The Last Man (37 page)

“We have him under surveillance.”

“And?”

“Nothing so far, other than some contacts with a few unsavory types. In the world of Swiss banking, however, that’s hardly an indictment.”

“How about I go have a chat with him?” Rapp raised an eyebrow in anticipation.

This was the old Rapp. Extremely results oriented and rarely willing to sit back and let things unfold. Kennedy was torn between letting him do what he was so good at and the potential fallout if things didn’t go well. The FBI was firmly behind her at the moment, but with Senator Ferris lurking about, who knew what next week would bring? “If I send you, what are you going to ask him?”

Rapp looked at her as if it were a trick question. “How about why did you lie to the FBI and say that I did business with you, you piece of shit?”

Kennedy frowned. “Not very subtle.”

Rapp looked at Lewis. “Was I known for being subtle before I hit my head?”

Lewis sighed and said, “I’m afraid subtlety has never been your thing.”

Chapter 47

Islamabad, Pakistan

In the upper left corner of the fifty-inch flat-screen TV a single car passed through the main gate of Bahria Town. General Durrani took in a drag from his cigarette, ignored the anchor on Al Jazeera, and focused on the smaller picture. The next part of his plan was so ingenious that he had kept it from Rickman so he could see the man’s shock and then admiration as the audacity of it sank in. He couldn’t wait to see the surprise on his accomplice’s face when everything was revealed.

Dr. Bhutani had arrived the previous evening, and after spending an hour with the patient Bhutani informed Durrani that his decision to call him had been the right one. Rickman had a 103-degree temperature, a ruptured testicle, severely bruised kidneys, four broken ribs, and a shattered left orbital socket, and those were just the most immediate concerns. There were too many scrapes and bruises to count, and Bhutani had no idea if any other organs had been damaged. The doctor was no fool. He knew the importance of Durrani’s job and he knew his comrade placed an extremely high premium on secrecy.

So after finishing his examination, Bhutani said to Durrani, “That man needs to be in a hospital. I don’t suppose you will allow that?”

“No,” Durrani offered brusquely. “And he doesn’t want to go to a hospital either.”

“State secrets?”

“Yes.”

“You may trust me, as always.” Bhutani then took a long moment to consider the care of this intriguing patient, whom he had already identified as an American. “Antibiotics will go a long way to making sure we nurse him back to health, but there are some things we must keep an eye on. If we cannot get the fever down with antibiotics then I’m afraid we really will have to move him to a hospital, if you want him to survive. Would you like me to quietly explore some options?”

Durrani frowned and said, “It is imperative that you do not speak to anyone of this.”

“I understand.” Bhutani placed a caring hand on the general’s arm. “I will speak to no one, but I will see where we can take him if we absolutely have to. I have some ideas. In the meantime you will need to come up with an official explanation . . . a cover, I think you call it.”

“I have already taken care of that,” Durrani said with a wink.

“May I send a nurse over? Someone we can trust?” When Durrani hesitated, the doctor said, “It is essential that we monitor his vitals every hour until we think he is out of danger.” Seeing that Durrani wasn’t convinced, he added, “I know who I can trust. People who believe in what you are doing . . . in what we are doing.”

Durrani weighed the need for secrecy against the possibility of Rickman’s dying. He could always kill the nurse if he felt the need to, but if Rickman died there was no bringing him back. The nurse might also help avoid having to bring him to a hospital, which would be a very difficult environment to control. “Fine, but just one nurse. She can train one of my men what to do when she needs to sleep. She must never speak of any of this. Never.”

“I will make sure of it.”

Durrani then attempted to hand the doctor an envelope filled with cash. Bhutani vehemently refused, and when Durrani insisted, the doctor was insulted, telling Durrani that everyone must do his part in the defense of Pakistan and that this was his contribution.

The nurse had showed up within the hour. She was an ugly, fat thing, and Durrani decided almost immediately that the woman would have to die. She had spent the night at Rickman’s side, taking care of his every need and giving him the appropriate drugs and fluids as needed.

