The Assassin (Max Doerr Book 1) (28 page)

“Thank
you…sorry, I forgot your name.”

“Thomas,
most people call me Tommy.”

“Thanks,
Tommy. I will be waiting for your call.”

Doerr
hung up, made coffee, and then he went out to get a pack of cigarettes. He
drove around looking for a gas station in the area, but they were all closed;
it was a small town. He drove to Interstate 95. At a rest area, he found what
he was looking for.

He
bought a pack, lit a cigarette, and went back to the car.

Soon,
he was back in the empty house. It was thirty minutes past midnight, and he was
still waiting for Tommy’s call. He looked around the house, hoping to find a
clue that he had missed, maybe a document. He looked under the mattress, in
kitchen cupboards, bathroom cabinets – nothing.

He
called Tommy.

“I
was just about to call you, sir,” Tommy said. “Here is what I’ve found. The
house is owned by a man named John Clark. He is an insurance agent and lives in
Miami, Florida. He bought the house three years back, for two hundred sixty-eight
thousand dollars.”

“You
have a contact number?”

“Yes,
I have a home number. Please, note it down – 305…” Tommy gave the rest of the
number.

Doerr
wrote it down and hung up.

He
dialed the Miami number immediately – it went to voicemail, just as he had
expected. He hung up, and then he redialed and left a polite message, asking
the owner to call him back. He was sure the man would not call until the next
day.

Doerr
dialed the FBI’s Terrorism Task Force department’s number. A man picked up.

After
introducing himself, Doerr said, “We need to question a man in Florida who is
possibly…not possibly,
surely
connected to the bombing in Washington. We
need to bring him in and show some tough love.”

“It’s
one in the morning,” the FBI man said. “We can go and talk to him. But if he
refuses to help, we cannot arrest him. We would need a judge to sign an arrest
warrant. That will easily take a couple of hours in the morning. So the best
scenario is we could arrest him by noon.”

“That
might be too late,” Doerr said but did not explain the suspected connection
between that man and Samuel, the ex-CIA operative. “Do the best you can.”

“Will
do, and we’ll keep you posted. Meanwhile, send me all the evidence and
documents you have against the Miami man.”

Doerr
paused and thought for a few seconds. “Okay, I will have it sent in a couple of
hours.”

Doerr
hung up. He was not sure what document he could send.

After
turning all the lights off, he sat down on the reclining chair in the living
room, enveloped in the darkness that helped him think better. He rocked back
and forth. He was positive that a Miami insurance agent had not provided Faizan
with explosives. Samuel had somehow got the house. He must have either coerced
someone to let him use the house for some time or maybe he had simply broken
into the house, just like Doerr himself had done.

Doerr
had no doubt that Samuel would try to flee the Washington area. He would
perhaps leave the country, or worse, he might have left the country already.
Doerr felt a shiver run down his legs.

Samuel
had surely received a hefty sum from Halim and was perhaps headed to the
Carribean or his favorite vacation place – Paris or some other exotic place.
Alerting the airlines was useless too, as Samuel would definitely use an alias
and a false passport. But then, maybe Faizan’s helper was someone other than
Samuel. But in Doerr’s mind, there was enough evidence to support his theory
about Samuel.

It
was two a.m. Feeling flustered, Doerr decided to catch a few hours of sleep
before deciding his next course of action. He lay down on the sofa and closed
his eyes, but he was unable to sleep. Samuel’s face haunted his mind, as if
mocking him.

He
lifted the sofa cushion, to see if something was hidden there, and then swiped his
hand underneath – nothing.

He
tried to sleep again. But then he knew it was useless to even try. So he got up
and started pacing in the living room. He went to one of the bedrooms; he had
already scanned the room twice. In the corner, under the table, he saw a box.
He wiggled it, and the top fell off – it was a shredder.

He
poured the shredded contents on the floor and started the near-impossible
puzzle of matching the pieces. It was hard work. By six a.m. all he had was a
Home Depot receipt with a date, time and the last four digits of a credit card
number.

He
called Tommy again. Doerr gave him the Home Depot address and other details.
“We need to look up the recent activities on that card,
immediately
.”

Tommy
sighed. “They aren’t likely to give customer data without a court order.
Moreover, everybody is sleeping right now.”

“You
contact the NSA and get that info. I need results,” Doerr barked, “and not
excuses.”

“Let
me see what I can do. I will call you back in an hour.”

“It’s
six ten right now. If I don’t get a call by seven ten, I will be calling your
manager. Understand?”

“I
understand, sir.”

Doerr
hung up.

