Andrew Britton - The American

This he had explained to the American, and the reason was a plan. For Saif, that simple explanation was enough. He had been stunned when the news came that 92 lay dead outside the Kennedy-Warren, and knew at once that he had underestimated the man’s capabilities. Al-Adel had greater faith in the American than he would have admitted to.

He believed that the man could get to the president. He also knew that an operation of that magnitude would require the Director’s approval. It was on the hinge of this knowledge that al-Adel made his decision. If the plan was not worthy, and the American was not congratulated for his brilliance, then Saif would personally drag him out of the camp and shoot him before receiving his own bullet.

With this comforting thought, Saif al-Adel joined his fellow passenger in a dreamless sleep as the helicopter cut fast through the night toward the shimmering waters of the Caspian Sea.

Goddamn Ryan Kealey. Naomi was on the roof once again, and the sun was just as merciless as it had been the day before. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. She had spent most of the morning cursing Ryan under her breath, while periodically checking to make sure that her radio wasn’t transmitting. He had rented the 20-foot catamaran early in the day, but then relegated her to the roof once more after explaining that it wasn’t enough to cover one side of the building.

Easy for him to say, she thought. He’s out on the water with a decent breeze and I’m stuck baking up here. The silver Mercedes had arrived on cue in the morning and had not moved since. Even the delivery boy had failed to make his sole contribution to the day’s events. Naomi felt her body growing numb from inactivity as the minute hand on her watch continued its endless circle.

The hours of silence were painful to her. It would have been better if she’d been able to talk to Ryan, but his orders had been strict: stay off the radio unless you have something to report. She knew herself well enough to admit that Ryan’s imperious behavior was not the real reason for her current mood.

She forced his face out of her mind and tried to concentrate on the building below. She felt herself drifting as the hours passed, and it was with a start that she looked up to see the heavy doors of the warehouse crack open. The night had moved in, and a full moon cast a brilliant light down over the empty street, clearly illuminating the face of only one man.

One man. It was the guard, and Naomi watched as he carefully pulled the door closed and locked it behind him. He walked quickly to the Mercedes, unlocked the door, squeezed his heavy frame into the car, and drove away. Naomi felt the excitement rise in her chest as she groped back across the rough surface of the roof for the radio.

The cold gray waters of Table Bay lifted the large boat on the gentle swells as Ryan stood at the helm, staring toward the line of warehouses jutting up from the rocky shore. His attention was focused on the only building still illuminated at this late hour, although no motion could be seen from the brightly lit interior.

He was startled back to reality by a sudden burst of static from the radio resting on the instrument panel inside the covered cockpit.

“Ryan, pick up.” He heard the urgency in her voice and reached quickly for the handset.

“Go ahead.”

“The driver’s gone,” she said, her excitement penetrating through the harsh static. “He just drove off by himself… Did you hear me? He’s gone. What do I do?”

Ryan’s mind moved rapidly as he considered the options. “Okay, listen carefully. Go get the jeep and pull it around to the front of the building. Wait in the front seat and pull out the map like you’re looking for something. If the driver comes back, hit the Selcall button twice. The radio won’t make any noise on your end, but I’ll get the message. Then get the hell out of there.” A beat while he thought. “Make sure you bring that pack down with you. You got all that?”

“Got it.”

Ryan slid the radio into his coat pocket and moved quickly back to the stern of the boat. Ripping the tarp off the small rubber dinghy, he hooked up the power cord to the portable crane and started the generator before undoing the tie-downs that secured the smaller craft to the catamaran. Looking up and across the water, he could see that the incongruous French doors tucked into the rear of the renovated warehouse were still open to the cool night air. They’d never get a better chance, he decided.

Naomi was racing through a tangled web of dark alleyways, her pounding footsteps echoing loud in the narrow space between the buildings. She fumbled for the keys as she reached the Nissan, tossed her pack into the back of the vehicle, and slid onto the cold leather of the driver’s seat. The temperature had dropped rapidly after sunset, and she found herself shivering as she started the engine and pulled the jeep out of the secluded alley.

The dinghy bounced over the gentle waves, Ryan wincing at the loud rumble of the 40 hp outboard motor churning up the water behind him. He shut down the motor after a few hundred meters and let the momentum of the boat carry him into shore. Jumping out, he pulled the dinghy up behind him, almost slipping on the wet rocks beneath his feet as he moved up the beach toward the open doors.

Naomi turned off the headlights as she turned the corner and braked to a gentle halt on the street opposite Gray’s building. The road was still clear as she unfolded the map and nervously fingered the radio lying by her side. Hurry up, Ryan.

Kealey passed through the double doors, the Walther up as he moved into the warehouse. Light from the fluorescent bulbs positioned far above erupted over the white-painted brick walls, reaching down to touch and illuminate a shining floor of lacquered oak.

Stephen Gray, seated behind an immense desk in the center of the room, was reclining comfortably in his chair, sipping at a cut-crystal glass of Chivas. He was startled by a shadow moving over the mirrorlike surface of his desk, and looked up as the dark figure entered the room.

He immediately knew that he would not survive the encounter. His buildings had been raided by the authorities many times before, but this was not how the police came, through the back entrance with silenced pistols and shadowed faces. He began to tremble as his right hand inched toward the second drawer of his desk.

He tried to recall if the revolver it held was loaded.

Ryan moved quickly to control the situation. “Stephen Gray,” he said in a low, calm voice. Reason, he thought. Reason with the man. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I have a few questions, if you don’t mind. Stay still and keep your hands on the desk.”

“Fuck you.” Gray’s face was twisted in anger and defiance. He started to get to his feet.

Kealey saw that reason wasn’t going to get him anywhere. He moved fast around the desk before Gray could stand and put his foot hard into the man’s chest.

The chair flipped backward and Gray fell violently to the floor, the air crushed out of his lungs. Gasping for breath, he got to his hands and knees before Kealey’s foot slammed up into his stomach.

Gray felt his ribs crack on the second blow, and tried to curl himself into a protective ball as his vision blurred. Despite the nauseating pain, he could feel the barrel of the pistol being pressed into the base of his skull.

“I want to pull this trigger,” Ryan snarled. “You have one chance to save yourself.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a wrinkled picture, dropping it unceremoniously in front of the businessman’s face. “How do you know this man?”

The silver Mercedes came fast around the corner, screeching to a halt right in front of the Nissan 4x4. The air caught in her lungs as Naomi reached for the radio and furiously punched the Selcall button. She tried to focus on the map, but the heavy driver was already out of the car, holding a bulging sack of takeout in one hand and tapping on her window with the other. The suspicion was plain in his face before she even began to lower the window.