Veiled Freedom (59 page)

As Steve forcibly propelled Amy to an empty chair, she saw more uniforms ushering in Rasheed and Soraya's husband, Ibrahim. Amy noticed her housemate out in the hallway, proud features frantic. The two men were also bound with flexicuffs, and unlike Jamil, who'd withdrawn to that invisibility with which Amy had become so familiar, they both appeared furious. This time Amy took one look at Steve's unyielding face and made no protest.

After Steve took his place with the other two “judges,” the Afghan officer turned to Ibrahim. “You were arrested in a forbidden place, and other residents testify that your tale of visiting family is a lie. You will tell the truth here or at Pul-e-Charki.”

Catching the tears pouring down Soraya's cheeks, Amy jumped to her feet. “He was not in a forbidden place. He is the husband of my assistant, and their living quarters are upstairs.”

The Afghan officer looked surprised at the intrusion of a foreign woman.

Steve turned a cool gaze on Amy. “For real, or is this another of your rescue bids?”

“No, Ibrahim is just moving in. That's why Rasheed and the others don't know him yet.”

Steve murmured into the Afghan officer's ear, and the police uniforms cut Ibrahim loose.

As he hurried out to Soraya, Jason picked up a sheet of notes and turned to Rasheed. Amy's hands twisted in her lap. Had her earlier fears about the chowkidar turned into reality? “A week ago you offered certain delinquents hospitality. An employee working on their truck overheard you agreeing to absent yourself for the night, giving them opportunity to break in. He also says money changed hands. Is there any reason we shouldn't hold you responsible as well for today's assault?”

To Amy's astonishment, Rasheed's defiant expression immediately crumpled. “It is true. I am responsible for the bombing. I am deeply ashamed. Allah will judge me.”

Steve leaned forward to demand in sharp Dari, “Wait, are you saying you put the bomb in the storeroom? Or took money to let someone else in?”

“Nay! Nay!” Rasheed shook his head. “But I allowed my brothers in the faith to retrieve their wayward woman. They swore an oath to Allah none would be harmed, that they wished only their lawful rights in which the foreigner had interfered. I never thought they could do such evil as this—hurting children and women under my protection. Nor, as Allah is my witness, do I know how they gained entrance this time. Perhaps they paid another. But the guilt is mine for ever permitting these evil men into this place.”

Rasheed's fierce gaze was actually pleading as he looked at Amy. She found herself believing him. The same strict code of a devout Muslim that had forced Amy into a burqa and found merit in handing over a runaway female had left Rasheed devastated over betraying his duty as host and protector to Amy and her charges. It hadn't been anger eating at Rasheed all day but shame and remorse.

“He's telling the truth,” Steve said. “He may be a jerk, but he's no killer.” That last had switched to English as he looked at Rasheed sternly. “And you weren't responsible for the bomb getting in, which doesn't let you off the hook. We'll deal with you later.”

Rasheed looked more reprieved than worried as he hurried out. Now only Jamil's straight, bound figure was left in the center of the room, a resigned expression giving away none of the discomfort those flexicuffs digging into his wrists must be causing. Like Jesus standing before his accusers was an inevitable parallel.

Which made Steve Wilson a furious, stony-faced Pilate or Herod. Amy's mind was still reeling at the security contractor's unbelievable actions. Had Jamil been right in his apprehension about the former American soldier? Should she tell Steve how Jamil had earlier saved the compound, that his behavior toward her assistant was as intolerable and unwarranted as toward the other two men just released?

But Steve had already turned to their final captive, and his hard tone became glacial. “You see, we already know who planted that bomb, don't we, Jamil? If that's really your name.”

Amy was on her feet again, and the pain throbbing at her temples and catching in her chest no longer physical. “What are you saying?”

“What I'm saying is that your pal here is our bomber.” Amy could not tell whether Steve's biting contempt was for her or Jamil.

“No, it isn't true.” Amy's denial came in a whisper even as a horrible realization gripped her stomach as she took in Jamil's expression. Defiance, sadness, even relief were there.

“He is telling the truth, Ameera-jan. I am the bomber you seek.”

What tip-off did I miss?

The disgust knotting Steve's stomach was as much at himself as the man standing across the room, a calm resignation on his face Steve itched to wipe off. From the beginning, he'd had misgivings about this man, even as honesty compelled him to recognize they were founded on no more than Jamil's own antipathy toward himself. If nothing else, Steve could have sworn the man's emotional attachment would never permit him to bring Amy harm.

That the bomber he'd been pursuing all these weeks had been living and working with Amy and her charges, that he'd narrowly missed killing or maiming any number of them, a flashback of Amy pallid and not breathing on the ground, sent a wave of cold fury over Steve that burned away the self-disgust.

Or was it the softness in Amy's face when Steve had burst into the living room, the frantic horror there now, that was responsible for both his fury and disgust?

“I have nothing more to hide.”

Brave words. Except if Jamil knew his fingerprints might come up in the system, he was less acquainted with how quickly American technology could process them, or he'd have skipped that bazaar run Steve had considerately arranged with two Guats before leaving with Jason. Though how he hoped to get past Steve's guards if he'd planned to skip town as he'd told Amy was hard to fathom.

Which just showed Steve was losing his touch. What else had he missed? Well, that he was about to find out.

“We've got you cold with fingerprints on two bombs. So just tell us who you really are and who you are working for. Al-Qaeda? Taliban?” Steve could have made his demand in Dari, but he did so in English, in part because those uniformed grunts crowding around didn't need to hear this interrogation but mostly to put the prisoner on Steve's turf and not his own. “And where were you earlier this morning? Trying to get through security at the new Counternarcotics Justice Center, maybe?”

