“Don’t touch that!” Mrs. Miyagi snapped. She stepped closer, pointing at a gray button on the handlebars.
“Really?” The Marine jerked his hand away as if he’d been bitten.
“No, Thibodaux San,” Mrs. Miyagi laughed. “That controls your heated hand grips. Motorcycles do not make a good platform for rockets.” Her smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “However, these particular motorcycles will carry you from point A to point B very fast, in places where a conventional vehicle can not always go. As riders you won’t stand out when wearing armored clothing. We have full custom suits based on the measurements you provided. They are fashioned from Aerostich Transit Leather — both the pants and the jackets. Breathable and waterproof, but engineers at the Shop have installed a small cooling system for more pleasant summer wear. Ballistic shielding has been added to the crash armor already in place.”
“I’d like to visit this Shop,” Quinn said, giving his bike a quick once-over to make sure everything was in the proper place. He called it his pre-flight.
“Ah.” Miyagi smiled. “Perhaps someday I can arrange this. The Shop is a small, subunit of DARPA specializing in equipment for teams such as yours.” DARPA — the Defense Advanced Research Project Agency — was a component of the Department of Defense comprised of government and contracted research specialists in everything from nano-bots to guided missile lasers.
Miyagi continued with her gear issue. “Our engineers have added a heads-up display to the visor of your helmet, using the same technology employed by fighter pilots. You will be able to keep your eyes on the road but still access night vision, GPS, and even a video link if that should become necessary — though I don’t recommend it while riding, for safety’s sake. Your helmets have also been wired with a voice encrypted, wireless STU.” The STU was a secure telephone unit usually operated with an encryption key.
“Once they are imprinted, you’ll be able to speak securely to the Director’s office as well as to each other and, when needed, more conventional telephones.”
Thibodaux rolled the black, visored helmet in his beefy hands. “I’ll bet I could check my Facebook on this thing.”
Quinn’s head snapped up. “You’re on Facebook?”
“Sure ’nuff.” Thibodaux grinned. “You’re not?”
“Indeed, you could use the equipment to check such things…” Mrs. Miyagi pursed her lips as if she was about to say something else but turned her attention to Quinn instead. She rested a bronze hand on the handlebar of his motorcycle. “There are quite a lot of improvements, too many to comprehend in a short briefing. They were designed to be intuitive so nothing should surprise you. I believe you will be pleased as you learn of them. Some may even save your life.”
“So,” Jericho said, already feeling the calm waves of normalcy his bike provided, “we train with you?”
“That is correct,” Miyagi said. “I am aware of your previous curriculum. I will provide a more spiritual… esoteric sort of guidance to prepare you for what the Director has in mind.”
“And we are to stay here?”
Miyagi remained stone-faced. “For a time…”
The buzz of Quinn’s cell phone interrupted Mrs. Miyagi’s answer. She stepped back, motioning for him to take the call with a wave of her open hand.
“Hello?”
“Assalaamu alaikum, Jericho.” The Arabic voice was unmistakable. It was Sadiq. “I hope you have much money, for I have much news for you.”
In his typical fashion, Sadiq meandered on about the weather, his ailing grandmother, and his fat uncle, all in windy, unending detail, refusing to get to the meat of the matter. After two minutes, Quinn had had enough.
“Well, well, my friend…” He risked butting in, hoping the thin-skinned boy’s lust for money would win over his ego. “You said you have important news…?”
The line went quiet. “I do,” Sadiq said at length, the irritation at having been interrupted clear in the staccato clip that had fallen on his speech. “News the Great Satan will, no doubt, find extremely vital.”
“I am authorized to pay you well.”
“This is much more than I’ve ever given you…”
“How much more?”
“Come now, my friend. Can one put a price on human life?”
Jericho nodded at that. “Tell me what you have in mind.”
“Four hundred American dollars bought the lives of two American hostages. What would the Great Satan pay to save millions?”
CHAPTER 20
Quinn directed Sadiq to call him back on a landline inside Mrs. Miyagi’s house. Unless fitted with sophisticated adapters, cell phones were about as secure as shouting from the rooftops, and though Quinn’s was secure, he’d only issued such a device to Sadiq when they were actually on a mission.
Once connected on the hard line, they exchanged code words. Jericho quizzed the boy for a short time about a few of their past experiences to be sure he hadn’t been compromised. In the meantime, Thibodaux called Win Palmer and briefed him on the situation. The Marine listened intently, then scribbled something on a notepad and handed it to Quinn.
“Two million U.S. dollars,” Quinn read aloud, raising his eyebrows. “If the information is as you say.”
“Raa’irh,” Sadiq gasped. Splendid. “But, I cannot spend even one penny if I am a dead man.”
“We’ll get you out of the country, give you a new name.”
“That is better,” Sadiq said in passable English. “I have always wanted to attend Harvard. You think I could go to Harvard? Maybe become a learned man in the law?”
Quinn thought of the quick two million the kid had just negotiated by spying on his friends and relatives. “I think you’ll make a fine lawyer,” he said.
“Very well,” Sadiq said. “Since we are in agreement I will tell you what I know. My uncle has an acquaintance, a very fat man from the south of the city — his name is Malik. I am told he supplies American prisoners to this man, Farooq, just as Ghazan al Ghazi did. Lately, Malik has spoken of unspeakable experiments in Saudi Arabia, a laboratory where the prisoners he has supplied are used to test a special weapon that will certainly kill millions of infidels.”
“The Saudi Kingdom is a big place,” Quinn mused. “You’ll have to do better than that to get your law degree.”
“Of course, of course, my friend.” Sadiq chuckled with a little more abandon that he should have, considering what his life was worth at the moment. “I know this laboratory is at a university that trains… how do you say… medical doctors for animals…”
“Veterinarians?”
“Ajal,” Sadiq said. Precisely. “That is the word. There is a campus of King Faisal University there for agriculture and veterinarians. Women may also study at this university. I understand you allow women to study at Harvard. Do you think this is wise?”
Jericho rolled his eyes. “Stay focused, my friend. We are talking about the lab”
“Yes, the lab… Farooq is said to have a small residence near the oasis of Al-Hofuf, adjacent to the stud farms belonging to the university. That is all I know.” Sadiq’s voice fell to a whisper. “But I think it is enough. Is it not?”
“Farooq is in Al-Hofuf now?”
“According to the information I have. This is timely, is it not?”
“It is enough,” Quinn said. “Tell no one that we’ve spoken. Stay where you are. I’ll send someone to pick you up.”
Quinn hung up Miyagi’s phone as Thibodaux handed him the cell with Win Palmer on the line.
“Looks like someone needs to go to Al-Hofuf,” Quinn said, knowing as he spoke who that someone would be.