COLBY, LONG ISLAND
Saturday morning
Special Agent Todd Jenkins sat outside Jamil Nazari’s cubicle in the SICU, his hand resting lightly on his thigh, close to his Glock. It was already busy, even on a Saturday morning, a lot of new faces to learn after the shift change, new IDs to check before he let any of them near Nazari. He heard Nazari moaning as Nurse Collins checked him out, smiled when she said quite clearly, “You’re getting all the morphine ordered for you, moaning won’t get you any more.” Everyone knew he was a terrorist and Todd had heard Collins say she wasn’t going to put up with any guff from him. Todd thought about asking her out to dinner.
He looked over at a TV monitor tuned to a news channel on the far wall and saw a cut-in photo of Agent Sherlock labeled GUTSY HEROINE OF JFK, with a talking head from CNN next to the photo. He’d bet she’d be getting more than her share of grief from her fellow agents for having a moniker like that.
He saw a man walking toward him in a long white coat over black pants, an open-collared shirt, and no tie. He was tall, middle-aged but fit, not much hair left on his head. He wore a stethoscope around his neck and held a tablet in his hand. A second later, Todd was on his feet, his right hand on his Glock. Wrong shoes.
The man barely spared him a glance, kept walking to the central nurses’ station, tossing off a comment to a nurse as he passed her. But his shoes—a doctor wouldn’t wear black running shoes over white socks, would he? Well, it was Saturday and perhaps he’d been out running. Todd kept his eye on the man until he walked out of the SICU ten minutes later, whistling.
Todd was looking forward to getting relieved at eight a.m. The FBI had learned early on that it was difficult to stay focused doing guard duty for more than four hours at a stretch, particularly at night in a place like this, with so many people shuffling in and out. Besides the staff changes, there were the patient transfers, respiratory therapists, blood drawing teams, food delivery service, and the list went on and on. He’d studied them all carefully, assuming each of them was there to kill Nazari, until they proved otherwise. One dead terrorist in FBI custody was more than enough.
Todd heard Giusti’s voice before he saw her striding through the SICU, Sherlock at her side, the other agent from Washington, Cal McLain, behind them. Giusti was smiling real big. What had happened?
“Hi, Todd. Any bad guys overnight?”
He started to tell her about the doc with the black sneakers, but thought again. He smiled. “Everything’s fine.”
“Silicon said to tell you she’ll be here to relieve you in ten minutes. Stay sharp, okay, Todd?”
Todd nodded, reminded himself to talk to Nurse Collins after Silicon showed up. Silicon was really Special Agent Glynis Banks, a fanatic Trekkie. She liked nothing more than to yammer on about the silicon-based life-forms in her favorite old episode, earning that nickname.
The three of them slipped inside the cubicle, and he heard Agent Giusti say, full of bonhomie, “Good morning, Jamil. I hear you’ve been complaining quite a bit, unhappy with our fine service. Do you want to tell your sister Jana about all your grievances?”
They saw he tried hard, but Nazari couldn’t get enough spit in his mouth to have a go at her. “You are not my beloved sister! Where is my lawyer? I have requested a lawyer. I do not have anything to say to you, to any of you. I want you to get out of here. Tell my nurse to bring me pain medication. I am dying of pain!”
Kelly clicked off on her fingers. “No more pain medication, you can’t have a lawyer, and we’re not going to leave. If you don’t know, you can’t have a lawyer because you’re a terrorist. Now, you don’t have to talk, but you will listen.
“Do you remember Agent Sherlock? She’s the one who arrested Nasim Conklin at JFK, kicked him in the head, actually. You knew him. He’s the man you were sent to murder, the man you did murder. Were you one of his handlers in New York? Were you one of the men who showed him how to fire off the grenade, who told him if he didn’t sacrifice himself, his family would die?”
They could tell he wanted to yell at them, but he was in too much pain, something Kelly hoped would play to their advantage. All he could do was glare at Kelly.
