“Ah, now I understand,” Klein said. “The attack on the Grand Royal and the coolers.”
“Exactly.”
“How many can a mutated avian flu strain kill?”
“Avian flu is rare, deadly, and carries a fifty percent death rate. The mutation is new and we’re just compiling statistics, but our computer models suggest a mutation that would allow human-to-human transmission could kill up to ninety-seven percent of those infected.”
“Do you think it can kill with the kind of speed that you’re describing? Can someone go from appearing healthy to dead that quickly?”
“I can’t answer your question except to tell you this: During the 1917 Spanish flu that killed over seventeen million people, there was a story of four women in a bridge club who played into the early hours of the morning. They broke up, went home, and three never saw the sun rise.”
Amir learned of his crippled freighter when a member of his crew operating in Syria sent him the intelligence. An hour after that, he received a demand from Dattar to wire the money immediately and without repayment terms. Dattar said that if he did not receive the funds, he would release his weapon in Cyprus.
Amir sent the wire.
30
Khalil knew that Manhar had been captured when the hour struck and he didn’t receive the call that he expected, but it no longer mattered now that he had the American in his control. They crossed town, headed west. The woman stayed silent, her eyes fixed in a forward stare and her hands clutching a tote. Khalil thought she didn’t appear nearly as emotional as he would have expected from a female. But then he’d read that American women were hardened and this one seemed to fit that profile. The car pulled onto a nearby street and stopped in front of a large construction project. A chain-link fence wrapped in green mesh surrounded a gutted three-story building. Temporary lights placed high on metal poles cast a harsh glare over a small area, while shadows danced in the rest. The door next to her opened and Khalil’s man, Ali, wrapped his hand around her arm and yanked her out of the car.
Khalil followed, watching his men hustle Nolan toward the fence. They used a key to open the padlock and swung open a portion of the gate. Khalil followed them inside and strolled to the freight elevator. His men hauled open the metal divided doors and he joined them last. He waved at his third.
“Stay here and watch the entrance.” The man nodded and reversed out of the lift. Ali pulled the rope handle to close the elevator’s doors. Khalil was interested to see Nolan flinch at the clanging sound of the metal barriers slamming shut. So she’s not as unaffected as she seems, he thought.
They exited at the second floor, where Khalil had set up a battered wooden table, two black aluminum folding chairs, and a light on a tall base that was powered by a long extension cord that snaked to the one exposed electrical outlet hanging from the wall. The developer had run out of money for the project and was currently battling creditors in a bankruptcy proceeding. No further work would happen until after the project was bought in a liquidation sale or the banker convinced a new lender to give him a cash infusion. Khalil paid a minuscule sum for the use of the entire building and the electrical outlet. This was the only floor that had walls and even then only three. One side of the long rectangular room was open to the night air. His men forced Nolan onto a chair. Khalil sauntered up to her.
“You are to die,” he said. “I’m paid very well to kill you.”
The woman blinked but said nothing. He watched her swallow once.
“I want to know why.”
She said nothing.
Khalil waved at Ali, who grabbed her by the arms once again and shoved her onto the floor. She knelt and Ali pushed her head down until she was face-first on the cement and then held her head against it. Khalil reached to the desk and picked up a rattan pole used in caning. He wound up and swung it onto Nolan’s back. The pole had been soaked in water to ensure that it wouldn’t break from the force and it didn’t. Khalil suspected that Nolan’s spine would snap before the cane would. Her body shivered after the hit, but her bones remained intact. He didn’t really care as long as she didn’t die before he got his information. He aimed between her shoulder blades and hit her a second time. This time she moaned.
“Tell me why I’m paid so well to kill you,” Khalil said. The woman was silent. He swung the cane again, hitting her on the mid-back. She groaned again and tried to curl into a ball, curving a bit to the side and bringing her knees to her chest. “The next time I hit the kidneys. You may die a short time after in agony. I suggest you talk. Now.”
“Money,” she whispered.
“What money?”
“Dattar’s. I have it.”
Khalil wasn’t sure that he’d heard right. “How much?”
“All of it,” she said.
Khalil couldn’t believe his ears. The lying bastard had no money. Khalil was on a fool’s errand. He felt his rage rise and he started to breathe in short gasps. Khalil prided himself on being smarter than all the others and now Dattar had tried to use him.
“Where is it?”
“Computer,” she whispered.
“I said where is it?” Khalil raised his cane again.
“Computer. It’s on the computer.”
Khalil paused with his hand in the air and the pole poised to smash into her. He used computers to pick up e-mail, surf the Internet, and read the occasional headline. He knew that many banked on them, but he made sure that he didn’t. His clients paid him in wire transfers directly into a Swiss account. When he needed funds, he used a traditional credit card issued in a stolen identity to withdraw the funds from ATMs across the world that bore the logo of a famous network. Such transactions were traceable but would be lost amid the massive number of similar transactions.
“Put her in the chair.”
Ali pulled her up and forced her into the chair, pushing backward, and she gave a strident shriek. She sat upright in order to keep her spine from touching anything. Khalil reached into the tote that she had clutched in the limousine and withdrew her thin computer in its custom leather holder. He shoved it at her. “Show me,” he said, “and don’t think you can access anything else. You do and I’ll put a bullet in your head.” She was pale, and her hands shook as she took the computer from him. He watched her power it on and wait for it to establish a connection. When it did, Khalil watched her type in a web address and wait for it to load. She input a username and password at the prompt, and the account’s balance appeared.
Khalil sucked in his breath. The number was huge, but Khalil knew that there must be more. Much more. He glanced from the screen and saw that she was staring at him; once again her face was set, her lips in a straight line. If it weren’t for her shaking hands, he would not have discerned that she was in pain.
“Where’s the rest?”
“Scattered all over,” she said.
“Move it to my account.”
She inhaled. “To which bank in what country? Such a large transaction will be recorded. Depending on what country, the bank will have to notify the authorities.”
Khalil wasn’t sure that what she said was correct. He had experience with moving large sums around in the Middle East, but not in America and nothing as large as this.
“You moved it out of his account. I expect you to be able to move it into mine.”
“I did it by taking small amounts each day. Under the limit for scrutiny. The rest I diverted from the beginning by placing it in an account offshore first. It took me months to move it all.”
Khalil bent close to her face. “This time it will take three days. Three separate wire transfers.”