Wyatt's Revenge: A Matt Royal Mystery (21 page)

“General,” Jessica said, “why are you here?”

“I owe it to Wyatt.”

“That’s it?” she said, a wisp of incredulity tingeing her voice.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She turned to Ski. “And you? Do you owe Wyatt too?”

“No, ma’am. I owe the general.”

“And Jock and Logan are Matt’s friends, and Matt owes Wyatt,” she said. “What is with you guys?”

It was a question I’d heard before. Some people cannot understand the bonds that often join men together. I think it’s a genetic need, some
atavistic craving for a nexus that provides security. The human race is built on relationships. It used to be the tribe or the clan. It’s still that way in many parts of the world. But in the more industrialized and modern West, we’ve lost that sense of tribal identity. We have our families, but as we grow up and leave home, we tend to get spread out, cut off from daily contact with our blood relatives. We start to form new associations, new loyalties. Go into a local bar or pub anywhere in the world, and you’ll see that kind of bond. It doesn’t run deep, but it’s a connection. Or you have friends, like Logan and Jock, who become your brothers, closer than the blood relatives you seldom see. And sometimes, when there is great danger, you form the bonds that soldiers know, ones that last a lifetime, even when your contact with each other is rare. And when you need help, like I did on that snowy day in Germany, the clan gathers. Or when justice needs to be done for one of us, we band together to mete out the punishment due.

“It’s complicated,” I said. “It’s kind of a tribal thing. We take care of each other.”

Jess was silent for a beat. “Un pour tous, tous pour un,” she said quietly. “Like in The Three Musketeers.”

Burke grinned. “Dumas understood. ‘One for all, and all for one.’”

“It’s a hell of a philosophy,” she said.

“It’s more than a philosophy,” Jock said. “It’s a way of life.”

Jess stared at us for a moment, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “I think I’m about to die of a testosterone overdose,” she said. “Have you guys come up with a plan?”

“I think so,” I said, and laid it out for them.

At ten thirty, we were parked on Allawi’s street, one block from his house. The six of us were crammed into Burke’s car, Jessica sprawling over the small third seat in the rear.

We men had the same kind of small radios Jock and I had used at Gilley Creek. Jessica was dressed in a heavy jacket, ski pants, and hiking boots. She had strapped a small transmitter to her chest just below her breasts. We’d be able to hear her and whatever was said around her, but we wouldn’t be able to talk to her.

Jessica was going into the house. We wanted to make sure Allawi was there before we started busting down doors. If he hadn’t arrived yet, we’d be making a lot of noise for nothing. He’d be alerted, and we’d probably never see him again.

She pulled the coat’s hood over her head and got out of the car. She walked toward the house as the rest of us watched. She went up the front steps to the small stoop, knocked on the door, and waited. In a moment the door opened, a swarthy man dressed casually stood at the threshold. Jessica spoke to him in German.

“I am sorry,” the man said in heavily accented English. “I do not speak German.”

“I’m here to see Mr. Allawi,” Jessica said in English.

“Who are you?”

“A friend. I’m not to say anything else except to Mr. Allawi.”

“Come in, then.”

They disappeared into the house. We got out of the car and separated. Jock and I hung back as Burke and Ski walked up a side street toward the entrance to the alley that ran behind Allawi’s residence.

The conversation in the house was coming over our radios.

“Wait here,” said the man with the accent.

I watched the others until they disappeared into the alley. Jock and I walked toward the house on the opposite side of the street. As we approached the house, I heard Burke whisper into the radio mic, “We’re directly behind the house.”

“What can you see?” I asked.

“Nothing. The backyard is paved over and there’re a couple of cars parked there. I only see one door into the house.”

“Can you move up closer to the house? Will the cars shield you?”

“Yes. We’re going to slip in one at a time. If anybody’s watching, we’ll know as soon as we start to move.”

Jock and I were in front of the house, standing casually, talking. Two old friends out for a walk. I heard Jessica say, “Are you Mr. Allawi?”

“No. My name is Farouk. Mr. Allawi is not here. May I ask your business?” A different voice, the English flawless, no hint of an accent.

“I was told to speak only to Mr. Allawi.”

“Who told you that?”

“My superior at the American Consulate.”

“Do you mean the American Consulate here in Frankfurt or the embassy in Paris?”

