Haven, page 31
The smile did broaden. Elizabeth walked on. They were moving toward a path that led to Harbour Town although Elizabeth had no intention of going there.
“But it's changing, you know," Aisha told her. "It's slow but it's changing, especially here. Even back in Egypt more and more Muslim men are becoming a lot like my father. And like Nadia's father. I met him once. Neither one would have dreamed of ever beating a wife or having a daughter sewn up and stuff. I guess I need you to know that.”
Elizabeth nodded. She said nothing.
“Women still go covered, the Nasreens especially, but that's partly so everyone knows that they're Muslims. No one ever bothers them when they're out walking. It's not such a bad thing, Elizabeth.”
“Um...the Nasreens. I've been meaning to ask. Are they named for anyone in particular?
“Uh-huh. A woman doctor. She died.”
Elizabeth felt a burning on the skin of her face. It was a burn that she'd thought was long healed. “Was her name Zayed? Nasreen Zayed?”
“Yes it was. How'd you know?”
Elizabeth didn't answer. She was staring at the pavement. "There was a woman, a teacher, who was murdered with her. Does the name Rada Khoury mean anything to you?”
“Murdered with her?”
“Yes. By some men less... progressive than your father.”
Aisha seemed confused. "When did all this happen?”
“A long time ago. Fifteen years, give or take.”
“Then I don't get it. Rada Khoury isn't dead. Nasreen Zayed died but it wasn't that long ago. She wasn't murdered either. She died of a plague - it was cholera, I think - that broke out in Southern Jordan. She's considered a martyr because she didn't have to go but she did and she saved a lot of lives.”
Elizabeth listened, stunned into silence. A feeling of gladness fought with one of disbelief. She walked on, seeing nothing, only faces from her past.
Aisha told her that she knew these stories because Nadia had told them to her. Both their pictures hung framed on Nadia's wall. Nasreen had started an underground railroad after saving one woman who the Saudi's had imprisoned. An American, thought Aisha, but that might have been legend. After that first women there were dozens, maybe more. Rada Khoury, it's true, was condemned through a fatwah because she wouldn't stop teaching family planning. She was sentenced to death but Nasreen helped her escape. She got her out of Jordan and into France through a sister network that had been started by Nadia Halaby. Nadia funded her network with her winnings from tennis and with money donated by sympathetic Muslims, Aisha's own parents among them. Nadia, by the way, had a price on her head already because of her work with Algerian women. The network she started pushed it way up to a million and that's why she decided that she'd better move here. Rada Khoury, meanwhile, is still living in France where she's managing Nadia's network. But she comes to New York a few times each year, escorting new runaway women and children. When Nasreen get sick and died a few years ago, it was Rada who
proposed that the New York branch be named in her honor.
Elizabeth had to struggle to control her breathing as the meaning of all that she was hearing sank in. If true, and it must be if Aisha is telling it, it meant that the Israelis had lied from the beginning. They had used the story of their deaths to recruit her and to help stoke her hatred of such Muslim men.
She had left the road and was walking through pine trees, not knowing it or rather not caring. She heard Aisha's voice ask, "Elizabeth, what's wrong?" but the voice came as from a distance. Aisha followed with difficulty, her blades sinking in the soft ground. "Elizabeth? You look funny. Are you sick?”
She reached out a hand. It touched the girl's shoulder. She squeezed it.
“Listen...Aisha," she said softly, "I think I'd like to be alone.”
“No way. Wait a second. Let me take off my skates.”
Elizabeth did not wait. She walked on ahead toward the shouts and the cheers that rose from the tennis courts of Harbour Town. She barely heard them as roars of a crowd. They were more a part of the thousand other voices that echoed through her mind as her brain tried to sort what was real and was not.
“Elizabeth...wait. I'm coming with you.”
Lester Loomis had instructed two of his men to begin making rounds of the restaurants and bars showing photographs of Martin Kessler. The work might be slow but there was no other way. Armed with a listing of restaurants and a map, they would begin with those restaurants nearest to Van Der Meer and widen their search from that point. Loomis, meanwhile, had begun making calls to the marinas that were listed in the yellow pages. On his third call he smiled and broke the connection.