The
waiting game began. The sun was about to sneak over the horizon and put an end
to the darkness.

Doerr
made some coffee and smoked two more cigarettes. He called the FBI. As
expected, the Florida man was completely uncooperative, and the FBI was seeking
an arrest warrant.

It
was six forty a.m. when his phone rang.

Doerr
drained the dregs of his coffee and picked up the phone after two rings. “Hello.
You found something?” He expected the call to be from Tommy.

But
the call was from Lazarus. “You should have been talking to Faizan or resting
in the hospital,” Lazarus said angrily. “What are you doing in Virginia?”

“Lazarus,
thanks for calling,” Doerr said. “I was going to call you soon. I need some
authorization for some lookups. I am sure Samuel was in this house, and I’m
ninety percent sure he is about to leave the country.”

“Max,
listen. You are injured, and your wife needs you. You have done enough already.
You have stopped mayhem in Washington, and the country is grateful to you. I
say you take some time off. Go to New York and take some rest. Okay?”

“No,
Lazarus. I have to find Samuel. He killed my only son and…” Doerr was about to
tell him the dark truth, that he was the one who killed the DEA administrator.
But he held back; he would tell Lazarus the truth someday, but he knew today
was not the day. “Lazarus, I have to get him. If I go back to New York, I won’t
be able to rest anyway.”

Ten
minutes later, the conversation ended. Doerr wondered why Lazarus kept saying
he should go back to New York. It was almost like he did not want Doerr to find
Samuel. 

Was
it possible that Lazarus didn’t want him to be successful? Did Lazarus really
think the work was complete?

Doerr
brushed aside that thought. It was more than an hour and half since he had
talked to Tommy. It would be a waste of time to talk to him again.

He
called the eighteen technicians he knew at CIA’s Science and Technology
department. It was tiring and time-consuming. But he knew it was his only
chance of getting what he needed.

By
noon, he received confirmation that the card belonged to Samuel and a United
Airlines ticket had been booked with that card. The ticket was for a flight
from Dulles Airport to San Jose, Costa Rica, at 10:50 p.m. that same day. 

Doerr
watched the human traffic thin out as he waited near the kiosks of United
Airlines at Terminal D in Dulles Airport. He had been waiting there for three
hours, his Starbucks coffee finished long ago. He was thirsty and hungry, but
he could not leave the area, not even for a minute.

It
was close to ten p.m., and he was almost ready to give up. He doubted if Samuel
would turn up at all. Doerr had been keeping a close eye on the people joining
the lines that ended at the United Air check-in counters. 

He
saw a family of three – Mom, Dad, and a small girl. The father held the
passports and boarding passes, and the family headed for the security
checkpoint. Two men, one young and the other old, approached the lady at the
counter. The young man pulled a huge black suitcase, and the old man had a
small carry-on bag.

Doerr
looked at the far end, at the empty Lufthansa counters, and his eyes zeroed in
back to the line to the United Air counter. And there was Samuel, wearing a
blue shirt, almost hidden behind an overweight black man, looking at the
display screen above. Doerr had to confront Samuel; he felt the blood boiling
in his head, his hands becoming sweaty, and he rushed toward his enemy.

Doerr
saw Samuel turn his head toward him and then turn away. Perhaps he had seen
Doerr. Doerr was about fifty feet away from Samuel, and that was when it
happened. Two black-uniformed security guards moved in, cutting off his path to
Samuel.

What
the hell!
Doerr had to slow down and then halt right before the two guards, who now stood
in front of him. Doerr froze as he saw Lazarus show up and stand between the
two guards, displaying a hostile pose.

“There
is Samuel,” Doerr said to Lazarus. “Right behind you. We have to get him.”

“Let
him go, Max,” Lazarus said as one of the two guards placed his hand on his holstered
gun. “Let him go. We don’t go after our own people.”

“What
do you mean?” Doerr was flabbergasted. “Maybe Samuel used to work for us. But
not anymore. Now he works for the terrorists. For Halim.” 

“He’s
our guy, Max.” Lazarus crossed his arms at his chest. “He works for the CIA.”

“Are
you mad, Lazarus? Everyone told me he doesn’t work for the CIA anymore.” Doerr
saw Samuel hand over his passport to the lady at the counter. “Is this a sick
joke? Did he come back to the CIA?” Two more guards now joined and formed a
barricade around Doerr.

“No.”
Lazarus chuckled. “Actually, he never left us. He has been working for the CIA
all along.”