“Alas, you’re right, I’m not your sister Jana, though being your sister would make me so proud. I’m Agent Kelly Giusti, and I strongly recommend you rethink your options. You might want to consider me your confidante, your very best chance at staying alive.
“Nothing to say? Well, then, let me finish the introductions. This is FBI Agent Cal McLain. He’s brought down a number of your brethren. He’d love to stuff your teeth down your throat. I’ll tell you what, though. I’ll hold him off you for the time being, unless you really piss me off.”
Jamil cursed her under his breath again, but without much heat. He turned his head away from them.
Kelly leaned over him. “Jamil, come on, now, don’t be rude. I really do think it’s to your benefit to hear what I have to say about your future.
“Let’s start off with a first-degree murder with special circumstances, attempted murder of federal officers, conspiracy to commit terrorism—already more than enough for the death penalty. Or we could send you up for life without parole in a maximum-security federal prison, which might be worse, given what prisoners think of terrorists. It’s right up there with child molesters. Or, if we really want to be cruel, Jamil, we could arrange to send you back to Egypt. I’m sure you wouldn’t enjoy the experience of what they call questioning and punishment.”
At last she got a response. He whipped his head back around to stare up at her. “Your threats are ridiculous. You Americans do not know anything. I’ve listened to you, now go away. Leave me alone. No, get that stupid nurse to give me morphine.”
“Then again,” she said right over him, “we could simply let you go, after we let it out that you gave up the Strategist’s first name, that you told us all about how he’s a family friend from Algeria. How long do you think you would last before your own comrades found you, sliced you up like a Christmas goose? Without our protection, it would be over like that.” She snapped her fingers in his face.
“So the FBI would protect me if I talked.” Jamil sneered. “Like you protected Nasim from me?”
“We know your people embedded a GPS chip in Nasim’s body, the chip you used to find him. Yes, we failed Nasim, but do you know he wanted you to shoot him? He made it easy for you, so he could save his family.
“You’re a murderer, Jamil, a coward, a puppet whose strings are pulled by the Strategist, by Hercule.” She leaned down again, said against his cheek, her breath feathering his skin, “Still, I am willing to make a deal with you. There are two things I can do for you. First, think about what your family could do with one hundred thousand dollars. All you have to do is tell me the last name of this man your sister Jana wanted to marry. How long ago was it, Jamil? Ten years? Longer?”
He gave her a thoughtful look. “You said there were two things you would do for me. Money—one hundred thousand dollars for my family—and what else? What is the second thing?”
Kelly touched her hand to his arm, right above an IV line. “You won’t be executed. And the biggie? I won’t let it be known you’re a terrorist, so the other prisoners won’t stuff a bar of soap down your throat in the shower. Hey, I’ve got a couple photos we believe might be the Strategist taken at Heathrow, one at Gatwick. You want to take a look for me?”
“Heathrow? The Strategist would never fly in one of those places where people are cattle, herded through the ridiculous security, and the cameras everywhere, he wouldn’t—” He closed his mouth, turned his face away from her.
He didn’t see her quickly smile toward Sherlock and Cal. “Come on, now, Jamil, if you do not tell me Hercule’s full name I really don’t have any impetus to want to keep you breathing, do I?”
His mouth remained tightly seamed. He stared up at the ceiling, ignoring her, ignoring all of them. Finally, he said, “Do you think I fear for my fate after ridding the world of that useless scum Nasim? Nothing but a rich little whiner, who’d forsaken his religion, turned his back on what he should have willingly done for our cause. I have not. I will put my trust in Allah, not in you.
“I do not care what you do to me. I would never give up the Strategist. He knows already that I have been wounded or killed, and he trusts me to keep silent, and I will. You will never find him. He will stay a ghost, a shadow, until he is ready to kill whichever of you he chooses. He is a great man, a man to follow.” He looked at Sherlock. “He was surprised to hear you were visiting with Nasim again, woman. He was already angry with you. Now he will avenge me.” He looked at each of their faces. “He will kill all of you.”