Brad Thor - Full Black

They were of medium height and solidly built. Their eyes were hard and dark, like pieces of flint, and told him everything he needed to know about them. These men were no strangers to violence.

Despite the men’s rough demeanor, Chase kept up the haughty hacker act and repeatedly asked the men how much longer they were going to have to wait until they could leave the garage.

When one of the men retrieved a newspaper from the car and tossed it at him, Chase took a look at it and threw it right back at the man, saying in Arabic, “Do I look like I read Swedish?”

The sooner the men could get rid of him, the happier they were going to be.

Two hours later, one of the men’s mobile phones rang and he listened before saying a few words back and hanging up. He then motioned for his colleague to join him at the far end of the garage where they conversed in private. Chase didn’t like it. The sudden sequestration made him very apprehensive.

When the men finally returned, he asked them what the call had been about, but they wouldn’t say. He was starting to regret having left his shiv in the bathroom. Once again, he took stock of anything in his immediate surroundings that could be used as a weapon.

With nothing to do but wait, he cracked another energy drink and sipped on it as he put together a plan for which of the two men to kill first and how, if he needed to.

He was running through the clever ways he could dispose of the bodies when there was the bleat of a car horn outside and one of the men went to open the garage door.

Once the door was opened wide enough, an anemic-looking Volvo rolled inside. Chase watched as it came to a stop and its engine was turned off. Seconds passed. Through the windshield, the driver appeared to be on his cell phone. When the call was over, the man lowered the phone and stepped out of the car.

He was very large, and judging from the way the other two men reacted to him, someone of stature within the organization. He had a certain presence about him and for a moment, Chase wondered if he was looking at the cell’s leader. He was a bit too rough around the edges, though, and Chase pegged him as being somewhere in the command structure, but not at the very top of the pyramid. This was not the kind of man who could blend in and easily remain beneath the radar.

There was also something about his bearing that Chase could not quite place. As he approached, there was a way he walked that he found interesting. He had the bearing of a cop.

His face was a mix of the most exaggerated of Arab features; the long hooked nose, the dark-circled, heavily hooded eyes, thin lips, and dark, weather-beaten skin. His sheer physical size, on the other hand, made him one of the biggest Arabs Chase had ever seen.

“Salaam alaikum,” said the man as he approached and kissed Chase on both cheeks.

“Wa alaikum a salaam,” replied Chase, returning the greeting. The man’s enormous hands gripped Chase by the shoulders.

“Allah has taken two of our brothers today, but you he has spared.”

Chase was not sure how to answer. Was the man testing him? “I am undoubtedly unworthy of Allah’s favor,” he replied.

The large man smiled. “May I?” he asked, indicating he wanted to remove the bandage covering the wound on Chase’s head.

Without waiting for permission, the man reached out and peeled the bandage back. Placing his other hand under Chase’s chin, he tilted his head back so he could better see the laceration. Even if Chase had wanted to, he couldn’t have stopped him. The man was that strong.

Apparently satisfied, he released his chin and gently put the bandage back in place. “Sit down,” the man said, pointing to a crate nearby.

Chase did as he was told. The man was speaking to him in English now. It wasn’t perfect, but it was quite good. He told the other two men in Arabic to wait outside.

Once they had exited the garage, he turned his attention back to Chase. “Tell me about the accident,” he said.

Chase was definitely being tested. “Someone ran us off the road.” He made sure there was just enough British in his accent.

“Intentionally run off?”

Chase shrugged.

“What did the car look like?” asked the man.

“It was blue or gray. I can’t really remember.”

“You didn’t see it?”

“Not until it was too late. Nafees and I were talking.”

The man studied him. “Talking about what?”

Chase was silent for a moment. Finally, he replied, “About my uncle.”

“And what exactly about your uncle were you talking about?”

“I wanted to know what had happened to him; how he had died. I wanted to know who killed him. I wanted to know why.”

“What did Nafees tell you?” the man asked.

“He told me the same thing he had at the airport. He told me to wait until we arrived in Uppsala and all would be revealed.”

“And what did Waqar say during your drive?”

“Not much, except that I ask too many questions.”

The big man smiled, but as quickly as the smile crossed his face, it disappeared. “How did they die?”

Chase had been trained by the best. He knew the man was probing him. The mantra that was drummed into every intelligence operative’s head was to deny, deny, deny and launch counteraccusations. The big man had yet to accuse him of anything directly, but the intimations were clear and he needed to go on the offensive. “How do you think they died? I told you, we were in a car accident. You don’t believe me? Why don’t you go take a look at it yourself? There’s blood all over. Nafees was thrown halfway through the windshield.”

“But Waqar was still wearing his seat belt,” said the man.

“And?”

The man shrugged and said nothing.

“I don’t even know who you are,” said Chase.

“I am Sabah.”

“Your name could be Mickey Mouse for all I care, mate. How do I know you are not a cop?”

The big man smiled again. “I am not a police officer, at least not anymore.”

“Well, that’s not very reassuring. Waqar and Nafees were friends of my uncle. I don’t know the rest of you at all.”

“Yet you accepted the plane ticket and came when we asked.”

“I came when Waqar and Nafees asked,” clarified Chase.

Sabah nodded. “Understood. I only have one more question.”

“Only one?”

“What happened to the other car?”

“What other car?” asked Chase, the exasperated, smartass programmer tone fully apparent in his voice.

“The one that ran you off the road?” said Sabah.

“I was in the backseat. I didn’t see where it went.”

“It didn’t stop? The driver didn’t offer you aid?”

“I told you, I hit my head.”

Sabah smiled. “You told me no such thing.”

“Well, whoever I talked to on Waqar’s phone, I told him.”

“So you were knocked unconscious. When you awoke, the other car that ran you off the road was not there. Is this correct?”

“The more you talk, the more I’m convinced you’re a cop,” said Chase.

“You’re not answering my question.”

“I must have blacked out, because the last thing I remember is us rushing headlong into a tree. The next thing I remember was the blood pouring from my head and finding Waqar and Nafees both dead.”

“Yet you had the presence of mind to take Waqar’s cell phone and call us,” replied Sabah.

“Who else would I call? I don’t know anyone in this country.”

“How did you know to use Waqar’s phone to call us?”

“That’s a serious question?”

Sabah nodded and Chase rolled his eyes. “Because,” Chase said, thankful they’d had the men under surveillance at the airport, “Waqar placed a call when we were walking to his car after I got off the plane. I assume he was calling to tell you I had arrived.”