Dark City (Repairman Jack - Early Years 02) (26 page)

Everything was moving so fast. Only two weeks had passed since he’d come over from Karachi. He’d barely settled himself in Reston with his friend Zahed when he received a call to rent a truck and turn it over to a Palestinian and an American at this spot. The caller was from New York and knew that he’d entered the country with fake papers that gave his name as “Kansi” instead of Kasi. The caller had said his help would further the cause of jihad. That was all Aimal had to hear.

A second call had come this afternoon, telling him to watch for a Ford Taurus. Aimal knew little of American cars so he had gone to a dealership and studied the model. He had an excellent memory and the car that had just pulled in was a Taurus.

This was all very exciting. He had come to America with the money his father had left him; he planned to start a business near the nation’s capital and blend in. But he would always be ready to strike at the Great Satan. Jihad was coming to America and he intended to be part of it. As soon as—

A rap on his window made him jump. He twisted in his seat to see an older, gray-haired man staring at him through the passenger-side window. He rapped again. Aimal sat frozen in alarm. Who was this?

The man made a rolling motion with his hand and Aimal lowered the window a few inches.

“I’m afraid I’m lost,” the man said. “I’m trying to get to the Pentagon. Any idea which way I go?”

Aimal had studied English back in Pakistan. He could speak and read it fairly well but had trouble understanding the spoken form. Most Americans spoke too rapidly for him, and this one was no exception. He noticed that although the man was smiling, his gaze was darting all around the inside of the cab.

“Repeat, please?”

This time the man slowed down and Aimal understood. He had driven all around the area since his arrival. He had passed the White House, the Capitol building, the entrance to CIA headquarters in Langley, but most often the Pentagon. From that huge structure the Great Satan had dispatched the infidel troops who besmirched the Holy Land and humiliated an Arab military. How he longed to drive a truck like this filled with explosives through the front entrance and detonate it in their faces. Then
they
would know humiliation!

“Do you know Route One?” Aimal said.

“Sure,” the man said, pointing. “Over that way.”

“Take it north. You will see signs.”

“Thank you.” The man took one more hard look inside the cab, then straightened. “Thank you very much.”

As he watched the man hurry away, Aimal felt his suspicions grow. He was convinced he hadn’t been looking for directions but had been inspecting the truck. Why? Aimal could not imagine what he might have done to draw such scrutiny. What—?

He jumped as the driver door opened.

“Are you Aimal?”

He whirled and saw a young Arab. “Who are you?”

“I am Kadir,” he said in Arabic-flavored English. “We have come to take the truck.”

He saw an American with hair cut short in the front and long in the back standing behind him.

“Yes-yes!” he said. “You must take it quickly! That man—” He went to point but the man was no longer there.

“What man?” Kadir said.

Aimal jumped out of the truck. “A man was here—he was asking directions but I believe he was pretending to be lost so he could get a close look at the truck.”

“Did he get a look in the back?” the American said.

“No-no. The back is locked. The key is on the seat.” Aimal pushed Kadir toward the driver seat. “You must go! Now!”

Kadir hopped in and slid over. The American followed and took the wheel. The engine was already running. Without a word he slammed the door, put the truck in gear, and began moving. Aimal had gone little more than a block when a pickup truck roared around the corner and onto the street. He saw the gray-haired man behind the wheel, pounding upon it in obvious rage.

Aimal wished he could phone the truck to tell them to watch out for the pickup, but he had no way.

As it passed, the gray-haired driver turned his angry face toward Aimal. Aimal would remember that face.

9

Jack offered no comment as Bertel took out his frustration on the steering wheel. Eventually he settled down to tailing the truck. Once they were back on 95, he began playing his leap-frog game again.

In Maryland, a couple of dozen miles north of Baltimore, Bertel had his pickup in the right lane, ahead of the Ryder truck, when he said, “Uh-oh.”

Without warning he tugged the wheel left, ripping across the two other lanes as he aimed for the ramp to the Maryland House rest stop.

“What?” Jack said.

“He just put his blinker on. If he’d waited a few seconds more we’d have missed the turn-off.”

