“How did you know it was there?” she said after she placed it on the desk.
“I have a metal detector at the door.”
“Ahh, that was the beep I heard,” Smith said.
Bilal nodded. “I have a lot of expensive items stored on the premises and, as I’m sure you saw while walking here, the neighborhood is sketchy. Are you police?”
Smith shook his head. “Military.”
“Here to sell gold?”
“Here to be sure that Ms. Nolan remains safe.”
Bilal gave Smith a speculative look. “Miss Rebecca and I are old friends. She is always safe with me.”
“So I’ve been told. But one can never be too sure,” Smith said. In fact, Nolan had explained to him that most of the traders in the city knew of Bilal, and many routinely converted their cash to either Krugerrands or gold bullion there. Apparently Bilal was known for his honesty in an industry where that commodity was scarce.
Bilal turned his attention to Nolan. “Are you here to sell gold?”
“To buy it, actually. I’d like to exchange some cash for bullion.”
“Wire transfer your account to mine?”
Nolan nodded.
“Then please take a seat.” He included Smith in the offer but reached out and put Smith’s gun on a small desk behind him.
“May I use your computer?” Nolan said. Bilal nodded and opened a drawer in front of him and placed a laptop on the desk. She scooted her chair forward to access it.
“It’s on,” he said. Nolan started tapping away, and Bilal turned to a second PC to his right. After a moment he rose and opened a closet door to his left, revealing a massive safe. He kept the door tilted so that neither Smith nor Nolan could see his hands, and after a moment Smith heard the sound of a lock disengaging.
“Is it there yet?” Nolan asked.
“The computer will give a signal.” A moment later, Bilal’s PC pinged.
“Let’s see.” Bilal held some bars of gold in his hands while he walked back to his monitor and peered at it.
“Just so.” He placed one bar on the back desk next to a scale. The second bar he put on the scale’s pan. “You wish to verify the weight?” Nolan got up and stood next to Bilal, watching as he placed bar after bar on the pan.
“The London fix?” Nolan said.
“Down a bit. Here.” Bilal reached to the computer and tapped on the keyboard. From his location across the desk Smith couldn’t see the screen, but Nolan watched it for a moment before returning her attention to the scale. When Bilal was finished, he reached below and opened the cabinet, removing a black briefcase. Nolan gave a soft laugh, and Bilal turned his head to smile at her. “You recognize it?”
“I wondered where it had got to.”
Bilal looked over his shoulder at Smith. “See? Everything is safe with me.”
Smith waited patiently while Nolan finished her transaction, rising to carry the briefcase. He estimated that it weighed close to sixty pounds. If Dattar expected to ambush them and steal the gold, no one who had it would be able to run away. Or at least not very fast. Bilal locked his safe and gave a short bow to Nolan.
“Always a pleasure doing business with you, Miss Rebecca,” Bilal said. He handed Smith his gun. “Mr.…Smith.”
Smith slid the gun back into the holster. “Thank you.” They left by the side door, and Smith blinked in the sudden sunlight.
“That was an extraordinary transaction. What’s the London fix?”
“London banks are the primary gold traders. Twice each day they set the settling price for their contracts. The price is called the London fix.” Smith carried the case as they walked to Broadway.
“Do you know what type of precautions he takes to protect the shop? Besides the metal detector, of course.”
“I know he has a gun as big as a cannon taped under the desk. That metal front is perforated for a reason. There are solar roof tiles for electricity that will kick on and keep his security system running should there be a blackout. They feed excess to the grid. Bilal’s quite proud that he often gets paid by Con Ed for electricity rather than the other way around. And I’ve heard that his car is armored, and the office loaded with every type of weapon imaginable.”
“I still find it hard to believe that no one has tried to rob him,” Smith said.
“Oh, there are rumors that some have.”
“And?”
“And they were never seen again.”
38
Manhar stood in the back of the magnificent house on Long Island and watched as Dattar’s men started to outfit two large trucks with square trailers. First went in a long fireman’s hose, several reflective vests, steel poles, and canvas along with several three-foot-long metal wrenches. On the outside of the first vehicle two men were affixing a large decal that read MTA.
Manhar stopped one of Dattar’s men and pointed at the logo.
“What’s it mean?”
“Metropolitan Transportation Authority.”
“What’s that?”
“Runs the New York subway.” The man walked away and Manhar gave a low whistle. He’d heard that some wanted to attack the New York subway the way the terrorist organization in Japan had attacked Tokyo’s, but he would not have believed that Dattar had the guts to do it. Dattar went up several notches in Manhar’s esteem. At that moment Dattar waved him over.
“You’re blowing up the subway?” Manhar said.
“No. How’s Khalil tracking Nolan?”
“He’s had a man watching her every moment for the last month. He knows her schedule, favorite places, everything.”
Dattar’s face turned red. “Are you saying he’s had a month to take her out and he didn’t? Why?”
Manhar didn’t like the direction the conversation was turning. It was simple: Khalil hadn’t taken out Nolan because Dattar hadn’t yet paid him. But Manhar didn’t want to tell Dattar this bit of information. Dattar tended to kill the messenger. He tried to change the subject.
“You’re using sarin gas in the subway. Like in Japan?”
“No. Why didn’t Khalil take out Nolan?”
Manhar saw no way around the question. Rajiid and the other men had stopped outfitting the truck and were all staring at Manhar.
“He claimed he was waiting to get paid.”
Dattar’s face worked and his breath came fast. Rajiid slid his eyes sideways, noticed that the men had halted, and barked an order. They began working again, and Manhar felt the tension subside.
“Get in the truck. You’re going on the mission with the others,” Dattar said.
Manhar did as he was told, but his stomach was twisting. He crawled in the rear of the truck and joined the others sitting on the floor with their backs to the wall. Rajiid appeared and started handing each man two small pills and a bottle of water. He handed them to Manhar.
“What’s this?” he said.
“A drug. It will make you strong.”
Manhar hesitated.
“Take them,” Rajiid said.
Manhar made an elaborate show of tossing the pills in his mouth. He shoved them under his tongue as he swallowed some water. Rajiid watched the entire maneuver before nodding and walking away. Manhar spit the still intact pills back into his hand and tossed them onto the steel bed. He wasn’t so foolish as to take any pills given to him by a viper such as Rajiid.
He suddenly had an overwhelming urge to know what Dattar had in mind with the false trucks. Manhar’s goal in coming here was only to arrange for Dattar to kill Khalil. With Khalil dead, Manhar would never have to look over his shoulder, wondering when retribution would come. What Manhar didn’t want to do was die like a jihadist on some elaborate suicide mission. He couldn’t imagine any scenario in which Dattar’s men could bomb, gas, or shoot up a New York City subway and survive the inevitable aftermath. He sat in the back of the truck and did his best to keep calm as they began the drive to the city. After ten minutes Manhar turned to the nearest man riding with him. He was able to see his face in the illumination from a high window. The light flickered each time they passed a light pole.