The study was Hassan's favorite room in the house. It was where he did most of his business, both legal and illegal. The room’s furnishings were a testament to Hassan's wealth, from the antique desk to the 16th century grandfather's clock, to the finely crafted Iranian rugs. Here, Hassan usually felt powerful and secure.
But the presence of Yasir Ilshu in this sanctuary was robbing Hassan of those feelings. Even Tamrez's normally comforting presence was not easing Hassan's worry. The ICA assassin was sitting in one of the chairs in front of Hassan's desk, looking relaxed almost to the point of boredom, although Hassan knew that was an illusion. Ilshu thought he was as corrupt as the rest of the infidels, and if Ilshu was ordered to kill Hassan, he would do so without hesitation.
At the moment, Hassan was listening to Jamil's terse excuses for failing to follow a rental car that had left a home he was watching. The excuse involved something about a pack of boys and expanding foam being squirted into the tailpipe.
After listening for a bit, Hassan shouted into the phone in Arabic, "I am not interested in your excuses, you stupid camel jockey! Car repair costs are coming out of yours and Ishack's wages, and I will make sure that Tamrez gives you and that sand flea Ishack the worse jobs in the organization for the next six months! Is that understood? Now get the car towed and get back here in less than three hours, or don't bother coming back at all!"
He slammed down the retro-looking phone's handset back into its cradle and leaned back.
"Is there a problem?" Ilshu asked.
"Nothing I cannot take care of," Hassan replied calmly. "When do you leave?"
"Plane leaves in four hours."
"You do as you must, but I definitely do not like not knowing who this new player is."
"It doesn't matter," Ilshu said, dismissing the idea with a wave of his hand. "Aswegen is dead, the records are destroyed. They can't do much of anything."
"Much of anything? They killed nearly a dozen of my best recruits!" Hassan retorted. "It will take me months to recruit enough new blood to replace them!"
Ilshu appraised Hassan coolly. "Perhaps you should focus more on quality instead of quantity. Your men were not sufficiently trained. Most of them shot off full clips with one pull of the trigger. They also had no tactical sense, no idea how to work together. Against unarmed sheep, they did fine, but against wolves like those from last night? It was they who were the sheep and they were slaughtered. Very disappointing."
Hassan felt his face become flush. "This group could become a threat!"
"A threat to you, maybe," Ilshu said. He let his eyes drift around the room. "You have plenty to lose."
Hassan's jaw tightened in anticipation of an acerbic response, but before he could speak, the phone rang. He snatched it up.
"Yes?" He listened for a minute, then said, "Keep a watch on the place. I'm sending help. Good job."
He hung up and looked at Tamrez. "They're staying at the Cape Africa Hotel, rooms 418, 419, and 420. Take some men and eliminate the problem. Take a couple alive if possible, but dead is just as good. Search their rooms and bring back any data that might shed light on who these people are."
Tamrez nodded. "Do you want to use any of the recruits?"
"No. Our men only. We're dealing with professionals and we will treat them as such from this point forward." He looked over at Ilshu as he said the last part of the sentence, then back to Tamrez.
"No mistakes and no mercy."
"Yes sir."
After Tamrez left, Hassan leaned back in his chair and stared at Ilshu. "That should take care of the problem."
Ilshu returned the stare with cold eyes of his own.
"I hope so, but don't be so sure.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Dante Alvarez was uneasy.
The others had checked in with him and Danielle, relaying the name of Kamal Hassan for Danielle to research as well as that of another possible connection to SeaStar Ventures. Dante knew Danielle well enough to know she was in full data-mining mode, not in the mood to talk.
Something nagged at Dante's mind as he stared out the window at the city. His cumulative experience with the Secret Service was telling him that something was wrong, but there was nothing he could put his finger on. He looked back at Danielle, who sat hunched over her laptop, while the tablet next to her ran a different program.
"I'm going to take a look around," he said, moving away from the window.
Danielle looked up. "Something wrong?"
"My subconscious is telling me yes, but I don't see anything to confirm it. I'm going to go down to the lobby and maybe walk around the building. When I come back, I'll use three knocks, pause for a count of two, then two more knocks."
Danielle pulled out her H&K SOCOM, and placed it next to her. "Don't forget to knock.”
Dante nodded, then checked his own pistol. While combat was not Danielle's primary job, she had been rigorously trained by both Tanner and Liam so that she wasn't a liability if she did get involved in a firefight.
He left the suite and headed to the elevators. The hallway was typical of hotels everywhere, a thick, multi-colored carpet, textured wallpaper in shades of browns and grays, the room doors white with golden room numbers, and overhead recessed lighting. The hallway was almost quiet except for the faint sounds of a TV from a room he passed on his left, and a shower from a room on his right.
He smiled and nodded to a young couple who looked to be tourists emerging from a room ahead of him. He was tall, athletic looking, and blond, while she was shorter, short reddish hair, and on thin side. "Good morning," the man said pleasantly in English with a strong Dutch accent.
"Good morning," Dante replied. "Going out to see the sights?"
"Yes," the man answered. "Do you happen to know any interesting places close by? It’s our first day here, and we want to start nearby."
They walked to the elevators, Dante recalling what knowledge he'd gleaned from a Capetown tourist magazine he'd read on the plane. The couple, on their honeymoon from the Netherlands, were friendly and polite, a change from most of the people Dante dealt with when in the field as a member of OUTCAST. The man, Gilpin, did all the talking, while Anke, his bride, stayed silent, content to let her new husband lead the conversation.
When they emerged from the elevator, Gilpin asked, "Richard, are you here on business or vacation?"
"Business," Dante said, unflinching at the mention of his cover name. "A few of my colleges are out running down industry leads, so I’m holding down the fort here until they get back."
Gilpin nodded. "What sort of business are you in?"
They walked into the lobby and Dante's senses screamed trouble. The lobby wasn't huge, but still large enough to have a gift shop, a restaurant, a couple of sitting areas, and the front desk. A couple dozen people milled about the lobby, some entering, some leaving.
"Information security," he said, eyes scanning the room, picking out three men who didn't seem to belong.
"Indeed?" Gilpin said, not noticing that he had lost Dante's full interest. "Do you do any work in the Netherlands?"
"No." Dante turned his head so that he could see the three men out of the corner of his eye. The trio, all Middle Eastern, with dark hair and sun-soaked skin, was sitting in the lobby near each other. One dressed in a suit was reading a newspaper, while a second, wearing an oversized rugby jersey and jeans, was sprawled in a chair, apparently asleep. The third, also in a suit, stood near the front doors, perusing a rack of brochures.
"I hope to see you again."
Dante was mentally startled, but managed to hide it behind a smile. "You too, Gilpin, Anke. Have a good day."