Gary Ponzo - A Touch of Deceit

Nick turned to see a young man, clean-cut, no more than twenty-three, with wide, inquisitive eyes.

“What’s your name?” Nick asked.

“Jake Henson.”

“How long you been with the bureau, Jake?”

“Six months,” Jake answered, sitting painfully upright.

“What do you know about Kemel Kharrazi?”

There was a pause, then Jake said, “Well, I know that he’s forty-two and received a journalism degree from Georgetown. His father owns the largest construction company in Turkey. He has two teenage sons, Isal and Shaquir. He’s had his hand in the bombing of the U.S. Embassy in Jordan and American Airlines flight 650, to mention just a couple. And there’s a twenty million dollar reward for any information leading to his arrest.”

Nick was impressed until he saw the blue-green glow across Jake’s face and realized he was holding a small hand-held computer.

Matt twisted in his seat, stuck a piece of gum in his mouth, and pointed at the young man. “That’s pretty good. Can you get that Dr. Skin website on there? You know the one with all of the naked celebrities.”

Jake’s face became grave. “This is official FBI merchandise. I can’t use it for personal use.”

Matt looked at the older agent sitting next to Jake. “Is he for real?”

“Are you kidding me?” the agent said. “He thinks watching a woman eat a banana is considered cheating on your wife.”

“Jake,” Matt said, “you ever meet a fugitive on the List?”

“No, sir, this would be my first.”

Evans pointed his thumb over his shoulder at Jake and said, “The kid’s done a good job. He digs into that tiny machine and finds out that there’s only been one house sold in the nearby vicinity in the past six months. Guess which house?”

Jake beamed.

“That’s right,” Evans said. “The very house that limo sits in front of was sold to a businessman just four months ago. His name is Kalil Reed.”

Nick and Matt exchanged glances.

“Anyway, Jake runs the name into the computer and comes up with an alias for Mr. Reed. Anyone care to guess whose name comes up?”

Evans looked into his rear view mirror at the two agents anxious for one of them to respond.

Jake couldn’t hold it. “Abdullah Amin Shah!” he exclaimed. “He owns the house.”

Nick could see Matt about to get sarcastic, so he grabbed Matt’s arm and gave him a look.

“Come on,” Jake said. “Surely you know who Abdullah Amin Shah is? He works for Kemel Kharrazi.”

“We know,” Matt said. “I think you’ll find some of his blood on my pant leg.”

Nick turned to Jake. “Without the mechanical cheat sheet, how much do you really know about Kharrazi?”

Jake shrugged, “I’ve heard all the stories. You know, the CIA agent’s head sent to his home, the story about him slaughtering children in the streets of Ankara because they didn’t know his name. He killed his own mother for betraying him. After a while you wonder whether they’re just urban legends.”

Nick rubbed the stubble growing on the side of his face. “I used to wonder the same thing myself.”

“But you know it’s all real don’t you, Agent Bracco?”

Nick sighed. “You don’t have to worry. You won’t be setting eyes on Kemel Kharrazi tonight.”

“Why do you say that?”

Nick took a breath. He was tired, he needed a shave, he was hungry, and most of all, he wished he could turn off his brain. Just long enough to relax and make believe it was going to be all right. His brother was alive, he had to hang on to that thought.

“Sir?” Jake said. “Why won’t we see him?”

“Because,” Nick said, “when you’re dealing with terrorists, coincidences are dangerous.”

Nick could tell by the silence that his message had fallen short of its target. He added, “When you find a square peg on the ground and a few feet away you find a perfectly square hole to put it in, it’s time to look over your shoulder. Nothing is ever that easy, especially when you’re dealing with someone like Kharrazi.”

Jim Evans peered through the rear view mirror and said, “You think this is a wild goose chase?”

Nick could sense a schism developing between the two branches. Vegas dealt mostly with racketeering and organized crime. The majority of their criminals engaged in murder, extortion, bribery-spontaneous acts that lacked the planning required to escape detection. An evidence collector’s dream world, Las Vegas. But Nick and Matt’s world revolved around one thing-terrorists. A type of criminal who planned attacks eons before they were enacted. There were many cases where a terrorist would spend years infiltrating a community. They’d teach in schools, run grocery stores, repair cars. Then one day the word comes and it’s time to act. Few could prepare for that kind of operative. Nick knew he needed everyone on the same page if he was going to find Phil.

Nick said, “Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake.”

This brought more silence. He could hear Matt sigh.

“Napoleon,” Matt said.

“Exactly,” Nick said. “Let’s hope this limo thing is their mistake.”

It was nearly 2 AM when the van rolled to a stop behind a second nondescript van. The agents exited into the cool night air and followed Evans to the forward van. The door slid open and exposed a man and a woman wearing headphones. The woman held an index finger to her lips. “They’re on the phone,” she whispered. “My Kurdish is a little rusty.”

Nick asked Evans where the house was. Evans pointed down the narrow street. “It’s around the corner. They can’t see us from here, but we own the perimeter.” He tapped the radio clipped to his shirt. “We’re in contact with Hostage Rescue. Twenty of them. When the time comes, we’ll be ready.”

The woman lowered her headphones. “I keep hearing the same casual conversation.”

A faint ringing sound caused Nick to walk away from the van and push a button on his secure phone. “Bracco,” he answered.

“I just got word about the airport incident,” Walt Jackson said in a half-yawn. “I caught a nap here in the office, but the coffee’s flowing now. You two okay?”

“We’re fine. We found the limo in a residential area and we’re intercepting phone messages from the house. The conversations are in Kurdish. The deed is under the name of Kalil Reed.” Nick looked back at the two vans. Even in the dark, Matt stuck out among the Vegas agents. And not just because of his height. “I don’t like it, Walt.”

“Too much good luck, huh?”

“Exactly.”

“All right, Kharrazi’s giving us until 9 AM Eastern Time to release Rashid, which gives you about four hours. We’re pretty sure they’re still in Nevada. We’re able to trace the calls to somewhere in the state, that’s all.” Jackson paused, as if searching for the proper words. “Nick, I spoke with Phil. He sounded worn down. In exchange for the conversation, I’m having Rashid moved to a less secure site for the time being. You know we can’t release him, but the minute Kharrazi knows, Phil will be expendable. I’m buying as much time as I can.”

“Thanks.”

“One other thing. I’m adding a new security system to your house and I’m having Julie tagged. We have to be prepared. At least until this is over.”

“I knew you would. Appreciate it. We’ll be in touch.”

Nick made eye contact with his partner and Matt hustled over to him.

“What’s up?” Matt said.

“What do you make of all this?” Nick asked.

“It’s a setup,” Matt said, like he was answering a simple third grade math equation.

Nick nodded. “If you were Kharrazi, would you set up a decoy on the other side of town, as far away as possible? Or would you want to keep the law within viewing distance?”