James Patterson - Thriller - Stories to Keep You Up All Night

"You have arrangements to make. I understand. Do so. But know this. I'll surrender to you tomorrow, here, at noon. And only to you. Alone."

He raised the Glock. "Why not now?"

"Look around you, Mr. Malone."

His gaze strafed the ruins. On the cliffs above him he spotted eight turbaned men with automatic rifles. "Thought you said you came alone?"

"I lied. But you're still breathing, which shows that I'm telling the truth about surrendering. Tomorrow, here, noon. Alone." And the devil shuffled away.

Malone returned to the capital and, from the American embassy, immediately made contact with Stephanie Nelle at the Magellan Billet offices in Atlanta. He told her what happened, and six hours later he was informed that an army special forces unit would covertly enter the country from Afghanistan by 7:00 a.m. the following morning. He had no intention of taking possession of bin Laden alone, nor did the military want to be absent when that happened. So he'd made, as bin Laden had said, arrangements.

Malone met the unit at a prearranged point on the highway north of the capital. It consisted of six soldiers and two officers, all dressed in nondescript civilian clothing. Colonel Rick Cobb was in charge, a slender man with reddish-blond hair and deep-set green eyes. Malone explained what he wanted the unit to do, then left them on the side of the road as he drove off for Rampur.

At precisely noon Malone strolled back into the ruins. A pall of impenetrable mist shrouded the precipice and shielded the cliffs overhead. He stepped with caution, waiting to see what would happen.

Bin Laden appeared, just like yesterday. Today, Malone wasn't going to chitchat. "Ready to go?"

"As promised."

He withdrew his Glock.

"That's not necessary."

"Makes me feel better."

His prisoner shrugged. "Then, by all means."

"Your friends here today?"

"Until we're safely away. Then they'll be gone."

It took twenty minutes to hike down to Malone's car, the going slow because of bin Laden's cane-assisted gait. Before loading the Arab into the passenger's seat Malone frisked him. Bin Laden seemed to expect the violation and did not resist.

They left Rampur and started the drive back for the capital.

About halfway, Malone spied the same battered cars on the side of the highway. He eased onto the shoulder and parked behind them.

The doors to both opened and the American unit poured out. "Friends of yours?" bin Laden calmly asked. "Your keepers."

"The deal was I surrendered only to you."

"I lied."

Malone left the following day. President Sharma attempted no contact, but he expected none. The announcement that Osama bin Laden had been captured would come through the White House, and the American military would receive full credit. Contrary to what bin Laden may have thought, Malone neither expected nor desired public acknowledgment.

Nor, he knew, did Sharma.

Both their jobs were done.

Two weeks passed with no announcement. Malone was dispatched to Germany, then to Bulgaria, Australia and Norway. After another two months and still nothing, he decided to see what was happening. Stephanie Nelle was likewise curious, so she made an official inquiry.

"Cotton, they don't know what we're talking about," she told him over the phone from Billet headquarters.

He was between planes in London. "Stephanie, I drove the SOB in my car. He was sitting beside me. I turned him over to an army colonel."

"I gave them the name of the officer. Rick Cobb. He's a colonel, assigned to special forces, but that day he was on leave in the United States. Nowhere near you. That's been verified."

"You get a description of him?"

She told him, and it in no way matched the man to whom he'd handed over bin Laden. "What the hell's happening here? They playing games with us?"

"Why? The president would give his left nut to have bin Laden in custody."

Malone heard what bin Laden said to him. These others want to prevent such a glorious ending for me.

"I need to talk to Sharma. I'll get back to you."

Malone found an Internet portal in a business alcove of the international terminal. There, he connected his laptop and sent an e-mail, which he knew was precisely how Sharma liked to communicate. The president hated telephones-uncontrollable- and preferred to retain a hard copy of all his messages. So Mal-one kept his message simple:

MY GIFT IS GONE.

His plane was not for another two hours, so he sat and waited. Interestingly, the response came in less than ten minutes.

REVISIT THE RUINS.

Malone knew that was all he was going to get. Obviously, Sharma had been expecting contact. Malone had been on his way back to Atlanta for three days of rest before his next assignment.

Not anymore.

Late autumn had a firm grip on the Pan Mountains as Malone parked at the base of the ridge that led up to the Rampur ruins. The air was a solid forty degrees cooler than it had been three months ago, and snow draped the surrounding peaks in long veils.

He reached beneath his parka and withdrew his Glock. He had no idea what was waiting for him, but he had to follow Sharma's lead.

He climbed in measured steps, careful on the frozen earth. He entered the site and allowed his senses to absorb the same barren desolation. He pressed on and explored, his mind alert.

Automatic gunfire startled him.

Bullets ricocheted off boulders.

"Far enough, Malone," a man said in English. "Let your gun hit the ground."

He released his grip and turned. "Colonel Rick Cobb" hopped down from a narrow cliff and descended the stacked boulders.

"I was told you returned to the country yesterday," Cobb said. "So I knew you'd be here today."

"I like to be punctual."

"Funny, too. What a guy."

"And you are?"

"Colonel Rick Cobb. Who else?"

"You know I don't buy that." "That's all you're going to get."

"Okay, Colonel Rick Cobb, you plan to tell me what happened to bin Laden?"

"How about I show you?" Cobb motioned with the rifle. "That way."

Malone walked past more mounds of rubble and turned a corner. A cold breeze raked his limbs and dried his lips. He spotted a blackened splotch of earth near where an outer wall once stood. Weather was rapidly erasing the traces, but it was clear something had been burned there recently.

"All that's left," Cobb said. "Shot him myself, right about where you're standing, then we burned the murdering asshole till there was nothing left."

"And the purpose of that?"

"Damn, you have to ask? He killed Americans. He was an enemy of the state." "You're no soldier."

"Soldiers have rules, and rules have a nasty way of interfering with what's right. I work outside the rules."

"Bin Laden said you were after him. He told me you wanted him dead, but for no one else to know. Care to tell me the point?"

"Come on, you're a bright guy. America is spending tens of billions of dollars on the war on terror. More money than anyone can even comprehend. It's like manna, my friend-straight from heaven."

Malone was glad his suspicions now seemed confirmed. "And there are a lot of corporations getting rich."

"Now you're thinking. Have you looked at the stock prices for some of the defense contractors? Through the roof. Lots of smaller companies are making a fortune, too. Can't let that end."

"And you work for them?"

"They all got together and decided to hire one team. The best in the business. Hell, we developed a better intel network than the government. Took us over a year, but we finally got close to bin Laden. We damn near got him twice. About eight months ago, though, he dropped from everybody's radar. Gone. We were beginning to worry, until you called in."

"We contacted the military that day, through official channels, not you."