Jihadi Bride, page 13
“What did you have in mind?”
Al Kanadi closed his eyes. As much as he delegated, tried to promote initiative, their default was to turn to him for the answers. Perhaps if Mamdouh had read a book or two, he’d have more creativity. “Create some noise, give them something else to look at.” He glanced up. “Ideally it would get this father to back off and give the police something else to investigate. I’m not doing our brother’s work for him. Sayyid knows the intent, tell him to sort out the details.”
“As you wish.” Mamdouh placed a hand over his heart and then walked away.
Al Kanadi’s fingers traced a path through the dirt and ashes until they came to rest on a yellowed piece of parchment. It was a risk to let Sayyid and Mamdouh handle things, but micro-managing wasn’t the answer. Trust was the foundation that let many become one, let them seize opportunities in line with one plan, Allah’s plan.
And his own, of course. Whatever Sayyid planned, if it failed, it would be easy to shift blame to the cell. If, on the other hand, it succeeded, well, in that case, al Kanadi would be the first to take the credit.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE DARK OF THE NIGHT
Montreal, Quebec
06 May 15 – 1037 Local
Once, in a different life as an airborne trooper, long before he’d met Audray, hard-partying had been a way of life for Erik. In the shacks he’d called home on Base Petawawa, testosterone-fueled drinking had led to many crazy nights, nights that seemed tame if they didn’t end in a fight or in parts of the barracks being destroyed. They’d shot rifles and thrown pilfered Army pyrotechnics inside the buildings, even dodged crossbow bolts, but they’d always fixed what they broke. A lot of those memories were gone now – he’d been in black-out mode half the time anyway – but in all his partying, he couldn’t remember the slimy feeling that covered his skin as he stood outside the Alpha Kappa Omega frat house.
From outside, the three-story, brick-faced building appeared stately, the fraternity’s Greek letters carved into red blocks beneath the second-floor windows. Inside, though, was a different story from what he could see from the doorway. He stepped to one side as a young woman with short blonde hair and long, dangling earrings staggered out the door, the reek of stale beer and smoke close behind. She clutched a sweater around her shoulders and stumbled down the stairs, righted herself on the path that led to the sidewalk.
“Are you all right?” Erik asked and reached out to help steady the woman.
The woman flinched, held a hand to her forehead and shuffled off.
Erik exchanged a glance with Stephanie. “Maybe you should wait outside.”
Her lips were pressed together in a thin line. “I didn’t come here to stand around.”
“In that case, I’m glad you’re here.” He’d tracked down the frat house in hours, but in that time, Sahraoui’s comments about campus culture had festered and what had been a spark of anger inside Erik had grown. He’d bided his time, observed the house and done his research while he waited for the tightness to leave his chest. When it hadn’t, when he realized his first impulse was to break in the door and shake down every person he saw, he’d asked Stephanie to come along. She’d make sure things didn’t get out of hand.
“I’m a little surprised you didn’t call Jordan.”
“I thought about it, but figured we’d just get each other worked up.”
“Good decision.” A slight smile touched her lips. “Besides, I’m pretty good at getting people to talk.”
“Why are you doing this, Stephanie?”
“I asked you to call me before you did anything stupid, remember?”
“I know that, but you didn’t have to come out here. Especially after I talked to Sahraoui.”
“Which was incredibly dumb,” she said. “But this isn’t just about terrorism anymore. If I were a parent, I’d want answers too. And if I were a daughter…” Her gaze dropped. “I guess I’d want to know that my dad cared enough to do what you’re doing.” She shook her head. “Besides, as you’ve already shown, if I’d said no, you would go in anyways and who knows what would happen then.”
“Thank-you,” he said and drew a deep breath. “Well, no time like the present.” He opened the door and entered. Just inside was a large whiteboard with rules drawn in multi-color marker, edicts like, “Don’t be a cockblock,” “Don’t hog the shisha,” and the underlined phrase that, “Violators will be bitch slapped!!!” He stepped past, boots sticking to the wooden floor. “Hello?” He poked his head into a living room. “Anyone here?”
A young man’s head rose from a tired couch to peek over a coffee table covered with red plastic cups, and empty booze and pop bottles. “What do you want?” The man reached for the hose of a shisha pipe.
“I’m Erik Petersson,” he said and walked into the room. “About a month ago my daughter ran off. Her roommate said someone from this fraternity might know what happened, and I wanted to ask a few questions.”
The man settled back into the couch. “Maybe tomorrow,” he said, staring at the television. “I’m busy right now.”
“Ayoye,” Stephanie said from behind him.
Erik turned. “What is it?”
Stephanie nodded in the direction of the television. On the screen, a small woman with short, blond hair lay on a threadbare mattress. Her body rocked back and forth as a muscular, naked man thrust away between her legs. Several other men stood in a circle, visible from the chest down, most with drinks in hand. The view bobbled as the camera panned the crowd and then a second naked man came into view near the woman’s head, his cock in hand which he used to slap the woman in the face. Erik studied the woman, her eyes closed, so much like the woman who’d passed them on the stairway, even down to the long, dangling earrings.
