The irony of this statement was immediately apparent to Jonathan Harper. Clearly, Jason March’s biggest mistake to date was not killing Ryan Kealey on that Syrian hilltop seven years earlier. But that thought had come unannounced, and it was incredibly disloyal. He felt ashamed that he had identified with a killer, even if only for a moment. It went against everything that he valued.
Ryan watched a myriad of emotions cross the other man’s face and wondered what he was thinking.
With Kealey’s contribution, the tension was gone from both men.
It was still an interrogation room, though; the cold gray walls felt closer by the second, the scarred metal desk screamed confessions, and the disconnected camera seemed to watch over everything with an unwavering eye. Ryan was tired of it. He thought of Katie and for a moment felt better, lighter.
“I think I’ve done enough for today, John. Can you get me out of here, or did you just come down for the conversation?”
A sly grin eased itself across the older man’s face. “Who do you think you’re talking to, Junior?”
They departed the Norfolk Police Department less than a half hour later, both men down low in the backseat of a Chevy Suburban almost identical in appearance to Adam North’s. The heavily tinted windows shielded the occupants from the view of the few reporters savvy enough to stake out the department motor pool.
“I should have asked before, but how’s Naomi doing?”
“She’ll be fine,” Harper said. “North ran her over to the De Paul Medical Center. They stitched her up okay and gave her something for the pain. She’s checked into the Marriott Waterside. That’s where I’m taking you.”
“John—” Kealey started to protest, but was cut off just as fast.
“Ryan, you got what we needed. I want you to get some rest, because you’ll probably be moving out again tomorrow, depending on what we dig up. Everything else that needs to get done today is on my side of the fence, and if I show up at the DEA division office with you in tow, it’s going to cause more problems than it will solve. They aren’t too happy with you right now.” Kealey nodded his head in reluctant agreement as the vehicle turned onto Waterside Avenue.
“I’ll call for you tomorrow morning,” Harper said as the vehicle slowed to a halt next to the hotel. Ryan moved to climb out, but the other man stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “You got what we needed, Ryan, and all three of you walked out. That’s the important thing. Go talk to Kharmai; North said she looked pretty down when he left her.”
“What happened today wasn’t her fault, John. It was mine. I told her she could trust me, and then that bastard got to her with a knife . . . She has a right to be upset.”
“Hey, she’s only alive because of what you did for her in Washington, okay? Keep that in mind. She should be grateful to have you around. Go get some sleep.”
Ryan gave a mock salute and Harper couldn’t help but smile as the Suburban pulled away from the curb. As he went through the process of checking in, Ryan began to realize how tired he actually was. It was hard to believe he had woken up with Katie just twelve hours earlier.
The elevator stopped on the third floor and he got out, looking down at the scrap of paper that Jonathan had pressed into his hand.
Room 305. There. He looked down at the dirt on his ragged jeans from where he had hit the floor in the bar, and realized that he probably looked like hell. Oh well, he thought, at least I have a decent excuse.
Naomi Kharmai was curled into a tight ball on the bed, a white cotton bathrobe loose against her bare skin. The room was completely dark, but her eyes were wide open, staring fixedly into the empty space. After North had taken her back to the hotel, she had showered once, then again, and then a third time, the hot water beating down as it burned over the closed wound on her left thigh.
Now, with nothing left to distract her, the scene played over and over in her mind. She was moving toward the bar, confidence in her stride, the Glock steady in her hand. She could see her own face from a distance, the fierce determination, the set of her jaw. Then she was facing Ryan, the sharp blade biting into her throat as Elgin whispered filth into her ear: I’m gonna cut you and fuck you, bitch.
Cut you and fuck you . . . She sobbed once, a loud, dry sob that vanished into the empty room. There was a knock at the door.
“Naomi, it’s Ryan.” She didn’t answer. “Naomi, just let me talk to you for a minute.”
The door handle jiggled, but she didn’t get up to let him in. After a minute or so, she heard a strange clicking sound. Ryan pushed his way into the room and turned on the light.
She sprang up, hurriedly wiping hot tears from her eyes. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she yelled angrily. “If I wanted you to come in I would have opened the fucking door!”
He raised his hands in surrender. She took in his dirty jeans, the black T-shirt tight over his chest and arms, and the most recent addition: a thin, looping scar that ran down the left side of his face. He must have come straight from the police station. She felt something that only heightened her anger and confusion.
“Look,” he said, “I just wanted to check on you. I’m glad you’re okay.”
“No thanks to you,” she sneered. “Nice job shooting me, by the way. No harm done . . . Maybe they’ll give you another medal.” Sarcasm usually came easy for her, but it didn’t feel right this time, and she felt a small tinge of regret as soon as the words left her mouth.
He stared at her in disbelief. The catlike green eyes were wide in anger, but he could see the glistening tracks down her cheeks and the red irritation at the corner of her eyes. For all of that, he couldn’t help himself. “What do you mean, another medal?” he asked slowly.
From the expression on his face, she knew that she was caught.
He moved toward her slowly until he was standing only a few feet away. His face was as blank as it had been when he emerged from the stockroom at the bar.
“Listen to me,” he said in a low voice. Naomi took a step back involuntarily. “I’m sorry for what happened to you today, but stay the hell out of my personal life. You have no right to dig into my past.
Keep it up, and I’m done looking out for you.”
Then he was gone, disappearing into the hallway. She didn’t move for a few moments as a number of emotions passed over her face.
Finally, she went to shut the door after him.
Chapter 14
IRAN • NORFOLK
Southeastern Iran, on the Makran Coast overlooking the Arabian Sea.
Far to the north, the peaks of the Zagros can be seen towering over the arid landscape. Apart from the size, the mountains and the land below are almost indistinguishable.
He stood on the black tarmacadam that was sticky beneath his feet. Now easing into November and almost 95 degrees Fahrenheit, the air thick in his nose and mouth. His frustration was exacerbated by the people standing in the near distance, the air force colonel sent by Mazaheri, and the aides who smirked and stood with jutted chins and arrogant eyes as they basked on the fringe of his power. There were the two young members of the Komiteh as well, the ever-present AK-47s slung across their chests. Hassan Hamza stood with them, speaking in quiet tones to the colonel, his eyes moving with ill-concealed disdain over the young men who surrounded the senior officer. They had been talking for twenty minutes, and there appeared to be little progress.