Nelson Demille - The Lion's Game

"I get it. So what's he up to?"

"I don't know. I'm just telling you who he is."

"Okay, but what's a guy like that usually up to?"

"He's up to about three hundred and twenty, and still counting."

"Yeah. Okay, good work, Gabe. How's Fadi doing?"

"Her name is now Maria, and she's a cleaning lady at St. Patrick's." He smiled.

"See you later." I turned to walk away, and Gabe said, "Khalil's going for the big one."

I turned around.

Gabe said, "If he showed up as a waiter at a presidential fund-raiser, I wouldn't be surprised. He's got a lot of hate toward somebody, who he thinks screwed him, or screwed Islam, or screwed Libya. He wants a personal confrontation."

"Go on."

He thought a moment and said, "The name of that poem is 'The Death Feud.'"

"I thought it was a love poem."

"It's a hate poem, my friend. It has to do with a blood feud, actually." "Okay."

"An Arab can be motivated to great acts of bravery for God, and sometimes for country. But rarely for something abstract, like a political philosophy, and hardly ever for a political leader. They often don't trust their leaders." "I must be an Arab."

"But there's something else that really motivates an Arab. A personal vendetta. You know? Like the Sicilians." "I know."

"Like, if you kill my son or my father, or fuck my daughter or my wife, I'll hunt you down to the ends of the earth, if it takes me a lifetime, and I'll kill everyone you know or are related to until I get to you."

"I thought my wife's boss was fucking her. I sent him a case of champagne."

"Arabs don't think like that. Are you listening to me?" "I get it. This could be a blood feud. A vendetta." "Right. Could be. Also, Khalil doesn't care if he lives or dies trying to avenge the blood feud. It's only important that he tries. If he dies, he's still avenged, and he's going to Paradise."

"I'll try to help him get there."

Gabe said, "If and when you two meet, the one who recognizes the other last is the one who's going to Paradise." He laughed.

I left. Why does everyone find it funny that my picture was in the papers?

Back in the ICC, I got a fresh cup of coffee at the well-stocked coffee bar. There were croissants and brioche, muffins and cookies, but no donuts. Is this interagency cooperation?

Anyway, I mulled over what Gabe had said. While mulling, Kate came over to the coffee bar and said, "Mrs. Rose Hambrecht is on the telephone. I clarified who we are."

I put down my coffee mug and hurried to my desk. I picked up the receiver and said, "Mrs. Hambrecht, this is John Corey of the FBI Task Force."

A cultured voice replied, "What does this concern, Mr. Corey?"

Kate sat at her desk opposite me and picked up her telephone. I replied, "First, my deepest condolences on the death of your husband."

"Thank you."

"I've been assigned to do some follow-up work regarding his death."

"Murder."

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sure you're tired of answering questions-"

"I'll answer questions until his murderer is found."

"Thank you." You'd be surprised how many spouses don't give a rat's ass if the murderer of their departed honey-bun is found, notwithstanding the surviving spouse's hidden desire to personally thank the culprit. But Mrs. H. seemed to be a grieving widow, so this might go well. I winged it and said, "My records show that you've been questioned by the FBI, the Air Force CID, and Scotland Yard. Correct?"

"Correct. And by Air Force Intelligence, British MI-5, MI-6, and our CIA."

I looked at Kate, and we made eye contact. I said, "So that would seem to suggest that some people think there was a political motive for this murder."

"That's what I think. No one is telling me what they think."

"But your husband wasn't involved in politics, or in intelligence work, according to his personnel file."

"That's correct. He was always a pilot, a commander, and recently a staff officer."

I was trying to slide into the deleted information without spooking her, so I said contrarily, "We're now starting to think this was a random murder. Your husband was targeted by an extremist group simply because he wore an American military uniform." "Nonsense."

I thought so, too, so I asked her, "Can you think of anything in his background that would make him a specific target of an extremist group?"

Silence, then, "Well… it has been suggested that his involvement in the Gulf War may have made him a target of Muslim extremists. The captain of the Vincennes -do you know about that?" "No, ma'am."

So she explained it to me, and I did recall the attempted assassination. I asked, "So, it's possible that this was revenge for his part in the Gulf War?"

"Yes, it's possible… but there were so many fliers involved in that war. Thousands. And Bill was only a major then. So I never understood why he would be singled out."

"But some people suggested to you that he was." "Yes. Some people did." "But you're not sure of that."

"No. I'm not." She stayed silent awhile, and I let her think about what she was sure of. Finally, she said, "Then with the death of Terry and Gail Waycliff, how could anyone still think my husband's death was random, or connected to the Gulf War? Terry wasn't even in the Gulf." I looked at Kate, who shrugged. I said, trying not to sound like I was clueless, "You think the Waycliffs' deaths were related to your husband's death?"

"Perhaps…"

If she thought so, then so did I. But she also thought I was informed, which I was not. I said, "Can you add anything to what we know about the Waycliffs' deaths?"

"Not much more than was in the papers."

"Which story did you read?"

"Which story? The Air Force Times. It was also reported in the Washington Post, of course. Why do you ask?"

I looked up at Kate, who was already on her computer banging away at the keyboard. I replied to Mrs. Hambrecht, "Some of the stories were inaccurate. How did you first hear of the deaths?"

"The Waycliff daughter-Sue-called me yesterday." She added, "They were apparently killed sometime Sunday."

I sat up in my chair. Killed? As in murdered? Kate's printer was spitting something out. I said to Mrs. Hambrecht, "Has anyone from the FBI or the Air Force spoken to you about this?"

"No. You're the first.".

Kate was reading her printout and marking it. I motioned impatiently for her to hand it to me, but she kept reading it. I asked Mrs. Hambrecht, "Did their daughter indicate to you that she thought there was something suspicious about her parents' deaths?"

"Well, she was very distraught, as you can imagine. She said it appeared to be a robbery, but she sounded as though she wasn't sure." She added, "Their housekeeper was also murdered."

I was running out of generic questions and finally Kate handed me the printout. I said to Mrs. Hambrecht, "Please hold." I put her on hold.

Kate said, "We may have hit on something."

I quickly read the online news story from the Washington Post, discovering that Terrance Waycliff was an Air Force general, working in the Pentagon. Basically, it was reported as a straight homicide piece, saying that General and Mrs. Waycliff and a housekeeper were found shot to death in the Waycliffs' Capitol Hill town house late Monday morning by the General's adjutant, who became concerned when his boss didn't report for work at his Pentagon office and didn't answer his telephone or pager.

There was sign of forced entry-the door chain had been ripped from the jamb-and it appeared that the motive was robbery-there were valuables and cash missing. The General was in uniform and had apparently just returned from church, setting the time of the robbery and murder at about Sunday morning. The police were investigating.

I looked up at Kate and said, "What is the link between General Waycliff and Colonel Hambrecht?" "I don't know. Find out."