Sudden Deception (A Jill Oliver Thriller) (7 page)

“What did he tell you, Zayed?” She opted not to tell him that she recognized his trained skills. Not just yet, anyway.

“We’ll talk in your room, Jill.”

Jill followed Zayed’s accelerated pace through the lobby into the elevator and up to her room. It seemed the most logical and safest place to go, but when they reached the door, apprehension stopped her. She had not been in a hotel room with another man since she met David. She fumbled with her key and paused again before entering the room. Once the door was closed, she began to remove the heavy black abaya. Zayed watched her, but his eyes dodged hers when she looked back at him.

She pulled the snug headdress off and threw it onto the bed; she flicked her head, and released her hair. Then she pivoted to face Zayed. “What the hell was that?” Jill hissed.

“Yani, calm down. David said you had a bit of a temper.”

“Don't yani me, screw you.” Jill pulled off her abaya with such force that it lifted her shirt up past her black bra. Zayed did not seem to care as he watched her adjust herself.

“Listen, Jill, khalas, listen.” Jill simmered and listened, adjusting her shirt and fixing her hair. Zayed’s eyes did not leave her body and she recognized his silent attraction. “The server told me that he shouldn’t talk to anyone as it would endanger his life and disgrace his family. He said that David was at the café four days ago and met with two men.”

“He saw David?”

Zayed nodded. “These men apparently spoke English and were well-dressed Arabs. He recognized one of the men as a friend of his uncle. The server didn’t think much of the trio—until he overheard them discussing a man’s name that will catch the attention of anyone within hearing distance.” Zayed hesitated. “His name is Matta.”

“Matta?”

“Yes, Matta. And they were also looking at a map of Afghanistan.”

“I guess one of the men caught the guy watching them. It seemed he recognized him too, and went over and took him aside. The man that knew his uncle threatened the server by suggesting to him that he has three small nieces and that he will take them from his uncle’s home if he repeated anything of what he had heard or seen.”

Jill didn't know what to say. Questions flooded her mind. “Why Matta? Why David?” And does this relate in any way to the case I was working on? “Why were they looking at a map of Afghanistan? What was the name of the uncle?”

Zayed shrugged. He didn’t know. “The server’s name is Punjabi, so my guess is his uncle’s name would be the same. I got the impression that David must have been planning a trip to Afghanistan. He may be on his way there now. I think David is somewhere along the Turkmenistan border, as the server spouted something about the top of the map. Turkmenistan is above Afghanistan on the map. I did some business in Afghanistan about five years ago. Kabul, mainly.”

Jill looked puzzled. “What were you doing there?”

“A family business trip,” he replied evasively. “Airline parts.”

“Do you think David’s disappearance has something to do with Matta?”

“I have no idea,” he responded, his accent growing thicker with concern.

Thoughts entered her puzzled mind and then fled. David must have stumbled upon a great story, something worth risking everything for that Pulitzer. David was a risk-taker, there was not doubt about that it showed in his choice of assignments and stories.

Jill picked up the hotel phone and started to dial. Zayed’s hand grabbed her hand and forcing her to drop the receiver. She angrily pulled her hand out of his.

“Don’t touch me. Do that again and I’ll break your arm.” She knew she was bluffing because even with her HTH Hand-to-hand training she could gauge by his size that he would not be an easy mark. Besides she didn't know who she was dealing with and how his fighting skills may be. “I am contacting my office—they can help find David.”

Zayed looked at her squarely.

“My contact has access to Interpol,” she said firmly. “They can sometimes pinpoint things such as mobile phones if we know the region or other intel that might be available.” Their eyes were fixed on each other. Neither budged. Then his body language relaxed conceding to her determination to do things her way. He retreated towards the door.

Just before he walked out, he turned back and said, “It’s in your best interest to have me help you, Jill. David asked me to watch over you. I made him that promise.” He closed the door behind him, leaving Jill to wonder who he really was.

“Screw you.” Jill flipped the bird in the direction of the closed door. She was more than a little miffed by Zayed’s smugness. She did not know this man nor did she feel like being bullied, but at this point she didn’t have time to waste thinking about Zayed.

She glanced over at the time and realized that Karine would now be just on her way to work and she would need to wait another forty-five minutes to call her. Jill knew Karine was the most efficient one to call and that she had security clearance to speak to Interpol on her behalf. She looked around the room and began to see things she hadn’t noticed before. Gaudy burgundy wallpaper with twists of gold lined the space. Jill hurried across the room to the desk and turned on her computer, praying for high-speed. The speed from her earlier search was mediocre to say the least. This time she was pleasantly surprised when the speed test proved even higher than at her Catalina home.