Jack peeked through the rear window as the truck followed them to the top of the ramp and then pulled over. Bertel kept going.

“What do you think they’re up to?” Jack said.

“Waiting to see who follows them into the rest area, maybe. It’s an old trick.”

Over the next five minutes, only one car—a minivan with a man, a woman, and three kids—came up the ramp. Apparently satisfied, the truck headed for the parking area.

“Now what?” Jack said.

“Their options are eat, piss, phone, gas—take your pick, or maybe all of the above, although I find it hard to believe they need a food or a pit stop so soon after McDonald’s.”

Bertel circled the parking area, waiting for the truck to find a spot. It did, at the far north end where it sat alone. He stopped where they could watch. After half a minute, Reggie got out and limped toward the big colonial-style brick building that housed all the fast food and services while Kadir stayed in the cab.

“Damn,” Jack said. “Why the hell didn’t they both go?”

“What difference does it make?”

“If they left the truck unattended, I could run up and bang on the rear doors. If someone banged back, I’d know the kids were in there.”

“Well, they haven’t stopped along the way to load up, so it’s a good bet they’ve already got the kids.”

“Doesn’t rule out an empty truck.”

Bertel looked at him. “After all this, you still think that’s a possibility?”

If it was all a charade, it was pretty damn complex. But with millions of bucks possibly at stake, no charade was too complex.

Jack shrugged. “The longer we trail them, the less I think so. But I’d love to know. Because it would change everything.”

And then a way to find out hit him between the eyes. A way so obvious he kicked himself for not thinking of it before.

*   *   *

Reggie stood at the phone bank and dropped in the required change. Why’d they have to put the phones on the goddamn second floor? His knees hated stairs.

He waited for someone to answer, and recognized al-Thani’s
“Hello?”

“Yo, it’s Reg. We’re north of Baltimore with the truck.”

“How long till you get here?”

“Traffic’s light. Brooklyn in about three hours, I’d say.”

“Excellent. Your companion has the location of your final destination. You should arrive around twelve-thirty. Perfect timing. Any problems?”

“I thought I had a tail on the way down but he turned off. Your guy in Alexandria thought someone was sniffing around the truck, but we haven’t seen anyone following us.”

“That’s too bad. Stick to the same route through New Jersey and into Staten Island that you used last time. They may be looking for you there. And remember: If you spot anyone following you, you are not to try to lose them.”

What am I—stupid? I know that.

“Got it.”

He hung up and headed down the steps. He was tired of driving but didn’t trust that Arab behind the wheel. He saw the signs for Bob’s Big Boy, Roy Rogers, Sbarro, and TCBY, and would’ve liked nothing better than to take a break with a thick slice of pepperoni pizza, but he’d have to save that till later. He had many more miles to go.

When he got back to the truck he found Camel Boy Kadir standing outside, back by the cargo box. He looked worried.

“What’s wrong? Someone snooping around the truck?”

He shook his head and spoke his lousy English. “I am worried about our”—his eyes darted left and right—“cargo.”

Oh, yeah. Like he didn’t look too guilty or nothing.

“What about our”—Reggie mimicked his look—“cargo?”

“They are very silent.”

“They’re good kids. They know to keep quiet or else.”

“They are too quiet. I am worried. What if they are dead?”

“Not our problem.”

He gasped. “But then there will be no sale, no money for—!” He cut himself off.

Reggie figured at this point it was probably best to tell him, otherwise he’d be whining for the rest of the trip.

“Okay, Camel Boy, here’s the truth: I was just funnin’ you. There ain’t no kids in there.”

His eyes damn near popped. “What?”

“It’s empty, dumbass! Just like they told you it would be. This is all a trap to catch the guys who ripped off the last load.”

Kadir threw his hands in the air, squawking gibberish as he wandered in a circle. Finally he returned to Reggie.

“Why did you lie to me?”

“Because I felt like it. And because I don’t think they should have told you in the first place. I don’t trust you people.”

“You insult me!”

“Live with it, Camel Boy! One of you gave it up last time. Because of someone on your end, all we wound up with was a pile of dead bodies and me with two fucked-up knees! For all I know it might’ve been you. Well, it ain’t gonna happen again, Camel Boy.”

