Farid Mansur managed to say, "Allah was merciful, sir."
"Yes. But my mother, two brothers, and two sisters ascended to Paradise that night."
Mansur took a deep breath, then said softly, "May they dwell with the angels for eternity."
"Yes. They will."
They drove on in silence, then Khalil asked, "Why are you doing this?"
Farid Mansur considered his reply. To say that he was doing this for his country or his faith was to admit that he knew there was more to this than assisting a countryman on his visit. Farid Mansur had done nothing illegal-except perhaps for the plastic card-and if the man sitting beside him was going to do something illegal, he did not want to know about it.
"Mr. Mansur? I asked you a question."
"Yes, sir… I… I have been asked to do a favor for a countryman, and-"
"Have you ever come to the attention of the authorities?"
"No, sir. I live quietly with my family."
"And your wife. What does she do?"
"What a good woman does. She tends to her house and family."
"Good. So, a little extra money would be of help."
"Yes, sir."
"The price of oil has gone higher again."
Mansur allowed himself a small smile and replied, "Yes, sir."
"Our mutual friend here has paid you, I believe, a thousand dollars."
"Yes, sir."
"I will give you another thousand."
"Thank you, sir."
"And this flower for your wife." Khalil threw the bird of paradise on top of the dashboard.
"Thank you, sir."
Mansur took the Pacific Coast Highway north toward Santa Barbara. He informed his passenger, "It should be less than two hours to the hotel."
Khalil glanced at the dashboard clock. It was just 7:30 and the sun was sinking into the ocean. In the hills to his right, large houses faced out to the sea.
Farid Mansur said, "This is the more scenic route to Santa Barbara, sir. On Sunday, we can take the freeway back, if you wish."
Khalil did not care about the scenery, and neither he nor Farid Mansur would be returning to Beverly Hills on Sunday. But to put the man's mind at ease, he replied, "Whatever you wish." He added, "I am in your hands."
"Yes, sir."
"And we are both in God's hands."
"Yes, sir."
In fact, Khalil thought, Mr. Mansur would be in God's hands within two hours, and then he would go home, finally.
And as for Mr. Chip Wiggins, who was one of the pilots who had bombed Tripoli seventeen years ago and had perhaps been the one to murder Khalil's family, he would be in Hell before the sun rose again.
And then to New York to settle other unfinished business.
CHAPTER FIVE
A few miles north of Santa Barbara, Farid Mansur pulled into the entrance of the Best Western hotel. He drove around to the back of the hotel and parked in a space facing the building.
Khalil exited the car and said to Mansur, "Open the trunk."
Mansur opened the trunk and Khalil peered inside. Sitting on the trunk floor was a long canvas carrying case, which Khalil opened. In the case was a heavy crowbar, and also a butcher's saw. Khalil touched the sharp, jagged teeth of the saw and smiled.
He slammed the trunk closed and said to Mansur, "Lock the car."
Mansur locked the car with the remote and Khalil took the car keys from him and motioned toward the hotel.
Khalil followed Mansur into a rear entrance that Mansur opened with his passcard. They turned down a corridor, and Mansur stopped at Room 140, which had a DO NOT DISTURB sign on the doorknob. Mansur opened the door with the card, and he stepped aside to let his guest enter first, but Khalil waved him in, then followed and bolted the door behind him. He took the passcard from Mansur and put it in his pocket.
It was a pleasant room with two large beds, and on one of the beds sat two pieces of luggage-a black suitcase and a black duffel bag.
Khalil asked Mansur, "When did you check into this room?"
"At three, sir. For two nights. The checkout time is at one P.M., the day after tomorrow."
"And you carried these bags yourself?"
"Yes, sir. From where we have just parked."
Khalil walked to the bags on the bed, and from his wallet he retrieved two small keys that had been given to him in Cairo.
He unlocked and unzipped the duffel bag and saw that it had a few changes of clothing for him, but mostly it was filled with some other items that he had requested for his mission.
Farid Mansur had moved to the window and was staring out at the parking lot.
Khalil zipped and locked the duffel bag, then opened the suitcase. Inside were the other things he needed to complete his mission-cash, credit cards, forged passports and documents, plus a few maps, binoculars, and a cell phone and charger. Also in the suitcase was a copy of the Koran.
Within the suitcase was also an overnight bag, which he opened. In the bag he found the instruments of death that he had requested-a.45 caliber automatic pistol with extra magazines, a very large butcher's knife with a well-honed blade, and a few smaller knives. There was also a pair of leather gloves and a garrote. And finally, there was the ice pick that he'd asked for.
Satisfied that all was in order, he glanced at Mansur's back, then slipped on the leather gloves and removed the piano wire garrote from the bag.
Khalil said to Mansur, "Close the drapes."
Mansur pulled the drapes shut, but remained facing the window.
Khalil came up behind him, and Mansur said, "Please, sir."
Khalil quickly slipped the wire noose over Mansur's head and twisted the wooden grip. The wire tightened, and Mansur tried to pull it from his throat as a high-pitched squeaking sound came out of his mouth. Khalil tightened it further, and Mansur lurched about, finally falling facedown on the floor with Khalil on his back, keeping the wire taut. A line of blood oozed around the man's throat and neck where the wire bit into his flesh.
Mansur kicked his legs and his body began to heave. Then he lay still.
Khalil remained on top of him and waited a full minute before he loosened the wire. He said to Mansur, "The angels shall bear thee aloft."
Khalil knelt beside the dead man and removed his wallet from his pocket, then rolled him over on his back. Farid Mansur's eyes stared up at Asad Khalil and his mouth was open in a silent scream.
As Khalil went through the man's pockets, he noticed that Mansur had wet his pants. His sphincter, too, had opened, and there was a faint odor in the room that Khalil found annoying.
He retrieved his garrote, then rolled and pushed the dead man under one of the double beds.
From the suitcase, he took a wind-up alarm clock and set it for 2:30 A.M. That would give him about four hours' rest, which was enough.
Khalil removed the Colt.45 automatic from the overnight bag. He checked the magazine, chambered a round, and stuck the pistol in his belt.
He also took the Koran from the suitcase, then he turned off all the lights except for the reading lamp and lay down fully dressed on the bed. Khalil opened the Koran and read a verse for the man lying under his bed. "Wherever ye be, God will bring you all back at the resurrection."
Then he read a few more favorite verses, shut off the light, and closed his eyes.
He thought he heard a sound from under the bed, but perhaps it was just gases escaping from the corpse.
He reflected briefly on his past visit here, and on how he had been cheated of his final revenge on the last living pilot of the air raid on Tripoli. Mr. Wiggins would not escape his fate this time, nor would the man who had cheated him of his revenge-John Corey.
And others.
Asad Khalil did not sleep. Like the lion, after whom he was named, he rested his body and kept his senses awake. He recalled an old Arab proverb: "On the day of victory, no one is tired."