Kemel had spent the day fasting, praying that it was so. And then, wonderful news. A call from Gordon Haffner saying he had heard from the Clayton woman's attorney and the sale of the house was proceeding.
Kemel had been jubilant. Now he could return to Riyadh and help extricate Ghali from the criminal charges against him.
But then suspicion had reared its head like a desert rat. What if her desire to proceed with the sale was a ruse, a ploy to dupe him into dropping his guard? Kemel had checked with Baker, who had been busy disposing of the bodies of his men, and instructed him to use the transponder in the Clayton woman's handbag to track her movements. So far she had not left her workplace.
Perhaps she truly meant to sell the house after all. Ten million dollars was, after all, ten mill—
The phone rang. Kemel answered it and recognized Thomas Clayton's voice, although it sounded more nasal than usual.
"They were here!" he said. "They know!"
Fear sank its cold talons into Kemel's shoulders. "Who? Who knows?"
"Alicia and her bully boy. He broke my goddamn nose!"
"You said, 'they know.' What do they know?"
"Everything! More than we do!"
The room spun. Everything! Oh, no. This could not be. Allah, please—
"The transmitter?"
"No. I don't think they have that. At least not yet. But I've got a bad feeling they may know a way to find it. What do we do?"
Kemel closed his eyes and reached for calmness, found the hem of its thobe, and clutched it.
"I will tell you soon."
He hung up and gave Baker a quick summary, omitting, as usual, the nature of what they sought.
"Simple enough," the mercenary said. "We go get the girl and make her tell us. And believe me—let me at her, and she'll talk."
Kemel closed his eyes again. This man was such an idiot.
"What if she doesn't know how to find what we seek?" he said softly. "That will surely change her mind about selling the house. And what if her hireling is there and disables what few men you have left? What if, in your infinite clumsiness, you kill her before you learn what we need to know?"
"Hey, listen. I—"
"No. You will not touch her. But you will use the transponder to track her. If she makes any move to leave the city, you will inform me and together we will follow her. Together. Is that clear?"
"Yeah, but—"
"IS… THAT… CLEAR?" Kemel shouted the words.
"Clear," Baker said.
"Good. Start tracking her immediately. And keep me informed."
He turned back to the window and stared unseeing at the night. He asked Allah to forgive him for the instant of doubt when he thought his God had deserted him. Now he saw Allah's plan. Alicia Clayton was His instrument, and would guide Kemel to her father's secret. Praise Allah.
THURSDAY
1.
Yoshio shrank back and hurriedly swallowed the last of his sausage-and-egg Croissan'wich as he recognized Jack-san in the blue Taurus pulling into the curb across the street.
After following him and Alicia Clayton back to this elegant town house last night, Yoshio had assumed that this was where Jack-san lived. But then he had seen the ronin leave moments later. He had tried to follow but, hampered by the woman's clothing, he had been unable to keep up with him. He had lost him in the confusion of Fourteenth Street.
So he had quickly returned to his own car near Thomas Clayton's apartment building and moved it to a position across the street from the town house. He had changed back to his usual attire and had spent the night here.
And now Jack-san was quite obviously taking Alicia Clayton someplace. Yoshio was guessing that no romance existed between them, otherwise Jack-san would have stayed here last night. Therefore they were not meeting merely to share each other's company. They must have a purpose in mind, and that purpose most surely involved the Clayton technology.
And just as surely, that purpose was taking them out of the city. Else, why the car?
How could Yoshio follow them into the suburbs or the countryside without being seen? Jack-san knew him and would be looking for him. And yet he had to risk it. He sensed that after months of waiting and watching, his mission here finally was coming to a head.
He wished he had thought to call and arrange for backup, but he dared not get more people involved at this juncture. The situation was too delicate.
He watched Jack enter the house. Yoshio was desperate. And desperate situations sometimes called for desperate measures…
2.
"I figure we head up the West Side, catch the Saw Mill, cross the Tappan Zee, and continue up the thruway," Jack said as he put the Taurus in gear. The dashboard clock read 10:33. The morning rush hour would be petering out about now. "Unless you know a better way."
Alicia shrugged. "Whatever gets us there."
Jack looked at her. He'd never figured her for a barrel of laughs, but this morning she seemed more down, more subdued than usual.
"You okay with this?" he said.
"Yeah," she said with a too-vigorous nod. "I'm fine. I'm just…" She let the word hang.
"Just what?"
She sighed. "Just sorry you had to get stuck listening to me yesterday. That wasn't in the job description."
Tell me about it, he thought, but said, "It's okay. Don't give it another thought."
"That's just it—I can't stop thinking about it. I've spent too many years not thinking about those pictures, or at least trying my damnedest not to. I sealed up that little girl and the reality of what happened to her behind an inner wall, but try as I might I couldn't forget. Knowing those pictures existed, knowing that I was still being passed from one pervert's grubby hands to another's sickened me. I was damned if I was going to let that define me, but it sure as hell has haunted me. It's been a dissonant, ominous background music to my everyday life. But after all these years, last night was the first time I was able to talk about it. And I know it made you uncomfortable."
"Well… yeah."
Sexual abuse of a child… hearing about it from the victim… uncomfortable barely touched how something so awful and so wrenchingly intimate made him feel.
"But you've got to understand, Jack, that I've never been able to share this with another soul. I've never had close friends because I never felt I could be honest with them. To tell the truth, I couldn't bear to hear them talk about their families, especially about the fathers who were so special to them. Every time I heard somebody talk lovingly about their 'daddy,' I wanted to scream. Even now, when I think of how this flesh is half his, I want to rip it off my bones. I kept asking myself, why couldn't I have had a father like theirs, one who cherished me, who would have willingly died protecting me? But you've seen the pictures, Jack—" , "Some of them," he said quickly. "Just a few."
"Even one was enough. It meant you knew. And everything I've been holding back broke free. As I said, I'm sorry."
"And as I said, it's okay. I hope it helped."
"It did. For a while. For a few moments last night as the negatives were going through the shredder, and later as the collection was dropping into the fire, I felt free. It was a… wonderful sensation. But Thomas's Parthain shot about the Internet brought me back to reality. I see now I'll never be free."
"Never is a long time," Jack said, cringing at his triteness, but not knowing what else to say. He wasn't a therapist, and he didn't know how to stop Alicia from going where she was headed.