Nelson Demille - The Lion's Game

The elevator came and I got in, leaving the job in good hands.

Up on the twenty-sixth floor, I moved quickly to the ICC and got to my desk. I dialed the number of Chip Wiggins in Burbank, hoping to get a forwarding number, but a recording informed me that the number had been disconnected and there was no further information available.

I looked at the two fax sheets and noted that Waycliff, McCoy, and Satherwaite had already been murdered, Paul Grey wasn't coming to the phone, and Wiggins was missing. Hambrecht had been murdered in England in January, and I wondered if anyone at the time had thought about why. Steven Cox was the only one to die a natural death, if you consider killed in action as natural for a fighter pilot. Mrs. Hambrecht had indicated that one of the men was very ill, and I guessed that was Callum. The next reunion of these eight guys didn't need a big room.

I got on my computer, and remembering from past experience that homicides in some rural places in Florida are handled by the County Sheriff 's Department, I discovered that Spruce Creek is in Volusia County. I got the phone number of the Sheriff's office and dialed, waiting for some cracker to answer. Meanwhile, I knew I was supposed to alert the Counterterrorism section in the Hoover Building ASAP, but a call like that could take an hour, followed by a mandatory written report, and my instinct was to call the potential victims first. In fact, it was more than instinct, it was my own standard operating procedure. If someone was looking to whack me, I'd want to be the first to know about it.

"Sheriff's Department, Deputy Foley speaking."

The guy sounded like he was from my neck of the woods.

"Sheriff, this is John Corey of the FBI field office in New York. I'm calling to report a murder threat against a Spruce Creek resident named Paul Grey-"

"Too late."

"Okay… when and where?"

"Can you identify yourself further?"

"Call me back through the switchboard here." I gave him the general number, and hung up.

About fifteen seconds later, the phone rang and it was Deputy Sheriff Foley. He said, "My computer says this is the number of the Anti-Terrorist Task Force."

"That's right."

"What's the angle?"

"I can't say until I hear what you have to say. National security."

"Yeah? What's that mean?"

This guy was definitely a New Yorker, and I played that card. "You from New York?"

"Yeah. How can you tell?"

"Wild guess. I was NYPD. Homicide. I'm double-dipping."

"I was a patrolman in the One-Oh-Six in Queens. Lots of NYPD down here, working and retired. I'm a Deputy Sheriff. Funny, right?"

"Hey, I might join you."

"They love NYPD here. They think we know what we're doing." He laughed.

So, the bonding over, I said to him, "Tell me about the murder."

"Okay. It took place in the victim's house. Home office. Monday. Coroner put the time of death about noon, but the air conditioner was on, so maybe earlier. Body discovered at about eight-fifteen P.M. by us, acting on a tip from a woman named Stacy Moll. She's a private pilot who flew a customer from Jacksonville Municipal Airport to the victim's home. The house is on an airstrip in this fly-in community called Spruce Creek, outside of Daytona Beach. The customer said he had business with the deceased."

"Indeed he did."

"Right. So this customer tells the lady pilot his name is Demitrious Poulos, an antiques dealer from Greece, but afterward, this woman sees this photo in the newspaper, and she thinks her customer was this guy Asad Khalil."

"She got that right."

"Jesus. I mean, we thought she was hallucinating, but then we find this guy dead… why'd Khalil want to whack this guy?"

"He has a thing about airplanes. I don't know. What else?"

"Well, two gunshot wounds, one abdomen, one head. Also, the cleaning lady got it, single shot to the back of the head."

"Did you recover slugs or shell casings?"

"Only the slugs. Three forty caliber."

"Okay. I guess you notified the FBI."

"Yeah. I mean, we didn't actually believe the Asad Khalil thing, but that aside, the victim seemed to be involved in some sort of defense work, and there could be some computer disks missing, according to the victim's girlfriend, who we located."

"But did you report the possible Khalil connection to the FBI?"

"We did. To the Jacksonville field office. They informed us they were getting Asad Khalil sightings every fifteen minutes." He added, "They didn't take it too seriously, but said they'd send an agent down. Still waiting."

"Right. So, after Spruce Creek, this lady pilot flew her customer where?"

"Back to Jacksonville Municipal, then drove him to Jacksonville International. The guy said he was flying back to Greece."

I thought that over and asked, "Did you notify the Jacksonville PD?"

"Of course. You think I forgot everything I know? They checked out the airport, manifests, ticket sales, and all that, but no Demitrious Poulos."

"Okay… how long did the perp stay in the house with the victim?"

"The pilot said about half an hour."

I nodded. I could almost re-create that conversation between Asad Khalil and Paul Grey.

I asked Sergeant Foley a few more questions and got a few more answers, but basically, that was it. Except that some FBI agents in Jacksonville were in deep shit, but they didn't know it yet. Asad Khalil sightings every fifteen minutes. But this one was real. I didn't know who Stacy Moll was, but I'd try to get her a few Federal bucks for good citizenship.

Deputy Foley asked me, "You closing in on this guy?"

"I think so."

"This is one bad motherfucker."

"Really."

"Hey, how's the weather in New York?"

"Perfect."

"Fucking hot here. By the way, the lady pilot said her customer would be back next week. Made a reservation to fly back to Spruce Creek."

"Don't hold your breath."

"Right. She also made a dinner date with him."

"Tell her she's lucky to be alive."

"Really."

"Thanks." I hung up and noted next to Paul Grey's name, "murdered," with the date and approximate time. That reunion just got smaller. In fact, maybe only Chip Wiggins would be there, unless Wiggins had moved east, and already had a visit from Asad Khalil. Bob Callum was still alive in Colorado, and I wondered if Khalil had left him alive because he knew the man was, according to Mrs. Hambrecht, very ill, or because Khalil simply hadn't gotten to Colorado yet. And where was Wiggins? If we could save Wiggins' life, that would be a small victory in a game where the score was Lion five, home team zip.

Kate came into the cubicle and sat at her desk. She said, "I stayed on the line with Mrs. Callum and held until she called the police and the Academy Provost Marshal on a second line. She said she has a gun and knows how to use it."

"Good."

"She said her husband was very ill. Cancer."

I nodded.

"Do you think Khalil knows that?"

"I'm trying to figure out what he doesn't know." I said to her, "I called the Daytona Beach police. Paul Grey was murdered Monday, about noon, maybe earlier."

"Oh, my God…"

I told her all of what Deputy Sheriff Foley told me, then said, "The way I figure it, Khalil got in Jabbar's taxi, did not go to McCoy's museum on Long Island, but got out of the area, which was smart, went directly to Perth Amboy, whacked Jabbar, got in a waiting car, drove to D.C., stayed someplace, went to Waycliff's house, whacked the General, his wife, and housekeeper, then somehow got to Jacksonville Municipal Airport, took a private plane to Spruce Creek, whacked Paul Grey and his cleaning lady, then flew back in the private plane to Jacksonville, then… I guess went to Moncks Corner… Satherwaite's business address is a charter flying service, so Khalil charters Satherwaite's plane with Satherwaite piloting, and they fly to Long Island for a reunion. Must have been an interesting flight. They get to Long Island, whack, whack, he does them both in the museum-in an F-111, no less, and also whacks the guard. Fucking incredible."