“You were right. The schmuck's here," he told Tarrant.
The marina office at Harbour Town had confirmed that the boat docked that morning. He opened a map on the hood of his car and marked the location for Tarrant. "He's in slip B-4 which the office said is here, stern in against some condos called Clipper Court.”
Tarrant showed his teeth. He said, "Let's go," and had reached for the car door when the beeper in his briefcase sounded again. Tarrant almost ignored it. He could imagine no message that was nearly as urgent as the need to get his hands on Bandari. But he opened his briefcase and saw the number that had called. The young aide would not remain by that public phone if he didn't call him back within ten minutes. Tarrant punched out number on his cell phone.
“You're on Hilton Head, right?" said the aide when he answered. "If you are, you're going to like what I've got.”
“Never mind where I am. Come on, talk to me.”
“Kessler's using a new name. It's Leidner," said the aide. He then spelled it. "He's posing as a doctor. Doctor Jonathan Leidner.”
“A doctor? Why a doctor?" asked Tarrant, scribbling.
“Who knows? All I know is Peter...who's there too, by the way...called Roger to tell him that he thinks they've identified Kessler. But he also asked if Roger sent any operatives. It seems he saw four suspicious characters hanging around Hilton Head's airport. Roger said he did not and he then called my boss. He played it cute; he asked my boss if he'd sent any men to a certain island. My boss admitted, 'Yeah, he has,' but he's talking, remember, about Grand Cayman Island where he thinks you're headed right now.”
A satisfied grunt. "How long ago was this?”
“The call to my boss? Ten minutes.”
“You said identified Kessler. They haven't located him?”
“By now? I don't know but they could have.”
Tarrant said, "You've done well, worth a bonus, but keep me advised." He broke the connection and reached for the phone book that Loomis was holding in his hand. He found the listing for Jonathan Leidner. The address was a house in the Shipyard Plantation. On the map it was very near Van Der Meer.
“Call your men back. We've found him," he said to Loomis.
“What you've found is a house. So have they. Let's go slow here.”
Tarrant ignored him. He was studying the map. Shipyard was also on the way to the marina. Bandari was tied to a dock; Kessler wasn't.
Bandari could wait ten more minutes.
Nadia and Jasmine had missed them by seconds. Their delay was caused by a dispute with Roy Willis over whether to risk a confrontation with a woman as dangerous as Elizabeth Stride. Willis had argued that the girl would be safe; that Stride didn't save her to harm her. But he did want their help in finding Martin Kessler who was far more important for the moment.
“To you, not to me," was Nadia's reply. She walked to her car. Jasmine followed.
They saw the red Bronco parked at 30 Marsh Drive and the flower trays left with their planting unfinished. These suggested that Aisha and this woman were inside.
“You go knock," Jasmine told her. "I'll be covering behind you.”
“Covering? What's that mean? Did you bring a gun?”
“You bet your ass. It's the one from your office.”
“Jasmine, damn it. Keep that thing in your...”
What stopped her was a woman back from walking her poodle. The poodle had paused at the flower trays. The woman seemed to take note of the Van Der Meer jackets that both Nadia and Jasmine were wearing.
“Are you looking for Elizabeth? I don't think she's home.”
“Um...I'm picking up my daughter," Nadia said quickly. "Young girl, dark hair, she's on skates?”
“Ah, the matchmaker, yes. I believe they took a walk.”
“Matchmaker?" Nadia blinked.
“Ooops. I don't think I should have said that. But they can't be far. They went that way.”
“That way?" She was pointing where there wasn't any road. "Could you...guess where they might have been going?”
“Harbour Town, I guess. It's up through that clearing.”
“So you...must know Elizabeth," Nadia asked.
“Not really. She's quiet. But she seems very nice.”
“So I'm told. That way?”
“Through those trees.”
