The Lion

Khalil's only concern was that someone from Haytham's agency would come to a conclusion that Haytham was also on Khalil's list of victims. The last time Khalil was here on his mission of revenge, he'd had no direct contact with Haytham, though he had known of this traitor and would have killed him then if he were able. But he didn't believe that the FBI would think of this now and be waiting for him. And, according to Amir, who was watching the house, there was no evidence that they were.

Again, his mind returned to Corey. Corey, like Haytham, was a policeman, working with the FBI in this Anti-Terrorist Task Force. It had been Khalil's experience in Europe that the police were often more of a danger to him than the internal security forces or the intelligence agencies. The police thought in a different way, and sometimes came to conclusions that the intelligence agents were not trained to think about.

So it was possible that Corey had not believed Asad Khalil's threat that he himself would be killed next, and perhaps Corey had given some thought to who might actually be the next victim. If so, he might have thought first of the FBI agent, George Foster. Or perhaps Corey was so distraught that he wasn't thinking about anything except his dead wife. In any case, Khalil would know soon enough if they were ahead of him or behind him.

The one person who the FBI would know for certain was on Khalil's list was the late Mr. Chip Wiggins. The last time Khalil was here, the FBI-or perhaps it was Corey-had made some conclusions, and they had been waiting for him at Wiggins's home in California.

This time, however, Mr. Wiggins, who had been last on Khalil's list, had been first. And now, when the FBI began looking for Wiggins after the death of Miss Mayfield, they would discover they were too late to save him this time. The last shall be first.

The driver, Charles Taylor, said to his Israeli passenger, "You got some Iranians up in that area, too. You know, people who got out of there and have a few bucks. Maybe some Pakis, too."

"Pakis?"

"Pakistanis. Arabs. People like that." Charles Taylor, perhaps thinking about an extra tip from Mr. Gold, said, "We don't need those people here. Right?"

"Correct."

"I mean, since 9/11… I'm not saying they're all up to no good, but… hey, you got bombings in Israel. Right?"

"Correct."

"Same crap is go

"I am certain it will."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Khalil looked at his watch and saw that twenty-two minutes had passed since they left the airport.

About five minutes later, the GPS sounded a verbal command and the driver exited into a residential area.

Khalil noted that the homes seemed substantial, many made of brick and stone, and that the trees were large and the vegetation was lush and well tended. The traitor Haytham lived well.

Khalil said, "Stop the vehicle, please."

The driver pulled to the curb.

Khalil retrieved the dead woman's cell phone from his overnight bag and turned on the power. Within a few seconds, the chime sounded and he saw on the screen that a text message had been sent. He pushed the button and read: NY ATTF-FBI Agent Kate Mayfield criminally assaulted in Sullivan County, NY. Possible suspect, Asad Khalil, a known terrorist, Libyan national. Her medical condition classified. See your e-mail for full details, updates, and operational instructions, or call Ops Center. Amber alert. BOLO and APB sent. Walsh, SAC, NY ATTF.

Khalil shut off the cell phone and dropped it into his bag.

So, he thought, when they sent this message, they still did not know that he had possession of the woman's cell phone-and this message had been delivered to all Federal agents, including the dead one.

Or… they knew he had her cell phone and they had not ended her service because they hoped he would be so stupid as to use the cell phone so they could track his movements. Or they would send a false message for him to read.

He thought about the words "criminally assaulted" and "medical condition classified." Could that mean she was not dead? Or would they not a

Khalil's instincts, which never failed him, told him to ignore the possibility that there was a trap set for him at the Haytham house. He could smell danger, but what he smelled now was Jibral Haytham's blood.

Khalil dialed his cell phone.

A voice answered, "Amir."

Khalil said in English, "Mr. Gold. How are things looking there?"

Amir replied, "The same, sir."

"And where are you now?"

"I am parked where I can see the house."

"And there is nothing there that disturbs you?"

"No, sir."

"I will call you again." Khalil hung up and said to the driver, "A small change of plans. I must meet someone coming from the city at the Douglaston train station."

"No problem." The driver punched in the information on his GPS and said, "A few blocks from here."

Within three minutes, the driver pulled into the eastbound side of the small parking lot of the Long Island Rail Road station.

Khalil saw a taxi stand, but there were no taxis on this Sunday afternoon. A few vehicles sat empty in the lot, and the platform was deserted. A sign on a Plexiglas shelter said DOUGLASTON, just as in the photograph Malik had shown him. Malik had many Libyan sources in New York, including taxi drivers and even diplomats from the Libyan mission to the U.N., and Malik had chosen this place, but there were two alternate places if there was a problem here.

Khalil said to the driver, "Park here, beside this van."

The driver pulled into the space beside a large van that blocked the view of the limo from the road.

Satisfied that he could do his business here, Khalil dialed his cell phone and Amir answered. Khalil said, "Meet me in the parking lot of the Douglaston railroad station." He hung up.

The driver asked, "Did he say how long?"

"A few minutes." Khalil took a bottled water from the seat pocket, opened it, and drank all but a few ounces.

The driver asked, "You want me to pull up to the platform?"

"No." Khalil opened his overnight bag and retrieved the Colt.45 automatic pistol that his late compatriot in Santa Barbara had given him. The other advantage of private air travel was that one could carry firearms on board the aircraft without anyone knowing, or for that matter even caring.

The driver asked, "You want to get out and meet your guy on the platform?"

"No." Khalil pressed the water bottle against the back of the driver's seat lined up with the obese man's upper spine, opposite his heart. He looked around to ensure that there was no one in sight. He was about the pull the trigger, but then dropped the Colt back into his bag and drew Miss Mayfield's Glock from his pocket. Yes, it would be good when the ballistic test showed it was her FBI weapon. He pressed the muzzle of the Glock against the open neck of the bottle.

Charles Taylor said, "I'm go

"You can smoke here." Khalil pulled the trigger, and the Glock bucked in his hand as a muffled blast filled the car.

Taylor pitched forward, then his seat harness snapped him back, and his head rolled to the side. Khalil fired again into the smoke-filled plastic bottle to be certain, and again the man's body jerked forward, then fell back against the leather seat. Khalil drew a long breath through his nostrils, savoring the smell of burnt gunpowder, then put the pistol in his pocket.