VECTOR

Chapter 13 ARIF

CHAPTER 13

Arif

Ravi looked at the driver and thought he was too young. Arif couldn't be more than twenty-two or three, and to Ravi that was too young for the business that needed to be done. Ravi had been assured that Arif was more than capable enough to make all arrangements, but what Ravi was going to do was serious business. It didn't sit well with a glib smile, torn jeans, a nonsensical T-shirt (what was a Chiquita anyway), and several tattoos, at least not to Ravi.

“How was your flight?” Arif asked.

“Long,” Ravi answered. “You have prepared for me?”

“According to my instructions. Car, cabin, the gun was a little tricky but I managed. They're all online and ready to go.”

“Tell me about the car.”

“Borrowed.”

“Borrowed as in stolen?”

A loud BEEP sounded in the car.

“What is that?” Ravi asked.

“Your seat belt,” Arif answered. “You have to buckle up. If we get stopped, we'll be fined.”

“Americans are crazy,” Ravi said as he buckled his belt

Arif nodded. “I know stealing a car sounds bad, but it's not. The owner of the car is spending a month in Spain. He won't know the car isn’t there for another two weeks. Your business won't take that long, will it?”

“Not more than a day or two, Allah willing. And the cabin?”

Again, borrowed. It's amazing what people say about their plans online. The owners are in Seattle, helping out with the birth of their first grandchild. While their return is not scheduled, the baby isn’t due for another week.” He took a small envelop from his pocket. “Here is the key. The cabin is at the end of a road and very isolated. No neighbors. You should not be interrupted. I checked it out by spending a night there. No one stopped by. You can park the car behind the cabin, and no one will know you're there.”

“Very good. And the weapon?”

“Bought on the black market. A Glock nine millimeter. I fired two magazines through it, and it works flawlessly.”

“Where is it?”

“At home. It is very bad business to drive around with a stolen weapon in the car. Should we get stopped—“

“You get stopped?”

“We are Muslims in America. We are targets. But I have learned that if you are forthcoming and pleasant, the police will delay you for a moment and let you go. If you fight them, they will search your vehicle for hours before they set you loose. Even then, they might pull you in for more questioning.”

“Have you ever been arrested?”

“No. I do not break the law, and I am not combative.”

“Good. You live alone?”

“Yes, and I have told no one of your coming. Since we have never corresponded in any way, we cannot be connected.”

“That is good for you,” Ravi said. “While I don't anticipate any problems, no one can be absolutely sure. I would not want to bring trouble to a friend's favorite nephew.”

Arif glanced over, and Ravi couldn't read the look. Perhaps the young man had lived too long in America to be trusted.

“When you are finished,” Arif said, “there is no reason to come back to me. Dump the weapon somewhere and park the car in the airport parking lot. It will sit for a month before it's discovered. Oh, when you take the ticket at the parking lot, don't look at the dispenser. Cameras.”

“They are everywhere.”

“Yes, and facial recognition software is very good. They can identify a person in seconds.”

“I will make sure.”

“Last, the photo.”

Arif opened the console and pulled out an envelope. “I took more than one so you won't have any trouble with recognition.”

Ravi opened the envelope, pulled out several photos, and studied them.

“It's not of my business,” Arif said, “but I can't help but wonder what you're planning.”

“You're right,” Ravi said. “It's none of your business.”

“Right.”

Ravi looked out the window at the lines of cars, more cars than he wanted to see. The plodded along in long lines while he and Arif sped past.

“What is this HOV lane?” Ravi asked.

“High occupancy vehicle,” Arif answered. “If you have a passenger with you, you can use the HOV lane. It's meant to encourage carpooling, traveling together.”

“Does it work?”

“Not really. Americans are rich and lazy. They all like to drive their own car. It's like a status thing.”

“They are too rich.”

“Yes, which makes them vulnerable.”

“Last question. You were paid?”

Arif nodded. “More than enough, generous. I would have helped you even without the money.”

“Money is a better than good intentions. Money is a bond. And if all goes well, you will receive a bonus when I return home.”

Arif smiled. “That would be nice.”

Ravi knew that Arif had indeed become too American. In Pakistan, the young man would have refused the money because it was an honor to provide aid to someone in the family. In America, it was it was always about the money.

“I need to rest. You have a bed for me?” Ravi asked.

“Yes, mine. I changed the sheets in case you required sleep.”

Ravi smiled. Perhaps he had judged Arif too harshly. Like a good family member, Arif had anticipated his guest's needs and provided for them. Ravi would make certain to tell Arif's uncle of his nephew's concern. That, however, would come later. Now, he had a plan to execute, and that plan started with the woman in the photos. He looked at her face and wondered how many times he would need to slice it before she told him what he wanted. No, before he was certain that she wasn't lying. The cuts were needed to ensure the truth. He had learned that many years ago. It was a maxim that never changed, not even in the land of money.

