Choke Point
Khalidi took a seat at the conference table while Sahaf proceeded to a nearby coffeepot and prepared two single-size servings of strong Turkish coffee. Once he’d returned to a seat next to Khalidi and served him the cup filled with the dark liquid, he scratched his eyebrow beneath the lens of his bifocals and groaned inwardly.
“I must admit that the news troubled me, as well, when I heard it,” Sahaf said.
Khalidi took a sip from the cup before asking, “How did you find out?”
“During my regularly scheduled call with Ibn Sayed.”
Khalidi had always found it difficult to understand why Sahaf refused to call Genseric Biinadaz by his given name instead of the more formal Genseric Biinadaz Ibn Sayed. Of course, Sahaf had very traditional views in this regard, but he also saw Biinadaz as somewhat of an outsider given his affiliation with the Taliban party in Afghanistan.
“Were these men he had selected responsible for this debacle?” Khalidi inquired. “The information I’ve been given was not detailed.”
“It took some prodding but he was eventually forthcoming in saying these two men had gone rogue,” Sahaf replied with a shrug. “As far as I know, they were men that he cleared. Whether he knew about their plans to operate outside of protocols could never be proved by mere inquiry alone. Older, more tried methods would be needed to ascertain the truth.”
“It sounds as if you’re inferring some impropriety on Genseric’s part.”
“Not inferring so much as suggesting we not dismiss the possibility,” Sahaf said over his cup.
“Do you have any evidence?”
“I don’t. This is why I’ve not made any direct accusation. You know me better than this, I think.”
“Indeed I do.”
Sahaf took another sip and sighed. He stared at the half-empty cup for a time before saying, “I’ve never made it any secret there is a level of distrust I have for Ibn Sayed.”
“Yes,” Khalidi replied, “and this is not the first time we’ve had a discussion like this. What troubles me is that every time we talk about it you never seem to give me reasons why.”
“It’s because I do not wish to insult you.”
“It would take more than mere candor for me to think you were insulting me, old friend.”
“Honesty, then.”
“I want nothing less,” Khalidi said. “I deserve nothing less. No?”
“No.” Sahaf took a deep breath in an obvious gesture of collecting his thoughts. “To be plain, Abbas, I do not trust him because he has not made his goals known. I don’t trust men who won’t verbalize their personal or political ambitions. It speaks of a double-minded man who wavers when questioned about his past affiliations. Double-minded men can be very dangerous.”
Khalidi didn’t want to laugh but he couldn’t help himself in the moment.
Sahaf glowered. “Why do you laugh at me?”
“I’m not laughing at you,” Khalidi said. “I’m laughing because I seem to recall times when you first worked for me where you held your own ambitions rather close to the heart. I had to practically beat it out of you when looking for someone to oversee the construction of this facility. And now look!”
Khalidi rose and began to pace the small conference room, waving toward the invisible reinforcement beams high above them. “Look at what you’ve accomplished.”
“With your guidance, Abbas.” Sahaf sat back in the chair and folded his arms. “It was your vision that inspired me. I would have never achieved this on my own.”
“Of course not!” Khalidi said. “But that is exactly my point. Don’t you understand, Ebi? Don’t you see what the completion of this facility means? We are on the precipice of a success for Islam unlike anything ever foretold. Others merely eke out a paltry living while they stand along the side of Allah’s path and observe the trail of history. But we—” he slapped the table for emphasis “—we are making history!”
Khalidi took his seat once more. “When we started this project more than three years ago, I know you couldn’t ever see it coming to completion. And yet here you have attained an historical success. And yet you did not start off being plainly ambitious. Is it now so difficult to believe that success cannot be won by Genseric Biinadaz just because he is not forthright with alternative plans?”
“You are right, of course,” Sahaf said immediately. “I ask your forgiveness for not seeing it.”
“Ha! My friend, there is nothing to forgive,” Khalidi protested. “And you must know that I have not completely discounted your concerns. I’ve found you to be insightful and prodigious, single-minded in your goals and utterly ingenious. You are a superb reader of others and I would be an ignorant fool not to heed your advice. Particularly on a matter as important as our operations in America.”
“I appreciate your understanding, Abbas.”
“So exactly what is it you propose should concern us about Genseric?”
“I have received some disturbing information about our trafficking operations,” Sahaf said. “Information that indicates the Americans have agents now investigating the deaths of their officials, and the disappearance of the boy sired by this Congressman Acres.”
“Are you saying that Genseric claims not to know the boy’s whereabouts?”
“Yes.”
“He’s told you as much?”
“No, but one of my spies...” Sahaf’s voice dropped off and he expressed horror at the slip.
