Sympathy For the Devil (18 page)

Read Sympathy For the Devil Online

Authors: Terrence McCauley

Tags: #Thriller

BOOK: Sympathy For the Devil
3.87Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

“I already got that part on the tarmac,” Kamal said. “How about you tell me what’s behind Door Number Two?”

“I let those two nice MPs back there take you back to Kansas. No Dorothy and no yellow brick road for you, Toto. Just twenty years of hard time in a military stockade. I don’t give a shit about which one you chose so long as you chose right here and right now. What’s it going to be?”

“I need to know more before I make up my mind.”

Hicks shook his head. “You know that’s not how this works. You come on board, you’re in, and then you get briefed. You say no, your oppressors back there take your ass to jail for the next twenty years.”

Kamal smiled. “Is it dangerous?”

“We didn’t bring you here to sell Girl Scout cookies. Last chance.”

Kamal looked around him. There wasn’t much of a view of the Hudson from where they were standing, but the sky was high and blue overhead. Cars sped by them in both directions on the West Side Highway. It wasn’t ideal, but it was life, and it was more of life than Kamal had seen since being in jail. It was a beautiful day to make a choice between bad and worse decisions.

“What about when it’s all over?” Kamal asked. “Do I have to go back to jail?”

“That depends entirely on you,” Hicks said. “You get results, you go free. Maybe even have a chance at a better life for yourself. But if you fail or lie to me or defy me at any time, even once, you go straight back and do every minute of your sentence.”

Kamal shook his head. “Sounds like some real Dirty Dozen shit if you ask me.”

“Oh, but I am asking you, asshole.” He made a show of checking his watch. “What’s it going to be?”

Kamal looked up to the cloudless sky and closed his eyes. “I choose freedom.”

Hicks gave a thumbs-up to the MPs and watched them climb back in the Explorer.

Kamal turned and watched the men drive away. “Just like that, huh? You got that kind of pull?”

Hicks opened the back door of the Buick. “Get in. We’ve got a hell of a lot of work to do and not a lot of time to do it.”

Kamal clapped his hands and let out a whoop as he began to get in the back seat. “Free at last, free at last. Thank God almighty, I’m free at last.”

Hicks knife-edged his left hand hard into Kamal’s throat. The move caught the bigger man off guard and at a bad angle. He dropped to the asphalt, dead weight, gagging. All of the advanced training in the world couldn’t prepare you for a quick punch in the throat.

Hicks dropped and put a knee hard into Kamal’s gut and his .454 Ruger Alaskan under his chin. “Get this straight right here and now, asshole. This isn’t a fucking vacation, and you’re not free. Those men were the last chance you had to back out and stay alive. From here on in, I own your miserable ass. One false move, one fuck up, or step out of line...” Hicks pressed the barrel of the gun against Kamal’s left ear. “You catch two taps right there and dumped in the river. Understand me?”

Hicks didn’t know what he expected Kamal to do once he got his breath, but he sure as hell didn’t expect him to laugh. And that’s just what Kamal did. A deep belly laugh from the soul. “You crack me up. You think this is the first time I’ve had gun at my throat, motherfucker?”

“No.” Hicks thumbed back the hammer. “But it’ll sure as hell be the last unless you start taking this shit seriously. The second you think you’re indispensable, I’ll show you just how wrong you are.”

“Killing me in a parking lot ain’t very subtle for the CIA.”

“A dead black man in a parking lot ain’t exactly breaking news. And I’m not CIA.” He moved the Ruger back under Kamal’s chin. “We good?”

Kamal winced as he tried to get up, but couldn’t. “Can’t get any work done by lying here, now can we?”

 

H
ICKS DROVE,
taking intermittent glances in the rearview mirror to watch Kamal rubbing his throat.

“You slammed my head good when you took me down, man. Got me all fucked up. Might have a concussion.”

Hicks focused on the thickening crosstown traffic. “I thought you Green Berets were supposed to be tough?”

“Fool me once shame on you,” Kamal said. “Fool me twice, it’s your ass.”

Hicks smiled. “Yeah, I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

“Hey, what’s that gun you pulled on me anyhow? Looks like a .38 but felt a whole lot heavier.”

“That’s because it’s not a .38. It’s a .454 Ruger Alaskan. Range isn’t great, but up close, it’ll core a charging grizzly bear.”

“Fuck you mean ‘core a grizzly bear?’”