“I don’t know anyone in Paris.”

“Ah, Dr. Connor, I do not think you are being completely truthful.”

“Move! Now,” I shouted into the radio.

Jock and I sprinted to the front door. He kicked at it with the heel of his boot; once, twice, and it flew open. I could hear loud voices from the back of the house. We went in, pistols held in front of us. Sounds of gunshots came from the kitchen area as we turned into the living room.

A man was standing behind Jessica, his arm around her neck, a pistol pointed at her temple. Another man stood a couple of feet away from Jessica and her captor, smiling. “Drop your weapons,” he said

Jock and I stopped cold, standing, facing the scene, our weapons pointing at the two men.

Winn shouted from the rear of the house. “We’re coming in.”

“Stay where you are,” I called.

I turned to the smiling man. “You’re Farouk.”

“I am he, Mr. Royal.”

“If you will order your man to release Dr. Connor, I won’t kill you,” I said.

He laughed. “Come now, Mr. Royal. It sounds as if you have other men in the house. The only way Dr. Connor gets out of this alive is if you put your weapons down and allow us to leave with her.”

“This is your last chance, Farouk.”

He laughed again. “And yours, Mr. Royal.”

Jock fired, his bullet taking Jessica’s captor in the forehead. He dropped, pulling Jess with him, his gun falling to the side. He was dead before he hit the floor. Jess screamed and then rolled away from the dead man. She picked up the pistol and sat on the floor, pointing the gun at Farouk.

Logan, Burke, and Ski ran into the room, guns at the ready. They stopped, surveying the scene, taking it in, assessing the situation. Satisfied, they relaxed. Logan said, “Three dead guys in the kitchen. You all right, Jess?”

“Yeah.”

Ski moved toward the stairway. “I’ll check upstairs. See if Allawi is here.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Burke. “Might be some more bad guys up there.”

“Is there anybody else in the house, Farouk?” I asked.

“No.”

“If I hear any kind of ruckus from up there, I’m going to shoot you. Understand?”

“Yes. There is no one else.”

Ski and Winn move cautiously up the stairs, weapons ready.

“Where is Allawi?” I asked.

“I do not know,” said Farouk.

“Farouk, I want you to listen to me very carefully. If you don’t answer my questions, I’m going to kill you. But I’ll do it by degrees. I’ll start shooting at your ankle, and move up from there. That’s going to be a very hard death.”

“I swear to you, Mr. Royal, I do not know where he is. I talked to him yesterday, and he said he was coming to Frankfurt. Then he called me later and said that when he landed to refuel there was a mechanical problem with his airplane and he would be delayed.”

“How long of a delay?”

“He did not say.”

“Where did he refuel?”

“He did not say.”

“How did you know who we were?”

“I have seen pictures of you and Dr. Connor.”

“Did you send the man to Bonn and Fulda?”

“Yes. What happened to him?”

“He died. Why were you after us?”

“Mr. Allawi said that you were dangerous to our cause and that you had to be taken out of the picture.”

“What cause?”

“I cannot say.”

“In which ankle do you want the first bullet?”

“No. Okay. Allah’s Revenge.”

“How do you communicate with Allawi?”

“Cell phone.”

I turned to Jock. “Can you get an Arabic speaker to the safe house?”

“Let me make a call.” He left the room.

Burke and Ski came back down the stairs. “We’ve got to move, Matt,” Winn said. “If somebody heard the gunfire, the cops could be here any minute.”

“We’re on our way,” I said. “Let’s go out the back door.”

Jock came back into the room. “We’ll have a translator at the house by the time we get there.”

I turned to Farouk. “Let’s go. If you try to run, I’ll shoot you. Any noise from you, you’re dead. We’re going out the back door, down the alley, and around the corner.”

Burke said, “I’ll take Jessica out the front door. If anybody’s looking, maybe they’ll think we’re visitors just leaving.”

We left the house, Logan and Ski in front, then Farouk, and then Jock
and me. When we got to Winn’s car, I put handcuffs on Farouk. There was just enough room in the small cargo space behind the third seat to stuff him into.

Burke said, “Ski, you stick around here and let me know if anybody shows up at the house.”

“Yes, sir,” said Ski.

“Is that a good idea?” I asked. “We don’t want him picked up by the cops.”

