Devil's Eye (17 page)

“
Everything is temporary,” she replied.

They approached several guards in a hallway. The woman cleared the officers through with a few words to the cautious men.

She pointed the Americans to a suite that looked like an explosive shell had hit it sometime recently. Pieces of wall and ceiling were lying about and broken furniture was arranged around what was left of the walls in the living room. A half dozen men were positioned throughout the apartment, each armed with pistols or AK
‐
47 assault rifles. Two of them were in their very early teens.

A slim dark man with a trim mustache and goatee appeared in the remains of a glass doorway of the veranda. He was dressed in light gray slacks and a loose, print sportshirt. The only indication that he might be someone in authority was his wide military belt from which hung a holstered pistol. Caine noticed from the star on the butt that it was probably a Russian Tokarev. Two men in military fatigues armed with machine guns flanked him as he walked inside.

“
Welcome, gentlemen,” he said with exaggerated graciousness. “You are brave to come here. Perhaps even a little foolish, but that is your problem. Sit down, please.”

The men sat down in the sofas and chairs lining the living room, while several guards positioned themselves around the room with weapons at the ready.

“
An arduous journey such as yours requires routine supplies,” he said eyeing the officers’ bags. “So I can extend the courtesy of not searching you or confiscating your rucksacks,” he said benevolently.

Colonel Caine nodded slightly in acknowledgment.

“
I am Mustafa Ali Hammad.”

“
I’m Colonel Christopher Caine, U. S. Army on special assignment. This is Colonel Garrison Jones.”

The militia leader scrutinized the two Americans. “I was told by our intermediaries that two American emissaries would come here with offers to finance our meager operations. Especially in this time of renewed violence. I take great risk in crossing lines of demarcation, currying favor with both sides.” He paused and smiled. “No. Many sides. I curry favor with many sides. And each side is a potentially fatal risk: the Christians, the Muslims—Sunni and Shiite—the Druze, the Syrians, Israelis and Russians, the Americans, of course,” he gestured in their direction. “Even the drug conduits from our Bekka Valley, although they are sometimes indistinguishable from the names I just mentioned. I am torn in all directions. My time is, therefore, very limited and very valuable. So I trust you will not disappoint me.”

“
Not for nothing,” Colonel Jones retorted with a hint of indignation.

Hammad looked sternly at the Americans.

“
We are seeking information on the whereabouts of a U.S. citizen,” Caine interjected with deliberate vagueness. He paused for reaction, but noticed nothing. “We are told you may have information about this through your extensive networks,” he flattered.

Hammad showed no sign of cognition. “Who is this person?”

“
She is the daughter of the Speaker of our House of Representatives,” Caine replied.

“
Jeannette McConnell. We are told you can help us.”

Hammad looked around at his men, then said with a dismissing smirk: “You want information about some woman? The daughter of a member of your Congress? How is that supposed to affect me? I am too busy with matters in my own humble surroundings to be concerned with such trifles.”

“
Our sources indicate that she may be in the Middle East,” Colonel Jones said, ignoring Hammad’s disclaimer.

“
Miss McConnell disappeared more than a week ago,” Colonel Caine continued. “From Washington. Certain intelligence sources tell us that she was abducted by”—he paused before saying “terrorists”— and said “operatives in this area.”

“
Are you suggesting?—“ Hammad started.

“
Not at all,” Caine replied. “But we do know that nothing passes Mustafa Ali Hammad unnoticed in this region.” He was hoping the flattery would tweak the militia leader’s interest.

“
We are authorized to pay handsomely for information,” Jones interjected. “More than a king’s ransom for Miss McConnell herself.”

Hammad laughed. “A pity. I could use the money. I am benefactor to an entire people who depend on me. Unfortunately, you could offer me your entire treasury with no satisfaction.”

Hammad turned to his men, then back to Caine and Jones: “Miss…Miss?”

“
McConnell,” Caine repeated.

Hammad turned back to his men and spoke in Arabic. They muttered shaking their heads.

“
He’s asking if they heard anything about a kidnapped American woman,” Jones whispered to Caine.

“
Whoever sent you was misinformed,” the militia leader asserted. “A coup such as you describe would hardly have passed unnoticed in our circles. It is always unfortunate that my people are the handy scapegoat for problems you confront. You should look for your answers closer to home.”

“
Well, someone doesn’t agree,” Caine retorted. “Someone didn’t want us to have this conversation. They tried to blow us out of the water last night.” He looked for a clue in the militia leader’s face.

“
Forgive me if I am not moved,” Hammad replied with sarcasm. “I have forgotten what it is to risk one’s life. The rubble you see around you was an apartment last night. The men you see are what is left of fifteen who were with me here. Another shell might explode anytime. The fact that someone attacked you is of little interest to me.”

“
Your people were supposed to meet us with a go
‐
fast,” Colonel Jones declared.

“
As you can see around you, we were delayed,” Hammad said impatiently. “You may want to presume that this particular attack on our compound and your own episode may be connected—to upset our rendezvous. Or—” Hammad added with sarcastic emphasis: “So that your own operatives or Israeli intelligence can claim their usual ‘mistaken identity’.”