“You ever core an apple? Same thing. Except it could do that to a charging grizzly. Put a hole in him from crown to culo and stopped him cold, even at a dead charge.”

Kamal blinked his eyes clear. He looked out the window at the growing lunchtime traffic and Hicks saw him mouth the words ‘core a grizzly bear.’ Hicks knew he’d made his point.

Given the traffic, the drive out to the apartment in Queens could take a long time, so Hicks decided to strike up some conversation. Maybe get to know him a bit before he started briefing him. “I read your file and it looks like you were a pretty good soldier. How’d you go from being G.I. Joe to being the Birdman of Alcatraz?”

“You don’t know how it is, man,” Kamal said. “They train you to serve and they train you to kill, but they don’t train you how to live with it afterward. To handle all the shit you see and keep it from eating you up inside. It’s hard to maintain, man. It’s damned hard.”

Hicks took a sip of the civet coffee Roger had fixed him for the road. It was an hour cold but still flavorful. “Wow. Sounds rough.”

“Man, you don’t know the half of the shit I’ve seen.”

“So, let me get this straight. You volunteered for the army, then volunteered again to become a Green Beret, then volunteered yet again for Army Intelligence. You knew all of these things you were volunteering for were forward units bound to see action. You see said action, and then decide to use that as an excuse to break the law?” Hicks laughed. “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, ace. Least of all me.”

“Alright, white man. Let’s follow your lead and cut the bullshit. If you’re not CIA, what are you? NSA? FBI? Some other black bag bullshit outfit?”

Hicks wouldn’t tell him any more than he had to, but he had to tell him something. He needed him focused on Omar’s men, not who Hicks worked for. “I’m not part of the alphabet soup you’re used to dealing with, so don’t waste time guessing. All you need to know is that we had the juice to get you out of jail and we’ve got enough juice to stick you right back there if we have to.”

Kamal threw up his hands. “No problems here, boss man. I’ve always been more of an entrepreneur than a detective, so it doesn’t make a damned bit of difference to me who’s signing the checks. Just tell me who to salute and who to kill.”

“If everything works out the way it’s supposed to,” Hicks said, “you won’t be doing much of either. You’re going to be playing the money man for a financier from Afghanistan. The man you’re supposed to be fronting for doesn’t know you but will vouch for you if it comes to that.”

“What’s this money man paying for?”

“We don’t know, and that’s the problem,” Hicks told him. “We need you to give this clown Omar the money, get him talking, and then tell us whatever you learn. He’s supposed to be planning something big, but those are all the details we have. The money you give him will help us find out a hell of a lot more. I’ll give you a complete file on Omar when we get to where we’re going.”

“What kind of player is this Omar trying to be?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out, which is why I put my man inside his cab stand. Omar’s travel pattern tipped us off. Trips to Yemen, Pakistan, Egypt, and Syria but never back home to Somalia. That was strange. He also made some large cash transfers while he was over there; the last one for thirty grand to an electronics store in Aleppo, Syria.”

“I know where Aleppo is, man,” Kamal said.

“Good for you,” Hicks said. “We’ve never been able to get to the bottom of where Omar’s donations went or what they paid for, but it was large enough to catch our attention. My man was one of the few non-Somali drivers in the place but was still able to blend in with the rest of them.

“So if he’s so good, why am I here?”

“Because he got turned a couple of days ago, which caused Omar to run. He also somehow got the numbers for a bunch of Middle Eastern types who like funding actions against the West.” He looked at him in the rearview mirror. “You’re the guy who works for a financier who’s sympathetic to his cause.”

“We’ll get to that part in a minute,” Kamal said. “What about your man? He dead?”

Hicks kept his eyes on the traffic. “Yeah.”

“Any of the others live?”

Hicks looked at him in the rear view mirror until Kamal looked away.

“Stupid question, I guess. Sorry I asked.”

“Omar’s gone off the grid,” Hicks went on. “The only way we can flush him out is through you. You’ll be playing the role of the financier’s emissary. You’ll give him some money and make him pitch you on what he’s planning. Then you report back to me and we move on from there. A day’s work, maybe a day-and-a-half and you’re home free. All you have to do is follow your training and you get your freedom.”

“If it was that easy,” Kamal said, “I’d still be in a goddamned jail cell. How the hell did a cab driver from Queens get contacts like that? And all that money?”