THIRTY ONE
Ozal had, at last, gotten rid of Bandari. They could now start assembling the bomb. He had told Bandari that he must go ashore and start looking for the girl and the Algerian.
“Look for them? Where would I look for them?" he asked.
“Over there where there is tennis." Ozal pointed toward the crowd. "This is not only a big place for tennis, it's the biggest place for tennis on the island.”
“But here there are thousands. I'm to find them in so many?”
“All these thousands are pink but those two are like coffee. Take your binoculars with you. Besides, Bandari, you know your own niece. If she's here you will spot her but she won't spot you because you said it's eight years since she's seen you. When you see her, come and get us, we will follow her home. That way we'll know where to bring the bomb.”
Bandari did not think this was much of a plan. Ozal said they would then simply steal a tourist's car and explode it in front of her house. He said, don't worry, if you don't see her here I have maps of all the places on the island where these people go to practice their tennis. But Bandari agreed to get off the boat because the stink from the galley was making him sick. Ozal's two soldiers were sick from it already. One of them had vomited over the side and the other had not managed to make it that far before spewing his breakfast all over the quarterdeck in full view of many passing pink faces. Ozal, not surprisingly, looked not so good himself and his breath was like that of a goat. Bandari would go, and he would look for young Aisha, if only to get some fresh air in his lungs.
The soldiers, once Bandari had vanished from view, went to get a wheeled cart from the dock. The cart was the type most marinas provide for hauling provisions on board. They pulled it down the ramp and down Bandari's slip where they parked it at the boat's boarding ladder. Ozal threw them a grommeted tarp. The tarp was for making a tent on the cart so that all these pink faces couldn't see what they were doing and also to tie it all down when they were finished. Ozal stayed on board to direct them. He told one to climb aboard and carry up the ingredients. The other, the more nauseous, would stay on the slip where at least he could vomit in the water.
Ozal was afraid that he knew why they were sick. He hoped that the sweats and the throwing up of breakfast were a case of nerves, nothing more. But he knew that these symptoms, including his own, might well be the first signs of radiation poisoning. He had tried to be careful in scoring the casings. His ruined fingers did not always cooperate. If the casings are leaking, however, so be it. It's too bad if never brings that second bomb to Cairo but if he's to die a martyr, let it be here. He will strike such a blow against this Godless place that his name will be remembered for all time.
The soldier on board first brought up the timer. The timer was simply the parts of a clock attached to a detonator he had devised. The detonator - the charge that would set off the nitro - was made from the powder of parachute flares of which the boat had an ample supply. Next came the nitro still packed in ice to keep it under ten degrees Celsius. Once in place, he told the soldier to scoop out the ice so that it wouldn't dampen the charge when it melted. This was also to allow the nitro to warm up. Even if the detonator should fail ignite the sun would eventually do the job on the nitro.
On top of the nitro they piled several bales wrapped in plastic, each weighing about twenty kilos. One of the soldiers dropped one of the bales because his hands were now slippery with sweat. He gave a little shriek and a few faces turned but Ozal quickly calmed him and said no harm done. To those watching, he said, "Butterfingers," and shrugged. They smiled back at him and kept going. To the soldier, he whispered, "Don't worry about the bales. You could shoot them full of holes and the worst that will happen is you'll have a big mess to sweep up.”
This was true. He didn't lie. The bales contained a mixture of four parts ammonium nitrate and one part urea crystals. This concoction was essentially a commercial fertilizer, perfectly safe unless you ate it. If packed correctly and exploded correctly, it produced a powerful shock wave, however. Not as big as the van-load from Oklahoma City but enough to take a few roofs off these buildings and blow people as if they were leaves.
With the last of the bales in place and tied down, they covered the package with the grommeted tarp which they fastened with shock cords underneath the cart. That done, they weighted the package down further with two cases of soft drinks in cans. This was, in part, to make it look like provisions but also to see how high the cans would go when shot up like the rounds from a mortar.
“We're too late," said Loomis, his phone at his ear.
