Kadir Hakim hung up the phone and lit a cigarette.

Across the table, his grandmother waved her hand in front of her face. “You shouldn’t smoke around an old woman.”

“You’ve lived this long and it hasn’t bothered you yet.”

She laughed while she reached across and patted his hand. “You’re just like your father.”

Hakim took another drag. He didn’t have many memories of his father who’d died a hero in Iraq fighting for Saddam.

“What are you planning to do now that Maulama has gone missing?” the sly old woman asked.

Smoke billowed from his nostrils while tension made his jaw twitch. “For all I know, the idiot disappeared with his Facebook girlfriend—wanted her for himself.”

“Do you think the DGSE is closing in?” Grandmother sat back and folded her hands. “I met a young mother in the park who was very worried about her daughter’s safety. Perhaps al-Umari should look elsewhere to fill his harem.”

“That isn’t up to us.” Kadir leaned forward and pushed the heels of his hands into his temples. “I’ve promised them another girl and if I don’t deliver, I’ll be punished.”

“I don’t think they’ll do more than threaten, especially if you give them a timeline for the next delivery. Are you running out of pigeons?”

“I’ve met one who will do. He’s not even from the old country.”

“Oh?”

“He’s dirty, though. Just sold a load of submachine guns to our brothers in Syria.” And Kadir had laughed for hours about his little deception. Everyone thought the guns had come straight from him. He’d given his handler a story about how he could find anything al-Umari wanted. He’d totally left Mason’s name out of it.

Grandmother grinned. “You do know how to find them, puppet.”

Kadir took another long draw on his cigarette. He’d already laid the groundwork for David Mason to eat out of the palm of his hand. The man had a dossier of illegal dealings that could bury him for life. Kadir doubted Mason was the dupe’s real name, but he didn’t care. He didn’t trust the Anglo and never would. But he could use him and his sources.

The man wanted to be recruited?

No problem.

He’d let Mason take the fall for the next kidnapping. And when that happened, Kadir would move in and take over his business. For years, he’d been looking for a way to earn recognition from al-Umari and the old country. And now he’d finally found his chance.

***

At nine a.m. sharp, Logan sat across the picnic table from Kadir Hakim. He didn’t care much for meeting in broad daylight and swept his gaze in a wide angle. Above, a man wearing a pair of sunglasses stood looking out over the Rhône. The guy looked like he was out for a casual morning stroll. But something seemed off, giving Logan a good ole twist to the gut.

Hakim didn’t seem perturbed at all—kinda odd behavior for the schmuck. In fact, the jihadi was rubbing his hands together. “Before we can take the next shipment, I need you to prove your loyalty.”

The corners of Logan’s mouth twitched. “If it will lead to bigger sales, I’m in. As long as I can keep a low profile. What do you need?”

“Make friends with a local blonde girl.”

“Huh?” Logan’s ’ol gut was doing handstands, but he pinched his brows, making an angry face. “I sell guns, mate.”

“Friend a girl on Facebook and set up a date. I’ll handle it from there.”

“That sounds kinky.”

“Find a teenager—someone who’s inexperienced, who’ll trust you.”

“On Facebook? Hell, that’s as public as it gets.”

“You know how to set up an account that can’t be traced?”

Logan smirked and batted a hand through the air. “I fly under the radar, mate. But I’m not putting my mug up there. No freaking way.”

“Do what you want—I just need a pretty blonde. I sense you’ve made contacts through social media before.”

“A time or two.” Logan narrowed his eyes. He wouldn’t be believable if he didn’t question. “What are we going to do with her once we’ve made friends? If you need a girlfriend so badly, I suggest—”

“Just find me a fucking teenager!” Hakim hissed. “I’ll give you two weeks. I need a blonde teenager in two weeks. And make sure she’s pretty.”

“So, what’s this about?” Logan pressed.

“It’s better if you didn’t know.”

“Wait a minute. I’m not a kidnapper. Why are you messing around with girls? That’s only going to bring on the heat.”

“That’s not your concern.”