“Boss.” A flurry in the hallway was Ian. He walked in with a bundle. “You said to check the perp's quarters and any vehicles he's been driving. The quarters were clean—nothing but a tushak, not even personal gear. But one of the mechanics was happy to point out a Corolla. These were stuffed inside the lining of the backseat.”

Ian held out an Afghan counternarcotics police uniform, a light brown wig, and an ID badge.

“Wait a minute.” Jason leaned forward, his gaze shifting from wig and uniform to Jamil's face. “I've seen this guy. He didn't try to get through security. He was inside. Right near Waters and Khalid in the loya jirga.”

But Steve too had now put the pieces together. This was what he'd missed. The nagging familiarity of that guard, that uneasy disquiet he'd dismissed, the light hair and green eyes under that deliberately tilted cap were all wrong. Disposable contacts, he'd hazard now.

Steve had glimpsed Jamil only a handful of times before today, always fleeting or at a distance. Which Steve knew now was not because of Jamil's distaste for a former American soldier—or even any perceived relationship between Steve and his employer. Amy's assistant had known whom Steve protected, and he'd feared recognition.

And that too must be how he'd planned to slip out of this compound. In the uniform of the very police trainees now on guard, he'd receive no more than a second thought.

“There's more. A second bomb. Or another Army surplus parka we're assuming is a bomb. I've sealed off the vehicle and called for the K-9s.”

“You don't need to worry. The dogs didn't even whimper.” Roald had also formed part of the emergency response team. Steve stiffened as he walked in with a thick camouflage coat. But as the German held it up, he could see the lining slit open. Inside was not C-4 but Play-Doh.

The wounded look in Amy's eyes told him she too had recognized what must have been part of those Eid gifts.

“Take it away and process it.” Steve leaned across the table, his body language growing menacing. “So why the toy? And why here and not the loya jirga? You couldn't get the bomb through, so you figured you'd just blow up a few innocent civilians who've been kind enough to offer you a roof and employment? You'd have succeeded too if you hadn't left us a nice forensic trail. A little careless, wouldn't you say?”

“Perhaps. But you see, I did not expect to live so that I should care.”

A fresh commotion in the hallway drowned out further speech. The loud demand was in Dari and only too recognizable. “I do not care about your orders! I am minister of interior, and this is my property. If you do not remove yourself from my path, my bodyguards will shoot. Willie!”

Steve stood just as Khalid burst into the schoolroom, Ismail at his heels and CS detail tight around him. “What is the meaning of all this, Willie? I was told you have grave news for me, that you have found the man who has been trying to kill me.”

The minister's agent-in-charge responded to Steve's glance. “McDuff passed on the good news. We made a beeline here right after the bonfire.”

Khalid stared at the silent, immobile figure standing alone in the center of the room. Steve couldn't quite make out the expression that flitted across the minister's bearded face. Fury? Triumph?

“Do you know this man, Minister?”

“He is not familiar, but my enemies have access to many hirelings.” Khalid moved majestically farther into the room. “What I wish to know is what he is doing on these grounds and why he has destroyed my property.”

“That we're about to find out,” Steve said grimly. “Minister, would you like to take over the interrogation?”

“No, I wish to hear what he has to say to your questions. But this is not discreet. If this is the man, as Ismail informs me, who has been trying to kill me these many months, I wish to hear what he has to say without so many listening ears.” Khalid gestured to the uniforms around the walls. “How can we know if one of these is not a spy who will carry tales back to his employers?”

Which explained why Khalid was speaking laborious English instead of Dari. Ismail murmured to the Afghan force commander. At his curt order, the uniforms around the wall followed the officer out of the room. As Ismail dragged the vacated chair to a less cramped viewing angle for Khalid, Steve's own orders left only Phil and Ian at the prisoner's back, Rick on agent-in-charge duty behind his principal, Ismail glaring at the prisoner from the broken doorway.

And Amy.

As Steve's frown moved pointedly to her, Amy raised her chin. “I'm not leaving. This is my property—at least I pay the rent for this—and Jamil is my employee. You're going to have to pick me up and carry me out of here if you want me to leave.”

Khalid raised a hand. “So this is the American woman who has abused my charity to bring such distasteful residents onto my property. No, no, the Americans have different ways, and I owe them much.”

Under the minister's knowing glance, Steve gritted his teeth.

“I am understanding now, Willie, why Ismail tells me you have interested yourself in the defense of this property. Let the woman stay. If it is true she employs this delinquent, he may be more cooperative in her presence. Let us find out who this man is and how he is so incompetent I remain alive.” There was raw contempt in Khalid's tone.

Steve picked up where he'd left off, throwing the questions hard and fast like hammer blows. “So you did come to Kabul to target Khalid. Who paid you? How did you get ID to get on the grounds? And the bomb? It was remote control. Were you carrying the detonator or someone else? And why, when you couldn't get the bomb past security, did you come here instead?”

But his prisoner did not so much as glance at Steve, and when he took a step forward that raised every weapon in the room, it was toward Khalid. “Incompetent! Do you think you are alive because I could not kill you, Khalid Sayef? Do you not know who I am? Jamil, son of Asad. If you do not recognize me now, you knew me well the day you killed my father and brothers on these very grounds. The day you stole my family's home from under my feet. The day you lied to the Americans that I was a terrorist so that they shut me away in their prison.”

Jamil shifted to the two American contractors behind the desk. “Yes, I did come here to kill Khalid. As was my right and my blood duty. And if he is not dead, it is not that I was incapable of my mission. I was indeed inside your defenses today—as I was once before.