Now, Durrani snatched the handset from his office phone and pressed the Page button and then a second button for the guesthouse living room. After a series of long beeps, Kassar answered in his disinterested voice.

“The nurse,” Durrani said, “Send her to the other guesthouse. Tell her to take a two-hour break and that you will come get her when you need her.”

“Is your friend here?”

Durrani glanced at the security feed. “Almost. I don’t want the nurse to see him.”

“What does it matter? You are going to kill her anyway.”

“She doesn’t need to see this, and stop questioning my decisions. Just do what I say.” Durrani replaced the handset and wondered if it was time to get rid of Kassar. The problem would be replacing the man. He was so good at what he did, Durrani doubted he could find someone to fill his shoes any time soon.

Durrani returned his attention to the flat-screen TV in time to see the black Range Rover pull up to his private gate. His men did a quick inspection of the vehicle by running a mirror underneath and then checking the trunk cargo area. When the vehicle was cleared, Durrani stabbed out his cigarette, stood, and walked down the long hallway, stopping just short of the foyer. After fifteen months of hard work, the decisive moment was upon him.

He looked at his reflection in a full-length mirror with a thick gold frame. After adjusting the black beret on his head, he adjusted his tan tunic to make sure all the buttons were centered. His left breast was covered with four rows of ribbons and each collar had two gold stars in a sea of red. Pleased with his impressive image Durrani moved to the front door and opened it in time to see his guest emerging from the Range Rover.

“Larry,” Durrani yelled with a wave. One of Durrani’s bodyguards was waving a black magnetic wand over his guest, more for show than anything. Durrani yelled at the guard, “No need for that. He’s fine. Larry, come.” The general stood, beaming with anticipation, waving his right arm for his American friend to join him.

The American was wearing a khaki suit with a blue button-down shirt. He walked casually across the stone courtyard with a warm smile on his face. “General, good to see you.”

“And you, too, Larry.”

Larry Lee was an American expatriate from Wichita, Kansas. He was an engineer who specialized in petroleum refineries. “I can’t get over how beautiful your house turned out.” Lee stopped and did a 360-degree turn, taking it all in.

“And your house will be just as beautiful.”

“Not quite, but it is nice of you to say.”

Durrani had purchased a smaller lot next door for Lee, his business partner. Lee had started building at the same time as Durrani but was still months away from finishing. Lee complained that the contractors took advantage of him, but Durrani had talked to the builder and found out that the engineer in Lee made it very difficult because he wanted to inspect and sign off on every piece of work.

The two men shook hands and Durrani said, “How long until your house is complete?”

Lee shrugged as if to say your guess is as good as anyone’s. “They tell me two months, but I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“I will see if I can hurry them along,” Durrani said with a wink as he grabbed Lee by the elbow. Whispering in his ear, he said, “There is something that I want to show you.” He led Lee by the elbow into the house.

Halfway down the hall to the study, Durrani stopped and pressed the button for the elevator. Lee looked surprised, “The basement.”

“Yes.”

“Did you put in a pistol range?” Lee asked hopefully.

“No . . . I did not think of that.” Durrani stroked his mustache and then laughed. “That is a wonderful idea. I will have my architect look into it.”

They stepped into the elevator and Lee took the opportunity to lecture Durrani about the engineering of an indoor pistol range. Durrani couldn’t get off the elevator fast enough. He’d had about all he could take of this condescending American. He showed him to the secure door and punched in his code.

“I didn’t know you had tunnels,” Lee said as he walked along the cement floor.

“I had them installed for security.” Durrani continued the small talk until they reached the door that led to the smaller of the two guesthouses.

As they started up the stairs, Lee asked, “What did you want to show me?”

“These tunnels are very convenient. I think we should think about putting another one in.”

“Between our two properties?”

“Yes.”

“I never thought of that.”

By the time they got to the top of the stairs Durrani was out of breath. Lee continued to talk and eventually got around to asking a question. Durrani held up a hand, signaling that he was out of breath, while his other hand searched for his pack of cigarettes.