He pushed back a little harder for added effect. “I don’t like it.”

Hakim’s eyes bugged. “What? Do you have a limp dick? I thought you wanted to sell guns to al-Umari.”

“I do.”

“Well, if you want to have any chance of selling one more of your stolen guns, you’ll find me a blonde. And make sure she has blue eyes.”

Logan drummed his fingers to buy time. Every fiber in his body told him to blow the mission. “You sure you don’t want that second delivery?” he hedged. “The goods are ready.”

“We’ll talk about that after you deliver the girl.”

He threw up his hands. “Have it your way, but I’ll build a smokescreen so rock solid, there’ll be no chance the trail will lead to me.”

“Just don’t implicate me, otherwise you’ll find yourself with your feet planted in a pot of cement at the bottom of the Rhône.”

Logan’s Adam’s apple bobbed with his pronounced gulp. “Once I’ve made a date, what next?”

“Instructions will be delivered to your shop.”

Sitting for a moment, Logan considered his options. He wouldn’t be convincing if he didn’t try another tact. “I have an opportunity to get my hands on stinger missiles.”

“Yeah?” Hakim’s gaze shifted. “Who’s your supplier? The guy in Cuba?”

Logan squinted—there was something sinister brewing and he didn’t like it. In fact, if he was a real arms dealer, he would have walked the first time Hakim had mentioned a teenager. “That, my friend, is not something I’m willing to disclose.”

“Then get me a girl.”

He left Hakim sitting on the picnic bench and headed back to the apartment. But he’d only walked a few blocks when the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Logan changed directions. Crossing the street enabled him to look back toward the bridge without appearing paranoid. Then his gut twisted.

The guy with the shades was following. He could be anyone. But by the way he carried his shoulders, Logan guessed he’d had military training. And he could think of a hundred reasons why guys wearing shades might be suspicious, especially with the dirt about David Mason circulating on the internet.

Instead of stopping at the apartment, Logan went to the shop.

“Hey, dude. Where have you been?” Muhammed asked from his station at the cash register.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Logan chuckled as he strode down the aisle. He stepped behind the counter. “I’m being followed. The problem is I don’t know by who. Could be a good guy or bad.”

The bell jingled when the door opened and the man stepped inside, taking off his shades.

Muhammed looked up. “I see what you mean,” he whispered.

The perp sauntered forward. Brown hair, caucasian, average height—looked to be in shape. He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and flashed a badge. “Is there a place we can talk?”

Logan looked closer. DGSE Agent Roux. He threw his thumb over his shoulder. “There’s a table in the back room.”

“You’re keeping some pretty curious company.”

Logan shrugged. “My wife’s Islam.”

“That so?”

“Yes,” Logan said. “It hasn’t been easy for me to assimilate into the community.”

“For some reason, I think you’re having no problems whatsoever.” Roux took out his smartphone and brought up a photograph of their target practice outside of town. “One of my men took this picture. Do you have a Category One license to possess a semiautomatic?”

“I do.”

“May I see it?”

Logan pulled his gun permit out of his wallet and tossed it on the table. “What’s this about?”

“I think you know.” The man examined the license.

“Enlighten me.”

“Intel suggests you might not be a shop owner.”

Logan spread his palms. “Clearly the intel is mistaken.”

“You recently moved from London.”

“What has that got to do with anything?”

“Why France?”

“My wife has family in Lyon.”

“Hm.” The agent drummed his fingers on the table. “I wouldn’t continue to keep company with Kadir Hakim unless you want to be watched. It’s possible he has ties to ISIS.”

Logan drew a hand over his heart. “You must be mistaken. Kadir is a devout follower of Islam.”

“Right. And I’m Jesus.” Roux pushed back his chair and stood. “If you want to stay in France, I suggest you stick to your shop and keep your nose clean.”

“I always do.”

Now Logan had two tidbits of information to share with the team. He was being watched by French intelligence and terrorists expected him to deliver a blonde-haired, blue-eyed virgin in two weeks.