The driver of the car bearing Loomis and Tarrant had no trouble getting into the Shipyard Plantation. Any driver need only say, "Lunch at the Golf Club," and the guard at the gate would hand him a pass giving no further thought to that visitor. Signs showed them the way to Gloucester Road where the phone book said Kessler/Leidner was living. The car with his two other men were there already; they had the house under surveillance. The driver of that car had called Lester Loomis to tell him to keep going past the Gloucester Road address.
“He says that same jitney, the one from the airport, is sitting in Kessler's driveway right now.”
Loomis listened further while repeating for Tarrant. "Same two men...the big black and the older man he met. The older one's this Peter you were talking about?...They're talking to some guy who came to the door...little guy...my guy says he looks kinda Jewish...My guy says it's definitely not Kessler.”
Tarrant cursed. He peered ahead. He could see the white jitney. Two driveways before it he could see the car from which the man was reporting to Loomis.
“My guy says this guy is pointing...like he's giving directions...the black guy is nodding like he knows where it is...the old guy is turning back to the jitney...he's waving like 'Thank you.' They're leaving, I think. Guy's watching them go...guy steps back inside...guy seems in a hurry to get in.”
“He's told them where to find Kessler. We'll follow.”
“Wait a second. Let's think. Would this Kessler have a roommate?”
“So what if he does? What's the difference?”
“Would Kessler live with someone to save on his rent? I'm asking; you know this guy better than me. Hey, didn't that file say he had a Jew partner? Guy named Stein or something like that.”
Tarrant remembered the reference. Not Stein. It was Stride. But the partner named Stride was certainly a Jew if he worked for Israeli Intelligence.
“Guy ducks back in the house. Say he's going to the phone," Loomis told him. "Say he's dialing right now because he wants to warn Kessler. Say he sent those two off on a goose chase.”
Tarrant nodded. He agreed. "Go find out.”
Tarrant watched as Loomis and his man approached the house. The other two men had held their positions to warn them in case a patrol car appeared. The jitney was well out of sight.
Loomis tried the front door. The man hadn't locked it. Loomis opened it slightly and listened. He turned and gave Tarrant an I-told-you-so nod; at the same time he reached for his pistol. Tarrant wanted to stop him; this was no place for guns; he wanted to lean on the horn but dared not. Loomis had entered, his man close behind, both moving with stealth through the doorway. Tarrant watched and listened for what seemed much too long although his watch said that barely two minutes had passed. At last there was Loomis. He opened the door. There was anger on his face toward the man who came out with him. Tarrant knew at once that there had been trouble because Loomis was holding what looked like a washcloth and wiping both knobs of the door.
“What happened, damn it?" Tarrant demanded as the two climbed back into the car.
“You were right, is what happened. He was trying to warn Kessler. Let's get out past the gatehouse and I'll tell you.”
“We heard Kessler's partner from outside the door." Loomis studied his map as he explained. "He's on the kitchen phone, he's asking whoever was on the other end to page Doctor Jonathan Leidner. I had to stop him; I showed him my gun; I took the phone out of his hand and hung up. I asked him where's Kessler but the guy plays dumb. He says he doesn't know any Kessler. I say, 'Okay, then where's Leidner?" He says he doesn't know. I smack him and I press Redial on his phone.
“This woman answers; I hear like an office. She says 'Family Circle Tennis Classic. Can I help you?' I told her to cancel that page for Doctor Leidner and I asked her, by the way, where's this Family Circle. She says it's in Harbour Town which is...hey Ralph, hang a left...no more than five minutes away.”
“Um....Loomis," Tarrant asked him. "What else happened back there?”
“It's a Pro tennis tournament. It goes on all week. There's a calendar in the kitchen that has 'JL-FC' written in for today and tomorrow. That's gotta mean Leidner-Family Circle.”
“Mr. Loomis...I asked you what happened.”
“Guy ran for the door. We couldn't help it.”
“You shot him?”
Loomis cocked his head toward his driver, named Ralph. "Choke hold. Something popped. I don't know. He wasn't breathing. We shoved him under a bed.”