The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to break this asshole’s nose.

“Why do you call me this ‘Camel Boy’?”

“Because you’re an Arab. A camel jockey.”

“I am from Palestine. I have seen pictures of camels but I have never seen a living camel.”

“No shit. Really?”

“Really.”

“So you don’t go out and hump a camel or two when you get a little horny?”

“What is this ‘hump’?”

“Forget it. We need to get rolling again.”

*   *   *

Jack waited till the truck pulled out of the lot and started down the ramp toward 95 North before he jumped out of the pickup. Bertel exited on the driver side.

“
Now
are you gonna tell me what you’re up to?”

“All in good time, my dear,” Jack said. “All in good time.”

Bertel followed him toward the Maryland House. “We’re not gonna be able to catch them again.”

“Yeah, we will.”

They took the stairs up to the big house two at a time. Inside a sign pointed up to the phones. Jack ran up, dropped a quarter into the slot, and punched “O.”

“Operator,”
said a woman’s voice.

“Could you connect me with the Maryland State Police, please? I want to report a crime.”

When he was connected, he said, “My name is Ernest Pasquale and I’m at the Maryland House. I don’t know if it’s a real crime but I just saw someone open the rear of a Ryder rental truck and the cargo area was loaded—and I do mean
loaded
—with cases of Marlboros. It’s got Virginia plates and I wrote down the number.” He gave the truck’s tag number from memory. “It just took off, headed north.”

He hung up and turned to Bertel. “Let’s get out of here.”

Bertel was grinning as they headed back to the pickup. “I like it.”

“It’s so obvious, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”

“Well, we weren’t following a truck until recently.”

True. When the cops stopped the truck—and after that call, how could they not?—they’d find either a dozen scared kids or an empty bay. If the former, Reggie and Kadir would end up in cuffs and the kids would go to protective services.

Problem solved.

If the latter … well, Reggie and Kadir would simply continue on their way, very glad they had an empty truck, and Jack could call the Mikulskis and tell them this whole deal had been a big fat setup to trap them.

“What are your two friends gonna think about this?”

“Not worried about them right now.”

Bertel slapped him on the back. “I always liked you, Jack. Damn, you need to come back to drive for me.”

That wasn’t going to happen, but he didn’t want to get into that now.

“Speaking of driving, why don’t I take over? You’ve done plenty.”

Bertel gave a little salute. “The helm is yours.”

Helm?
Was he navy?

Jack approached the ramp back to 95 but pulled onto the shoulder where he had a good view of the northbound traffic.

“What are you waiting for?”

“I’ll know it when I see it.”

“Meanwhile they’re getting farther and farther ahead of us.”

“I don’t think catching up will be a problem.”

A few minutes later a state cop roared by with his lights flashing.

Jack smiled. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

“They’re gonna send more than one,” Bertel said. “Count on it. Never know what you’re gonna run into with smugglers. They might want to defend their cargo.”

“You oughta know.”

He looked at Jack. “Did I ever tell you to defend your cargo?”

“Never.”

To his credit he’d always said to run if he could, or go quietly if he couldn’t. He’d forbidden Jack to carry a weapon on his runs.

“But some guys are dumb. Resisting is a loser’s game. Only two ways it can end: bad or worse.”

“I’m gonna wait awhile longer,” Jack said. “See if another goes by.”

Sure enough, less than a minute later a second statie went flashing past. Jack gave it another minute, then started down the ramp. Once on the highway, he stayed in the right lane, keeping just to the limit or a little below.

*   *   *

Reggie’s gut knotted when he saw the flashing cop lights in the sideview mirror. “Oh, shit! I hope to fucking hell that’s not for us.”

Kadir leaned forward and peered at the mirror on his side. “Were you going too fast?”

Asshole raghead!

“No, you dumb fuck. If you’d been paying attention to the speedometer instead of napping you’d know that!”

He hadn’t been speeding. Okay, he’d gone above the limit a few times, but only briefly, only to pass some clown lollygagging ahead of him. With all the cars regularly zipping past, no way he’d be tagged for speeding.