s treasure. Now tell me what else you have to give me, before we all get killed.”

“I have nothing more to give you, Highness. The key I returned to you fits a safe deposit box at the BNP Paribas Bank, opposite the Riston Hotel.”

“What?” Khalid yelled. “Tell me, old man, how would I have found this out if you were dead?” His anger was that much greater because of his anxiety in the confined space. He checked that the key was still in his pocket and took it out, grasping it tightly. It took his mind off the oppressive tunnel.

“I not dead. Prince Abu-Bakr, he have contingency if I die.”

Khalid considered this. Jing-Ho was right. “Yes. Of course he would. So, where does this tunnel come out?”