“You know those things are going to kill you, right? As your business partner, I have every right to get on you about stopping. If you die, our partnership will go up in flames.”

There were so many things that Durrani wanted to say, but instead he stuffed a cigarette between his two lips and nodded in agreement. Kassar appeared, standing at the edge of the sunken living room. “Vazir,” Durrani said, “you remember Larry?”

“Of course,” Kassar said with a nod of recognition.

Durrani took in several deep drags, which in a strange way seemed to settle his breathing. After exhaling a big cloud of smoke, he waved for Lee to follow him. As they walked down the hallway, Durrani began talking in a quiet voice. “What I’m about to show you is a real tragedy. I have another American friend, who was savagely beaten by a group of street thugs in Rawalpindi. I have arranged for him to recover here where he will be safe. It is embarrassing the way my countrymen treat our greatest allies at times.”

“Not everyone is so rude. Your behavior alone, General, helps a great deal.”

“Why, thank you.” Durrani stopped outside the closed door and said, “Give me a moment alone with him and then I’ll call for you.”

“Of course.”

Durrani slid into the room and closed the door. He approached the bed, still not used to the ugly sight before him. “Are you awake?”

Rickman was lying with three pillows beneath his back. He let his head fall to his left and said, “Yes.”

“Good . . . I see you can barely open one of your eyes.”

“The nurse has been making me ice every hour. It’s torture.”

“But that’s good . . . isn’t it?”

Rickman ignored the question and said, “You’re going to kill her, aren’t you?”

“Why must you always assume the worst in me?”

“Because you have a history of killing people when they no longer serve your plans.”

“Oh, that,” Durrani said with a smile, refusing to let Rickman’s sour mood spoil this special moment. “And you are such an angel, my friend. We both do what we must do. That is why we work so well together.”

“The nurse?”

Durrani sighed, “What about her?”

“Why do you have to kill her?”

“Stop it. We have more important things to discuss. I need to show you something.”

“What?”

“You will see.” Durrani was back at the door. He opened it a foot and signaled for Lee to join him. He held his finger to his lips and said, “We must speak softly.”

Durrani walked back to the bed with Lee at his side.

“My God,” was all Lee could manage to say.

“I know . . . it’s horrible.”

“Kids did this?”

“I wouldn’t exactly say that. Grown men, really.”

Lee’s face was a combination of shock and revulsion. “Who is he? Have I met him?”

“I’m fairly certain you have never met.” Durrani looked at Rickman. “Joe, have you ever met this man?”

Rickman craned his head back and through a narrow slit in his right eye, he took in a blurry image of the man. He gave his answer through his swollen Vaseline-laden lips. “No.”

“Was he in a bad neighborhood?” Kansan asked.

“You could say that. That is why I’ve warned you that you must be very careful.”

“This is horrible. Have you contacted the police?”

“No.” Durrani shook his head. “We don’t need to get them involved. My men will handle things.”

“And his family?”

A devilish smile creased Durrani’s lips. “Ah . . . like you he has no family.”

“Where is he from?”

“Denver, I think. Is that right, Joe?”

Rickman sounded bored. “Yes.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Lee asked with genuine concern.

“As a matter of fact there is,” Durrani said with a huge smile. He glanced over his shoulder and gave the signal to Kassar. Looking back at Lee, he made an apologetic face and said, “If you would die, it would be a huge help.”

Lee’s face twisted into a confused frown.

Kassar had put on his gloves while they were talking and had casually unfolded the plastic bag. In one fell swoop he yanked the bag over Lee’s head and yanked it tight around his neck. Kassar had learned this little trick many years ago. The key was to wear gloves, because the victim always scratched and clawed at your hands. One time, though, a very uncooperative victim had been smart enough to shred the plastic covering his face. It had turned out to be an ugly, less than-professional kill, as they ended up rolling around on the floor. Kassar had used the remnants of the bag to strangle the man but had not walked away unscathed. His slightly crooked nose was a constant reminder that he needed to continue to refine his craft. The trash-bag manufacturer Glad solved his problem when they came out with their tear-proof Force Flex bags.