Khalidi studied his friend with a cold, hard expression for a long moment and then slowly he smiled broadly. “Ah, my dear Sahaf. Do not look so morose. Do you think I didn’t know you would have spies among the ranks? I wouldn’t doubt you have one or two even among my closest staff at Abd-el-Aziz. It’s quite okay as long as they are not spying on me.”
“Never, Abbas,” Sahaf said, coming out of his chair. “Never would I allow anyone to spy on you. I would tear them apart. I would—”
“Relax, Sahaf,” Khalidi said in a quiet but firm voice. “Please sit down.”
The scientist took his seat, removed his glasses and mopped his upper lip with a pocket towel.
“Go on,” Khalidi prompted.
“There are some indicators that Ibn Sayed has been slowly amassing a private army.”
“Private army of what?”
“Islamic jihad fighters,” Sahaf said, donning the glasses once more. “Most of them are said to be brothers who fought alongside him during Ibn Sayed’s days in Afghanistan, although a few may have already been in America before he arrived.”
“And what purpose is this army to serve?”
“That is not something I can know with any certainty yet. My spy has not yet been able to penetrate the inner circle. However, there are rumors that he is training this army at a secret camp somewhere in America. My concern is that he may try to overthrow our operations there, loosen our foothold and take over for himself.”
“And why would he do this?” Khalidi replied. “We have been more than generous with him.”
“I would completely agree but who knows what motivates the mind of some men. Ibn Sayed is a young man, trained to fight for the Islamic jihad from practically the day he was born. As a young warrior he will think like one. He’s brash and impetuous, and these are not traits that have proved themselves to make for particularly stable representatives in the past. He may see it as duty to Allah, or perhaps even as the only way to prove his commitment to the fatwas.”
“Bah! The days of Osama bin Laden’s reign are now long dead, buried with the old man and his arcane ideas. Surely an intelligent man like Genseric Biinadaz can see there is a new Muslim order worth fighting for. There are too few left who believe in the old ways, and most of them that do are all but impotent.”
“Maybe the old ways are dead but not necessarily in the minds of men like this one. Ibn Sayed is unpredictable, my friend—of this much I am certain. Whatever he plans to do with this army, if he has an army—”
“And you believe he does.”
“Yes...I believe he does.”
“You’ve given me a lot to consider, Sahaf.” Khalidi paused to think about this new turn of developments.
Khalidi had no doubts that someone like Biinadaz, a man with such experience and talents, could build a private army and use it to steal Khalidi’s operations. What didn’t make sense was the motive. An Islamic jihadist swore an oath as a warrior to promote only Islam and the laws of Allah—there had never been room in that oath for personal gain. If Biinadaz had no intention of taking over the human-trafficking ring Khalidi had established in America, that could only mean he had other plans that would ultimately divert his attention from those operations.
In either case, the amassing of such an army would doubtless prove a distraction and put Khalidi to considerable inconvenience, not to mention the effect on their timetable. They were ready to begin peak transshipment operations to all of their locations in Europe. There had never been a higher demand for the product Khalidi produced, neither in quantity nor in frequency of deliveries. With that increase would come more profit and that could only further the cause of the new Islamic regime Khalidi envisioned for the world.
“I must admit, Sahaf, that you have now solicited my complete attention,” Khalidi said. “I would appreciate you looking further into this matter and keeping me informed. If Biinadaz is building his own fighting force then he has done so without my permission. Such an activity could threaten our plans on a number of levels, in spite of whatever his intentions may be.”
“So I am to assume you’re giving me a free hand in this matter?”
Khalidi raised a hand of caution. “Only insofar as acquiring more proof of these allegations. When you’ve provided it, and only then, shall I decide what course of action may be necessary. Nothing can interfere with our plans. Nothing. Do I make myself clear?”
“Of course, Abbas.”
“Excellent.” Khalidi rose from his seat and Sahaf followed suit. “And now, if it is convenient, I’d like to accompany you on a tour of the remainder of the complex, to see the areas that were not fully complete on my last visit. And then, perhaps, a few days’ leave on the surface. Allah knows you have earned that much.”
“With pleasure, Abbas,” Ebi Sahaf replied.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Daytona Beach, Florida
Everything is proceeding on schedule, Genseric Biinadaz thought. We grow stronger each day and soon we’ll be ready for phase two.
The thought brought a smile to his lips—the first time he could remember smiling in some time. Managing Abbas el Khalidi’s entire human-trafficking location from this part of the country had been a greater task than Biinadaz anticipated when he’d first agreed to undertake it, but what he now heard was proof that his hard work had paid off.
Not that this was the moment to become overconfident.
Rumblings among the ring’s network indicated that Khalidi could quite well be aware of Biinadaz’s extracurricular activities with regards to the Red Brood. What a farce that was! It sounded more like a Communist organization than a front for one of the largest human-trafficking networks in the world. And right under the Americans’ noses, which was why Biinadaz had opted to exploit it for his own purposes. Maybe Khalidi would have agreed with his idea and maybe not, but that didn’t really matter now. Biinadaz had sunk too much time and was too deep into it to give it all up now.
