She placed the binoculars down and folded the chart. "Step on the accelerator every chance you get."
Standing in the shade of the camouflage nettings, Khaliq Farkas watched the big Cessna amphibian circle the airport and head west. His antennae were on full alert. It was unusual to see a plane loiter over an airport and then simply fly away.
Farkas could feel it in his gut: Someone was looking for the B-25. He couldn't wait much longer. The noose was tightening on the terrorist cells and he had to make his move soon — that or abandon the project and go back into sleep mode. The satellite phone rang, signaling another tirade from Saeed Shayhidi.
Leaving Cedar City, Jackie and Scott again followed Interstate 15 while they checked more airports. When they reached Mesquite, Nevada, they began banking to fly over the Lake Mead National Recreation Area, and Jackie took in the spectacular vista of the setting sun and cobalt-blue sky.
"Its going to be dark soon," she observed, stretching her legs. "Lets go to Boulder City and get a fresh start early in the morning."
"Yeah, were ready for a break."
Minutes later, they landed at Boulder City Municipal Airport. After topping the fuel tanks and securing the Caravan at the Air Excel facilities, they hailed a taxi and headed to the Railroad Pass Hotel Casino.
Orbiting in a racetrack pattern high above Mobile, Alabama, the E-4B Night Watch was flying under a bright, silvery moon. President Macklin and Hartwell Prost were visiting in the conference room when SecDef and General Chalmers entered with a CIA update on the hunt for Saeed Shayhidi.
Pete Adair was upbeat for the first time this evening. "Between the CIA and our special ops people, we re steadily gaining on Shayhidi."
"Dont keep us in suspense," Macklin prompted.
"The four penthouses he leases, one each in Hong Kong, London, Paris, and Sydney, are empty and under constant surveillance by the Agency."
"Where does that leave us?" Hartwell asked.
"Delta Force is preparing to visit Shayhidi's home in Aspen. We dont expect him to be there, but were ready."
"Unbelievable," Chalmers said, with undisguised irritation. "The guy buys a palatial multimillion-dollar home — six bedrooms, no less — in an artsy mountain town and then secretively backs a terrorist organization in a holy war against the United States."
"You know," Adair said, quickly formulating a plan, "like his bank accounts, we should seize Shayhidi's home in Aspen, sell it, and use the funds to help offset the cost of the war."
SecDef looked at the president. "What do you think, sir?"
"I think it's a great idea — the taxpayers will love it. Get in touch with Delta Force and tell them not to destroy the place."
"Well take care of it." Pete Adair nodded to Chalmers, who immediately went to the communications center.
Adair continued. "The CIA is getting ready to check a hotel in Beaulieu-sur-Mer, France. Shayhidi maintains a suite at the hotel and is known to spend a lot of time there."
"Where in France?" Macklin asked.
"Beaulieu-sur-Mer. It's on the Mediterranean coast fairly close to Nice. They're watching the airport too, the one Shayhidi uses when he stays at the hotel."
"Sounds good," Macklin said, his gaze narrowing. "Maybe we'll get lucky and snatch him at the airport."
"I certainly hope so," Adair replied. "The Agency is also checking a suite in the Hotel Seiyo Ginza in Tokyo, another city he is known to frequent. He has to turn up somewhere. He can't stay hidden forever."
Macklin nodded, disguising his frustration. "Stay on it until we find him. The longer he's out there, the higher the risk of more major tragedies."
"We'll find him," Adair said, in a convincing voice. "We've frozen a number of his assets, including charity funds in the Philippines, the Sudan, Egypt, India, Pakistan, and the States. Huge bank accounts have been frozen in Germany, France, and the Sudan. The same with his primary businesses in Germany, Uganda, Switzerland, Pakistan, and Sudan."
Adair couldn't resist a smile. "It has to really be hurting him financially, hemorrhaging money all over the planet."
"To say the least," Prost quietly chimed in. "Like others who have attacked the United States, Shayhidi grossly miscalculated the resolve of our country."
"And the reach of our influence," the president added.
General Chalmers walked back into the room. "A message just came in a few minutes ago. The Agency found out how Shayhidi slipped through our fingers in Saint Moritz."
"Let's have it," the president said, in a voice that was becoming raspy.
"He had a built-in escape route, a tunnel that surfaced in a storage shed in his backyard. Delta Force didn't consider the small storage shed when they planned the raid. He probably has something similar in his other homes."
"You can bet on it," Prost said. "Hes been working on this jihad for many years.
"Let s keep that in mind," Macklin said, absently rubbing his right shoulder. "No more egg on our face."
Silence prevailed.
"Well, gentlemen, I believe Fll turn in for the evening. See you bright and early in the morning."
"Yes, sir," the men said, rising with the president.
Macklin paused at the open door, "By the way, Doc Fortenberry thinks — healthwise — that it would be better for us to go to Cheyenne Mountain than stay airborne for extended periods in this pressurized cabin."
Eyebrows raised around the table.
"Just think about it. Well discuss it tomorrow."
Chapter 19
Feeling more confident and secure, having arrived at La Reserve de Beaulieu, Saeed Shayhidi was having breakfast in his splendid Florentine suite when the phone rang. Hotel manager Jacques Debroux, Shayhidis only close friend from their days at Princeton, was in a full-blown panic. His chief of security had just reported that several men were canvassing the hotel and its grounds. The frightened manager assumed the clean-cut men had to be members of the famous U. S. CIA.
Shayhidi froze for a moment before responding. "We have to put our plan in motion," he said excitedly. "I have to get out of here!"
"I'll be there shortly," Debroux said, in a hushed voice.
"Is everything in place?" Shayhidi asked.
"Yes." Debroux glanced around the lobby. "There are two agents here already — inside," he urgently whispered.
"I'm counting on you," Shayhidi growled. "Don't lose your nerve, don't let me down."
Debroux cupped the phone while he kept his eyes on the suspected agents. "I won't. I promise."
Shayhidi hung up and quickly dressed in black slacks and a white polo shirt. How are they doing this? How are they finding me? He grabbed his wallet, jewelry, and attache case and then ventured a peek out the window overlooking the tranquil Mediterranean Sea. Three unsmiling men in business suits were standing by the pool. They must surely he guarding against an escape attempt along the coast. I have to do something… unpredictable. I have to disappear — now!
Less than three minutes later, the hotel bell captain arrived with a large trunk on his luggage cart. Debroux quickly followed him into the suite. Shayhidi scrambled into the trunk and his friend closed and latched it. The two men strained to lift the container onto the luggage cart. Debroux placed a suitcase on the cart while the bell captain hung most of Shayhidis wardrobe on the overhead rack.
Accompanied by the nervous manager, who acted the part of a guest checking out of the hotel, the bell captain wheeled the cart through the lobby to a waiting limousine. Debroux went through the motions of clearing his account while the bell captain and his assistant loaded the heavy container into the trunk of the limousine.
The two CIA agents sitting in the elegant lobby watched as Shayhidi's friend picked up his faux copy of the hotel charges, walked to the limousine, and calmly and deliberately stepped into the back of the car. The chauffeur shut the door and slid behind the steering wheel as three more agents entered the hotel lobby.