Dead Ringer Page 15

  Mercy laughed. “How did you wind up in Turkey, Katy? Your patients run you out of the states?”

  “Don’t be impertinent. My patients loved me.” She sat on the side of the bed. “Actually, I came here looking for adventure and a husband. Pickings were slim for women my age back in Texas.” She gave a deep chuckle, put a hand to her auburn hair, and leaned over, speaking in a stage whisper. “Now tell me, is that Mr. Fergus married? He’s a handsome figure of a man. I keep imagining what he would look like in a kilt.”

  Mercy couldn’t contain her smile. The woman’s wit was better medicine than the pills she pushed. “No, he’s not married. You go get ’im, Katy. I’ll help you all I can.”

  Katy turned to the door. “Enough fun and frivolity. I’ll be back in half an hour to give you a bath.”

  “Oh, no, you won’t. I’ll take my own shower.”

  “Then I’ll be back in an hour to give you a massage.”

  “Now, that I’ll gladly accept.”

  The nurse eyed Paddy, curled up beside Mercy. “Where did you get that scruffy looking cat?”

  “Paddy isn’t scruffy looking. He’s a sweetheart.” She picked him up and held him to her chest. His purr resonated against her ribs.

  “I’ll take your word for it. By the way, I don’t like your housekeeper. If you ask me, she’s the one who tried to poison you. In Texas, we’d call her shifty.” She placed a finger to her temple and tapped. “Never trust anyone who can’t smile.”

  Katy had put words to Mercy’s own suspicions. She knew Edda didn’t like her, but poison seemed a little extreme. Changing the household diet was hardly grounds for murder, even for a psychopath.

  After a shower and a skin tingling massage, Mercy felt ready to get out of bed and back to life.

  Daniel bounced into her room with Pal in his arms.

  Paddy hadn’t totally accepted Pal, but he didn’t bow his back in the puppy’s presence. Still, he kept a watchful eye on him.

  Pal, however, was curious about this strange looking creature and wanted to play.

  Mercy placed Paddy on the floor, and he wandered off to the balcony, with Pal at his heels.

  Daniel sat on the bed. “You still sick, Mummy?”

  “No, I’m much better. Want to take a swim this afternoon?”

  His head bobbed up and down.

  “Lesson’s going well with Mac?”

  “Uh huh. He’s teaching me about evil King Edward I who killed Sir William Wallace.”

  Mercy laughed. “That would be a subject dear to Mac’s heart.”

  Gathering Pal into his arms, Daniel walked to the door and waved. “Bye, Mummy.”

  “See you later, Danny.”

  A knock sounded at the door. Not waiting for Mercy to answer, Katy backed into the room, a lunch tray in her hand. “Here you go, Missy.” She set the tray on the nightstand and lifted the dish covers.

  Mercy wrinkled her nose at the liver, spinach, and carrots. She grinned at the irascible nurse. “Let me guess, you weren’t hired for your culinary skills.”

  “You must be feeling better. You’re getting a smart mouth.” She smoothed her uniform over her hips with both hands. “My clients hired me for my charm and exceptional good looks.” Katy picked up the tray, set it on Mercy’s lap, and pointed at the food. “Eat. You keep complaining and I’ll let that shifty blonde make your meals.”

  “You know, you have a mean streak.”

  Katy moved to the door and wiggled her eyebrows. “So I’ve been told. Doesn’t hurt my feelings a bit. ”

  At six o’clock, Mercy felt well enough to join the family for dinner, which brightened her evening. Casting aside the invalid role greatly improved her mood.

  The nurse cleared the move with Fergus. He told Katy whoever was responsible for Mercy’s illness, probably wouldn’t poison the entire family just to get at her.

  Fergus informed Mercy that he and his men had searched the house. They’d removed all the rat poison, and garden products, and then locked them away in the gardener’s shed. He’d stopped short of searching the staff’s private residence—that was, in essence, their home.

  Katy joined the family for dinner that evening. She brought in a large glass of mixed fruit juice, set it by Mercy’s plate, and winked at her. “I made this myself. Why doesn’t Mr. Fergus eat in the dining room?”