He would not give up his efforts without a fight and whether the great Abbas el Khalidi thought so or not, Biinadaz had now procured an army large enough and well equipped enough to hold that position indefinitely. There were many additional supporters who were not Islamic jihad fighters or trained combatants, but they had thrown other resources into the mix that only strengthened Biinadaz’s hold in America. This pooling of resources had proved beyond any doubt that Biinadaz’s war against the Great Satan could and would be won—it was only a matter of time.
Of course, he would need to keep Abbas el Khalidi’s hounds at bay until his plans came to fruition. Already there were rumors that Khalidi had more than one spy within the ranks, someone actually reporting to that incompetent waste of a Muslim, Ebi Sahaf. The guy was a lecher, a spineless automaton in Khalidi’s employ who could do little more than criticize Biinadaz and speak out of turn on subjects that didn’t concern him. At one point in their most recent conversation, Biinadaz had suggested that perhaps if Sahaf thought he could do better he should come to America and oversee these operations himself. That had brought about a bit of mad sputtering coupled with some lewd remarks, but nothing of substance to Biinadaz’s satisfaction.
That was fine—he would deal with the likes of Sahaf soon enough once he had full control of the situation here.
Biinadaz checked his watch as he exited the highway and entered the city limits. He’d been impressed following his inspection of the small training camp set up in some privatized wetlands bordering a private wildlife park. The undeveloped area, protected by law, had been the result of legislation Biinadaz had encouraged Acres to get passed through his state connections. In so doing, Acres had facilitated the creation of a training site in an area marked as restricted for development or industrialization, putting it under protection of state and federal conservationists backed by government funds. This had become the training ground for a small pocket of personal enforcers under Biinadaz’s command, while the remaining contingent was spread in small units throughout the greater Seattle area.
The concept proved doubly useful to Biinadaz’s plans since these men also worked as protection of Khalidi’s trafficking ring, code-named the Red Brood by certain officials within U.S. law enforcement. Biinadaz sneered at the very name. It sounded like a Communist group politicking liberal and progressive aims in Washington, D.C., and not like a trafficking ring. All it had done was draw attention to Khalidi’s operation, demonstrating once more that the newspaper mogul didn’t have the first clue how to build or train a proper fighting force.
Biinadaz arrived at his office nearly forty-five minutes late from lunch, although he had little to worry about. Acres was dead, which wasn’t something Biinadaz had really hoped to happen this soon, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now. The man’s demise meant Biinadaz would have to push his plans forward by about a week. It wasn’t an ideal situation but Biinadaz didn’t see any reason to worry about it. A commander had to be ready to alter a battle plan at a moment’s notice, something he’d learned well fighting the American military in his home of Afghanistan.
However, he had difficulty covering his surprise when he stopped at the desk of his receptionist and turned to see a muscular blond man in a suit waiting for him.
* * *
CARL LYONS SPOTTED Biinadaz as soon as the Afghan immigrant stepped off the elevator. He was tall—Lyons put him at about six feet—with dark eyes and close-shaven brown hair. Biinadaz had olive skin and eyes so dark they looked black. Even through the suit, Lyons could see the man moved with the ease of a practiced combatant, which came as no surprise given the history Kurtzman had sent Able Team on the man. Biinadaz was a refugee of the Afghan-U.S. war and, although he denied his involvement, Lyons knew much better. He knew a soldier with one look and while Biinadaz might have been comfortable in this role, he wasn’t going to fool an experienced vet like Carl Lyons.
“Mr. Irons, is it?” Biinadaz said.
Lyons dropped the magazine on a low circular table, got to his feet and met the guy halfway between the couch and reception desk. He reached in his coat and withdrew the forged FBI credentials. “Actually, it’s Special Agent Irons. FBI. I’d like to speak with you.”
“Do you have a warrant, sir?”
“No.” Lyons returned his credentials that Biinadaz had barely seemed to notice. “I wasn’t aware I needed one to talk to you. We are, after all, on federal property and I’m a federal law officer.”
“Quite. But you would at least need a letter of permission from Congressman Acres, which, of course, we both know will now be relatively impossible to attain.”
Lyons didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, sadly. My condolences.”
“Of course,” Biinadaz said. “I would suppose that’s why you’re here. Please...” He gestured toward the door to his office.
Biinadaz offered Lyons a drink after closing the door behind them but Lyons declined. Once they were comfortably seated, Biinadaz said, “I must ask you to forgive my forwardness, Agent Irons, but the congressman was very sensitive on such matters of legality and proper etiquette. I’m afraid maybe a little too much of that has rubbed off on me. I have, shall we say, attempted to be as fine a personal aide to Thomas Acres as possible.”
