James Grippando - Afraid of the Dark

“You were supposed to destroy those files,” Littleton said.

“Obviously, I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Look, if you want to second-guess, go back to three years ago, when you should never have let Jamal Wakefield leave the Czech Republic alive.”

“A nineteen-year-old kid doesn’t deserve to die just because he’s a stupid punk in over his head.”

“I beg to differ.”

“I ordered his release because you were learning more about Project Round Up from Chuck Mays’ wife than our interrogators could ever squeeze out of one of his employees. So don’t put this problem on me, Habib. You should have destroyed the videos of what went on at that facility. Period.”

“Fine, I should have. But I didn’t. Right now, it doesn’t matter why. We’ve got a problem that we have to deal with.”

Littleton tried to control his anger. For purposes of handling the immediate problem, Habib was right: It mattered not why he had failed to destroy the files. But Habib would have some explaining to do once this fire was out.

“How big is the problem?”

“The only safe assumption is that the files are going straight to Chuck Mays.”

“Son of a bitch! Do you understand what that means?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think you do,” said Littleton. “The same technology that Mays is applying to kiddy porn can be used to reverse engineer the technological DNA of any video he gets his hands on. He can trace those black site videos back to Black Ice, and the things we did to those detainees make Abu Ghraib and Gitmo look like a spa.”

“Fortunately, you’re not in the videos.”

“It doesn’t matter! If Mays can link that kind of abuse to my company, I’m dead. You hear me? I’m not just talking about the cancellation of DOD security contracts in Iraq and Afghanistan. I mean this literally: I’m dead.”

“Sounds like you’re hitting the panic button.”

“I want to know what you are going to do about it?”

“I have the upper hand on Chuck Mays. All I need from you is a green light.”

“A green light to do what?”

“To play my ace in the hole.”

“Do I want to know what your ace in the hole is?”

“That’s a good question. Do you?”

Littleton considered it. There was always a danger of asking one question too many in this line of work.

“You have the green light,” said Littleton. “Do what you gotta do.”

Your boyfriend is the Dark,” said Jack.

Jack’s use of “the Dark” meant nothing to Shada, but he put the pieces together and brought her up to speed on the string of notes with the same creepy messages: Are you afraid of The Dark?

“He killed your daughter,” Jack said. “He killed Jamal. He killed a guy named Ethan Chang. He probably killed my friend Neil and Dr. Spigelman along with him. And now it sounds like he almost killed Jamal’s uncle.”

Chuck’s reply rattled over the computer’s little speaker. “How did Jamal’s uncle get involved with this?”

“I’ve got a better question,” said Jack, looking at Shada. “Who is the girl in the cellar?”

“I don’t know,” said Shada. “This is the first I’ve heard anything about that.”

“It’s obvious that’s where Habib-the Dark-went today after he left you. And you’re telling me you had no idea-”

“I had absolutely no idea,” she said firmly.

“This wasn’t one of your threesomes you arranged for him?”

“No way. I told you it wasn’t anything illegal. And it definitely wasn’t about sex with underage girls.”

“Threesomes?” said Chuck.

“Oh, Chuck, like you didn’t enjoy them.”

“Oh, sure, here it comes. You’re sleeping with the sick son of a bitch who killed McKenna, and it’s all my fault because I turned you on to threesomes.”

“I didn’t say it was your-”

“Can we focus here, people?” said Jack, reaching for his cell. “Or I’m calling the police.”

The sparring stopped.

“Good,” said Jack. “I’m not asking you to settle all the issues between you here and now. Just behave yourselves. Now, whether you like it or, I’m calling Jamal’s mother. She deserves to know.”

No one argued.

It was midafternoon in Minnesota. Maryam Wakefield answered on her home phone, and Jack could hear her concern as soon as he said he was calling from London. He delivered the news as gently as he could. She caught her breath, but she didn’t sound totally shocked.

“Is Hassan dead or alive?” she asked.

“We don’t know,” said Jack.

“I told him not to go,” said Maryam, her voice quaking. “Islam has no place for vigilantism. But Hassan was convinced that there would be no justice for Jamal in a court system that treated an innocent boy like a terrorist.”

“I understand,” said Jack.

“When I asked you to help us sue Chuck Mays, and, instead, you teamed up with him and Vincent Paulo, that pushed Hassan over the edge.”

Jack understood that, too. “How did Hassan track down the Dark?”

“His brother.”

Jack started pacing as he spoke, as if energized by his own confusion. “I thought Hassan hated his brother for going over to al-Shabaab.”

“He did, but Hassan would do anything for Jamal. His brother forwarded me an e-mail that he received: ‘I killed your son,’ it said. I showed it to Hassan, and he took it from there. I told you that the three of us used to live together in London before Jamal was born. Both brothers still have contacts in London-Hassan, especially, at the East End Mosque. As much as he hates his brother, he swallowed their differences and found Jamal’s killer.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t have a name. But it’s someone who used to be part of al-Shabaab with Jamal’s father.”

Jack could hear the strain in her voice. She couldn’t afford to lose Hassan on top of Jamal. “Maryam, everything is going to be okay. I want you to take a minute to collect yourself, and then you and I are going to get on a conference call with Scotland Yard. You need to tell them everything you just told me.”

“No,” said Chuck. “We can’t call the police.”

“Watch me,” said Jack.

“Stop,” said Chuck. “Listen to this for one minute.”

“Listen to what?”

“I was treating it as my business. Now we all have to deal with it.”

“Look,” said Jack, “I agreed to keep the police out of this at first, but that doesn’t make any sense now.”

“Just listen,” said Chuck. “It’s the tail end of a phone call I got about twenty minutes ago.”

The computer screen flickered. The transmission was audio only, and the band on the audio tracker spiked up and down with each voice inflection on the recording.

“Listen up, Mays.”

Even though Jack didn’t recognize the voice, he somehow knew it was the Dark. The recording continued: “I have someone you’ll want to hear from.”

Jack waited, the audio line on the LCD went flat, and suddenly it wobbled again with the beaten-down voice he instantly recognized.

“The Dark is in charge,” said Vince, obviously saying what he had been told to say. “Do not come looking for me, and do not call the police. If you do, he will kill me. I’m afraid of the Dark. You should be, too.”

The recording ended, and the audio line went flat again.

Good news, Paulo. The boss says I can take off your blindfold.”

The Dark grabbed him by the hair, then slapped his hostage upside the head, as if Vince were the absentminded one. “Oh, I forgot. You’re not wearing a blindfold.”

He laughed way too hard at his own stupid joke, but Vince said nothing. He was seated in a desk chair, hands tied behind his back, unable to move. The Dark walked to the window and double-checked that the plywood over it was secure. They were in a spacious suite on the third floor of an abandoned hotel that was scheduled to be gutted and converted to flats. The nicest furnishings had been hauled away for auction, and only a wobbly table, a few old chairs, and a beat-up leather couch remained. There was no water or electricity, but the battery-powered lamp on the table was adequate, and when nature called, the toilet in the suite across the hall would suffice, even if it didn’t flush.