Heat rose in his cheeks. He caught Stephanie’s attention and nodded at the door, a questioning look on his face. When she shook her head, he clenched his jaw and squared off to the young man. “This won’t take long,” he said.
The shisha pipe bubbled as the man took a long drag.
Erik reached across the coffee table and plucked the hose from the man’s hand. “Arielle Petersson. You heard of her?”
The man flinched, and a semblance of clarity crossed his foggy eyes. “Arielle…”
“Try to remember,” Erik said, “I’d appreciate it.”
“What would you appreciate?” a man asked from across the room. “More importantly, who the fuck are you?”
Erik glanced at what appeared to be a doorway to the kitchen and took in the newcomer, a tall, muscled young man whose lip curled in a contemptuous sneer. “I’m Erik Petersson,” he said. “My daughter –”
“Well, Erik fucking Petersson, I’m Johnny, and this is my fraternity.” Johnny reached inside his bathrobe and scratched an armpit. “And you’re trespassing. Get out.”
“We’re with the police,” Stephanie said, “and we’re following up on a missing person.”
Johnny’s eyes narrowed, and he crossed the floor to the couch. “You know what this is about?”
The young man on the couch looked back at the television.
“Hey, Shit-pump.” Johnny kicked the man’s leg. “I asked you a question.”
“I don’t know what they’re talking about.” Shit-pump sprang into a sitting position. “They’re asking questions about a girl. I haven’t said shit.”
“Well, there you have it.” Johnny spread his arms wide. “There’s nothing to say. You can both be on your merry way.”
“Hold on.” Erik straightened and squared off with Johnny. “I’m trying to track down my daughter, and I was told somebody in this fraternity might have some information. I have a few questions, and then we’ll leave.”
“Ask your questions on the way out.” Johnny waved at the door in dismissal.
“Can I use the washroom first?” Stephanie asked.
Johnny sighed, took in Stephanie for what seemed like the first time. “Well, hello. How you doing?” He nodded up the corridor. “Of course you can use the facilities. There’s one past the kitchen.” His gaze roamed over Stephanie as she disappeared into the hallway.
Erik cleared his throat and Johnny looked at him. “I’d like to know more about some events that happened at La Distillerie, around the end of September.”
A frown creased Johnny’s forehead. “You said La Distillerie?”
“That’s right,” Erik said. “My daughter was there with her roommate, a girl named Mary-Beth –”
“I don’t know any Mary-Beths.” Johnny folded his arms across his chest.
“She also goes by Dominique. She’s a dancer.”
“Oh, Dirty Dominique,” Johnny smirked. “Dancer’s being generous. Why didn’t you say she was your daughter’s roommate? Sounds like she was a lot of fun.”
Erik’s pulse quickened. “On this particular night –”
“Back in September?”
“Yes –”
“Like eight months ago?”
“That’s right, September. Comes after August and before October. There –”
“Do you know how many clubs I’ve been in since September? You know this is a frat house, right?”
“Can you stop interrupting?”
Johnny stepped closer. “Or what?”
“Or it’s going to take us longer to get through these questions.” Erik held his ground.
“Well, I don’t know anything about your daughter hanging with a stripper, so I guess we’re done.” He glanced toward the hallway, where Stephanie had reappeared. “Right on time. Looks like visiting hours are over.” He leered. “Although you’re welcome to stay a little longer, Trix. I’ll make it worth your while.”
Stephanie ignored Johnny, held out a small white bottle to Erik. “This is interesting.”
Erik squinted at the lettering on the label. “Rohypnol. Roofies.”
Stephanie nodded. “Right on the edge of the sink, if you can believe it.”
“The fuck are you doing?” Johnny snatched for the bottle. “That’s private property.”
Erik held the bottle out of reach. “Tell me, Johnny, why do you have date rape drugs?”
“It’s for insomnia,” Johnny said, “and you can’t go snooping through our shit.”
“I wonder what else would we find if we did.”
“A big, fucking goose egg.” A sneer contorted Johnny’s face as he straightened to loom over Erik.
Erik slammed the bottle into Johnny’s chest. “I’ll bet a month’s salary this is how you get girls to be in your little homemade movies. Is it?”
“I don’t have to answer your fucking questions, if you’re even cops,” Johnny said. “In fact, I don’t remember seeing any badges.”
“You scared to answer? Are you hiding something?” Erik asked. “Then we’ll talk to the university.”
“Erik…” Stephanie stepped closer.
“You mean the university my family donates millions of dollars to?” Johnny’s smirk grew. “The one with a building named after my father? I’d like to hear what they have to say, that’d be interesting. In fact,” he spoke to Shit-pump, “why don’t you get off your ass and go call campus security?”
Shit-pump stumbled off the couch.
Erik ground the box of pills against Johnny’s chest, drove the larger man back. “I asked you a question. Do you use these to drug girls? Did you use this on my daughter? Is she in one of your…” He didn’t want to finish the thought.
“Steady, old timer,” Johnny said, his lip curled in a sneer. “That’s assault.”
“Erik, that’s enough,” Stephanie said.
“Listen to your partner, Erik,” Johnny said, “her mothering instinct must be kicking in.” He folded his arms across his chest and looked down at Erik.
