Nelson Demille - The Lion's Game

I looked at my watch and saw that Mr. Rahman had been here about twenty minutes, which was not long enough to make Khalil nervous. I asked Azim, "Was there a specific time you were supposed to call?"

"Yes, sir. I was to deliver my package at nine P.M., then to drive ten minutes and make the telephone call from my van."

"Okay, tell him you got lost for a few minutes. Take a deep breath, relax, and think nice thoughts."

Mr. Rahman went into a deep-breathing meditation mode.

I asked him, "You watch the X-Files?"

I thought I heard Kate groan.

Mr. Rahman smiled and said, "Yes, I have watched this."

"Good. Scully and Mulder work for the FBI. Just like us. Do you like Scully and Mulder?"

"Yes."

"They're the good guys. Right? We're the good guys." He was polite enough not to bring up the subject of me knocking his nuts around. As long as he didn't forget it. I said, "And, we will make sure you are safely moved to wherever you want to live. I can get you out of California," I assured him. I asked, "Are you married?"

"Yes."

"Kids?"

"Five."

I'm glad he had the kids before he met me. I said, "You've heard of the Witness Protection Program. Right?"

"Yes."

"And you get some money. Right?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Are you supposed to meet this man after your telephone call?"

"Yes."

"Excellent. Where?"

"Where he says."

"Right. Make sure your telephone call leads to that meeting. Yes?"

I didn't get an enthusiastic response. I asked Mr. Rahman, "If all he needed from you was to come here and see if Wiggins was home, or to see if the police were here, why does he need to meet you again?"

Mr. Rahman had no idea, so I gave him an idea. "Because he wants to kill you, Azim. You know too much. Understand?" Mr. Rahman swallowed hard and nodded.

I had some good news for him, and I said, "This man will be captured, and he will cause you no further trouble. If you do this for us, we will take you to lunch at the White House, and you will meet the President. Then we give you the money. Okay?"

"Okay."

I took Tom to the side and said softly, "Does anyone here speak Arabic?"

He shook his head and said, "Never needed an Arabic speaker in Ventura." He added, "Juan speaks Spanish."

"Close enough." I went back to Mr. Rahman and said, "Okay, dial the number. Keep the conversation in English. But if you can't, my friend Juan here understands a little Arabic, so don't fuck around. Dial."

Mr. Azim Rahman took a deep breath, cleared his throat yet again and said, "I need to smoke a cigarette."

Oh, shit! I heard a few groans. I said, "Does anyone here smoke?"

Mr. Rahman said, "You have taken my cigarettes."

I informed him, "You can't smoke your own, pal."

"Why may I not-"

"In case they're poison. I thought you watched the X-Files."

"Poison? They are not poison."

"Of course they are. Forget the cigarettes."

"I must have a cigarette. Please."

I know the feeling. I said to Tom, "I'll light one of his."

Tom produced Azim's cigarettes-not Camels-and in an act of uncommon bravery, put one in his own mouth and flipped Azim's lighter. Tom said to Azim, "If this is poison, and it harms me, my friends will-"

I helped out and said, "We'll cut you up with knives and feed the pieces to a dog."

Azim looked at me. He said, "Please. I want only a cigarette."

Tom lit up, took a drag, coughed, didn't die, and handed the cigarette to Azim, who puffed away without dropping dead.

I said, "Okay, my friend. Time to make your telephone call. Keep it in English."

"I don't know if I can do that." He nursed the cigarette as he dialed the telephone, flipping the ash into his coffee cup. "I will try."

"Try hard. And make sure you understand where you have to meet him."

Rahman listened to the rings, which we could all hear, then Azim Rahman said into the telephone, "Yes, this is Tannenbaum."

Tannenbaum?

He listened, then said, "I'm sorry. I became lost."

He listened again, then suddenly the expression on his face changed, and he looked at us, then said something into the telephone. I have no idea what he said because it was in Arabic.

He continued the conversation in Arabic, making helpless shrugging gestures toward us. But Juan was cool, pretending to listen, nodding, even whispering in my ear. Juan whispered to me, "What the fuck is he saying?"

I made eye contact with Mr. Rahman, mouthed the word " Ventura " at him, and made a cutting gesture across my throat, which in Arabic or English or whatever is understandable.

He continued his conversation, and it was obvious, despite everyone's lack of Arabic, that Mr. Khalil was putting Mr. Rahman on the spot. In fact, Mr. Rahman began to sweat. Finally, he put the cell phone to his chest and said simply, "He's asking to speak to my new friends." No one said anything.

Mr. Rahman looked very distraught and said to us, "I am sorry. I tried. This man is too clever. He is asking me to sound the horn of my van. He knows. I did not tell him. Please. I do not want to speak to him."

So, I took the cell phone and found myself talking to Asad Khalil. I said, pleasantly, "Hello? Mr. Khalil?" A deep voice replied, "Yes. And who are you?" It's not a good idea to give a terrorist your name, so I said, "I am a friend of Mr. Wiggins."

"Are you? And where is Mr. Wiggins?" "He's out and about. Where are you, sir?" He laughed. Ha, ha. He said, "I, too, am out and about." I had turned up the volume and was keeping the phone away from my face, and I had seven heads around me. We were all interested in what Asad Khalil had to say, but also everyone was listening for a background sound that might be a clue as to where he was. I said, "Why don't you come to Mr. Wiggins' house and wait for him here?"

"Perhaps I'll wait for him elsewhere."

This guy was smooth. I didn't want to lose him, so I resisted the temptation to call him a camel-fucking scumbag murderer. I felt my heart beating rapidly and took a breath.

"Hello? Are you there?"

I replied, "Yes, sir. Is there anything you'd like to tell me?"

"Perhaps. But I don't know who you are."

"I am with the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

There was a silence, then, "And do you have a name?"

"John. What would you like to tell me?"

"What would you like to know, John?"

"Well, I think I know almost everything there is to know. That's why I'm here. Right?"

He laughed. I hate it when scumbags do that. He said, "Let me tell you some things you may not know."

"Okay."

"My name, as you know, is Asad, from the family of Khalil. I once had a father, a mother, two brothers, and two sisters." He then proceeded to give me their names, and a few other details about his family, ending with, "They are all dead now."

He went on, talking about the night of April 15, 1986, as though it was still fresh in his mind, which I guess it was. He ended his story with, "The Americans killed my entire family."

I looked at Kate, and we nodded at each other. We'd gotten that part right, though it didn't matter much anymore. I said to Asad Khalil, "I sympathize with you, and I-"

"I don't need your sympathy." Then he said, "I have lived my life to avenge my family and my country."

This was going to be a difficult conversation, since we had so little in common, but I wanted to keep him on the line, so I used the techniques I'd learned in hostage negotiating class and said, "Well, I can certainly understand that. Now it may be time to tell the world your story."

"Not yet. My story is not finished."

"I see. Well, when it is, I'm sure you'd like to tell us all the details, and we'd like to give you an opportunity to do so."

"I don't need you to give me any opportunities. I make my own opportunities."