F. Paul Wilson - Infernal

"You're exaggerating, Jack. We simply have certain tastes in common."

And many, many more you don't, he thought.

Jack smiled. "I wonder if he's making a play for you."

"Don't be silly. I'm pregnant with your baby." She returned his smile. "But every woman likes a little attention and flattery now and then."

Jack put on a shocked expression. "I'm not attentive?"

She patted his thigh. "Sometimes you're… remote."

That was a gentle way of putting it. Jack knew sometimes he became so preoccupied with a fix that he was virtually not there.

"Guilty. Hey, how did we get from the subject of Tom's crazy idea to me?"

"Okay. What's his crazy idea?"

"He wants me to go to Bermuda with him."

Gia looked at him. "When?"

"Now."

"Now? Right after the two of you just buried your father?" She shook her head. "I gather he's not talking about a vacation."

Jack wondered how much to say.

"No, he's talking about money. Apparently he's in some kind of trouble."

"What kind?"

"The legal kind."

She made a face. "Violence?"

"No. More the white-collar kind—or maybe I should say black-robed. Anyway, he needs money and he's got some stashed in Bermuda."

"Did you tell him you don't have a passport?"

"Yeah. But neither does he. Apparently it was confiscated."

Gia winced. "Ooh. Sounds like he's in big trouble. So how does he figure on getting to Bermuda without a passport?"

Jack told her about Tom's boat scheme, finishing with, "No way I'm doing that."

"You don't sound too happy about the decision."

"I'm not. He played the Dad card—said Dad would want me to help him out."

Gia shrugged. "I think you should go."

"What?" He glanced at her. "You're not supposed to drink or do drugs while you're pregnant, you know."

"I'm serious. You need a break, Jack. You've been going nonstop since Kate died. You're overdue."

"I had that week in Florida."

She squeezed his thigh. "You're not going to try to tell me that was a break."

"Well, no."

Anything but.

"Getting away will be good for you."

"With you pregnant? Forget it."

"How long is he talking about?"

"About four days, I'd guess. Maybe five. Way too long with you in your sixth month."

"I'm fine. And I'll be fine. Nothing's going to happen in five days. And in case anything does, I've got Doctor Eagleton just minutes away."

"But—"

"No buts. You can't use me as an excuse."

"I've got other reasons for not going."

"Such as?"

Jack didn't want to mention his plan to exact some unofficial payback, if possible.

If possible… a big if . But if the opportunity came around, Jack didn't want to be out of the country.

He did not want to miss out on something like that. Gia touched his thigh again. "Jack, he's your brother. He needs your help. How can you say no?" Jack would find a way.

4

When Jack got back home the first thing he did was call Ed Burkes at the UK Mission to the UN for an update. Jack had done a fix-it for the UK mission there a few years ago and so he'd asked Burkes for help. Ed had been shocked to hear about Jack's father. He'd promised to do anything he could to help Jack get a line on the Wrath of Allah.

But Burkes had nothing. His buddies in MI-5 were as baffled as everybody else. None of their contacts in the Arab world had ever heard of the Wrath of Allah.

Jack slowly, grudgingly was reaching the point where he had to admit that international terrorism might be out of his league. Way out. Not that he wouldn't take on a roomful of them if given the chance. But the chance part seemed a dead end. Like chasing smoke. These Islamic nuts didn't frequent the bars and clubs where Jack's contacts hung. They weren't out and about, drinking too much, shooting their mouths off. How do you get a line on crazies who cluster in tight, insular, incestuous knots of fanaticism?

He thanked Burkes and hung up.

5

Jack loitered at the rear of the Isher Sports Shop and made small talk with Abe about the wake and funeral until the door closed behind the last customer. When he was sure they had the shop to themselves, he leaned on the scarred counter.

"Any news?"

Abe spread his hands and shook his head. "Not a thing."

Jack had asked Abe to poll his fellow gunrunners about the Tavor-2.

"Nothing?"

"What can I say? This will take time. Not like there's a directory out there. And the ones I do know aren't talking."

"Really? I'm surprised they wouldn't trust you."

"Trust shmust. Who knows anymore in this business? What if I'd been picked up and what if I'd cut a deal to rat out my competition? After nine-eleven, already we were paranoid. Now…"

Jack nodded. The runners took a beating from all the post-9/11 security measures—especially the truck and van searches.

Abe said, "After La Guardia, with the feds trying to trace the Arabs' weapons, we're all running scared."

"Nobody's saying anything ?"

"Like clams they become as soon as they hear what I'm asking. Not that I expected them to yammer like yentas, but I can see the shutters close and hear the doors slam when I say the magic word."

"Tavor-two?"

"Right. 'Never heard of it'… 'Never carried it'… 'Don't know what you're talking about'… 'Why ask me? I run a candy store.' Bupkis I got. Sorry."

"It's all right. Least you tried."

"Until this cools down or something breaks, like mummies they'll be. Too scared of the feds."

That started an idea…

"But what if they're hit by something that scares them more?"

He decided to put in a call to Joey Castles.

6

Jack had called him and asked for a meet at this Upper West Side dive called Julio's. They'd met out front and wandered in. Typical neighborhood watering hole except for all the dead plants hanging in the front windows. What was up with that?

Joey could tell Jack was a regular by the way just about everyone crowded around him, patting his shoulders and shaking his hand and saying how sorry they were about his dad.

Joey hung off to the side, feeling like he was standing there with his dick in his hand. But not for long. Jack cut it short and said thanks but he had some business. Everyone wandered back to their places.

So now the two of them sat in a back corner. A short, ripped spic brought them a couple of Rolling Rocks. Jack introduced him as the owner.

"Anything I can do, meng," he said as he gripped Jack's hand. "Anything. You just say the word."

When he was gone Joey ran a finger through the wet ring left by his beer bottle and said, "You got something shaking, Jack?"

"Not a thing. Nada. My guy's been asking around and coming up empty."

"And your guy is…?"

Jack gave him a look.

Joey smiled. This was what he liked about this guy.

"Jack the Sphinx. A boccalone you ain't."

"I put the word out to everyone I know on the street to call me first if they hear anything. No one's called."

"Same here."

"The key is those Tavor-twos. They weren't bought at Wal-Mart. Can only be so many in the country. We find who sold them, we can find who they sold them to."

Joey shook his head. He'd had the same thought.

"Trouble is, no one's talking."

"That's because they're not scared of us."

"So what do we do? Brace them? Put the hurt on them?"

Jack gave him another kind of look.

"Come on, Jack. I know what you're thinking: Joey's a bidonista, what's he know about rough stuff? Maybe you don't know 'cause you've never seen, but I can handle myself."

"Never crossed my mind, Joey. No, I was thinking of a bigger scare than us."

"Like?"

"Well, I know your last name isn't Castles. What I don't know is if you're connected."