“That’s something I hope you’ll ask Omar,” Hicks said. “You’re the man with the money he needs, so you’re entitled to ask all the questions you want. I’ve already put a list of questions I want you to ask. You’ll have plenty of time to memorize it before I put you with Omar.”

“Whole goddamned thing sounds a little too simple for my taste.”

“And simple’s the way it’s going to stay, unless you complicate it. If I had someone On Staff with your combination of skills and background, I’d be briefing them right now instead of you. But you know Omar’s religion and you understand his customs. You literally speak their language. We’ve even worked out a cover that’s close to the one you had in Afghanistan. Your cover’s still good as far as the locals are concerned. Everyone thinks you ripped some people off and ran back to the states. No one knows you were Army Intelligence.”

“How much of a bankroll will I be working with?”

“A hundred thousand. You’ll give them ten at the initial meet. More later after you and I debrief. You’ll have the entire hundred in your room at all times in case they demand to see the money.”

Kamal let out a long, low whistle. “That’s an awful lot of money to place in the hands of a convicted felon like me.”

“I’m not crazy about it,” Hicks admitted, “but you’re a stranger to them, and they have no reason to trust you right off the bat. We never told them how much the financier would send them, but a hundred grand in cash should make them believe you’re serious. Tell them you can get more if that’s what it takes.”

“A man like me could have a lot of fun in this town with a hundred grand.”

“A man like you will catch a bullet in the eye if you take that bag from your room without my say so.”

“Are you really always this uptight or is this just for my benefit?”

“These sons of bitches just turned one of the best operatives I ever worked with,” Hicks said, “so I’m not exactly in a joking mood. You take these guys lightly, you’re liable to wind up dead just like him.”

Kamal threw up his hands. “Fine. Jesus. How many people are we working with?”

“I don’t know how many Omar will have with him.”

“No, I mean our team. Us. You and me. How many others working with us?”

Hicks never shared operational detail with an unknown operative. He talked about the setup instead. “I’ve set you up at a small apartment in Astoria. It’s simple and plain because Omar and his people like simple and plain.”

“How plain?”

“You’ll have a bed, a laptop, and a throw-away phone at your disposal. You’ll be able to read all about your cover story on the laptop once I give you the password, but you won’t be able to email any friends or reach out to anyone while you’re under. Our mission files are encrypted, so even if they do look at your computer, all they’ll see is spreadsheets and travel itineraries. Your file says you’re good with computers, but you’re not better than me. If you try to email anyone, I’ll know, and there will be consequences.”

“I figured that,” Kamal said. “Now how about answering my question about backup.”

Hicks was encouraged. At least he was paying attention. “You’ll be under constant surveillance,” was all Hicks said. “Anything happens, we’ll know about it. Keep your phone on you at all times, even if they make you take out the battery.”

“What good is it if it doesn’t have the battery?”

“More good than you know,” was all Hicks told him. He checked the rear and side view mirrors to see if they were being followed, but didn’t see anything. “Just keep the phone on you if you can.”

“You got it, chief,” Kamal said. “By the way, I’m going to need a gun.”

Hicks had been wondering when that would come up. “No way.”

“Then you might as well turn this thing around and take me back to the Penn, because there ain’t no way I’m going in there unarmed.”

“You’re not muscle,” Hicks explained. “You’re the money man and money men don’t need to carry guns. You’re a boss. You’re Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and whatever Muslim equivalent there is all rolled up in one package for these guys.”

“I ain’t bulletproof neither,” Kamal said. “If these assholes throw down, I’ll need to be able to defend myself.”

“You’re a fucking Green Beret,” Hicks said. “You are a weapon. Besides, if they pat you down and find a weapon, they’ll get suspicious. We need them calm and talkative. No one’s going to throw down anything but information. All you have to do is pump them for details, pass it along to me, and you’re a free man. And I’ll be there to back you up the entire time.”

Hicks took another look at him in the rearview mirror. He watched Kamal pulled at his prison shirt. “I’m gonna need some walking around money. Get me some new clothes, at least. The shit I’ve got on are stockade threads. I can’t roll up on them dressed like this. I need to make an impression.”

Other books

The Game Trilogy by Anders de la Motte
Expedición a la Tierra by Arthur C. Clarke
Breakaway (Pro-U #1) by Ali Parker
Texas Heat by Fern Michaels
Jars of Clay by Lee Strauss
Dear Scarlett by Hitchcock, Fleur; Coleman, Sarah J;