The wheels disappeared.
"Fly our course heading," Farkas ordered. "Ill rendezvous on you."
"Okay — sorry."
"Settle down. Fll lead you in."
"Okay."
Farkas pulled up on the right side of Makkawi and slightly ahead of him. Flying at less than 600 feet above the ground, they continued toward their objective.
Makkawi noticed a thin trail of gray smoke coming from his leaders right engine, but he didnt mention it. There was too much at stake to worry his flight leader and mentor unnecessarily. Besides, Farkas had made it clear at the preflight briefing: Once they were under way, there would be no turning back.
With everything under control, Farkas used his satellite phone to once again contact the lookouts at each target. If there were fighter planes in the area, the cell members on watch would fire flares into the air in an attempt to distract the U. S. pilots. If the jets were low enough, the terrorists had shoulder-fired surface-to-air missiles available. The men on the boats had only one task to accomplish: Make sure Farkas and his wingman hit their targets even if it resulted in all of them sacrificing their lives.
Pacing the floor in his suite at the Hotel Le Royal, Saeed Shayhidi was becoming extremely frustrated and angry. After four attempts to use his intermediary, trusted friend Hafiz al-Yamani, to communicate with Ahmed Musashi in Geneva, no one had called back. Now, for some inexplicable reason, al-Yamani refused to take any further calls, and he was ignoring Shayhidi's e-mail.
With his bellicosity increasing by the minute, the mogul-turned-fugitive checked his diamond-encrusted wristwatch. Given the time in Switzerland, Musashi would be getting ready to go to lunch at the Atrium Bar in the Beau-Rivage Geneva. Shayhidi called him at his office and the secretary, surprised to hear from the man himself, quickly patched him through to Musashi. When the acting president of Shayhidi's vast empire answered the phone there were no pleasantries.
"You better have an explanation," Shayhidi threatened, his face twisted in anger, and it better be a damn good one."
Shocked to hear directly from Shayhidi, Musashi paused a moment. "I dont think this is a good idea."
"I dont care what you think!"
"Listen to me," Musashi said harshly. "The Americans are monitoring our communications, e-mail, phone calls, faxes, everything."
Ignoring Musashi's warning, Shayhidi was clenching and unclenching his left fist. "Why hasn't al-Yamani returned my phone calls or answered my e-mail? What is going on?"
"He works for me now," Musashi snapped. "We have to stay as far away from you as possible. The Americans are using eavesdropping technology to track you. They're probably using voice recognition and encryption."
Shayhidi was taken aback. "How would you know that?"
"It's only common sense. You know it's true and you better be careful, for the sake of everyone."
Calm was returning to Shayhidi's voice. "I want you to set up an account in Hong Kong that I can access under a different name."
"I'm afraid I can't do that," Musashi declared, in a defiant voice. "We've been suffering too many loses."
"What do you mean you can't do that?" Shayhidi snarled. "You make it a priority to get it done today or clean out your desk."
"Well," Musashi began slowly, "things have changed around here." He hesitated, gaining the courage to say what he had wanted to put in words for years. "You've become too much of a liability to our company"
Speechless at first, Shayhidi went ballistic. "Our company? What the hell are you talking about, our company?" His face was beet-red and the veins protruded from his neck.
"I cant allow your mistakes to adversely effect the reputation and performance of the company."
Stunned, Shayhidi's mind reeled. "Are you threatening me— trying to oust me from the company I built?"
"Unfortunately, we've had to terminate you." Musashi found pleasure in saying the words.
I'll sue you and take every dollar you ever make," Shayhidi yelled in outrage. "Ill see you a pauper, you ungrateful bastard!"
"I dont think so," Musashi said, with a touch of pure venom. "You're an international fugitive, a terrorist. You don't have any money, can't get to any money, don't have any power, and I doubt if there's a single lawyer out there who wants to be associated with a hunted international terrorist."
Trembling with rage, Shayhidi slammed the phone down. He'd been a fool to give Ahmed Musashi power of attorney to control the entire corporation. That deceitful bastard — I'll kill him! Then panic consumed him. The infidels know where I am. I have to find someone else to communicate for me.
Quickly, he packed two small leather bags, locked the door to his suite, and left the hotel without checking out. He personally flagged a limousine and threw his luggage in the backseat.
Six minutes later, two CIA agents and five local law-enforcement officers arrived at the hotel to take Saeed Shayhidi into custody.
The drive to Siem Reap, Cambodia, gave Shayhidi time to calm down and think through the unthinkable. Using a phony name, he checked into the Grand Hotel, a historic landmark resort located in the heart of the city. One of Asia's finest hotels, the Grand was only eight kilometers from the famed Angkor complex.
Focused on taking his company back and seeing Ahmed Musashi and Hafiz al-Yamani dead, Shayhidi began thinking more clearly and methodically. He had the hotel concierge call Tang Cheng-hsi, a close friend who owned a hotel and a prestigious Hong Kong-based jet charter operation. They had done business together for many years. A long-range Gulfstream V was soon on its way to the Siem Reap Airport.
Chapter 22
Keeping a wary eye on the houseboat, Scott began swimming faster as the sky turned lighter. One of the men stepped outside on the forward deck and raised his binoculars. Scott plunged underwater and swam as fast as he could until he had to come up for air. He tossed a glance at the houseboat. The other man was now outside talking on a phone and his pal had his binoculars squarely on Scott. Rolling on his back to begin a strong, smooth backstroke, Scott looked searchingly at the Caravan and spoke in a loud voice. "The waters great — you should take a dip."
Jackie immediately answered. "Maybe later, I'm working on breakfast."
"Suit yourself."
"Your eggs are almost ready," she said in a commanding voice.
"Be there in a second."
When Scott pulled himself aboard the float facing the houseboat, Jackie handed him a towel. He calmly dried his legs and made his way into the cabin. Unconcerned about Scott, the men went inside their boat.
"Any trouble?" she asked quietly.
"They arent going anywhere."
The darkness was rapidly disappearing when the men again walked out on the forward deck.
"Jackie," Scott said as he steadied the binoculars. "We have some action here. One of the guys studies the surroundings while the other one talks on the phone. Something strange here."
She accepted the binoculars and took a seat.
"I dont have a good feeling about this," Scott said. "Something is in the works and these guys are part of it."
"I think we should contact Wakefield," Jackie said, as she reached for the satellite phone. "We can keep an eye on the houseboat from high in the sky, out of small-arms range."
"Or a nukes range." He glanced at the houseboat. "Getting out of here, that's a plan I can work with." Scott picked up the other H&K compact submachine gun and placed it on a seat next to the cargo door.
She called Wakefield twice without any result. "No luck, probably busy with organizing the operation to capture these guys."
"Well try again in a little while," Scott said, concerned that the houseboat crew might try to start their engines.