Nelson Demille - The Lion's Game

"I… took him… he wanted to drive… so we drove…"

"Where?"

"We drive up the coast road…"

"Why?"

"I do not know-"

"How long did you drive? Where did you go?"

"We drove to nowhere… we drive… perhaps an hour, or more, then we return here, and we find a shopping mall that was now open-"

"A shopping mall? What shopping mall?"

Mr. Rahman said he didn't know the mall because he was not from around here. But Kim, who was from the Ventura office, knew it by Rahman's description, and she quickly left the room to call the troops. But I had no doubt that Asad Khalil had not stuck around the mall all day.

I backtracked to the airport and asked Rahman, "You met him with your van?"

"Yes."

"At the main terminal?"

"No… at the other side. In a coffee shop…"

Further questioning revealed that Mr. Rahman met Mr. Khalil at the General Aviation side of Santa Monica Airport, leading me to believe that Khalil had arrived by private plane. Made sense.

Then, with time to kill until dark, the two Libyan gents took a nice scenic drive up the coast, then got back to Ventura where Mr. Khalil expressed a desire to do a little shopping, maybe get a bite to eat, and maybe buy a few souvenirs. I asked Rahman, "What was he wearing?" "A suit and a tie." "Color?"

"A gray… a dark gray suit."

"And what was he carrying? Luggage?"

"Only a bag, sir, which he disposed of as we drove. I drove him into a canyon."

I looked around. "What's a canyon?"

Tom explained. Sounded silly to me.

Back to Azim Rahman. I asked him, "Could you find this canyon again?"

"I… I don't know… perhaps… in the daytime… I will try…"

"You bet you will." I then asked him, "Did you give him anything? Did you have a package for him?"

"Yes, sir. Two packages. But I do not know what they contained."

Well, everyone there probably took the same course I did in something called Crateology, so I asked Mr. Rahman, "Describe the packages, the weight, size, all of that."

Mr. Rahman described a generic box, about the size of a microwave oven, except it was light, leading us all to believe it may have contained a change of clothes, and perhaps some documents. Crateology.

The second package was more interesting and scary. It was long. It was narrow. It was heavy. It did not contain a tie.

We all looked at one another. Even Azim Rahman knew what was in that package.

I turned my attention back to our star witness and asked him, "Did he also dispose of the packages, or does he still have them?"

"He has the packages." „

I thought a moment and concluded that Asad Khalil was now decked out in new duds, had new identity papers, and had a sniper rifle broken down in some sort of innocuous-looking bag, like a backpack.

I inquired of Mr. Rahman, "This man sent you here to see if Mr. Wiggins was home?"

"Yes."

"You understand that this man is Asad Khalil, who killed everyone on board that aircraft that landed in New York."

Mr. Rahman claimed that he didn't make the connection, so I made it for him, and explained, "If you are helping this man, you will be shot, or hanged, or fried in the electric chair, or put to death by lethal injection, or put into the gas chamber. Or maybe we'll chop your head off. You understand?"

I thought he was going to faint.

I continued, "But if you help us capture Asad Khalil, you get a million-dollar reward." Not likely. "You saw that on television, didn't you?"

He nodded enthusiastically, giving away the fact that he knew who his passenger had been.

"So, Mr. Rahman, stop dragging your ass. I want your full cooperation."

"I am doing that, sir."

"Good. Who hired you to meet this man at the airport?"

He cleared his throat again and replied, "I do not know… truly, I do not know…" He then went into a convoluted explanation of a mysterious man who accosted him one day, about two weeks ago, at the gas station in Hollywood where Mr. Rahman actually worked. The man asked his assistance in aiding a compatriot and offered him ten thousand dollars, ten percent then, ninety percent later, and so forth. Classic recruiting by an intelligence agent-maybe twice removed-of some poor schmuck who needed cash and had relatives in the old country. Dead end, since Mr. Rahman was not going to ever see this guy again to collect his nine Gs. I said to Rahman, "These people would kill you before they would pay you. You know too much. You understand?"

He understood.

"They picked you out of the Libyan community because you look like Asad Khalil, and you were sent here to see if there was a trap waiting for him. Not just to see if Wiggins was here. You understand?"

He nodded.

"And look at you now. Are you sure these people are your friends?"

He shook his head. The poor guy looked miserable, and I was feeling badly about kneeing him in the balls and almost suffocating him. But he'd brought it on himself.

I said, "Okay, here's the big question, and your life depends on the answer. When, where, and how are you supposed to contact Asad Khalil?"

He took a long, deep breath and replied, "I am to call him."

"Okay. Let's call him. What's the number?"

Azim Rahman recited a telephone number, and Tom said, "That's a cell phone number."

Mr. Rahman agreed and said, "Yes, I gave this man a cell phone. I was instructed to buy two cell phones… the other is in my vehicle."

Kate had that cell phone, which had a Caller ID on it, and I assumed Asad Khalil's cell phone also had a Caller ID. I asked Mr. Rahman, "What is the telephone company for these cell phones?"

He thought a moment, then replied, "Nextel."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I was instructed to use Nextel."

I looked at Tom, who shook his head, meaning they couldn't trace a Nextel call. In reality, it was difficult to trace any cell phone, though back at 26 Federal Plaza and One Police Plaza, we had these devices called Trigger Fish and Swamp Box that could at least tell you the general location of an AT T or Bell Atlantic call. Mr. Rahman's friends had apparently ignored the enticements and bullying of the big carriers and taken advantage of an unadvertised feature of a smaller carrier, a feature known in the trade as the Fuck the Feds Feature. These people were not as stupid as some of their compatriots. Bad break for us, but there had been a lot of them, and this wasn't the last.

It was time to make Mr. Rahman more comfortable, so Tom uncuffed him. Rahman rubbed his wrists, and we helped him to his feet.

He seemed to have difficulty standing straight and complained about a pain in an unspecified area.

We sat Mr. Rahman down in a nice easy chair, and Kim went into the kitchen to get him a cup of coffee.

Everyone was a little more optimistic, though the chances of Azim Rahman bullshitting Asad Khalil into thinking everything was fine at the Wiggins house were pretty slim. But you never know. Even a smart guy like Khalil could be conned if he was obsessed with a goal, like murdering someone.

Kim returned with a black coffee, which Mr. Rahman sipped. Okay, coffee break is over. I said to our government witness, "Look at me, Azim. Is there a code word you're supposed to use for danger?"

He looked at me like I'd discovered the secret of the universe. He said, "Yes. This is so. If I am… as I am now… then I am to say the word ' Ventura ' in my talk to him." He gave us a nice example, by using the word in a sentence like I had to do in school, and said, "Mr. Perleman, I have delivered the package to Ventura."

"Okay, make sure you don't say the word ' Ventura,' or I'll have to kill you."

He nodded vigorously.

So, Edie went into the kitchen to take the house phone off the hook, everyone shut off their cell phones, and if there had been a dog in the house, he would have gotten a nice walk.