"That he fucked with the wrong guy. Look, I leave in two weeks for the marines. They can fire my ass this morning, and I don't care. Day after tomorrow is my last day, anyway."
"Marines, huh? I just got out a while back, retired."
"Yeah, you look retired."
"Okay. We'll call it square. You'd better get your buddy to the ER. I know I broke his jaw," Styles directed.
"He's not my buddy. I can't stand him. I'd say he's lucky to have his head. I never saw anyone kick like that. Thanks for not taking my head off."
"Like I told him, I wasn't looking for trouble."
"No, you weren't. That's just what I'm going to write up. You got my word on that."
Styles stepped up and extended his hand. "Word from an ingoing marine is good enough for me. Good luck to you." Styles shook his hand.
"I'll put it on the radio that you're running the fence. You won't have any more problems. Hell, Ed's the only asshole we've got working with us."
"Appreciate that. Like I said, good luck." Then Styles was off and running.
Styles, freshly showered, met with Starr, Christman, and Phillips in Phillips's hotel room. Starr had gone down to the in-house restaurant and brought up breakfast sandwiches and coffee for everyone.
Phillips was visibly tired. She'd been up most of the night researching.
"Okay, guys, this is what I've got. Inland Helicopter. They are definitely suspect. I traced two bank accounts to the Cayman Islands and had to go through a dozen shell companies to get to the owners. Saudi. Any questions? Good," she said, not giving anyone time to ask one. She tossed a stack of papers onto the table. "Here's what I found out. Go over it when you've got the time. If Northern Hunting Expeditions is involved, it has to be minor. My feeling is they are not. I could be wrong. Chopper guys are definitely involved. Cross-referencing cell phone calls, I came up with one name. Not sure exactly where he fits in, but he's in there somewhere. Ryyaki Ali. Billionaire Saudi. Has four mansions in this country alone, a total of nine worldwide. One is a retreat outside Portland, Oregon, on about thirty-five acres. He enjoys a luxurious lifestyle. I have three other cell numbers, but I can't match to any names yet. I'll keep digging." Again she stopped for coffee.
Styles spoke up. "J. C., you go check on the plane, be sure it's fueled; whatever. Starr and I are going to pay Inland Choppers a visit. Phillips, get some sleep; you've earned it."
15
Ryyaki Ali had returned to the warehouse to meet the man known only as Smith. Ali had six guards with him, all armed with AK-47s and Glock nine-millimeter handguns. As agreed, he had his banking information ready to present as additional proof that his payment had been made. He wanted no disagreement with this man.
Ali had waited ten minutes when a white Chevrolet Suburban appeared and parked. Smith got out, surrounded by three stern-faced bodyguards. No weapons were visible, but Ali had no doubt they were in possession of such.
"My bank has notified me that the transfer went as agreed," Smith stated.
"Yes. I brought records of my own in case you had any questions," Ali replied.
"No, all is well. I expect you to wire the final payment within ten days if you find that satisfactory."
"That is acceptable."
Smith turned and nodded at the Suburban. A rear door opened, and a fifth man got out, holding a wooden crate.
With no words spoken, he walked straight to Ryyaki Ali and placed the crate at his feet. He returned to the Suburban and climbed back inside, shutting the door.
Smith then approached Ali and handed him an envelope. "Inside are a few notes I made, along with a business card with only a phone number, and a cell phone. If you have further use of my services, call the number from that cell phone. I believe this concludes our present business."
"Yes."
The two men gave curt nods and parted ways.
Upon returning to Ali's immense home, one that most would refer to as a mansion, the group retreated to the downstairs secure room, one that had been specifically built to block any manner in which the room could be spied upon. It consisted of a long mahogany table that could seat twelve, with matching chairs. Along the side of one wall was a full-length desk, upon which sat three different computers. At the far end of the room, there was a walk-in safe, shelving installed upon three walls. Cash, arms, along with jewels and stolen art were stored. Only Ali could access this, as it was protected by an electronic keypad that also required his thumbprint.
"Stay here," he directed the four men who accompanied him as he walked to the safe. After punching in the code and pressing his thumb against the scanner, the large, heavy door swung open noiselessly. "Bring me that crate."
None of the other four men moved.
With obvious annoyance, he walked back to the table where he had placed the crate containing the toxin. "What are you afraid of? It is harmless until the agent is placed in water. Do you see any water here?" He impatiently grabbed the crate and took it into the safe, where he placed it upon one of the shelves. Without saying a word, he exited and closed the door.
The four men did not look entirely convinced, particularly Rijah Ellhad, who had personally seen the consequences of what that crate contained.
"Come, sit at the table," ordered Ali.
"How will we get there?" asked Rijah Ellhad.
"The most direct route from here. We travel Interstate 84 to Interstate 15, take State Highway 169, and access the lake through what is called the Overton area. There will be heavy traffic, so thorough examination of vehicles will be limited."
"Will you be joining us?"
Ryyaki Ali gave him a look of annoyance. "No. I have other business to complete. You will be traveling with a woman who supports the cause. A couple will draw the least attention. All should go well."
"Forgive me for asking, but would it not be better to have others along to protect this package?"
Ali looked annoyed. "I have given this much thought, and as I just said, I believe a couple will draw the least attention. Rijah, if I thought you were not up to the task, I would not send you. Do you have any doubts about your ability to complete this task?" Ali asked in a semi-threatening manner.
"No. When do I leave?"
"You will leave in two days, on this cursed holiday these infidels celebrate. You will release the agent Monday afternoon upon your arrival. After that, kill the woman. We will leave no witnesses."
"Allahu Akbar."
Nazir al-Hadid called a burn phone number.
"Yes?" came a voice.
"I want to know that you are ready. I will leave for the fishing vessel in two hours. You are to meet me there in three hours. I have our escape means in place. Be sure you have eaten. We will have a six-hour journey after we complete the mission. Be sure to drive very carefully. Do you have any questions?"
"No, I am ready," answered Sirhan al-Razar.
"Then we proceed."
Styles and Starr had arrived at Inland Helicopter.
"How do you want to work this?" asked Starr.
"Straightforward, follow my lead, but your priority is watching my back for any shooters. Let's go," he said.
They walked in the Quonset hut-style building, a long, half-round structure made of corrugated steel. While the outside had been freshly painted silver, the inside was several different colors, including rust.
"What can I get you boys?" asked a gruff, scruffy-looking man. He definitely looked the part of an Alaskan; red plaid shirt, blue jean coveralls, boots. He was standing behind a four-foot-tall service counter.
"Who's top dog here?" Styles inquired.
"Well, I'm a co-owner, and since I'm the only one here, guess that'd be me."