Agent of Influence: A Thriller (38 page)

“Yes, Mr. Gray has agreed that if we want to keep him as head of your security detail he is okay with it. Everything will be in place, just as we planned.”

Zach smiled for the first time. At least things on this side of the ocean were going smoothly.

“I look forward to the reunion,” Zach stated.

              “Get some sleep. I’ll be here tomorrow morning at seven a.m. sharp to pick you up.” Aman opened the door to leave, but stepped back into the room one more time. “And don’t call that whore again tonight. I don’t care if you have used her before and trust her. Just go to bed.” He slammed the door behind him. On the way out he gave strict instructions to the Secret Service agents to not let anyone into the suite without his permission.

Chapter 39

Alex stared at the dual computer screens in front of him, reading over the story for the third time. Anna stood behind him, crouching over his shoulder as she perused it as well. In a normal setting, having a beautiful woman like her breathing gently just a few inches away would have been quite enjoyable. The faint hint of her perfume would have been enough to throw all other thoughts out the window. In this case though, her sexuality was an afterthought, which spoke to the gravity of their mission.

             
They had spent the last few days cooped up inside the small cabin, trolling the Internet, and researching all the information that the CIA’s database contained on Zach and his companions. Their search continued to yield nothing but the normal biographical information that everyone in America already knew about the incoming president and Aman Kazim.

They were
still running into the same dead end. His life in the U.S. from age fifteen on was easily documented, but there was no record of his family or schooling in Cairo. As Anna discovered, even his birth records were unavailable. He was like a ghost in Cairo, with no documentation of his life until he appeared in the United States as a well-adjusted sixteen-year-old immigrant. He tore through his school lessons with ease while impressing every classmate and teacher who came in contact with him at Clark High School in Las Vegas.  He was one of the top students in his class by the time he graduated high school, and his grades earned him a spot at Yale, the epitome of Ivy League schooling.  His ascent toward fame continued at Yale as his prodigious ability in the classroom vaulted him towards the pinnacle.

             
After graduating in 1979 and finishing ninth in his class he returned to his home state of Nevada to run for Congress. A seat became vacant in his district at the perfect moment. The incumbent who held the seat the previous six years, and would have easily won re-election, decided to retire abruptly. An FBI report suggested that Aman greased the skids for his adoptive son, showering the congressman with gambling money and whores whenever he was in town. There were even rumors of a raunchy videotape locked away in a vault somewhere, but nothing could be verified. All that was known for sure was that the congressman from Nevada retired.

Aman’s money machine and political influence in
Las Vegas immediately made the Yale graduate a front-runner for the vacant seat.  By 1986 Zach made it to the U.S. Senate, and in 1990 he finally got married. After all, Zach could not become a power player in Washington until he took a wife.  No matter how much one ignored those wedding vows, Washington D.C. was about perception, not reality, and Zach slipped seamlessly in with the rest of the establishment.

             
Now Anna and Alex were on the trail of something new. Alex rocked back in his chair, gripped the table, and used it to balance himself while he waited for Anna to finish the story he had just shown her.  He found it during a simple, open source Internet search after they received a mid-flight phone call from Sean Hill. Sean was over the Atlantic, returning to the States with Colin Archer in tow. Anna refused to divulge the conversation to Alex except for one fact. Sean had told her that Aziz admitted to being in the U.S., however Sean was under the impression it had been a long time ago. They knew Aziz had been a horse trainer in Egypt so Alex did some searches, but they all yielded nothing.  Then he remembered what had once been merely an afterthought about Aman’s biography. Back in the 1960s Aman raced some horses, but none of them achieved any notoriety. They had all run poorly, and after a few tries he left the business in the 1970s in order to focus all his energy on his burgeoning casino business.

The story
Alex had just pulled off the Internet was an article from the Louisville Times dated May 5
th
, 1973. It was a short editorial handicapping the Kentucky Derby that was scheduled to run later that day. The writer, Eddie Lauren had picked a veritable unknown horse to win the race. He decided to pass on Secretariat, the overwhelming favorite, and pick a horse named Desert Sheik instead.  Desert Sheik was an unknown entity, and had just arrived from Egypt a few weeks earlier. A syndicate called Sheik Stables owned the horse. There was a short biography on the horse, its racing pedigree, and its performances overseas, all of which had been impeccable.