“I understand,” Lyons said. “But surely you’re not surprised by the fact I’m here, Mr. Biinadaz. We’re investigating the congressman’s death, yes, but we’re also very concerned about his son.”
“To be sure, to be sure,” Biinadaz said. “Do you believe he may yet be alive?”
“There’s always hope.”
“Of course. It’s just that, well...after the kidnappers killed him in cold blood like that I’m very concerned they will have no further use for his John Jay and, ah, dispose of him in some horrible way.”
“It’s too early to jump to conclusions,” Lyons said. “And as we pointed out to Mrs. Acres, with whom you’ve probably spoken by now, there’s a chance that John Jay is much more valuable to them alive as long as there’s a ransom that can be paid.”
“What makes you think that I’ve spoken to Mrs. Acres yet?”
“Just an assumption.”
“Aren’t you trained never to assume anything?”
Lyons remained impassive.
“So I take it from what you’ve told me that the kidnappers didn’t receive the money originally demanded.”
Lyons shook his head. “Agents managed to recover it before that could happen. And we’re now investigating a strong lead. We may even be on the doorstep of the perpetrators, which means there’s still a chance to bring the boy back alive.”
“Of course,” Biinadaz said. He sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “How can I assist you?”
“Can you think of anyone who might have had the resources to carry this out? Someone who had recently threatened your boss? Maybe even someone on the inside, which is one possibility we’ve considered.”
“And why have you considered that?”
“There was a security force hired to protect the congressman when he was in public, as well as his wife and son. I understand you were the one charged with securing these services.”
“You would need to ask them those questions.”
“Well, then, maybe you can tell me where this outfit was when it all went down? Why weren’t they protecting Acres when he went to deliver the ransom? Why weren’t they watching John Jay at school?”
“Again, I’m certain you would have to ask them.”
“I think I will,” Lyons said. “You got the name of this security firm?”
“You can obtain that information from my secretary,” Biinadaz said. “I do not immediately recall the exact name of the firm.”
“So is this a situation where you can’t tell me what happened...or you won’t?”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow you, Agent Irons.”
“You don’t follow? Okay, follow this. It seems to me like a professional protection firm would be a bit more diligent in executing their duties. They’re supposedly on the job and yet they’ve let their primary get killed and nearly robbed of a half-million dollars, not to mention the man’s son is now in the hands of a dangerous trafficking ring.”
“Trafficking ring? You mean like...human trafficking?”
“Yeah, a child-slavery outfit nicknamed the Red Brood. You heard of them?”
Biinadaz shook his head. “No, and I am certainly glad I have not. These sound like very dangerous and evil people.”
Lyons narrowed his eyes a bit. When the hell was this miscreant going to come off the wide-eyed-horror routine? Biinadaz had been raised until his teen years in one of the most violent and unstable regions of the Middle East. Could he really be so egotistical to think that Lyons would believe that he was a cultured and refined moderate? This act only demonstrated Biinadaz was far more than he appeared. In addition to his radical views as an Islamic jihadist, Biinadaz had proved beyond any doubt his direct involvement in what had happened to Maser and Acres.
Lyons decided to play a hunch.
“Are you by any chance a Muslim, Mr. Biinadaz?”
“I am,” Biinadaz said. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.”
“If it weren’t for our present circumstances, sir, I might find that question rather offensive. Are you profiling me, Agent Irons? Do you have some reason to suspect me? If so, then perhaps we should terminate this interview and I will contact my attorney. As well as your deputy director. I do believe we have his number in our records.”
Lyons put up one hand and rose. “That’s okay, no offense. I think we’re done here. I was hoping you could provide me with some useful information but it’s apparent you’re as much in the dark as the rest of us.”
“I hope you find and punish these animals,” Biinadaz said as Lyons opened the door to leave.
The Able Team warrior turned back and looked Biinadaz in the eyes. With a frosty smile he replied, “You can rest assured I will, pal.”
* * *
“SO BIINADAZ already knew Acres was dead?” Schwarz asked.
Lyons nodded but didn’t reply until the waitress in the luncheonette across from the federal office building finished pouring the coffee. A tall stack of half-eaten pancakes swimming in syrup sat on the plate in front of Lyons. Schwarz had already finished his food, but Blancanales was still busy mopping up ketchup with what remained of his bacon double cheeseburger. The lunch crowd had long been gone, leaving the three Able Team warriors to talk in peace.
“Yeah,” Lyons continued when the waitress left. “And he knew about John Jay’s kidnapping, the ransom. All of it.”
“So he’s in on it,” Schwarz replied.
“Definitely.”
“No chance Annette Acres told him?” Blancanales said around a mouthful of burger.
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