“I’ll be fine, L.T. I speak enough German to get along, and I’ll just tell anybody who asks that I’m waiting for my girl. Besides, I’ve got a diplomatic passport. Nobody will bother me.”

“Call me if anything happens,” Burke said, and got into the driver’s seat. Jock and I were in the middle seat, Jessica in the front passenger. Logan crawled into the backseat so that he could keep an eye on our passenger. We pulled away from the curb, heading for Oberursel.

“Jock,” Jess said, “what if you’d missed.”

“I didn’t.”

“I know, but a couple of inches one way and you’d have shot me, a couple the other way and you’d have missed, and the guy would have shot me.”

“I wouldn’t have taken the shot if I hadn’t been absolutely sure, Jess. And, I knew if we put down our guns, we’d all be dead.”

“Thank you,” she said.

I said, “Farouk, can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“When we get to our house, you will call Allawi. There will be an Arabic speaker listening to every word. If you say anything to alert Allawi, I’ll shoot you. If you use a code word that would alert him to danger, we’ll know it eventually. And then I’ll shoot you. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Fifteen minutes after we left Allawi’s house, Winn’s phone rang. When he hung up, he said, “We may have a problem. Four men just drove into Allawi’s driveway. They’re inside now. Ski doesn’t think they’re cops.”

“If they’re Allawi’s men,” I said, “they’re not going to call the cops.”

“No,” said Jock, “but they’ll call Allawi.”

“Farouk,” I said, “do you have other men in Frankfurt?”

“No, but we were expecting some new ones in today. From Libya.”

“Are they in contact with your boss?”

“No. I am the only one who knows how to contact him.”

I turned back to Winn. “I don’t know about this. Let’s go with what we’ve got. Let Farouk make the call.”

Burke was nodding his head in agreement when his phone rang again. When he hung up, he said, “The four guys were inside for only a couple of minutes and drove away. Ski will stick around in case they come back.”

I was standing in the living room of the safe house, my nine-millimeter pointed at Farouk’s head. He was facing me, seated in a chair five feet away. Jock, Logan, and Burke Winn were standing quietly on the other side of the room near the kitchen, their weapons holstered. Jessica was sitting in the chair across from our guest.

Farouk’s cell phone was hooked up to a device that recorded both sides of a conversation. The Arabic speaker from Jock’s agency sat over the machine, a pair of large earphones covering his ears. He was translating for us in real time.

Farouk: “Excellency. We have a problem in Frankfurt.”

Allawi: “What?”

Farouk: “Matt Royal knows about your house. I saw him and another man on the street in front of it a few minutes ago.”

Allawi: “Where are these men now?”

Farouk: “They are gone. Are you coming here, sir?”

Allawi: “I think not.”

Farouk: “Then let me come to you.

Allawi: “Where are the other men?”

Farouk: “They are here. I can send them away.”

Allawi: “How would Royal know anything about me?”

Farouk: “I do not know, sir.”

Allawi: “Maybe he followed your men to the house when they lost him on the day he was in Fulda.”

Farouk: “That is possible.”

Allawi: “Arrange for the men to fly to Algiers. Get them out of the house immediately. If Royal or the police come to the house, you tell them that you have no idea why anyone would think I could be involved in anything illegal. Tell them that I am in Saudi Arabia, and am not expected back in Frankfurt for several weeks.”

Farouk: “Are you in the homeland, sir?”

Allawi: “No. Once you have made the arrangements for the other men, call me. I will bring you to me.”

The line went dead.

Jock moved to the phone hanging on the wall next to the kitchen door. “I’ll call the airlines and make reservations for the dead guys. If Allawi’s able to check that, he’ll see their names on the list. Then we’ll have Farouk call him back.”

The front door of the little house burst open and flew back on its hinges, banging against the wall. A swarthy man wearing a parka and a black watch cap came through the opening, an AK-47 assault rifle pointing into the room.

I reacted instinctively, turning toward the intruder and firing. The bullet caught him in the face, and he sprawled forward, his rifle discharging as he fell.

“Get down!” I yelled, and dove for Jessica. She had started to stand, was half out of her seat when I tackled her, taking both of us to the floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the other men react, pull their guns, drop behind the furniture. Another man came through the door, his rifle spraying bullets.