Mr. Lauren believed that the horse was being disregarded by the handicappers because it had never raced in the United States. Below the article was a picture of the horse being walked to the track. The caption read
“Desert Sheik is escorted to the track by owner Aman Kazim for a morning workout five days before the big race.”
A much slimmer version of Aman could be seen in the grainy black and white photo, gripping the reins of the horse and pulling the thoroughbred onto the early morning track.

             
She studied the photo intently, “Is this the only information on him regarding the race?”

“Yes, here is the rest of the information from that day. Specs on the other horses, names of trainers, owners, jockeys…” Alex gestured
towards the second monitor, which showed the racing forum for that day. Aman’s name was nowhere to be found. Only the name Sheik Stables was mentioned. He gestured towards the information on Desert Sheik’s trainer. The name Aziz Al-Fasal stared back at them.

             
“If I were a betting man I would venture a guess that Aziz Al-Fasal is really Aziz A’zami. Maybe Aziz came into the U.S. on a passport with that name. But why hide this information? If he was Aman’s trainer he must have had a much closer relationship with Aman than we previously thought. It appears that Aziz slipped up when he mentioned that he had been to the United States. If he snuck into the U.S. with the rest of the horse’s entourage, then he must have had an important task to complete here. But what?” Anna asked.

“Did they ask
, Aziz?”

             
“He’s dead.” As usual she went straight to the heart of the matter. She did not offer any more information, and Alex knew better than to ask.

“Aziz apparently killed himself in the middle of their questioning him.” She
leaned in closer to look into his eyes. “He poured boiling water all over himself. Died of a heart attack.”

Alex flinched at the thought of the horrific death. The man was either crazy or desperately trying to hide something.
An idea flashed across his mind. Could that reporter still be alive? He started furiously typing on the keyboard.

“Is that reporter
still alive by any chance?” Anna asked, her sudden flash of inspiration occurring almost simultaneously with Alex’s.

“I’m already on it,” Alex replied with excitement. The paper’s website popped up on the screen. He clicked on the sports section
, and there it was. Eddie Lauren was now the head columnist for the Louisville Times. “He’s been promoted since 1974,” Alex said in a matter of fact tone.

“It looks like we have som
ething resembling a lead. I’ll give Mr. Lauren a call. See if we can arrange an off-the-record interview.  Keep on looking through that. See if you can find anything else useful. I have some travel arrangements to make for us.” She stood up to leave.

             
“Us?” Alex asked with surprise.

“Yes, you lived in
Louisville for a time, didn’t you?”

             
“Uh-huh.” Alex perked up. He was back in the game.

“Always a good idea to bring along a pair of eyes that have already seen the landscape. I don’t think this should be too dangerous anyway.” She broke a smile for the first time he could remember.  “And
, Alex?” Anna asked, and then waited until he looked her in the eyes.

“Yes?” He asked nervously.

              “Good work.” The simple statement of gratitude coming from a professional was the best compliment he could have hoped for. He turned his attention back to the dual monitors and continued studying the screens.

              Aman stared out the tinted glass of the limousine in disgust. There was a massive crowd lining the sidewalk in front of the J. Edgar Hoover building.
Why did every fucking event they went to turn into a circus? 
They were going to tour the FBI building, then meet with Bret McMichael. The throng of people was an unusually large mix of gorgeous women, the normal political hacks, and a few families.  Zach was not only the incoming president, but also a widower, and he brought out a different type of political crowd. A large percentage of them appeared to be delusional women, pretending they had a chance to be the next First Lady. 

The limousine rolled to a stop on the curb. Aman would have preferred to go in the underground entrance, but Zach was insistent on mingling. He loved the adoration, even if he hated most of the people who screamed out their love for him. A pair of thong underwear fell harmlessly against the bulletproof glass, tossed from somewhere in the crowd. American women just did not know when to stop.

Zach chuckled softly. “They’re the size I like,” he said with a smirk, stretching his legs across the seat in front of him. They waited for the Secret Service to secure the area and create a corridor for them to move through.

             
Aman’s cell phone vibrated. He looked at the luminescent dial. It was Yohan.
Finally
. Aman gestured to the Secret Service agent outside the window that they would need a few extra minutes.