“What
do you mean? You told me he was suspended and then kicked out of the agency.”
Doerr saw the lady at the counter hand Samuel’s passport back to him, and
Samuel walked away from the counter. Doerr stepped forward, but the security
guards and Lazarus stopped and held him. A scuffle followed, and Doerr ended up
on the floor, restrained by the security men. He could no longer see the enemy
of his life, the man who took the joy out of his life – Samuel. Now he was not
sure if Lazarus was a bigger foe.

He
saw two new guards move in, who were telling the curious onlookers to move on
and mind their own business.

With
a strong jerk, Doerr freed himself from the hands of Lazarus and the guards.
When he stood up, Samuel was already gone. “See what you did?” he said to
Lazarus. “He killed my son and…”

“And
what?” Lazarus closed in and hushed so other than Doerr, no one else would hear
him. “Tell me.”

Doerr
knew this was certainly not the time to tell Lazarus about the shot he took at
New York Central Park.

“And
what, Max?” Lazarus taunted him and stood still for five or six seconds and
then said, “And Samuel made you kill the DEA administrator?”

Doerr’s
jaw dropped. “You knew?” He could not believe it. “You knew all along?”

“Yes,
I knew. I knew every step you made after Samuel called you, months back, and
you guys met at that bar. You were being watched. You were being followed, Max.
We kept close tabs on you. After all, you are the best sniper we ever had. You
are
the assassin.”

“What
about those people at the office on Thirty-Third Street? What about the
receptionist at Langley? They all told me Samuel does not work for the agency
anymore.”

“We
set all that up. We were watching you via satellite. We were watching you from
the street; we even watched you in your apartment; we watched you from
everywhere.”

“Why
the charade? If you had asked me nicely to come and work for you, go after
Halim, I would have done that.”

“We
already asked you to come back, a few years ago. Remember?” Lazarus said. “And
you didn’t want to work for us anymore.”

“What
about the killings? My son,” Doerr said angrily. “The two people who died at
the Metro Center. Samuel works with the terrorists. Faizan said Samuel was
working for Halim, believe me.”

“Enough!”
Lazarus shouted. “Max, go back to New York, and give me a call later so we can
sort everything out. There is no need to make a scene in front of everyone
here.” Lazarus pointed his hand at the airline counter, where six people were
standing. “Now, if you will excuse me.” Lazarus started walking away.

“Stop,”
Doerr said and took two steps toward Lazarus, who kept walking, and the four
guards stepped in front of Doerr and blocked his path.

“I
warn you, sir,” one of the guards said. “Please, don’t follow the deputy
director.”

Doerr
looked at the guard and sprang at him. He hit the guard’s face with a swing of
his elbow and kicked the groin of the second guard. Doerr threw a strong fist
at the face of the third guard and a kick into the belly of the fourth, and
then he ran toward Lazarus, who was far away now. Doerr followed him.

Minutes
later, Doerr caught up with Lazarus in the parking lot. Except for the four or
five people going in and out of the lot, it was empty.

“Lazarus,
stop,” Doerr thundered.

Lazarus
turned to Doerr with a surprised face. “Oh, you again.”

“Yes,
me again,” Doerr said. “We can’t let Samuel get away. Believe me, he is with
the terrorists.”

“I
trust you.” Lazarus laughed. The parking lot had just enough light for Doerr to
see Lazarus’s gleeful face. Lazarus kept walking and talking. “Samuel
penetrated Halim’s network. He works from inside. We knew Faizan was coming. We
knew he was staying with that professor. Think about this – the terrorists
thought they had infiltrated our country, but it was the other way around. We
busted them inside out. Now that Halim has been unsuccessful, his helpers will
dwindle, and his cash supply will dry up – a true end to a terrorist. Just
imagine, if we’d had a mole sitting among those hijackers on 9/11 planes, do
you think the result would have been the same?”

Doerr
followed Lazarus, and they were now at the middle of the line H of the parking
lot where there was no one else around. Light was scant, and Lazarus’s face
looked like the devil’s to Doerr.

“You
crazy man,” Doerr said angrily. “Faizan killed four people, and my son is
dead.” Doerr clenched his teeth. He wanted to hit Lazarus, but he controlled
himself. “What about my son? He was my only kid? What did he do?”

“Your
son? You know he was not a good kid. He was into drugs. If he didn’t die from
an overdose, the New York gangs would have killed him.” Lazarus paused. “Go
back to New York, just like I told you to. Go back to New York and fuck your
wife. You will soon have another child.”

Blood
rushed to his head, and his fingers tightened into fists. Doerr grabbed
Lazarus’s neck and pressed him against the back of a van.

“You
know there are security cameras here,” Lazarus said, a smirk lurking on his
face.