  Mercy had wondered about that herself.

  “He doesn’t like the formality,” Nanna said. “He prefers the kitchen but usually joins us on holidays.”

  Before dessert arrived, Fergus appeared in the doorway. “Traci, may I speak to ye for a wee bit?”His expression revealed nothing.

  Mercy felt her stomach knot as she followed him down the hallway and into Thomas’s office.

  “Close the door, lass.”

  He moved to the window, not turning to look at her. For a long moment he stood silent, his back straight. He drew in a deep breath, his voice unsteady. “I just had a call from Paul Redford. Thomas is missing.”

  

  Saudi Arabia, Near the Jordanian Border

  Tuesday, June 27

  By the fifth day of their journey, Aref was making short forays to help tend the goat herds and camels. They’d kept to the desert’s edge for grass and water, which meant they took a circuitous route to their destination.

  Thomas was getting antsy.

  If Aref was right and someone had compromised the mission, they were still in imminent danger. He wanted to trust the Mossad agents. They’d had multiple chances to kill him and Aref.

  Perhaps someone in Redford’s camp leaked the information accidentally.

  One thing Thomas knew. They didn’t need to be out here wandering around in the desert like lost sheep. He sat on a grassy knoll overlooking the animals.

  Aref squatted beside him. “There’s a caravan headed this way. Moshe has been watching it all morning. He and the Rekani men went out to meet them about thirty minutes ago.” He slapped Thomas’s back. “We’ll eat well tonight, my friend. No more goat and rice.”

  An hour later, Moshe and Shaul joined them on the knoll.

  Moshe stared into the distance in the direction the caravan had gone. “The merchants in the caravan said two days ago men in military vehicles were looking for you and Aref. They didn’t use names. Just gave a vague description. We may have company soon.”

  “If they come, couldn’t we take their cars and drive on into Jordan?” Aref asked.

  Moshe shook his head. “We would have trouble crossing the border in a vehicle. You don’t have papers. As part of the Kurdish tribe we can pass through without notice.”

  Aref shrugged. “So what do we do when, and if, they show up?”

  Moshe didn’t blink. “We kill them.”

  Thomas listened to the exchange. If the hunters came looking for them, it would be up to him and the two Israelis to deal with whatever trouble came their way. The Rekanis wouldn’t get involved, and Aref was still too weak to help.

  “I agree with Aref.” Thomas said. “We take their means of transportation and identification, and then cross the border. Heim and Paul Redford can pick us up. The longer we stay in Saudi Arabia, the greater the chance of running into something we can’t handle.”

  Moshe shrugged thoughtfully. “It’s worth a try.” He turned to Shaul. “What do you think?”

  “I think Wallace is right. This is taking longer than we anticipated. We needed to be out of this desert yesterday.”

  Moshe gazed at his partner and then back to Thomas. “We would have the element of surprise since we blend in with the family.” He plopped down on the ground. “Looks like we’re agreed. We wait for the hunters to show up and fall into the trap.”

  20

  CIA Headquarters, Washington, DC

  Tuesday, June 27

  Heim Rosen waited in the lobby outside Paul Redford’s office. There was a stark contrast to this building and his headquarters in Israel. Where Mossad was high energy and less structured, L
angley was a conventional, well-oiled machine that turned out cookie-cutter agents.

  Thomas Wallace had been the exception. The agency had been crazy to let him walk away.

  After a few minutes, a blonde, big-haired secretary led Heim into Paul Redford’s office. “Mr. Rosen’s here to see you, sir.” He nodded, and she closed the door.

  Redford’s expression turned serious as he stared at a television on the wall. The news channel was running the lead story of the day, featuring a Jewish American male captured by al- Qaeda. The terrorists had just released a tape of the victim pleading for his life.

  Heim turned to Redford. “Will you deal with them?”

  Frustration etched furrows into Redford’s face. “Would you?”

