“Clear.”
“Once you’re through customs, grab a cab, same as last time. Go to the hotel. Check in, and wait. I’m in the next room. I’ll knock on the common door, you open the lock, and we can meet. All right?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll stay in our rooms until Ghazi calls. Once he makes contact, the Israelis will take over.”
“What will I say to Ghazi?”
“You’re never going to meet Ghazi again. You’ll listen to his instructions, agree to do what he says, then put down the phone. A decoy will take your place. You’ll remain with me until we get the all clear from the Israelis. Depending what happens then, maybe you’ll have time to call on your girlfriend, and perhaps I can visit this dome thing you told me about. But until I give the okay, don’t contact anyone, including Adiba.”
Abdul nodded. “But how will the Israelis handle Ghazi?”
“Not our problem. Our job is to lay low until the crazies are locked up.”
In the airport, Abdul had to stop himself from trying to spot Israeli agents watching him. After an uneventful cab ride and hotel check-in, he reached his room thirty minutes before Quinn knocked.
“Everything okay?” Quinn asked.
“Fine. What took you so long?”
Quinn opened his jacket and revealed a holstered gun. “Took some persuading to allow me to carry on their turf.”
“Huh, so now we wait?”
“Yep. Leave the door unlocked. If you need anything, holler.” Quinn returned to his room. Abdul heard the TV being surfed. They ordered dinner separately, but once the trays were delivered, they met up in Quinn’s room to eat. Quinn drank only water.
Tired from the trip, Abdul opted for an early night, and Quinn didn’t argue.
Abdul showered and put on pajamas, a habit from cold, old England. He pulled back the top cover. A white envelope, with his full Arab name handwritten on the front, lay at the center of his pillow. He opened it and pulled out a note and a photograph. He looked at the picture, and his heart started thumping.
Adiba, her eyes wide and terrified, was strapped with black duct tape to a straight-backed chair. More tape covered her mouth, and a man in Arab robes stood behind her. His face wasn’t pictured, but he held a large serrated knife across her throat.
The note said, “At 7:00 p.m. tomorrow, visit the bathroom next to the hotel swimming pool. You will be given further instructions. Tell no one, and you have my word she will be safe. Fail to obey and Adiba will die. Ghazi.”
Abdul ran to the bathroom, knelt at the toilet, and threw up.
Quinn’s voice came. “You okay, Abdul?”
He must have heard the retching. It sounded as if he was shouting from the bedroom. Abdul had left the note on the bed.
Shit.
With a hand towel to his mouth, he hurried back to the bed. Quinn wasn’t there, but he must have been standing right at the adjoining door. Abdul shoved the note under his pillow.
“Fine, thanks, Quinn.”
“Okay, I’m here if you need anything.”
He climbed under the covers, feeling afraid and out of his depth. Adiba must be terrified. Would they keep her in the chair until tomorrow? His head spun. Should he show Quinn the note? What if Ghazi mentioned her on the call? No. The note meant Ghazi believed they weren’t going to meet at 6:00 p.m. He suspected a trap, so the Israeli decoy was in danger? Abdul wanted to tell Quinn, to share the problem. But Ghazi would kill Adiba. Quinn might not believe that, and the Israelis wouldn’t give a damn about some Arab girl getting her throat slit.
No, he had to do what Ghazi said. He didn’t like the man, but he had to trust his word for Adiba’s sake.
A loud banging on the connecting door woke him. He opened his eyes, and it was light outside. He must have finally drifted off.
“Wake up, sleepyhead. It’s nine o’clock, breakfast time.”
“Be right in.”
He threw on his clothes from the previous night and splashed his face before going into Quinn’s room.
Quinn had food laid out on the desk. “I ordered enough for three,” Quinn said, grinning at Abdul. “Damn, boy, for someone who slept ten hours you look like shit.”
Abdul produced a wan smile. “I had an upset stomach. I didn’t get much sleep.”
“Thought I heard you revisiting your dinner last night.”
Abdul ate and spoke little. He hoped the policeman would assume he was ill, or nervous about the phone call with Ghazi. Quinn made up for him on the eating front.
“I think I’ll try a nap, nothing else to do, and I’m still tired,” Abdul said.
“Go ahead. I’ll order lunch about noon.” Quinn sounded as if he could hardly wait.
Back in his room, Abdul laid a hand towel over the pillow. He pulled the note out, covered by the towel, and headed to the bathroom, something he’d planned while lying awake the previous night. He sat on the toilet and reread the words. Tears welled in his eyes as he stared at Adiba. Her sweet face masked with tape, and that look of terror in her eyes. This was his fault. They’d taken her because of him.
For the rest of the day, he kept his time spent with Quinn to a minimum. He made it clear he was suffering from horrible diarrhea.
Six o’clock came slowly. Quinn joined him in his room ten minutes before the call. “Try to remember what you said last time. Keep it similar. The most important thing is to believe you are going to meet him, even though you’re not.”
At 6:00 p.m., the room phone rang.
“This is Ghazi.” Abdul recognized the gruff, thick-accented voice.
“Hello, Ghazi, this is Abdul-Haqq.”
“Abdul-Haqq, please bring your offer to me. A car will stop outside the hotel in fifteen minutes. The signal will be the same.”
Ghazi hung up.
Quinn’s cell phone rang. He listened to the caller for a few seconds before speaking. “I understand. Thanks.” Quinn ended the call.
Abdul still held the phone to his ear. Quinn waved his hand to tell him to hang up and signaled for Abdul to follow.
They stood back from the window in Quinn’s room, looking down on the front of the hotel. The road, as usual, was crammed with vehicles. A young man dressed in a white short-sleeved shirt and jeans, with a laptop case slung over his shoulder, came out from the hotel and stood on the sidewalk.
“He looks a lot like me,” Abdul said.
Quinn nodded. The fifteen minutes before a black car pulled up seemed like an hour. The driver climbed out, stretched, and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.
“Same car, but different guy,” Abdul said.
Decoy-Abdul climbed into the back, and they drove off.
“Nice job, Abdul. Let’s hope these Mossad guys are as good as they say.”
Abdul was sweating. Nervous butterflies scrambled around in his stomach. The decoy was in danger, but so was Adiba. He hated lying to Quinn, and avoided looking at the policeman. “I’m going to take a shower. Then I’m heading to the bar for a cold drink and some fresh air.”
“Great idea, mind if I join you?”
“Nope. I’ll even buy the first round.” Abdul attempted a smile. He went back in his room and bolted the adjoining door. He waited. Quinn didn’t say anything. Either he hadn’t noticed the lock turn, or he didn’t care now the Israelis had taken over.
Abdul showered and changed into a fresh shirt and jeans. He put his passport in his jacket pocket, wallet and phone in his pants. He took the writing pad from the desk into the bathroom. He drummed the pen on the countertop. How could he make Quinn understand? Then he remembered their conversation on the flight over and wrote: Sorry Quinn, but making sacrifices for the ones they love is what caring people do. I’ll be fine. Abdul. He jammed it, with the original note from Ghazi and the picture of Adiba, behind a clip halfway up the mirror.