Even if it meant meeting the devil himself.
‘This is where I lost Hassan,’ Garcia announced, as he tapped away on his keyboard. ‘There are no cameras beyond the door.’
‘And no way to circle ahead,’ McNutt said.
Just then, Kamal stopped short of the room.
He turned, then motioned for the others to continue.
McNutt, who was lingering in a nearby hallway, was concerned. ‘Chief, we have no eyes in that room. Repeat. We have no eyes in that room. It might be a trap.’
But Cobb knew better. And so did Sarah.
They had been there before.
The first thing Cobb noticed when he peeked inside was the filtered green light cast by the wall-mounted lamps. It was simply unavoidable; the whole room was bathed in green. From his previous trip, he knew that green was a traditional color of the Islamic faith. He also knew that this wasn’t just a random room in the castle.
This was a mosque — a sacred place of worship.
And standing in the center was Hassan.
The divine symbolism was not lost on Cobb. He knew that Hassan’s intentions were far from holy. In fact, they were a desecration. He had brought them to this room to make one thing clear — that their fate was his to determine.
But Cobb didn’t quite see it that way.
Before Hassan could utter a word, Cobb refused to enter the room. ‘Not in here. It isn’t appropriate.’
It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t a request. It was a clear statement of fact. There was no way that he was going to conduct business in a holy room.
No matter what.
Hassan, who was used to getting his way, reacted poorly to the situation. He shouted something in Arabic that neither Cobb nor Sarah could understand.
Suddenly, Kamal moved to block Cobb’s retreat into the corridor. He was several inches taller and several inches wider than Cobb. He stared down at him with rage in his eyes. ‘You stay.’
Cobb looked up at Kamal. ‘We’re not meeting in here. Not in this room.’
Hassan shouted again in Arabic.
Kamal translated. ‘You have a problem with Islam?’
Cobb turned and faced Hassan. ‘No. But the things we must discuss are not meant for these walls. Your faith preaches forgiveness. I’m here for vengeance.’
Hassan smiled and switched to English. ‘As am I.’
Dade’s heart pounded in his chest as Hassan walked toward them. The Egyptian joined Cobb at the mosque’s entrance where he took a moment to slip on his shoes. In truth, that was another reason that Cobb had refused to enter the room. He knew it was customary to remove one’s shoes before entering a mosque, and he didn’t want to face a possible gunfight in his bare feet.
He had learned that from Die Hard.
Hassan stared at Cobb, sizing him up. ‘Shall we walk?’
Cobb nodded in agreement.
They walked side by side through a long, arched corridor that connected the front and back halves of the building. Sarah, Dade, and Kamal trailed behind, eyeing each other cautiously like warring nations during a ceasefire.
Hassan opened the conversation. ‘You have news about the explosion?’
‘I do,’ Cobb replied. He knew there was no reason to string him along. The purpose of this meeting was simple: he would offer everything he knew about the bombing in exchange for anything Hassan knew about the bombers. ‘They used Semtex, most likely from the Libyan black market.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘The bomb pack was crafted from a Tunisian timer. My sources tell me that fits with a configuration popular among Libyan suppliers.’
‘Your sources? Who are you?’
‘American. Former military. That tells you enough.’
Hassan laughed. As he climbed a flight of steps to the second level, he waved his arms and glanced around the stairwell. ‘This whole building was constructed before your Columbus even discovered America. What are you doing in Egypt?’
‘I’m looking for my colleague.’
His tone made it clear that he had no interest in discussing their original mission. The only thing that mattered was Jasmine. ‘The men who took her are the same men who blew up your territory. I believe that puts us on the same side of the equation.’
Hassan grinned. ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend, yes?’
49
Cobb shook his head. He didn’t want there to be any miscommunication with the crime lord. ‘Let’s not kid ourselves. You and I are not friends — and we’re never going to be friends. Let’s just say we have a common interest.’
Hassan shrugged. He didn’t care about semantics; he was more concerned with Cobb’s ulterior motives. Something had brought the Americans to his city, but he didn’t know what it was. ‘And all you want is the woman?’
‘No,’ Cobb assured him, ‘I also want to punish the men who took her. If you have any objections, please speak now because later will be too late.’
Hassan shook his head. ‘I have none. As you have said, these men have wronged me as well. I wish to see them punished for all they have done.’
‘Then tell me everything. This is your city, and you know the players. If you have any clue about what we’re up against, let me know. In exchange, I’ll hunt them down, and everyone gets what they want.’
One of the many traits that distinguished Garcia from the rest of the team was the way he saw patterns in seemingly random events. His photographic memory allowed him to match things that he had already seen with whatever new data was presented to him. It was an innate ability that had driven him into mathematics, then computers, then eventually the FBI.
Using his laptop, Garcia watched Cobb’s conversation with Hassan as they moved from hallways to stairwells and back again. Eventually, something bothered him.
‘Josh, do me a favor and slow down a bit.’
McNutt did as told. ‘Problem?’
‘I think Hassan has a shadow.’
‘No shit,’ he laughed. ‘So far I’ve counted six.’
‘And you’ve pointed out all of them.’
‘What’s your point?’
‘I think I found number seven.’
McNutt decided to hear him out. ‘Fine. Who?’
Garcia stared at the image on his screen. ‘The short, bald guy with the sunglasses. He’s been circling the others, but they have yet to cross paths. That’s an unlikely coincidence. He’s intentionally avoiding a run-in, yet he’s staying close enough to strike if Hassan needs him.’
McNutt glanced at the man in question. While his shaved head gave him a slightly intimidating quality, he was barely five and a half feet tall. Furthermore, he was thin and willowy — hardly the bodyguard type.
‘Are you sure the sun’s not getting to you?’
‘Just humor me,’ Garcia said. ‘Don’t lose track of him.’
‘I’ll try, but that may be tough.’
‘Why?’
‘That guy is a shrimp.’
Cobb had detected six shadows as well. These men thought they had gone unnoticed, but each had been betrayed by their actions. Glances that lasted too long. A pace that was too fast or too slow. Feigned interest in the smallest of details.
Cobb noticed them all.
They might as well have worn little nametags that read: HELLO, MY NAME IS: GOON.
But it wasn’t a surprise to Cobb. He knew that Hassan would bring a lot of protection. A man of his stature had more than just Kamal, Tarek, and the other tunnel rats on his payroll. That much was certain.
As they exited the lower floors of the citadel and stepped out onto the expansive terrace, Cobb pressed Hassan for details. ‘Given the damage that I saw, there were at least a dozen men in the tunnels — some to set the charges, and the rest to clear their way. These weren’t amateurs. They knew exactly what they were doing.’