"Good thinking." I said to him, "Another favor. My car is parked at the airport-"
"We'll get it for you."
"Thanks." I suggested, "Look in the car for her phone." I gave him my keys and registration and asked him to have the vehicle, a Jeep Cherokee, delivered to the hospital with my and Kate's luggage. There is, indeed, a strong bond between cops all over the world, and we will extend to each other every professional courtesy that is requested-even unreasonable requests-if possible. So I said to Investigator Miller, "If you do apprehend this individual, will you notify me immediately?"
"Of course."
"Will you give me ten minutes alone with him?"
He forced a smile, hesitated, then replied, "If you tell me it's in the interest of national security, I will."
"Thank you." I also suggested to him, "Check to see if my vehicle has a newly installed tracking device, and look through our personal things for anything that doesn't seem to belong there."
He did not make a note of that, and he asked me, "Do you think this individual has that level of… sophistication?"
"I do."
He didn't want to ask why I thought that and hear the words "national security" again, so he said, "All right. We'll do that."
Investigator Miller and I discussed a few more details of the incident and our immediate goals, which included protection, road stops, checkpoints, and circulating Khalil's photo. In truth, Asad Khalil was most probably long gone from Sullivan County and the surrounding counties-unless he was in the corridor now, wearing scrubs.
We briefly discussed the usual procedures of sending troopers or investigators with photos of the suspect to motels, car rental agencies, restaurants, rest stops, train and bus stations, toll booths, and so forth to see if anyone could ID this guy.
On the subject of fugitive travel, Khalil had also used private charter aircraft the last time he was here, so he may very well have flown into and out of Sullivan County Airport. I passed on this thought to Investigator Miller, and he said he'd send an investigator to the airport to see who had arrived and departed by chartered aircraft. The thing that had impressed me most about Khalil, aside from his intelligence and his resourcefulness, was the speed of his attacks and escape. Maybe more impressive was his sixth sense for danger.
I could not give Investigator Miller any details of Asad Khalil's previous murders, which were partly classified, but I did fill him in on the suspect's M.O., including Khalil's ability to assume many identities to get close to his victims. I said, "This morning, for instance, he was a skydiver. Now he may be a hospital orderly." I continued, "His compatriots call him The Lion because of his fearlessness. But it goes beyond that-he has the instincts of a cat. A big, nasty cat."
Senior Investigator Miller did not make a note of that either, and I didn't think he'd mention this at a briefing.
I could have added that Khalil liked the taste of human blood. Literally. And this made me wonder if he'd… I put that out of my mind and said to Investigator Miller, "Consider the mind of someone who would go through all that trouble to cut someone's throat."
Investigator Miller had apparently already considered that. "Yeah. It's like… these ritual killers."
"Correct. The killing is secondary. The ritual is primary."
He nodded and observed, "Which is why he didn't go for you this time." He had an interesting thought. "He'll come for you next-so you really don't have to look for him." He added, unnecessarily, "He'll find you."
I nodded.
"But you won't know where or when."
"Anytime and any place is okay with me."
He had no reply to that.
I felt that I'd given Investigator Miller my full cooperation and had passed on some good information and suggestions. I needed to speak to other people, and he needed to get a lot of things rolling, so I stood and said, "I'll be here in the hospital until further notice." I gave him my card with my cell phone number, and he gave me his.
He said to me, "I promise you we'll do everything we can to get this guy. Don't worry about anything except your wife." And not wanting any more victims on his turf, he added, "Watch yourself."
We shook hands and I left.
Well, I always knew this day would come, but I didn't think it would come at 14,000 feet above a cow pasture in upstate New York.
Khalil always picked his time, his place, and his method of attack. But this time, I knew his mind a little better. Also, his element of surprise was gone, but for him that made the game just a bit more interesting.
I recalled the last words that Asad Khalil had said to me on Kate's cell phone three years ago. I will kill you and kill that whore you are with if it takes me all of my life.
If he hadn't hung up, I would have made a similar promise to him, but he knew that. Now, three years later, we both knew that one of us would be dead before too long.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I went to the nurses' station to sign for Kate's personal effects and to see if they had any information about her surgery, and also to check on the security arrangements.
The hospital staff knew by now that Kate was not an ordinary accident victim, and they knew who I was. The supervising nurse, Mrs. Carroll, assured me that there were uniformed troopers outside the operating room and at the elevators. Everyone on duty, including hospital security staff, had been briefed to be on the lookout for a man whose photograph they'd been given by the State Troopers.
As for Mrs. Corey's condition, the nurses had no new information, but Mrs. Carroll strongly suggested that I stay in the surgery waiting room because that was where Dr. Goldberg would look for me. I also had the impression that no one wanted me wandering around in my bloody skydiving outfit.
I promised to return to the waiting room, but I needed to be a cop while I waited, so I went instead to the elevators where two uniformed State Troopers stood, one at each elevator.
I showed them my creds and identified myself as the husband of the victim, which explained my bloodstained jumpsuit.
Both troopers had been briefed, and they appeared intelligent and alert. If they were a little incredulous regarding the possibility of the perpetrator showing up at the hospital to check on his victim, they hid it well. I asked to see the photo they had of the suspect, and the older of the two, Trooper Vandervort, gave me the photo in his hand.
I looked at the color photograph that had been taken in the American Embassy in Paris three years ago when Asad Khalil had shown up one day and declared himself a fugitive from American justice. He was surrendering, he said, and wished to cooperate with American intelligence agencies. Let's make a deal. He'd had a preliminary interrogation by the CIA in Paris, but he insisted on being flown to New York-not Washington-and then he clammed up until his demands were met and he was put on a 747 to JFK. Someone should have smelled a rat, but Asad Khalil was such a high-value defector that the CIA, FBI, State Department Intelligence, and everyone else let their giggles get in the way of their training and common sense.
I and Kate Mayfield had been part of the team sent to JFK to meet Asad Khalil and his two on-board escorts, an FBI agent and a CIA officer. Also on the meet-and-greet team that day were Nick Monti and Meg Collins, both murdered by Khalil, along with a civilian government employee, Nancy Tate, who was a nice lady.
The survivors of the meet-and-greet team were me, Kate, FBI agent George Foster, and Mr. Ted Nash of the CIA, who just missed dying that day and barely missed dying on 9/11, but did not miss his date with death at the hands of Kate Mayfield. Life is funny. But that's another story.
I looked closely at Khalil's photo. He was a swarthy man in his early thirties with a hooked Roman nose, slicked-back hair, and deep, dark eyes. The Libyans, I'd learned, were a diverse mixture of people who liked to play with swords-the native North African Berbers, the Carthaginians, the conquering Romans, the barbarian Vandals, and finally the Arabic armies of Islam.