―Fuck you.‖ She started putting on her clothes, not caring if he saw flashes of her body or not. ―Fuck you and the broom you flew in on.‖
He could not keep the contempt off his face. ―Not a very professional response, is—‖
In the next instant he doubled over as she buried her fist in his solar plexus. Her knee came up to meet his descending chin, and as he crumpled, she dragged him up, splaying him out on the bed. Then she turned to Bamber and said, ―You have only one shot at this. Come with me now or Noah will own you forever.‖
Still Bamber didn‘t move. He was staring at Simon Herren as if in a daze, but when she extended her hand, he took it. He needed someone to guide him now, someone who might tell him the truth. Stevenson was gone, Veronica Hart had been blown apart in front of him, and now there was only Moira, the person who had dragged him out of the doomed Buick, the woman who had saved his life.
Moira led him out of the emergency room as swiftly and efficiently as possible. Fortunately, the ER was a madhouse, EMTs and cops trotting this way and that alongside their patients, giving reports on the fly to the residents, who in turn barked orders to the nurses. Everyone was overworked and overstressed; no one stopped them or even noticed their departure.
A contingent of Amun‘s men met them on the dock, where he held the young drug trafficker by the scruff of his neck. The poor kid was scared shitless. He wasn‘t one of the tough Egyptian youths who knew very well what they were getting into. He looked like what he was: an indigent tourist who‘d been hoping to score some quick money to continue his world odyssey. It was probably why he‘d been chosen by the drug runners in the first place. He looked innocent.
Chalthoum could have let him go with a warning, but he was in no mood to be magnanimous. He‘d cuffed his hands behind his back, then leapt back when the young boy had heaved up his last meal.
―Amun, have some pity,‖ Soraya said now.
―Drug trafficking cannot be dismissed.‖
This was the Amun she knew, rock-hard and gimlet-eyed. An involuntary shiver ran through her. ―He‘s nothing, you said so yourself. If you put him away, they‘ll just find another fool to take his place.‖
―Then we‘ll find him, too,‖ Chalthoum said. ―Lock him up, and throw away the key.‖
At this, the young man began to wail. ―Please help me. I never signed on for this.‖
Chalthoum looked at him so darkly that the young man recoiled. ―You should have thought of that before you took the criminals‘ money.‖ He slung him roughly into the arms of his men. ―You know what to do with him,‖ he said.
―Wait, wait!‖ The young man tried to dig in his heels as Chalthoum‘s men turned to take him away. ―What if I have information? Would you help me then?‖
―What information could you have?‖ Chalthoum said dismissively. ―I know how these drug networks are structured. Your only contact was with the people on the rung right above you, and since you‘re on the lowest rung…‖ He shrugged and signed to his men to take the prisoner away.
―I don‘t mean those people.‖ The young man‘s voice had risen in fear.
―There‘s something I overheard. Other divers talking.‖
―What divers? Talking about what?‖
―They‘re gone now,‖ the young man said. ―They were here ten days ago, maybe a little more.‖
Chalthoum shook his head. ―Too long ago. Whoever they were, whatever they said is of no interest to me.‖
Soraya stepped toward the young man. ―What‘s your name?‖
―Stephen.‖
She nodded. ―My name is Soraya, Stephen. Tell me, were these divers Iranian?‖
―Look at him,‖ Chalthoum interrupted. ―He wouldn‘t know an Iranian from an Indian.‖
―The divers weren‘t Arab,‖ Stephen said.
Chalthoum snorted. ―You see what I mean? Sonny, Iranians are Persians, descended from the Scythian-Sarmatian nomads of Central Asia. They‘re Shi‘a Muslims, not Arabs.‖
―What I mean…‖ Stephen swallowed hard. ―What I meant to say was that they were white like me. Caucasians.‖
―Could you tell what nationality they were?‖ Soraya asked.
―They were Americans,‖ Stephen said.
―So what?‖ Chalthoum was losing patience.
Soraya ventured closer still. ―Stephen, what did you overhear? What were these divers talking about?‖
With a fearful glance at Chalthoum, Stephen said, ―There were four of them. They were coming off a vacation, that was clear. Only they called it leave.‖
Soraya made eye contact with Chalthoum. ―Military men.‖
―So he says,‖ he rumbled. ―Continue.‖
―They‘d just come up from the second dive of the day and they were kind of giddy. I was helping them off with their tanks, but they acted as if I wasn‘t there. Anyway, they were grumbling about having their leave cut short.
There was some kind of emergency—an assignment for them that came out of the air—that was what they said. It appeared out of thin air.‖
―This is nonsense,‖ Chalthoum said. ―It‘s clear he‘s making this up to spare himself life imprisonment.‖
―Oh, God.‖ At the pronouncement of his mortal sentence, Stephen‘s knees gave way and Chalthoum‘s men were obliged to hold him tightly in order to keep him on his feet.
―Stephen.‖ Soraya reached out, turned the young man‘s face toward her. He was as pale as death, and she could see the whites all around his eyes. ―Tell us the rest of what you overheard. Did the divers say what their assignment was?‖
He shook his head. ―I got the impression they didn‘t yet know.‖
―Enough!‖ Chalthoum cried. ―Dispose of this rancid piece of meat!‖
Stephen was openly weeping now. ―But they knew their destination.‖
Soraya held up her hand for Chalthoum‘s men to stop dragging him away.
―Where was it, Stephen? Where were the men headed?‖
―They were flying to Khartoum,‖ the young man said through his tears,
―‗wherever that godforsaken place is.‘‖
19
THE PRESIDENT was met by Secretary of Defense Halliday as he was exiting the United Nations. Having sent the General Assembly into a frenzy by presenting the evidence against Iran in the bombing of the American airliner and the loss of 181 lives, the president had stopped for an impromptu press conference with the media, clustered around him like hens at feeding time. He obligingly gave them half a dozen choice sound bites to air or to carry back to their editors before his press secretary whispered in his ear that Secretary Halliday was waiting with urgent news.
The president was on a high. It had been a long time since an American president could address that august body of the United Nations armed with evidence so damning it had shocked the representatives from Russia and China into silence. The world was changing, tilting against Iran in a way never before seen. The president, whose presence here was in no small part due to Bud Halliday, thought it fitting that the first person he speak with regarding his unqualified success was the defense secretary.