“What’s your point?” he said.
“May I call you, Firman, Mr. Lechay?”
“Knock yourself out.”
The smile didn’t change. Firman understood he was in deep trouble with this man.
“Clearly,” the man placed the photos back on the table, “you have been careless. However, I have no personal interest in your business. No vendetta inspires me to bring you to justice or have you punished for your crimes. What I need is information. If you furnish what I desire, I will have no qualms about releasing you. Although, I recommend you refrain from entering the USA, or Canada. Oh, or Britain. A shame to be limited, but that still leaves most of the world for you to enjoy. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“What if I don’t have this information?”
“But you do.” The man nodded toward the IV stand. “You understand the options available to me to help you remember?”
“What do you need?” Firman owed allegiance to no one except himself. If he didn’t give the information willingly, they’d use drugs or torture to take it. Although he had little faith in the man’s promise to release him, in a zero-sum game, Firman saw no advantage in holding back — he was screwed no matter what he did. If he complied and made life easy for his captor, then some outside factor, something unknown to him, some subtle benefit might accrue if Firman were allowed to live.
“We want to contact your paymaster for these transactions.”
“I’ll give you everything I know, but first, take this contraption off me, and let me put on pants,” Firman said.
“I’m sorry, that’s not appropriate at this stage.”
The man waited. Firman hadn’t expected a positive response, but he had nothing to lose by asking, so why not? “Both transactions were initiated from the same source — Allah’s Revenge, although the M.O. differed in each case. I had only one face-to-face meeting, before the first contract, where I received the weapon and instructions from a man named Ghazi.” Firman waited to be sure this was what the man expected.
“Thank you, Firman. That information correlates. I need a location.”
“Israel. He operated out of a medical facility in the West Bank. I met him and a technician named Dawud. The weapon for the second transaction was shipped to me in Seoul.”
“How did you arrive at the location?”
“I drove: 245 Mozel Street. I used the rear goods entrance. Ghazi has an office halfway along the main hallway.”
The man moved out of Firman’s sight line. The door closed. He heard voices in the next room.
Firman took two deep breaths, tensed his muscles, and jerked his body from side to side, using every fiber of his being to tip over the bed. It didn’t move, but the trailer began to rock; the bunk was secured to the floor. Next, he strained his legs, first left, then right, then together. He pushed so hard that he pissed himself. The straps didn’t give an inch. The bars held, solid and unyielding. Focusing on his right arm, the stronger one, he pulled, trying to slide his hand up into the sleeve of the straitjacket to gain a purchase. When the cramping pain in his shoulder became unbearable, he was forced to quit. Never before had he been in this situation, been under someone else’s control. He had been lax. Caught by the most ancient folly of man: he’d let his cock rule his head.
The door opened. The man came into view, accompanied by the woman from the restaurant, dressed in jeans and a roll-neck sweater. When she smiled at him — her face impassive and unfeeling — fear trickled down his back like ice water. She was a killer. She was like him.
The bald man spoke in his calm, measured voice. “Thank you, Firman. You have been most cooperative. Just one further question: how come the gas didn’t affect you?”
“Ghazi supplied me with an inhaler. The weapon was airborne. I used the inhaler to coat my airways, and it made me immune.”
The woman spoke, her voice flat and cold. “Fascinating. Mr. Lechay, I have to put you out while we move you. I apologize, but be assured, when the drug wears off you will have your pants on.”
She glanced at his groin, and a smile flickered across her lips. A strange thought passed through Firman’s mind: his penis would be tiny, flaccid and withdrawn, like a turtle hiding in its shell. Fear does that; the body instinctively protects the reproductive organs. The woman picked a small glass vial from the table. The smile remained on her lips as she used a hypodermic to transfer about twenty CCs of clear liquid into the plug at the top of his IV.
“What is that?” he asked.
“As I said, something to put you out while we move you, Mr. Lechay.”
“It’s not necessary, I’ll—”
Damn, that was fast.
It was Firman’s last thought.
Chapter 28
When they arrived at Lana’s home in Jerusalem, Quinn followed her and her father in. Ten people stood clustered in a living room no more than fifteen feet by twelve. Large, colorful cushions were scattered around the floor. A small, stooped woman in a black dress and hijab held Lana at arm’s length. Tears poured down her face as she studied her bandaged daughter, and Lana shook with sobs. The other women surrounded mother and daughter with their hands held high, wailing and crying, their voices melded together, like a chorus of alley cats.
The men talked loudly and all at once, slapping backs and shaking hands. The emotions were palpable. These were good people, Quinn thought. Not so different from his father’s family back in Ireland: hardworking blue-collars without much, but overflowing with love of family.
Once Lana had been touched and held by everyone in the room, her father called for silence and addressed the room. Quinn heard his name mentioned, and all eyes turned to him. He was the giant, Gulliver, in Lilliput. None of women weighed more than a hundred pounds, and Lana, at a couple of inches over five feet, stood tallest of the group. Quinn found himself stooping; although the headroom was probably seven feet, it seemed like he might bump the ceiling if he straightened. A dozen sets of eyes stared at him, heads nodding as they listened to the father’s speech.
When the man finished, everyone rushed to Quinn. They surrounded him, and he didn’t need to understand the words: they were thanking him, all at once. The intensity of their gratitude moved him. His eyes welled with tears as he shared their relief from the pain and worry they’d suffered over Lana, miraculously returned to them by this stranger from a distant land.
Quinn was anxious to get going, but he stayed for coffee served in tiny espresso cups, strong, gritty, and sweet. He welcomed the jolt. They sat on cushions or on the floor. Lana’s mother offered him a large slice of honey-soaked cake. The family waited until he took the first bite. He nodded and smiled.
“Mmm. Delicious.”
Lana’s mother grinned, then everyone ate a small piece of the cake. He hadn’t been eating regularly for the last couple of days, and the sweet cake hit the spot.
Finally, his need for action overrode his obligation to be polite, and he knelt beside Lana. “I’d like you to thank your family for their hospitality. Please tell your father I have to get to Tel Aviv now. Tell him I’m going to look for Adiba.”
Lana stared hard at him. “Why is Adiba in Tel Aviv?” She turned to her father and barked something in Arabic. Her mother came across and tried to wrap her arms around her daughter, but Lana pushed her off and jumped to her feet. She screamed at Quinn. “Where is Adiba? What have you done with my sister?”