Hesitation, doubt, indecision: these were all things that got FBI agents killed. Nick had to decide, then commit to the decision. Slowly, he stepped out of the woods and approached the truck. His right arm was fully extended, his left arm was limp by his side. His gun seemed yards ahead of him.
“How did you find me?” Kharrazi said, without turning his head.
“You even scratch your nose, I’ll blow your head off,” Nick said through clenched teeth.
Kharrazi finally turned his head and Nick got a good look at his damaged face. His right eye was swollen. Streaks of blood ran down his face like a map full of rivers marked in red. Kharrazi’s left hand kept constant pressure against the side of his neck, yet blood still seeped between his fingers.
“Get your right hand up on the steering wheel,” Nick closed in.
When Kharrazi didn’t move, Nick fired a shot directly across his face and through the broken windows of the cab of the truck. Kharrazi quickly placed his hand on the steering wheel.
“I am going to kill you, Mr. Bracco,” Kharrazi’s voice was raspy.
Nick had a million questions, but he was so relieved to be alive, he shivered. His teeth were actually chattering. He noticed the blood saturating Kharrazi’s left shoulder. Kharrazi must have nicked his carotid artery when he went through the windshield. He needed attention soon, or he would bleed out.
Kharrazi gave Nick a deadly stare. “You have just condemned your wife to a life of fear and ultimately a painful death.”
“You’re going to prison for the rest of your life, Kemel.”
Kharrazi seemed appalled at the accusation. “You think for one minute that I don’t have the funds to acquire the best team of attorneys money can buy? You think I left fingerprints or any trails that lead back to me?”
Nick considered this for a moment. What evidence did they actually have that Kharrazi was the one who was giving the orders. Everyone in the Bureau knew it was him, but how much physical evidence did they actually have? Who in the KSF would ever turn on their leader?
Kharrazi sneered, “You don't think I can get to you from prison?”
That was the clincher. Yes, Kharrazi could reach Nick from prison. Unmistakably, unequivocally, and with little effort.
Nick wasn’t about to live the rest of his life with that hanging over his head. Before he knew it, he was leaning into the cab of the truck and pressing the tip of his 9mm against Kharrazi’s head.
Kharrazi didn’t flinch. “You don’t expect me to believe you will shoot me?”
Nick pressed hard enough to force Kharrazi’s head back. “You don’t think I can?”
Kharrazi’s face was cool, but his eyes had difficulty leaving Nick’s gun. “I have to give you credit,” Kharrazi said. “You surprised me back there with the head-on move. It took a lot of courage to do what you did. But that was a spontaneous act. This is different. Now, you have a prisoner under custody. I am no longer a danger to you. You are too honest, Mr. Special Agent. You are not me. You play by the rules. Rules that I have no need to abide by. But you’re not about to lower yourself because of me or anyone else.”
Nick actually smiled. His face hurt when he did, so he stopped. He lowered his gun and watched Kharrazi’s expression grow smug.
“That is better,” Kharrazi said.
“What I’m wondering,” Nick said, casual, non-threatening, an inquisitive tone.
“Why you?” Kharrazi finished for him.
“Yeah.”
“Because of Rashid.”
“So, revenge.”
“Oh no, it is much deeper than that. Rashid was much closer than a brother. When you were able to chase him down and arrest him, I took notice. The FBI is a large, sluggish, political system that moves at a snail’s pace. There is always one person that finds their way around the obstacles in a massive entity like the Bureau. You were that person. And I knew if you were clever enough to capture Rashid, you were clever enough to thwart our operation.”
Nick waved his hand at the crumpled truck that enclosed Kharrazi. “Your logic was obviously flawless.”
“Don’t be so arrogant, Mr. Bracco,” Kharrazi scoffed. “You have not even begun to see the extent of my control. There are people I can contact who would gladly finish my chores for me. Your beautiful wife will not put up with the restrictions you’ll require in order to protect her. She will be more of a prisoner than I will ever be.”
Nick didn’t need to hear any more. He pulled his handcuffs from his belt and quickly snapped one around Kharrazi’s right wrist, on the hand that was gripping the steering wheel. It took Kharrazi by surprise.
“You have a Constitutional right to remain silent,” Nick said.
This seemed to relax Kharrazi. He was being arrested and it didn’t appear to faze him.
Nick pulled Kharrazi’s left hand from his neck and tugged it through the opening in the steering wheel, under the left side of the steering column. He then snapped it together with the handcuff on Kharrazi’s right wrist before Kharrazi knew what was happening.
“What are you doing?” Kharrazi said.
Nick continued. “Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law.”
Kharrazi tugged on the handcuffs. He found himself hunched over the steering wheel. Both hands were on the opposite side of the steering column, which was bent upward from the collision and tight against the dashboard. He desperately tried to get his left hand to his neck, but couldn’t manage. When left exposed, the carotid artery in his neck began flowing freely. Each pulse of his heart sent a surge of blood squirting from the gash like a fireman’s hose.
“You cannot do this,” Kharrazi searched for a threat, a command, a plea. When he realized there was nothing left to draw from, he repeated, “You cannot.”
Nick stood back and wiped his brow with his sleeve. “You’re right about me, Kemel. I always go by the book. So before I call for backup, I want to make sure you understand your rights.”
“I need medical attention,” Kharrazi demanded.
“Did I mention your right to an attorney?”
“This is not the way you treat a prisoner,” Kharrazi’s voice was cracking. He tilted his head down against his left shoulder, futilely trying to slow the blood loss.
Nick folded his arms. “You asked how I found you. Do you still want to know?”
Kharrazi looked like a circus animal, hunched over, squirming. “What do you want from me?”
“I found you because a very brave man by the name of Don Silkari gave his life to plant a tracking chip on you. He was courageous. Not the type of man who would bail out in a game of chicken.”
“All right,” Kharrazi’s voice was diminishing. “You made your point. This Silk guy was gutsy. He went down fighting. Is that what you want from me? Now get me help, like we both know you will.”
Kharrazi’s eyes met Nick’s and right then he knew his fate. Kharrazi lifted his head and tried to look dignified, but he was fading. His mouth moved to speak, but nothing came out. In just a few seconds, Kharrazi’s face was bleach white. The blood leaving the artery was down to a gurgle. His eyes lost clarity and became distant.
Nick came close and leaned into Kharrazi’s ear. “You picked the wrong guy to fuck with, Kemel,” he whispered.
Kharrazi turned toward Nick’s voice, but couldn’t possible have seen him. His head collapsed onto the steering wheel and the horn began to blare again.
In the distance, Nick heard the thump of a helicopter’s rotor. He reached into the cab, unlocked the handcuffs from Kharrazi’s wrists and returned them to his belt clip. He stared at Kharrazi; a crumpled heap of flesh and bones and nothing else. Nothing that could ever threaten him or his family again. He could almost see the malevolence dissipate from Kharrazi’s corpse.