  “No,” Heim said. “If you meet their demands, they’ll kill him, anyway. If he isn’t already dead. They could have filmed that clip when they first captured him. He was a dead man the minute they grabbed him.”

  “We have agents looking for him in Pakistan—trying to find the location. That’s the best we can do.” Redford lifted the remote and muted the sound. He turned his chair around to face Heim.

  Heim took a chair. It made the CIA chief crazy when Heim paced.

  “Have you heard anything more on Thomas?” Redford asked.

  “No. We know both he and Aref are alive, but you already know that. Have you heard anything?”

  “We have to assume they’re still OK. If Thomas Wallace had been killed, it wouldn’t be kept secret.”

  Heim knew almost the exact location of Thomas Wallace. He couldn’t let his counterpart know this, however. He hadn’t told Redford he’d sent agents in.

  Every fanatic regime in the Middle East had Israel in its crosshairs. It wasn’t the USA that faced annihilation if Iran dropped a nuke in Israel’s lap. Protecting his country was his first priority. He’d share information on a need to know basis. Not before. He wanted a chance to pick Aref’s brain before his handlers shuffled him somewhere out of reach.

  “What brings you to D.C., Heim?”

  “I flew in to the embassy yesterday. Wanted to check in with you while I was here.” He nodded towards the TV screen. “We have an ear to the ground for any leads on that guy. He’s also one of ours.” Heim stood before the huge window, his back to Redford. The view overlooked the Mall.

  People hurried to their appointed tasks like ants in an active anthill.

  “Who in your agency knew about this operation besides you, me, and Thomas?” Heim asked.

  “No one. My people made the travel arrangements, but they didn’t know the purpose. Why do you ask?”

  Heim moved back to watching the newscast that still ran the al-Qaeda reel. “It crossed my mind that someone tipped off the terrorists. I’m speculating that the cell didn’t confirm Aref’s deception until shortly after he passed the data to Thomas. Otherwise, the exchange would never have taken place.” He nodded at the screen. “We need a plan to prevent Thomas and Aref from meeting the same fate as that poor devil.”

  

  Wallace Island, the Aegean Sea

  Tuesday, June 27

  Legs suddenly weak, Mercy felt behind her for the chair arms and eased down on the cushioned seat. “What does it mean? Is he...”

  “It means they don’t know where he is or what happened,” Fergus said. “Redford has deployed people to find him but nothing so far.”

  Her hand went to her brow as she tried to absorb the news. Thomas could be dead or seriously wounded. Please God, not Thomas. “What do we tell Daniel?”

  “Nothing, for the time being. Not until we know for sure what’s happened.”

  

  Saudi Arabian Desert, Near the Jordanian Border

  Wednesday, June 28

  Thomas had just swallowed the last bite of the evening meal when the roar of engines and automatic gunfire announced the arrival of the guests they’d been waiting for. The commotion rousted everyone in camp.

  He grabbed one of the AK-47s and magazines and motioned to Aref to stay put.

  Moshe and Shaul were already half out the tent flap, automatic weapons and rifles in hand.

  “Leave me a weapon,” Aref called.

  He threw Aref the assault rifle and a magazines.

  Thomas caught up with the two Israelis. “If they know we’re here it’s stupid to announce their arrival, don’t you think?

  “They don’t know we’re here,” Moshe said. “It’s a form of intimidation when they come into a camp. Lets the occupants know they’re armed and ready for a fight.” He turned to Shaul. “Tell the Rekanis to stay out of sight.”

  Shaul disappeared for five minutes. When he returned, they scurried behind a sand dune.

  Field glasses in hand, Moshe scanned the approaching vehicles. “Looks like they’re about a mile out, maybe more. It’s impossible to judge in all the sand. How many are there?” He passed the glasses to Thomas.

  “I count three vehicles.” Thomas replied. “Four men in each.”

  Shaul nodded. “That’s what I counted.”

  “Give me a rifle. I’ll draw them away from the Rekani tents.” Thomas said. “Goat skin won’t repel bullets.”

  Moshe tossed him a rifle and grinned. “Be careful. Sand doesn’t stop bullets, either.”