No e-mail from David or Karine. “Damn.” The rest of the e-mails were insignificant. Then she spotted a name she hadn’t wanted to see. Stan Brown, David’s father. When she clicked on the name she wondered just how he had got her e-mail address. It was not public knowledge and for the life of her, she could not remember giving it to him. Perhaps he had called her work and they had given it to him, she half-heartedly thought.

Jill,

Please get in touch with me regarding David.

Stan

“Whatever,” she said as she closed his e-mail.

Jill surfed for any information on Afghanistan, Turkmenistan, and LSA. She Google-earthed the region in Afghanistan and got a feel for the terrain. It looked fairly mountainous. The time passed fast perusing different maps and photos, and then she grabbed the phone.

Jill explained to Karine the encounter with the server and what he had said, and gave Karine her mobile number. “Pay-as-you-go is all they have here, so call the hotel when possible.”

“I’ll call Issy—you remember my Interpol sleuth—and give you a buzz back,” Karine spouted.

“Oh, and check out a man named Zayed Saleem; he says his family is in the airplane parts business. This Zayed is definitely trained, Karine. Check any military ops you can get. He’s Arab, just not sure from which country. Also any information on who frequents Al Binood or anything that might link him to there. Scan relatives of Al Qaeda. If Matta is involved, then I think David has stumbled onto his Pulitzer.” Jill did not notice that she had gently placed her hand on the small leather bag sitting on the right side of her laptop.

“Gotcha.” Karine hung up.

Jill leaned back and propped her feet up on the desk and pondered. Staring blankly at the TV screen beside the desk, she thought, What am I missing?

The TV was blaring and Jill felt comforted as it drowned out her thoughts. Her thoughts of gloom. No new reports on CNN about the missing journalist as the tag-lines zoomed by. She was on the fence about whether to be happy or not about that fact. With missing people, the faster you got the story onto the news with the details, the more likely it would be to find them.

David’s not officially missing. He’s on a story. She kept pushing that thought to try to convince herself.

Jill recalled a document in one of her files that disclosed the Pakistan Secret Police had executed a CNN reporter for obtaining a connection between Matta, Dr. E, and a laboratory located in Pakistan. Trying to remember the reporter’s name, Jill jumped when the phone rang.

It was Karine … with some welcome information. Karine told Jill that her investigation and conversations had revealed two clues regarding what David might have found of interest to make him go into a dangerous country such as Afghanistan.

“LSA means Lost Soviet Arsenal,” Karine said excitedly. “There was a report about camps along the border of Turkmenistan and in particular a town called Kushka. Documentation shows that there is evidence of voice recordings to substantiate the possibility that enriched uranium existed in this area back in 2008.”

At this point Jill felt like kicking her own ass to the door and back to Tucson.

“What kind of profiler am I if I can’t even figure what LSA means?” In her own defense Jill told herself, We don’t use that term. We use loose nukes, suitcase nukes, or even broken arrows. “Shit!”

“Well, we know it now, so don’t sweat the small stuff,” Karine chimed positively.

Jill was still pissed at herself for missing the acronym. Karine told her that she would load the documents to the VPN for her to download. “I'll send you an e-mail when I'm done. It shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.” Jill looked over at the minibar, contemplating what she should do in the meantime.

David had commented on the increase in her drinking when she was under pressure. But to Jill it was the one comfort that settled her when her body and mind couldn’t do so on their own. She couldn’t blame that one on McGregor; she’d always been that way. This was her vice. But today was different. This new information affected her life, her family, David. Jill often brought her cases home with her, and although she was not directly out in the field, profiling took her into the dark abyss of evil. Sometimes the darkness overwhelmed her heart, knowing what she knew. Being a terrorist these days does not cost much and finding black market weapons seemed easier than buying ice cream. Unlike some of the major TV news reporting in the US, even as far away as Australia, there were reports of suitcase nukes. They even had serial numbers in some of the articles. Reports of US forces uncovering anthrax camps, reports that Matta had these nukes as close as Mexico—her mind boggled when she didn’t see public warnings on any of the US news stations. Jill often wondered if the President had censored the news so the public wouldn’t understand the threat behind it all.

What if the nukes were in Mexico? Three thousand illegal aliens crossed the border into the US daily. It’s only a matter of money and time before some of these illegals would be from Al Qaeda. Only a small two percent of those caught were non-Mexicans, or SIAs, Special Interest Aliens from Arab countries. Not long ago, Jill had been asked to assist the CIA in an interrogation of a woman who was a terrorist courier. She had traveled back and forth illegally across the border to and from an Al Qaeda cell located just outside of Los Angeles. It’s too easy, she thought, too easy.