“Yes?” Aman listened intently, pushing the phone as close to his ear as possible as he took in the precious information. Aman’s eyebrows furrowed, “Ye
s, I understand the price.” He then fell silent as the voice on the other end continued. “I told you, you’ll get what you want,” Aman whispered, but was interrupted by the caller again. “Yes, I won’t ask for any more favors,” Aman said in an exasperated tone. He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling of the limousine as he rolled his eyes.
Fucking Jews
. No matter what the situation, they always find a way to make a buck out of it. Was Yohan talking this quietly, or was his hearing going bad along with every other part of his body? He made a mental note to have his hearing tested. He lowered his head, and Yohan finally stopped rambling.

             
“You’re sure? Okay. I truly appreciate this. I promise no one will find out it was you who leaked the information,” Aman said in an annoyed tone. He shook his head from side to side and stared at Zach. He pointed at the phone and mouthed to Zach that the politician would not shut up. “Yes. I will see you at the inauguration. Goodbye.” He flipped the phone down in finality and dialed another number by heart.

“Hello?”
Solomon’s voice answered after the first ring.

             
“Forget the woman. She’s gone to ground. I have a new one for you. Sean Hill, FBI. Arriving today at 3. Howell air base. ” Aman enunciated the words so there could be no mistake.

“Understood. Price remains the same,” Solomon stated without hesitation.

              “Agreed.” Aman slammed the phone shut. After a few seconds, he bent the flip phone the wrong way until it snapped in two. He had no intention of using it again.

“I’m getting screwed by everyone today, Zach. But I think we may have solved our problem, or if nothing else, at least temporarily patched our leak. All we need is a few more days anyway.”

Aman gestured to the Secret Service agent standing outside. The few minutes of being teased had caused the crowd to become frenzied with emotion. The door opened and Zach stepped out to the raucous cheers. His natural charm and magnetism kicked into gear. Aman rolled himself out of the plush seat and onto the pavement, falling in behind his adoptive son.
Just a few more minutes and we will be inside the five story metal building and away from these idiots.

***

              Solomon stretched his body across the cheap motel mattress and rubbed the two weeks of growth on his face. The new beard was already scratchy and annoying, but it was an absolute necessity. There were more spies from every country imaginable within a fifty mile radius of Washington D.C. than anywhere in the world, and they all had long memories.  It was also the reason he spent the last two weeks moving among remote motels in Northern Virginia every night, instead of staying in D.C. It made for some extra driving, but he felt safer outside the city limits.  Reaching underneath his pillow, he grabbed his FN Herstal 5.7mm pistol. He used the butt of the pistol to smash the face of the phone, rendering it useless. He then broke it in two.

The last couple weeks
had proven difficult and frustrating.  There had been a lot of money dangled in front of him to track down this woman, but he had come up empty. He contacted several people Aman trusted in the area with nothing to show for it. The woman was good at covering her tracks.  After seeing the carnage she inflicted on Gregor and his men he admitted to himself that he was a little fearful about his current task. He promised himself he would not take any stupid chances. If he did find her, he would only take her out if the risk of hurting himself in the process was minimal. Fear was a useful emotion, as long one understood how to control it.

Now Aman had assigned him
a new target, and there were less than six hours for him to put together a plan. Despite the dangerously short time frame he felt confident it could be done. Whoever this Sean Hill was, he could not be any more dangerous than the woman, and he was arriving on a military flight at a private air base. He knew the perfect location from where to watch the plane land. Solomon stepped out of bed and put on his earth tone outfit as he considered his options. The military planes that flew in to the base usually arrived at night in order to hide their approach, but this particular plane was not waiting. Whoever Sean Hill was, he was clearly confident that no one knew about his arrival. This was an edge that Solomon planned on exploiting to its maximum potential.

Ten minutes later he was suited up and ready. He wiped the motel room
down; cleaning off any potential fingerprints he may have left. The large duffel bag of clothes would be deposited in the dumpster on the way out. The smaller bag contained the additional firepower of the Heckler & Koch MP5K sub-machine gun and a few extra magazines of ammunition. There was not enough time to formulate a quiet plan of action so he would keep it simple. He would utilize an aggressive strike with as many bullets fired as possible. This would give him the optimum chance for killing his prey, and then getting the hell away.