James Grippando - Afraid of the Dark

“We’ve been tailing him for two months, and they lost him in two days?”

“He attended a prayer session at the East End Mosque. They watched him go in, but they didn’t see him come out.”

“How can that be?”

“In the Yard’s defense, twenty thousand people come and go from that mosque every week. They lost him for about eight hours.”

“So they’ve reconnected?”

“Only because he’s in the Royal London Hospital. Someone found him unconscious in a public park or athletic field in the East End and called for an ambulance. Paramedics picked him up and brought him to emergency.”

“How did he get hurt?”

“Hassan isn’t talking. I don’t know if he’s in a coma, but he still has not regained consciousness. The only report I have is that he took a bad blow to the head.”

“Any idea who did it?”

“No confirmation yet. But it’s possible that an order issued out of Black Ice.”

She knew what he was saying: Hassan had gotten too close to the truth about his nephew’s detention, and one of Littleton’s special-ops guys was on the job. But that didn’t mean the FBI’s read of the situation was correct. “What do you want me to do?” she asked.

“I just want you to be aware and know that I have a team on alert if you need to be extricated.”

“Is Jack in any danger?”

Harley paused, as if reluctant to say what he had to say. “Andie, I understand your concern about the way your assignment intersects with Jack. I told you I would be on your side when the time comes to make an issue out of it. Now is not the time.”

“I’m not saying I’m going to make an issue out of it.”

“You can’t call him. Not at this juncture.”

A janitor rolled a trash can past her. She waited for him to pass, which gave her a moment to think about her response. But she still didn’t know what to tell her supervisor.

“Andie, you can’t jump in and out of role as you please. I promised you that this operation was on the verge of wrapping up, and you agreed to come back and finish what you’d started-no more leaves of absence. That’s the assignment, and that means you can’t call Jack.”

She considered it further.

“Andie, did you hear what I said?”

“Yes, I heard you,” she said, acknowledging only that.

Jack and Shada rode down the elevator in silence. Step one was to get their hands on the cash, and Jack had to defer to Chuck on that part of the plan. For the next couple of hours, at least, Jack had no choice but to follow Chuck’s instructions.

The elevator doors opened to an empty lobby. A black taxi was waiting in the motor court on the other side of the revolving door. Before heading out, Jack took the opportunity to pull Shada aside and make one last plea.

“You don’t have to do this,” he told her.

“We can’t call the police. You and Chuck are in agreement on that. I’m the one Habib wants.”

“The delivery is always negotiable, especially when all we’re talking about is the person who makes the drop. Chuck can manufacture an excuse for you.”

“Then who is going to do it?”

Jack paused, not quite believing what he was about to say. “I will.”

“You? Why should you do it?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because you don’t owe Vince anything.”

That wasn’t exactly true, but the fact that Vince had once stood up to a crazed hostage taker and negotiated for Theo’s release wasn’t the driving force here. “This isn’t about who owes what to whom,” said Jack.

Her eyes welled. “You couldn’t be more wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you understand? I owe everybody. I betrayed my husband. The lover I took turned out to be the man who murdered our daughter. Vince lost his sight trying to save McKenna from him. It’s time for me to step up and do something about it.”

Jack couldn’t argue with her feelings.

“I’ll make the delivery,” she said. “That’s final.”

Jack followed her through the revolving door, and they climbed into the back of the cab. Shada announced the address.

“Bengali Town?” the driver said. “Nothing much open up that way at two A.M.”

“You’d be surprised,” said Shada. “Hurry, please.”

The cell rang just as the Dark finished untying the ropes. He pressed the gun to Paulo’s forehead and checked the incoming number. It was Littleton calling from his encrypted line at Black Ice. The Dark took it, but only briefly.

“I’m not alone,” he said. “Call me back in ten minutes.”

He tucked his cell away and started retying the knots.

“What are you doing?” asked Paulo. “I have to use the bathroom.”

“You’re just going to have to wait.”

He pulled the rope snug and placed duct tape over Paulo’s mouth. “Just a precaution,” said the Dark. “Like I told you: Yell, scream, kick, and stomp all you want. We’re the only ones in this building.”

He tucked his pistol into his belt and locked the door on his way out. There was an emergency stairwell at the end of the hall, and the LED on his key chain provided sufficient light to find it. The lock on the fire door at street level was busted-probably the work of vagrants-making it easy to come and go. He stepped into the cold night and checked things out. Traffic was nonexistent, and the wet pavement glistened in the fuzzy glow of streetlights. Hanging out in front of the abandoned hotel could draw the attention of the police, so he walked to the corner and waited for Littleton’s call.

The neighborhood was in late-night lockdown, storefronts hidden behind roll-down security shutters or accordion-style metal doors. A stray cat scurried past him on the sidewalk and disappeared into a burned-out shell of a condemned building. Windows in the flats above the shops were dark, save for one. Standing on the corner, he could see right inside. A television threw more than enough light to reveal all to the outside world, and it was surprising how many residents lacked the sense to pull the bedroom shade. Not long ago that the White Chapel rapist had walked these streets. People had short memories. Most people. Not the Dark, especially not when it came to rape-the rape of his youngest sister.

Stop it, the Dark told himself, angry for having allowed his thoughts to turn to his own ugly past. He checked his watch. Four more minutes until Littleton would call back-an eternity when there was nothing to do but dodge his own memories. In his mind’s eye, he could see the tears on her face, the terror in Samira’s eyes.

Her clothes were torn, and when she finally stopped sobbing, he could hear the fear in her voice. She didn’t want to talk, but as he dragged the truth out of her, Habib could almost smell the other men-men she did not know by name, but from her description, the Dark knew it was al-Shabaab. Probably even men he had worked beside in Mogadishu. Habib took his sister to Abukar-Jamal Wakefield’s father-for justice.

“Do you have four male witnesses?” asked Abukar.

“Samira was raped,” said Habib. “The only witnesses are the men who did this to her.”

“Have these men confessed?”

“The punishment is death,” Habib said. “Why on earth would they confess?”

Abukar waved his hand, dismissing them. “Then there is no rape to be punished.”

“What?”

“The law is clear,” said Abukar. “The rapist must confess, or there must be four male witnesses.”

Samira spoke up. “The Koran requires four witnesses to prove that a woman has committed adultery, not to prove that she was raped. You are twisting things for your own purposes.”

“Quiet!”

“You’re twisting it the way Westerners do when they want to defile Islam!” she shouted, her voice shaking.