  Crouching low, Thomas moved away from the camp and towards the approaching vehicles. A nearby dune looked like a good place to wait until they came into range. He took his position at the top of the knoll and examined Moshe’s rifle.

  It was a Swiss B&T with scope and silencer. He’d never used this model. The gun was fitted with a night scope, but they could end this in the two hours left of daylight.

  Thomas muttered under his breath.

  The desert was the worst possible place for a gunfight. No cover to speak of, and moving through sand was like walking with weights on one’s ankles.

  Within minutes, the first vehicle came over a rise and down at a forty-five degree incline to the shallow dip below.

  Thomas sighted on the driver and squeezed the trigger.

  A scream echoed in the silent sand, and the driver spilled out. The vehicle turned on its side, dumping the other occupants. Panicked, the terrorists scrambled in the dirt shouting curses.

  Because of the rifle’s silencer and the roar of the engines, the two remaining vehicles weren’t aware of the ambush until they crested the rise. The driver tried to avoid the downed vehicle and men scrambling for cover, and failed. He rammed into the first one, bounced back, and tipped over.

  Thomas had the high-ground advantage and there was no cover from his bullets. He picked off the third vehicle’s driver and it became part of the wreckage. He zeroed in on two more men before the remaining terrorists dived for cover.

  Wild gunfire sprayed the sand in all directions, but nothing came near him.

  Fifty yards away, Moshe and Shaul inched into position, and began firing on full automatic, sending a hail of bullets over and under the wreckage.

  Two men escaped the carnage and made for the closest sand hill.

  Thomas downed both before they reached their destination.

  Grunts and screams, and then silence.

  “Thomas, you OK?” Moshe yelled.

  “Yeah, you guys?”

  “We’re good,” Moshe called back across the distance. He and Shaul checked the bodies for survivors and found none. The two men scrambled over the hilltop and trudged towards him.

  Thomas met them in the middle. The next order of business was to find papers and clothing that would fit. No time or need to bury the dead. The desert had its own eco-system.

  They made their way back to the camp in silence, Thomas running the events through his mind. Over the past few days, he developed a grudging respect for Moshe and Shaul. Hard men. Patriots to the core. They shared that in common.

  At an oasis near the campsite, they washed the clothing and let them dry overnight.

  Aref peppered them with questions, wanting details of the f
irefight. His curiosity finally sated, they tried to catch some sleep for the next, and hopefully last, phase of this operation.

  The following morning, they discarded the throbes and ghutras and dressed in the terrorists’ wardrobes. Thomas’s pants proved a little short, but he tucked the bottoms into his boots to conceal the fashion faux pas.

  The Rekanis packed up early to get away from the area before authorities discovered the bodies.

  Before the family left, Thomas sought out Abdul. “Thank you, sir, for your hospitality. We are much in your debt.” They shook hands, and Thomas rejoined his friends.

  The four of them loaded into the vehicle and pointed its nose towards Jordan.

  21

  Wallace Island, the Aegean Sea

  Thursday, June 29

  Katy Martin went in search of Fergus and found him outside with the Black Watch soldiers. “Mr. Fergus, may I speak to you for a moment?”

  Fergus left the group and came towards her. “There’s no mister in front of my name, Katy. Is something wrong with Traci?”

  Katy kept her face serious. The matter she wanted to discuss had troubled her for days. “No, Traci’s fine, for the present. I was wondering if you had any further word on who was responsible for the arsenic in her food.”

  His eyes narrowed. His face became tight. “No, but that’s no concern of yers. Yer only job is to see that Traci stays healthy.”

  “I won’t stand for your rudeness, Mister Fergus.” She put her hands on her hips. “It was a simple question and deserved a polite answer. And my job, as you put it, is to see that no more poison gets into her food. Your job, I’m told, is security, and if you would open your eyes and stop standing around telling jokes and laughing with your friends, we might find the person responsible.”

  He stepped forward, his six-foot four frame towering over her five-foot five stature. His face flushed with anger. “We? Are ye telling me how to do my job?”