******************************************

The bright sun glared off the windshields of the cars that didn't move. Claire turned away from the glare and looked over the empty outdoor tables. It was too early for lunch and too late for breakfast, so she sat alone, her coffee cooling slowly in the heat. She wasn't at all sure why Oliver needed to meet immediately, but he did. As always, Oliver said as little as possible in a message. If he died, he would send her text that she had to meet him in the cemetery. It was crazy, but it was Oliver. As she sipped, she wondered what had gone wrong, because if things had gone right, he wouldn't be meeting her someplace where no one could overhear them. If anything, Oliver was true to his training. Of course, his lack of candor meant she had not sent anything to Jasmine who was probably frantic at this moment—if Jasmine had been telling the truth. That little niggle in the back of Claire's brain was something she hated.

As she watched, Oliver weaved through the table, a coffee in each hand. He set one in front of her and sat.

“Thank you,” Claire said. “But I have one.”

“I see that. Well, take one back with you.”

“If I do, I won't be able to sit still. I'm wired the way it is.”

“Me too. And we don't have a lot of time—if what you told me is true.”

“What happened?”

Oliver launched into his activities. He started with his query to the airlines that produced Ravi's true destination. Then, he outlined his fruitless interaction with customs at the airport, and he ended with his standing in the terminal trying to find a man without a clue as to what the man looked like.

“Bottom line,” Oliver said. “Ravi is on the loose.”

“That's not good,” Claire said.

“It's awful if what we suspect is true. No, it's catastrophic. He's a time bomb only worse. How well do you know his wife?”

Claire paused. “Well, not all that well. We met in Paris at a conference.” Claire went on to recount the conference, Jasmine's tryst with Jacques, and Claire's continuing connection through email. “If Jasmine has been telling me the truth, Ravi is a sadist who deserves what he's getting.”

“But is Jasmine telling the truth?”

“I wondered the same thing,” Claire said. “There is no doubt she is an angry wife who has reason to want her husband dead. And, she's capable of infecting him, provided she can find the right virus. That is not beyond her skills. At the same time, her plan is full of variables she can't control, the main being that her husband decided to travel after the infection. That pretty much turned her plan to crap, if you know what I mean.”

“But she didn't know where he was going.”

“No, he told her Rome, so that's what she told us. Turns out, he's here in D.C., and that's problematic.”

“Is the kind of woman who would sic the police on her husband just to teach him some kind of lesson?”

“Lesson?”

“You know, make a mess that he has to get out of in some fashion. Give hubby the keys to the car and then call it in stolen.”

Claire thought a moment. “No, I don't see Jasmine doing that. I mean, she’s more than bright enough to dream up some kind of scheme, but she lives with a tyrant. If she did that, and he found out, she would be beaten to a pulp, maybe to death. If she was going to take that risk, she would probably just go ahead and kill him, or try to.”

Oliver sipped coffee. “So, you're inclined to believe her?”

“I don't think she has the imagination needed to pull off a ruse. Where's the benefit?”

“I was afraid of that.”

“Why?”

“Because that means we treat this like the real deal. We have to put all police assets on notice. They must find this guy. We have to pull all the camera data we can find and see how he left the airport. We have reach back to Pakistan and have someone interview the wife if possible. And we have to do it without raising a panic. We tell the public that there's a mid-east man walking around with an incurable, highly contagious disease, and it will open season on Muslim men. People will shoot and ask questions later.”

“How are you going to hide it?”

“First, I'm telling you right now to keep this to yourself. We will come up with some reason to alert everyone. I'm not sure how we'll do that. Probably some sort of international fugitive story. We want people looking for him but not so they can kill him. And I'm guessing my people are going to want to talk to you.”

“I can't avoid that?”

“Not a chance. They’re going to ask me where I got my info, and I'm going to finger you, and you will finger the wife. There's no getting around that.”

“And then, you'll contact the Pakistanis, right?”

“I don't know.”

“Because if you do, they will grab her. If they do that, I doubt anyone will ever hear from her again.”

“That's a bit dramatic.”

“Don't tell me you don’t know that they're working on biological weapons. They are, and if they have to disappear her in order to keep that a secret, well, I wouldn't like her chances.”

“If we handle this correctly, the Pakistanis don't need to know.”

“Why?”

“Because it might be to our advantage to have something on this woman, especially if she is working on biological weapons.”

“You'll make her spy?”

“An asset. We need information, and she might be a conduit for something we can't otherwise get.”

Claire shook her head. “Always thinking ahead, aren't you? Even if it gets someone killed.”

“This business is never clean and often ugly. I may not like that, but I can't change it. Neither can you.”

“Should I just come with you now?”

Oliver shook his head. “No, I need to chat with some people first. They may see another side to this problem and hence, another solution. Hang tight.”

He squeezed her hand and left. She watched, wondering just how the hell she got herself in such trouble. It led her to believe that the old saw was true—NO GOOD DEED GOES UNPUNISHED.

Taking both cups of coffee, she stood and started out, certain that Oliver had settled the bill. He was that kind of guy. Of course, paying for coffee wasn't enough to overcome the trouble she was looking at. An interview?

Double damn.