Jill needed to have a clear mind. She was not going to miss another stupid thing, as she reprimanded herself again about the LSAs. She looked down at her hand after it brushed the leather pouch, almost as if it were calling her. She untied the string and opened the pouch. Inside were eight tablets made of clay, each one branded with its own number. Jill’s mind began to numb … until she heard a familiar sound.

“You’ve got mail!”

Pushing back to the present, Jill read Karine’s e-mail that reported that the files were ready for downloading and then at the bottom of the e-mail Karine had written:

Eric has a potential lead on who might have been tailing you. He said that there was reports of a black Cadillac Escalade stolen from the airport in Tucson. He thought it might have something to do with the move so he contacted homeland security. They’re running the flight lists now. It’ll take a while with the volume of flights. Will keep you posted chickee!

K.

Jill logged into the VPN and began downloading the documents. Karine had also included satellite images of the Turkmenistan border and a map from Kabul, the Afghanistan capital, to the small town of Kushka. There was a rather large report on Russian rebels attached that was too large to review right now. The last words Jill read were in a report from the Washington Times saying that diagrams of US nuclear power plants had been found in an abandoned Al Qaeda camp just outside of Kushka. Saving the documents, Jill sat back. She sighed. It was several silent minutes later. Numb minutes when it happened. The epiphany was Leila. Leila Sorel.

“Leila, why didn’t I think of you before?” Jill spoke to herself, excited. “Maybe she has heard from David?”

Leila was a colleague of David’s and was one of the first colleagues David had introduced to Jill. Jill felt guilty for her jealousy when she initially met her. Leila was tall, black, and verged on stunning. She was a freelance photojournalist for Time. She was physically strong. Jill noted the striations in her arms when she reached out and shook her hand in greeting. Although they had not been on many assignments together, David and Leila would often converse on the phone or at Jill’s home about article concepts and tricks of the trade. Work stuff. The Pulitzer. Like David, Leila seemed fearless taking on assignments in war-torn countries with only her camera to guide her. She was a feisty, strong, opinionated woman and she and David would often end conversations in a debate. Some might call her a bit of a hothead. To Jill, she was a friend. Leila’s passion was Afghanistan. Some of her best shots were from that country. One in particular Jill admired was one of a little girl with a bucket of water she was carrying back to her shanty. The girl must have been only about five years old and was hunched over a sleeping dog in the middle of the trail, fast asleep. Leila had won an award for it.

Looking at the time and hoping she would find Leila reachable on her satellite mobile, Jill snatched the phone and pushed hard on the numbers.

“Sorel,” the strong voice answered.

“Leila, it’s Jill. How are you? Where are you? I’m in Doha.”

“Well, girlfriend, you get 'round now,” she teased.

“Where are you, Leila? Have you heard from David?”

“What do you mean, Jill? What are you talking about? Why are you in Doha?”

Jill explained the recent events to Leila, who immediately became concerned when Jill mentioned she needed to go to Afghanistan.

“I don’t think you should go, Jill. I know you are trained in ops and know your stuff, but this is for experienced field agents. Have you spoken to Jeff? Can the company help you?”

Jill realized that she had not heard from anyone at David’s work for two days. “I haven’t been in touch with Jeff since he called me. Frankly, I haven’t been in touch with anyone. I suppose I—”

“Jill, what is your mobile?”

Jill gave Leila the details.

“I’ll get back in touch with you after I call the office. I'm in London at the airport, but morning is about to break in the States. Jill, please stay put until you hear back from me.” Without waiting for a response, Leila hung up.

Torn between sleep and a desire to keep researching, Jill decided to take a break. She looked over at the opened pouch and thought about attempting to RV in search of David. The thought of seeing that sketch again made her cringe. If she knew in her heart that David was in trouble … she’d do it, she’d have to push through the fear, push past herself, and take the plunge. She hesitated again, contemplating, then she went over to the bed, laid down, and closed her eyes. David.

Understanding what must have drawn David to Afghanistan, her stomach settled in slight relief. She knew what drove David—the story, adventure, and justice. This was enough for him to be out of communication with her, she knew that now. But she wondered what she should do next. Was searching for him and thinking about going to Afghanistan an overreaction? She decided she would at least wait to hear back from Karine regarding Zayed. She’d get up after a few hours of sleep and call Karine.

Yup, that one’s a no-brainer. Perhaps I will just stay in Doha. Her intuition grumbled. Jill’s brain went from dancing a jig to a slow waltz. Fog blanketed her thoughts as she began to drift into much-needed deep sleep. Bliss.