Nelson Demille - The Lion's Game

Khalil recalled telling Boris, "As long as you don't develop multiple loyalties, you will be much happier and much healthier."

The intercom crackled, breaking into Khalil's memories of Boris.

Captain Fiske said, "Mr. Perleman, I apologize for the turbulence, but this is typical of a mountain range."

Khalil wondered why the pilot would apologize for something that God, not he, controlled.

Captain Fiske continued, "The air should smooth out in about twenty minutes. Our flight plan tonight will take us southwest across Colorado, then over what is known as the Four Corners-the place where the state borders of Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, and Utah come together. Then we continue southwest across the northern portion of Arizona. Unfortunately, you won't be able to see much after the moon sets, but you should be able to make out the desert and high plateaus."

Khalil had seen more desert in his life than these two had seen in their combined lives. He picked up his intercom and said, "Please let me know when we are passing over the Grand Canyon."

"Yes, sir. Hold on a moment… okay, in forty minutes we'll pass approximately fifty miles south of the South Rim. You may be able to see the general area of the Canyon from the right side, and certainly the high plateau beyond. But I'm afraid it won't be a very clear view from this altitude and distance."

Khalil had no interest at all in seeing the Grand Canyon. He was only assuring himself of a wake-up call in the event he fell asleep. He said, "Thank you. Don't hesitate to wake me when we approach the Canyon."

"Yes, sir."

Khalil tilted back his seat and closed his eyes. He thought again of Colonel Callum and was convinced he had made the correct decision in letting the Angel of Death deal with that murderer. He thought, too, of his next visit, to Lieutenant Wiggins. Wiggins, they had told him in Tripoli, was a man of erratic movements, unlike the men of habit and predictable existence that he had already killed. For this reason, and because Wiggins came at the end of his list, there would be someone in California to assist him. Khalil did not want or need assistance, but this portion of his mission was the most critical, the most dangerous, and also, as the world would soon discover, the most important.

Khalil felt himself falling into a sleep, and he dreamed again of a man who was stalking him. It was a confusing dream in which both he and the man were flying over the desert, Khalil in the lead, the man behind him, but out of sight-and flying over both of them was the Angel of Death that he had seen in the Kufra oasis. The Angel, he sensed, was contemplating which man he would touch and make fall to the earth.

This dream somehow transformed into a dream of him and the lady pilot flying naked, hand in hand, looking for a flat rooftop on which to alight so they could engage in carnal pleasure. Each building they saw below had been destroyed by a bomb.

The intercom crackled, and Khalil awoke with a start, sweat on his face, and his organ aroused.

The pilot said, " Grand Canyon coming up to your right, Mr. Perleman."

Khalil took a long breath, cleared his throat, and said into the intercom, "Thank you."

He rose and went into the lavatory. As he washed his face and hands in cold water, the dreams continued to run through his mind.

He returned to his seat and glanced out the window. The full moon had nearly set on the horizon, and the earth below was black.

He reached for the airphone and dialed a number from memory. A man's voice answered, "Hello."

Khalil said, "This is Perleman. I'm sorry to have awakened you."

The man replied, "This is Tannenbaum. It is no problem. I sleep alone."

"Good. I'm calling to see if we have business to do."

The man said, "The business climate is good here."

"And where are our competitors?"

"They are nowhere to be seen."

The rehearsed exchange complete, Khalil concluded with, "I look forward to our meeting."

"As planned."

Khalil hung up and drew a deep breath, then picked up the intercom.

The captain answered, "Yes, Mr. Perleman?"

Khalil said, "My phone call has necessitated another change of plans."

"Yes, sir."

Boris had said to Khalil, "Mr. Perleman should not be overly apologetic when he keeps changing his flight plans. Mr. Perleman is Jewish, and he is paying good money, and he wants service for his money. Business comes firsthand everyone else's inconvenience is of no concern to him."

Khalil said to the pilot, "I need now to go to Santa Monica. I assume that is not a problem."

The pilot replied, "No, sir. There isn't much difference in flight time from our present position."

Khalil already knew that. "Good."

Captain Fiske continued, "There won't be any delay with Air Traffic Control at this hour."

"What is our flight time to Santa Monica?"

"I'm putting in the coordinates now, sir… okay, our flight time will be about forty minutes, which will get us near the municipal airport at about six A.M. We may have to slow up en route to be sure to land after six because of the noise curfew."

"I understand."

Twenty minutes later, the Learjet began its descent, and Khalil could see a low range of mountains in the soft glow of the sunrise behind them.

Captain Fiske came on the intercom and said, "We're beginning our descent, sir, so you may want to fasten your seat belt. Those are the San Bernardino Mountains ahead. Also, you can see the lights from the eastern edge of Los Angeles below. Santa Monica Airport is to your left front, near where the coast meets the ocean. We'll be on the ground in ten minutes."

Khalil did not reply. He felt the aircraft steepening its descent, and he could see enormous ribbons of lighted highways and roads below.

He set his wristwatch to California time, which was now 5:55 A.M.

He heard the pilot speaking on the radio, but could not hear the other end of the conversation because the pilots were listening on their earphones. They had not always used the earphones during the flight from New York, and Khalil had now and then been able to hear radio transmissions. He was not suspicious regarding the earphones, but it was worth noting in the event that other small deviations developed.

This flight had been planned in Tripoli so that his change of destination, announced over the Grand Canyon, would put him in Santa Monica no later-or even a few minutes earlier than if he'd landed in San Diego-and no earlier than the noise curfew allowed. If they were waiting for him in San Diego, and they discovered that he was going to Santa Monica, they had less than forty minutes to set a trap there. If it took longer to put the trap into place, the pilot would inform him of some delay, and Asad Khalil would make another request for a flight plan change, this time with a pistol to the pilot's head. Their alternate airport would be a small abandoned facility in the San Bernardino Mountains, only a few minutes' flying time from where they were now. A car with keys taped under the wheel well was waiting for him there. The authorities would soon learn who had the advantage-it was Asad Khalil in a private jet aircraft with a pistol.

They flew out over the ocean, then turned back toward the coast and continued their descent.

He waited for some indication of a delay in landing, but then he heard the Lear's landing gear being lowered, then watched the flaps extend from the back of the wing. Landing lights blinked on the tips of the wings and flashed into the cabin through the portholes.

All of these changes in flight plans, he knew, were no assurance that he would be safe on the ground. But since the possibility existed to change plans almost at will, it was decided to do so, if for no other reason than to make life more difficult for the Americans, if they were trying to trap him.