Erik glared into Johnny’s face. The smart thing to do would be to leave, he knew that. This wasn’t the playground, and he wasn’t an eight-year-old kid, taunted by a schoolyard bully. And Johnny was wrong. The Task Force had lots of tools. Given time, they’d unearth any link this frat house had to drugs, regardless of well-connected fathers. So again, the responsible thing to do would be to back off, let the team do its work.
“Come on, calm down.” Stephanie pulled on Erik’s arm.
“This is kinda hot, actually,” Johnny said. He nodded at Stephanie. “You sure you don’t want to hang out after you ditch this loser?”
Erik tossed the pill bottle at Johnny’s head. It tumbled, and Johnny shifted back, made a wild grab. Johnny’s attention on the bottle, Erik lashed out with his foot, struck the inside of Johnny’s right ankle. The leg buckled and Erik rebounded his foot and heel-kicked the inside of Johnny’s left knee. His base destroyed, Johnny fell. On his way down, Erik caught Johnny by the arm and shoulder and drove him to the floor, ground his face into the sticky wood while he locked up Johnny’s elbow in an armbar.
“Now you’re fucked,” Johnny said through gasps of pain.
“Well, when campus security gets here, you can explain that, as well as why you have date rape drugs.” He wrenched on Johnny’s arm. “Do you use these drugs on women?”
“Fuck you.”
Erik applied more pressure to Johnny’s arm, was rewarded with a muffled groan. “You don’t need this for anything, do you? After all, you have another one.”
“All right, all right. We use the drugs,” Johnny said. “Not much, it’s an initiation thing.”
Erik’s lips peeled back. “Did you use those on my daughter?”
“I can’t fucking remember,” Johnny said. “Maybe, I don’t know. It’s not like we keep a fucking tally.”
“Erik, that’s enough,” Stephanie said.
Erik leaned close to Johnny’s ear, and as he did, he added more tension to the armbar and Johnny moaned. “Where do you get this stuff? Who supplies you?”
“Some rag-head piece of shit,” Johnny said. “Mohammed something or other.”
“A name.”
“Reyad,” Johnny said, “Reyad Slimani.”
“Where can I find him? Is he a student?”
“Yes, fuck,” Johnny said. “He’s in the Islamic studies program.”
“What?” Erik eased off the pressure.
“It’s true, goddammit,” Johnny said. “Religion’s a front for half those rag-heads, a cover for drug dealing.”
“Erik,” Stephanie said, her voice urgent.
“Okay, that’ll do,” Erik said and then let go of Johnny’s trapped arm and backed off. One eye on Johnny, who clutched his arm as he struggled to his feet, Erik joined Stephanie at the door.
“It’s time to go.” She grabbed his elbow.
“You heard it, right? The drugs. They’re a direct link.”
“We can talk about it outside.” She tugged him toward the entrance.
“That’s right, get the fuck out of here,” Johnny called from the living room.
Erik froze on the doorstep, looked back.
Stephanie grabbed him by both shoulders and forced him to look at her. “Hey, what are you thinking? You thinking of going back in there? Would it make you feel any better?”
He dropped his gaze and she reached out and lifted his chin.
“What’ll it get you?” she asked.
“You saw what they did to that woman.”
“And is any of that going to bring Arielle back?”
He stiffened.
“We learned a lot here,” she said. “Let’s make sure we’re able to put it to use.”
He shuffled in place, held by Stephanie’s royal blue eyes until the tension in his body began to ease, and he was left with an empty ache in the pit of his stomach. Stephanie took his hand, and he concentrated on her touch. The warmth felt good, an ounce of stability in a world that was spinning out of control. He nodded and focused on Stephanie’s touch as she led him down the stairs.
* * *
Somewhere between Kobane and Raqqa, Syria
06 May 15 – 1814 Local
The remains of what had been apartment buildings provided scant cover for Mus’ab Saleh, but it was what he had. He flitted from pile to pile, stopped long enough to catch his breath and listen. Then he’d move on, his sole companion the increasing fear that he was being watched.
He didn’t know where the threat was anymore. His initial flight from the front lines had taken him through a spider-web of buildings mixed with fighting positions. He’d almost stumbled into an enemy position, had been about to call out and then he’d caught the sound of Kurdish voices around a corner and been able to slink away. Finally, he’d found a hole in the rubble and curled up for several hours of shivering half-sleep. When he’d woken, the sun was high, a hazy, orange disc visible through a perpetual cloud of dust and smoke that hung over the battlefield. Since then, he’d worked his way back to what he thought was his own position.
He poked his head out of his hiding spot and watched the street where minutes before he’d been walking. Plastic bags, cardboard boxes, all kinds of rubbish covered the landscape. Pencil-thin columns of smoke rose from a dozen different locations and the skeletal buildings that lined the road stared at him from hollowed windows. A bullet cracked overhead, and he ducked, instinctively counted until the thump of the rifle blast reached him. A second, maybe two. Ahmed had said that meant the sniper was close – or had he? The shot might not have even been at him. It didn’t matter. It was time to move.