“
Well, they weren’t speaking English or Hebrew,” Jones snapped.

“
And just what were they speaking?”

“
Strange words. They didn’t sound Arabic,” Jones continued. “One of them was jabbering something when we surprised them. ‘Elo’..something, sounded like ‘hello’.”

“
Elohim, Elohim
?” Hammad intoned.

“
Yes.”

“
Malek
‐
taus!” Hammad declared.

“
Malek
‐
taus?” Colonel Caine repeated in a tone demanding explanation.

“
Lucifer. The devil in remote places of Iraq,” Mustafa Ali Ham
‐
mad said with heightened interest. “And elsewhere.”

Hammad rose from his tattered couch and walked towards the veranda. “There are people in this part of the world who worship the devil.”

“
I don’t follow you,” Caine answered.

“
Of course not. I am talking about forces which you do not recognize exist. Forces that operate beyond the grasp of westerners. Beyond their infatuation with reason and technology.”

“
I think he means, we don’t have
soul
,” Colonel Jones said with a grin.

Hammad threw Jones a disdainful glance.

“
One should look at this more seriously,” he said. “There are evil forces in the desert. Forces that have caused turmoil throughout the ages. It is said that we are cursed to fight because of it; to destroy ourselves and our surroundings.”

Hammad paused thoughtfully. “I—myself—am somewhat skeptical. Nevertheless, I do not venture into the desert at night.”

He surveyed his gunmen around the room, seeing agreement in their wary eyes.

“
Whoever tried to kill us last night was sure as hell evil enough,” Colonel Caine declared. “But I doubt we can pull the devil into this one.”

Mustafa Ali Hammad sighed and slowly shook his head. “You will never understand the forces about which I speak. You are too modern. However, I will thank you, nevertheless, for eliminating a formidable opponent of ours by your actions in the water.”

One of the guards motioned him away from the veranda. Ham
‐
mad continued as he returned to his couch. “Qaida operatives are trying to make incursions into Lebanon. Our government is tenuous enough to fall into any number of orbits. The latest fighting is to gain physical and political ascendancy in the various sectors of Beirut. Certain terrorists have taken on the cloak of that hapless Iraqi sect worshipping the devil. We are fighting them now. If you have eliminated any number of them, it is better for us.”

“
A cruiser exploded off the marina this morning,” Caine said.

“
We heard something,” Hammad replied.

“
You can add, maybe four more today, to whoever attacked us last night.”

“
It is written, then,” Hammad replied with palpable relief. “The hydra is losing its heads. Now they have fewer agitators to lure supplicants.”

Caine and his partner’s concern was how such a deadly fringe group could know their top secret rendezvous point in the ocean.

Chapter 17

The President smiled to himself as he pictured Victor Sherwyck being escorted past the White House police, looking down his nose at them for deigning to check his credentials yet again, then striding into the White House along a familiar path, waving greetings to staffers like a lord surveying his domain.

The President rose from his chair, adjusted his tie, put on his suit jacket and strode out of his study to meet his friend and confidant. By the time the President walked into the Cabinet Room, Sherwyck was already there, being seated by a solicitous George Brandon who beckoned the President’s guest to a chair along the center of the large, familiar conference table.

When he saw the President enter, Sherwyck immediately arose, a long welcoming smile crossing his angular face. His tall, thin frame, outlined by his tailored, dark pin
‐
striped suit made him look commanding, even regal. Sherwyck was certainly beyond seventy. He had been around Washington since the time of President John F. Kennedy, but no one could really judge his true age. His face had a worldly appearance that gave no hint of time. The only noticeable suggestion of age was his shock of black hair streaked throughout with distinctive gray.

Sherwyck approached the doors of the Cabinet Room where the President had just entered and grandly stretched out his hands — “Mr. President!” Sherwyck announced, slightly tilting his head.

“
Victor!” the President responded and moved forward to greet his friend.

Sherwyck gripped the President’s outstretched hand and shook it heartily. Then his face turned grave and he said solemnly: “I’m so sorry to hear about Ronald Stack. Such a senseless thing. Is there anything I can do?”

The President pulled his hand from Sherwyck’s patronly grasp and continued into the room. He sat down at the end of the large conference table and motioned Sherwyck to the first chair on his right.

“
Thanks, Victor. If anything, I’d like to bounce some names off you,” the President replied as he settled into his chair. “Also, you know that the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs is dead.”

“
What?” Sherwyck said with a start. “I hadn’t heard.”

“
Another freak accident. I don’t know. It’s being investigated. His horse rolled over him.”

“
That sounds so unfortunate,” Sherwyck intoned. “What else could it be?”

“
Well, it’s a routine investigation. You know how it is about senior officials of the government. We have to check every angle.”

“
Yes, or course.”

“
Did you know him?” the President asked.

“
Not as well as Ron. I met the General on a number of occasions.”

“
Well, it’s too bad,” the President declared. “This can’t go on.”

“
I’m afraid, we can’t control the fates, Mr. President.”

“
Don’t say it with such anticipation, Victor,” the President said teasingly. “We can’t escape fate, but we don’t need to go chasing after it.”