“Which is why it isn’t going to happen. Our main goal remains the same. Control of the lithium fields. I want you to go on the operation and keep an eye on Marzak. A plane is flying in from London to pick you up.”
“You forget that my skills are more professorial than operational, cousin.”
“You’ve gone through training the same as the rest of us. Besides, you’re the only one I can trust who can help me hold this thing together.”
“I may need someone to hold me together.”
“Be of good cheer. We may end up with the lithium and the treasure. The Doctor tells me he has summoned Marzak. I’ve arranged for him to be on the same plane as you. I told the Doctor that you will be in operational control of the treasure mission.”
“What? Are you crazy?”
“Not at all. Marzak cannot be wandering about the U.S. We can’t risk having him set something off that will bring the United States more into the region before we make the minerals grab. This development could be to our advantage.”
“Please elucidate, dear cousin.”
“You may be able to glean information about the necklace. Even if you don’t, we can take care of Marzak and at the same time call the American birds in to drop their eggs on the Shadow leadership. Whether the Shadows get the treasure or not, their leaders will assemble to plan strategy and thus be vulnerable.”
“I hope you are right. What about the Hawkins mission?”
“The mercenary force includes formidable air power. The American operation doesn’t stand a chance. They’ll be wiped out along with the drug lord, leaving the field clear for us. In the meantime, don’t let Marzak out of your sight.”
They chatted a few minutes longer, then Saleem hung up. His cousin had a talent for making lemonade when handed lemons, as the Americans said, but as the professor began to pack his suitcase, his thoughts of the future were pervaded by a deep sense of foreboding.
The plane his cousin had arranged for Saleem arrived in Washington to pick up a dozen Pakistani officers on their way back from a training mission with the U. S. Army. As the professor followed the officers onto the plane, he saw the man sitting toward the rear of the cabin.
Fresh from their training in Texas, the chattering officers hardly paid any attention to the man who had a baseball cap pulled down on his head and wore aviator type sunglasses. He had a copy of The Washington Post in his hands. Although his eyes were covered, the professor had the distinct feeling that he was not reading the newspaper, but instead was watching every person who boarded.
Saleem had no idea what Marzak looked like, but this had to be the man he was supposed to keep his eye on.
The officers settled in a group toward the front of the cabin and Saleem took a seat in a row behind them. Minutes after they boarded, the plane took off and began the first leg of its journey across the Atlantic Ocean.
Saleem had often regaled those attending his history classes that the past, present and future could not be treated separately, but as a single organism occupying space and time. Now here he was, proving his point. His present was caught up in a momentous past event that had its origins centuries before in the long lost kingdom of a legendary ruler. He preferred not to think about the future.
His cousin had asked him to watch Marzak. Easier said than done. If he turned around in his seat the man would notice. Nature in the form of a full bladder showed the way. He got up from his seat and made his way to the restroom at the rear of the cabin. As he walked down the aisle, he kept his eye on the flight attendant, who was puttering around in the space at the rear of the cabin.
He smiled at her, but at the last second, glanced at Marzak.
The man had removed his cap, revealing a platinum head of hair. He was reading a book that hid his face. Saleem was surprised to see from the cover that it was a book of poetry by William Blake. He was still looking at the title when the man lowered the book, pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead and gazed at the professor with topaz eyes.
There was something so alien and inhuman in the gaze that the professor felt weak-kneed, much the way a rabbit must feel when it has attracted the attention of a wolf.
He brushed by the flight attendant and locked himself in the restroom where he stared at his reflection in the mirror. His face was as white as a sheet and his skin was shiny with beads of perspiration. He quickly relieved himself, and then threw cold water in his face after washing his hands.
He took a deep breath, opened the door with a shaking hand and strode down the aisle to his seat.
With every step he felt those cold blue eyes boring into the back of his skull.
He settled back into his seat and waited for his rapid heartbeat to slow down.
Don’t let him out of your sight, Mohamed had said.
No worry about that, dear cousin, except for one small detail. The watcher was now the watched.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sutherland drove her RAV4 up the driveway and saw a dozen or so agents herding a bedraggled group of men toward a line-up of white Border Patrol SUVs. As she pulled up to the house, a middle-aged Border Patrolman approached her vehicle. His name was Ed McHugh and she knew him from previous patrols.
“Afternoon, Miss Sutherland. Sorry for all the ruckus. We’re cleaning things up here as fast as we can.”
She got out of the SUV carrying a bag of newly purchased paints. “Looks like you’re having a busy day.”
McHugh nodded.
“Can’t complain. As long as these folks keep coming in, I’ll have job security.” He checked the progress of the round-up. “Looks like we’re ready to head out. Call me if you ever need help.”
She patted the shirt pocket that held her cell phone. “Got your number right here.”
He plunked his hat on and rejoined the other agents. The patrol vehicles trundled off her property with their fresh catch of Mexican illegal immigrants. Within weeks the same Border Patrol officers would be rounding up the same illegal aliens. But for now, the valley was peaceful again. The lowering sun would soon dab the rugged landscape with colors from its brilliant palette.
She went into the house, popped a cold can of Tecate from the refrigerator, then sat at her computer and called up the navy board of inquiry file on Hawkins. She reread the inquiry proceedings and out of curiosity typed Southie, the name of Hawkins’ CIA contact into a web browser.
Her West Virginia heritage had suggested that Southie had something to do with the southern part of the U.S. She was surprised that it was a nickname for the working class Irish neighborhood of South Boston. From the references she found, Southie was most famous as the home turf of gangster James “Whitey” Bulger.
Nothing there. She typed in the name Abrahim Noor Kahn and found a number of news stories on the drug lord. The most recent ones reported his death a day earlier during a DEA raid. Strange coincidence.
The New York Times story said Khan had been a CIA informant nicknamed “Honest Abe,” and was a double agent working with the Taliban. Before he was unmasked, he had been paid millions, flown to Washington to meet with CIA and DEA officials, wined and dined and taken on trips to New York, supposedly to meet with his attorney.
An enterprising Times photographer had snapped a photo of Honest Abe coming out of Macy’s. At the side of the bearded Afghan, clutching two shopping bags, was an unidentified broad-faced man. Both faces were slightly blurred.