“I
don’t care,” Doerr said, but then he let go of Lazarus’s neck slowly. “And what
about the DEA administrator? How dare you hatch a plan to kill someone like
that?”

“That
administrator was a bad-ass, cocky bastard, a friend of the president. We
decided he had to be eliminated. He was shaking up too many things at the
border, and it was hampering our operations.”

“What
operations?”

“You
don’t need to know.”

“No,
maybe I don’t need to know,” Doerr said. “But why did you choose me to kill
him? Tell me why.”

“We
chose you,” Lazarus looked at the asphalt ground, “because you left the agency
with a bad reputation. Because no one would believe you if things went wrong.
Trust me, no one. And above all – you are the only person we know who could
have made that shot.”

“Tomorrow,”
Doerr stepped closer, his nose barely six inches from Lazarus’s, and hushed, “I
am going to go to the president, and I’m telling him everything you have done.
Your ass will be lying on K Street.”

“Yeah.”
Lazarus moved his hand dismissively. “Go and tell the president that his friend
was murdered, and you are the one who pulled the trigger. Let’s see whose head
rolls.”

Doerr
saw the conundrum. If he told the president, the president would be angry, and
that was if he could get past the aides to speak to the president himself. 

Doerr
didn’t say anything; his head was hot like a blast furnace.

Lazarus
continued, “Come, join my hand, Max. You will do well. No one will ever know
who killed the DEA administrator, and you can spend the rest of your life at
the agency, with a nice high salary. I’ll get you a desk job if you want. Let’s
make a deal.” Lazarus extended his hand.

“Tell
me one thing,” Doerr said. “Did you guys make 9/11 happen? Was that a setup
too, like all those websites say? Tell me!”

“Now
you are being ridiculous. I will say it again – go back to the big city. Take a
couple of weeks off and then come back.” Lazarus tapped Doerr’s shoulder.
“We’ve got a lot of work to do, Max. Halim is still alive and trying to kill
more Americans. Don’t forget, protecting America is what we do. Think about
it.” Lazarus turned to leave.

“You
fucking bastard,” Doerr shouted. “I will tell everyone everything. If I’m
guilty of anything, then I’m ready for punishment.”

Lazarus
kept walking away and waved his hand dismissively again.

“I
will go and talk to Stonewall tomorrow,” Doerr spoke loudly so Lazarus, who was
about twenty feet away now, could hear him. “I will tell her everything, and
you will lose.”

Lazarus
turned and walked back to Doerr. “Has Stonewall ever participated in an
operation? No. You did and I did, Max. That bitch is sitting at the top, and
she doesn’t have a clue about the real world. I have been in the agency for
over twenty years, and I know how it works. I have been running the real
operations under the official operations. Now…”

“Does
the president know about your real operations?” Doerr interrupted.

“No.
They don’t need to know. Presidents and directors come and go. They are like
showpieces. But the senators are there forever. Brushback and some senators and
congressmen are aware of our operations. And they give us the cover and money when
we need some. We are doing the real work to protect America. We are the real
patriots.” Lazarus extended his hand. “Come join me. You will be really useful
to our great country.”

Doerr
turned, heading away from the parking lot; he did not want to listen to Lazarus
anymore.

THE
NIGHT WAS long and cold. Doerr’s mind moved back and forth like a pendulum. He
knew the choices he was about to make could have grave consequences, not only
for him but also for the people he loved.

He
vacillated, not about whether he should take the offer made by Lazarus. The
answer to that question was settled. He would turn Lazarus in, no matter what
the consequence was.

Doerr
was having trouble deciding who to go to – Stonewall or the president, or
someone else. The downside of going to Stonewall was that if she were an
involved party in the Samuel conspiracy, then she would throw him into the
street and do everything to discredit him. Going to the president after that
would be meaningless.

And
if he went to the president directly, Stonewall would be pissed, and
expectation of any shred of cooperation from her would be unreasonable.
Besides, the president would surely ask for proof, and Doerr did not have any.

He
stood in front of his hotel window and gazed at the stars, the lights in his
room turned off, and he thought hard. What Lazarus had told him the night
before was shocking. It was not like the agency double-crossed him for the
first time. But what Lazarus had done was just preposterous. It was as if he
was running a parallel agency of his own, and he did whatever suited him. A man
like that should not go free. And Samuel had to be punished too. He decided
what his next step would be.

“DO
YOU HAVE any proof of what you just told me?” Stonewall asked, her face grim.
She extended her hand, picked up the water bottle, unscrewed the cap, and took
a sip. “Well?” She looked up.