The Lion

Gabriel Haytham's knees buckled and he knelt on the floor, staring at Khalil.

Khalil let him know, "Your wife and your whore daughter are dead, and you will join them soon."

Haytham cried out in a surprisingly strong voice, "You bastard!" He tried to stand, but fell back to his knees, coughing up blood.

Khalil aimed the Glock at Haytham's face and said, "I will kill you with the gun of your Christian colleague, Miss Mayfield, who you will also meet in Hell."

Blood bubbled between Haytham's lips as he said weakly, in Arabic, "You will burn in Hell… you, Khalil…"

Khalil aimed the Glock at Haytham's forehead, but before he pulled the trigger, the cell phone in his pocket rang. He took Haytham's phone from his pocket and looked at the display window. It read ATTF-3.

He looked again at Haytham, who was still kneeling, now with both hands pressed to his wound, which continued to seep blood between his fingers.

The phone stopped ringing, and a second later a beep sounded.

So, Khalil thought, perhaps this call to Haytham was to warn him, and if that was the case, the police might not be more than minutes away.

He put Haytham's cell phone back in his pocket, then used his own cell phone and called Amir, saying to him, "Do you see any police cars? Any unusual activity?"

"No. I would have-"

"Come quickly."

He hung up, raised the Glock, and fired a single shot into Haytham's forehead, then walked quickly to the front window and looked into the street.

Haytham's cell phone again rang, then a phone in the kitchen also rang. Yes, he thought, they were close to him.

If the police arrived, he could exit from the rear of the house and escape through an adjoining property. Or he would wait for them. If there were only two in a single police car, he could easily kill them as they approached the house. It was always easier to kill than to run.

He waited.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

A yellow taxi appeared and stopped at the curb. Khalil left through the front door, moved quickly down the path, and got into the taxi. "Go."

Amir accelerated up the street.

Khalil said, "Do not speed. Continue on this street."

They continued on, and less than a minute later, a blue-and-white police car appeared, coming toward them.

"Sir-?"

"Continue."

The police car was moving rapidly, but it did not have its siren on or the flashing lights.

As the police vehicle drew closer, Khalil could see two uniformed people-a woman driving, and a man beside her. They were speaking to each other, and they seemed neither concerned nor interested in the off-duty taxi.

As the police vehicle drew abreast of them, Khalil turned his head and looked away. He said, "Look in your mirror and tell me what you see."

Amir looked in his rearview mirror, and after a few seconds he reported, "The car is slowing… yes, it has come around and it is stopping in front of the house…"

"We will go now to Manhattan."

"Yes, sir."

Within a few minutes they were on the entrance ramp to the Long Island Expressway, westbound toward Manhattan.

Khalil took Haytham's cell phone from his pocket. By now, of course, the police had found Haytham dead, and eventually they would discover that his cell phone was missing and they would begin to trace the signal. Therefore it was necessary to turn off the phone. But before he did, he examined the instrument. It was the same as the dead woman's cell phone, as he had noted, and not unlike other cell phones-except that this type, used by the Federal agents, had an additional feature that allowed the user to make two-way radio transmissions to a similar instrument.

They had shown him in Tripoli how to do this, and he accessed the directory, which was different from the phone directory. He scrolled through the directory and saw a series of first and last names, followed by a single- or double digit-number. He noticed the names "Corey, John," and "Corey, Kate," as well as "Walsh, Tom," and thirty or forty other people who he assumed were all Federal agents.

They would soon shut off the service to this phone, so this radio directory would be useless, but to amuse himself, he should make a radio call while he could, and he called Walsh, the chief of this agency.

The man answered almost immediately and said, "Gabe, we were looking for you. Did you get my text about Kate?"

Khalil replied, "Yes." He asked, "What is her condition?"

"She's… Who is this?"

"Gabe."

"Who the hell is this?"

Khalil smiled and replied, "This is Jibral Haytham calling you from Hell, sir. I am waiting for you here, Mr. Walsh."

"Where's Gabe? Who-?"

Khalil said in Arabic, "Go to Hell," and shut off the phone.

Yes, he thought, they were looking for Mr. Haytham, and now they have found him and his family.

Khalil and Amir rode in silence, then finally Amir cleared his throat and asked in Arabic, "What is your destination in Manhattan, sir?"

"The World Trade Center."

Amir did not reply.

Khalil instructed, "I do not want to pass through a toll booth."

"Yes, sir. We will take the Brooklyn Bridge across the river."

They continued on, and Khalil examined the contents of Haytham's wallet, finding some money and his driver's license and also his police identification as well as his identification as a Federal agent of the Anti-Terrorist Task Force. Khalil looked at the three photographs in the wallet: one showed the daughter, Nadia, and one was of the wife, whose name Khalil recalled as Farah, which meant joy. The third was of the family together. He ripped the photographs into quarters and threw them out the window.

The last time he was in America, it had taken the authorities much longer to understand what he was doing here-but this time they understood. And he was glad they did. The game was now more interesting, and much more satisfying.

Khalil turned on Haytham's cell phone again and accessed his telephone directory. He speed-dialed the Haytham home.

After two rings, a male voice answered, "Hello."

Khalil inquired, "Is Mr. Haytham at home?"

"Who is this?"

"This is Mr. Gold. Who are you?"

The man did not respond to the question and said, "Mr. Haytham ca

No, Khalil thought, he ca

"They can't come to the phone. Are you related to the Haythams?"

Khalil smiled and replied, "I am not. And who are you, sir?"

"This is the police. I'm afraid there's been a… death in the family."

"I am sorry to hear that. Who then is dead?"

"I can't divulge that information, sir. Where are you calling from?"

"I am, in fact, calling from Mr. Haytham's cell phone."

"You… what?"

"Please tell Mr. John Corey of the Anti-Terrorist Task Force that Asad Khalil will visit him next. I promise."

Khalil shut off the cell phone and looked at Amir, who was making a pretense of concentrating on the road. Amir had heard every word, of course, and there could be little doubt in his mind about what had happened in the house.

Amir exited onto a southbound expressway. Khalil looked out the right side window and saw the skyline of Manhattan Island in the distance. He inquired of Amir, "Where were they?"

"Sir? Oh…" He pointed in a southwesterly direction and said, "There."

Khalil gazed out the window. He now recalled from his last visit where he had seen the Towers while riding in this same vicinity in a taxi that had been driven by another compatriot-a man who had suffered the same fate as Amir would suffer.

Khalil regretted these deaths of his i