Part 31 (2/2)

”Where's your car, Judd?” As Hilu talked, his eyes kept moving, scouring faces, checking hands.

Bosa arrived, and Judd introduced them. Then the three walked off briskly, the smaller man between them.

”You're in trouble?” Judd asked Hilu.

”We're all in trouble. I hope you got a car that's armored and has plenty of horses under the hood. I just dropped by to make sure everything was going fine between you and Mahmoud. And then boom!” He threw his hands up into the air.

It was twilight. The streetlamps in this enclave for the wealthy blinked on, sending pools of yellow light across the sidewalks.

Behind them, police cars and ambulances were arriving, beacons flas.h.i.+ng. But the three of them were now far enough away from the nightclub that the sidewalks and avenues seemed just normally busy, people strolling, shopping. They pa.s.sed display windows showcasing the latest Paris fas.h.i.+ons.

Hilu shook his fist at one window boasting designer-label suits for men. ”The government is full of thieves. A lot of well-positioned officials and businessmen are getting disgustingly rich!” He walked a few steps muttering to himself. ”I heard from the people coming out of the nightclub that Mahmoud was killed when the bomb went off. Is that true?”

”Yes.” Judd described the explosion triggered by Mahmoud's putting the stopper back into his decanter.

Hilu shook his head angrily. ”It had to have been al-Sabah who ordered the hit. Al-Sabah has spies everywhere. He must have heard Mahmoud wanted to quit. You'd think I'd be used to this. One more death in the family. Terrible. Mahmoud has-had-a wife and six children. And now, finally, he comes to his senses about leaving al-Sabah and what happens? He dies!”

They arrived at their rental SUV. Judd and Bosa climbed into the front seat, Bosa behind the steering wheel, while Hilu got into the rear.

As Bosa drove into the street, Judd opened his disposable smartphone and called up his e-mail program. There it was-the e-mail with the attachment of the audio-video of Mahmoud.

”Did you get it?” Bosa wanted to know.

”It arrived. I'll tell you in a minute if I can download it.” He opened the attachment, and on his phone's digital screen appeared Mahmoud, putting out his cigarette and picking up the decanter.

”Are you going to tell me what Mahmoud said?” Hilu asked impatiently.

”I'll let him tell you himself.” Judd handed the smartphone to Hilu.

The dead man's voice filled the SUV: ”When the great Abbasid caliph al-Mansur founded this city, he called it Medinat al-Salam, the City of Peace, but we've seen almost continuous war....”

Judd looked back. Hilu was silent, his eyes moist. The hand holding the phone trembled as he listened to Mahmoud talk about al-Sabah, Zahra, Tabrizi, and their plot with the Iranian mullahs. Finally the bomb exploded. The noise seemed to send shock waves through the car.

Hilu let out a long stream of air and handed the phone forward to Judd.

”Poor Mahmoud,” Hilu said. ”It's good you've got this recording. It's his testimony, isn't it? I always thought Tabrizi wanted to make us into a Little Iran. What they're doing scares the spit out of me. Think of the people they've killed to get to this point!”

Bosa pulled the SUV to the curb. Sitting in the shadows, they spent the next half hour phoning people to alert them about the forthcoming attack.

The first person Judd called was Kari Timonen, CIA station chief in Baghdad. ”Is the attack coming from land, sea, or air, Judd?” Timonen's tone dripped sarcasm.

”I don't know,” Judd admitted.

”So let's make sure I understand what you're saying.... An Iraqi strong-arm told you that one of the country's most respected politicians is planning a terrorist attack on an unnamed target, but there's no way to back up the information because your source is dead. Is this like the ma.s.sacre at the hunt club in Maryland that you say you witnessed? The ma.s.sacre that there's absolutely no trace of? Come on, Judd. No one who knows your background is going to believe you.”

Judd had a sinking feeling Timonen was right.

”How about you drop by for a visit?” the CIA man suggested. ”I've got an order to tag and s.h.i.+p you back to Langley.”

Judd hung up. He thought about it then dialed his military intelligence contact. When the response was the same from him, Judd phoned an undercover FBI man who was working out of the U.S. Emba.s.sy.

Finally he lowered his phone. ”I'm getting nowhere,” he told Bosa and Hilu.

”I've notified my contacts,” Bosa said. ”Perhaps they'll be able to track down what the target is.”

”Contacts as in former employers?” Judd asked.

Bosa shrugged.

”I couldn't get through to Prime Minister al-Lami,” Hilu reported from the rear seat. ”I left messages with his secretary and his a.s.sistant. I've tried the army and the Baghdad police, but they get so many warnings and threats that they just added mine to the piles.” He sighed worriedly. ”I was going to phone a few of my relatives, but word might get back to al-Sabah. Two of them work for him.”

Bosa ignited the SUV's engine and drove into the street, joining the traffic. ”We've got to find al-Sabah.”

”That I can do,” Hilu said.

Judd and Bosa sat silently, listening to the Iraqi make more calls.

”I've got him,” Hilu told them at last. ”There's a big gala at the Iraq National Museum tonight to celebrate the election of the new MPs. It's a fund-raiser for the museum, too. It starts at eight o'clock. Of course Tabrizi and al-Sabah will be there-it's too important for them to miss-and Tabrizi is supposed to speak. You guys want to get into the museum?”

”Yes,” Bosa said. ”I'll need a wheelchair. Al-Sabah and I worked together just enough that he might be able to recognize me by my walk.”

Hilu exhaled. ”You worked with al-Sabah. Who are you really, Mr. Bosa?”

”For you, a friend. Can you arrange pa.s.ses, disguises, whatever else we need?”

”Consider it done.” Hilu dialed out again.

”I'm calling Eva,” Judd said. ”We haven't heard from her or Morgan since she left the message saying they were following a Hummer.” He tapped the number of her disposable phone.

A small voice answered, a little boy. Frowning, Judd pa.s.sed the phone to Bosa. ”It's not her. It's a kid, and I'm not good translating kid accents.”

”A-salaamu aleek.u.m,” Bosa said into the cell phone. He continued in Arabic: ”Let me speak to the lady who owns the phone.” There was a pause. ”Then I'd like to talk to your mother. All right, your aunt.” He glanced at Judd and nodded, indicating the aunt was coming to the phone. ”Can you tell me where the lady is who owns the phone you're using?” He paused, listening. ”No. Yes. Thank you.” Hitting the STOP b.u.t.ton, he took out his cell phone.

In the silence, they could hear Hilu's low voice talking on his phone in the backseat, making arrangements.

Soon Bosa's cell phone rang. ”Yes, it's me again. Thank you. Of course, keep both phones.”

”Are Eva and Morgan missing?” Judd asked, his throat tight with concern.

Bosa nodded and closed his eyes. ”Apparently so, otherwise they would've let us know they were going off the grid. Unbef.u.c.kinglievable. Morgan is getting old.” His eyes snapped open. ”The aunt and nephew were shopping at the open-air market outside Abu Hanifa Mosque. The kid found two smartphones under a fruit stand. The phones are scratched up pretty bad from hitting the cobblestones. Whoever grabbed Morgan and Eva dumped their cells in case we had the ability to trace them.” He heaved a sigh. ”I just hope they're still alive.”

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