“The holy man and his wife are dead,” he said.
Abu Sayeed said nothing for several seconds, finally, “What about the other one?”
“I have him.”
“Come back.”
“What about the bodyguards?”
“They’ll come with Biddle.”
FORTY-NINE
TEETERBORO AIRPORT, JULY 1
ANNELIËS TOOK A SERIES OF deep breaths to calm her nerves as Biddle’s Gulfstream touched down on the far end of the runway. The jet reversed thrusters and then a few seconds later braked just short of where she waited with the car.
The engines wound down. A door swung back, a metal ladder unfolded, and Biddle hurried off the aircraft wearing wrinkled khakis and a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbow. He stopped just short of the Range Rover and cast a searching look for his two bodyguards. He continued to glance around while the co-pilot loaded his luggage in the Range Rover’s cargo compartment. Finally, he thanked the pilot for a safe journey then climbed in the car. He gave Anneliës a curt nod, and she started through the gate that led to the airport exit road.
They went several hundred yards in silence before Biddle demanded, “Where are they?”
She braked and turned to face him. It was after three a.m., so there were no other cars on the airport exit road. “I don’t know,” she said, presuming their absence meant Abu Sayeed had already dealt with them.
Biddle looked exhausted and worried, but he seemed to shake it off. “Come here,” he said, his voice rough with pent-up desire.
She leaned into him and felt his kiss, as awkward as always, lips tentative and stiff. She responded, opening her mouth and sliding her tongue between his teeth. Biddle’s mouth was nearly dry, stale with the taste of his long travel, and she resisted the urge to pull away.
The kiss finally ended, and Biddle straightened, breathing heavily. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he said.
His fingers caressed her cheek. He didn’t grab at her breasts or thighs, as other men would have done. She found his inhibition a relief. “I’ve suffered too, my darling,” she murmured. “Even a day is too long.”
Biddle gave her a tender smile then sagged against his seat. “Thank God it won’t be much longer.”
Anneliës resumed driving, turning out of the airport and heading toward Long Island.
Biddle put his hand to his mouth and stifled a yawn. “The boat is ready?” He was referring to the Chris Craft she’d purchased on his orders at a pre-owned boat sale. It was the exact model the Coast Guard used, and now had false registration numbers and a repainted hull with wide bands of white tape along both sides that could be peeled off to reveal the diagonal red Coast Guard markings. Biddle’s plan called for the Arabs to use the disguised boat to penetrate the protective perimeter, where they would then fire their missiles at the President’s helicopter. Even if the President survived, he believed the United States’ retaliation would precipitate Armageddon. There would be no one to point the finger of guilt, because he fully expected the Arabs to die in their attack.
“It’s in position,” she said. Two days earlier Anderson and McTighe had moved it to an industrial pier in the Red Hook section of Brooklyn. Biddle had leased the pier through a series of dummy corporations with untraceable ownership.
“Thanks be to God,” Biddle said.
Anneliës nodded, but her pulse quickened. She knew Abu Sayeed had no intention of using the disguised boat or sacrificing his life. His plan was to fire the rockets into the middle of Manhattan then disappear before anyone realized what happened. To Abu Sayeed, Biddle had been a tool to transport weapons and people into the United States, and soon he would become a bargaining chip to ensure their escape.
She chewed her lip as her anxiety spiked. It was time to make the ultimate decision, and the risks were terrifying. If she warned Biddle about Abu Sayeed’s plan, how would he react? Would he choose survival or martyrdom? If he chose the latter, he’d give them both away, and Abu Sayeed would kill her at the first hint of betrayal. Yet if she didn’t warn Biddle, her life would never change.
She reached into her pocket, and her fingers grazed the small syringe Abu Sayeed had given her in case Biddle seemed suspicious and refused to return to his estate. All she had to do was lean over and stick him in the neck, and her own safety was assured. She could deliver Biddle then go to JFK, board a flight to Europe, and disappear. However, her money would eventually run out, and once it did she’d be on her back again for any pig that wanted her body.
She held her breath and made her choice. When she finally withdrew her hand from her pocket it was empty. She’d come too far, especially when Biddle could give her everything.
“Darling,” she said. “I’m frightened.”
Biddle had been resting, but now he opened his eyes and turned.
“Those Arabs are animals,” she said.
“They are infidels,” Biddle corrected. “They have never seen God’s light as you have.”
“I don’t think we should go to your estate without protection.”
Biddle seemed to think it over, then shook his head. “The Lord is all we require.”
Anneliës looked away, trying to hide the desperation in her eyes. She thought of Biddle and Abu Sayeed, both men brilliant and analytical yet each ruled by his own childish superstition. Perhaps she should get away from both of them, but where to go and how to do it?
Biddle had closed his eyes again. “We’re almost finished, my love,” he murmured. He rested his hand on her thigh. “Soon we can be together.”
Now, as she steered through the light traffic and tried again to make her choice, she thought back over fifteen years of whoring, ever since the German police had crushed the anarchist group she’d joined at the University of Heidelberg. She had fled and gone underground, where her looks had been her ticket to a living.
That was how she’d come to work for Abu Sayeed—sometimes as his courier, sometimes as a personal amusement, sometimes as his gift to others—and how on his orders she met and seduced Biddle.
Therefore, what choice did she really have? In ten more years, who would want her? And Biddle treated her well and paid her lavishly. For the first time she no longer had to sleep with other men for money. She had a hold on Biddle and believed he would make the arrangement permanent—if he survived the next forty-eight hours.
“Are you sleeping?” she asked.
“Just resting my eyes.”
She gripped the wheel tightly. “I think the Arabs intend to kill you.”
Biddle’s eyes opened and he turned his head. “Why?”
She shook her head. “I hear them whisper things.”
Biddle said nothing, but she thought she detected a hint of uncertainty.
“I know they’re treacherous,” he said after a moment. “That’s why I wanted Beddington and McTighe here tonight.”
“Maybe we should go someplace safe until you can talk to them.”
“They don’t answer their phones.” His voice betrayed his rising doubt. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
“We shouldn’t go back there alone.”
Biddle shook his head then put one hand over his face. “Sometimes I fear that God will abandon me,” he whispered. “That my sins have made me unfit.”
Anneliës took one hand off the wheel and caressed Biddle’s neck. “What you’re doing is sacred.”
“But what if I’m wrong?”
She felt him tremble, and his growing doubt alarmed her. “Prophecy is not wrong,” she insisted. “You’re not wrong. But if you can’t reach the bodyguards, you need to stay away from the Arabs.”