The Lion

Walsh said, "We have a piece of evidence I'd like you all to see." He took a remote control from the table and clicked on the television in the corner. In a few seconds, we were watching a bunch of assholes jumping out of an aircraft.

The first scene was obviously taken by a skydiver as he was free-falling, and it was a bit jumpy, as you can imagine. Nevertheless, I recognized the twenty or so idiots falling through space with their bodies in the Superman position, trying to join up to form a bucky ball or something. I thought I saw Craig flapping his arms and legs like a wounded duck.

Walsh was staring at the screen, and he asked me, "You do that?"

I replied, "Kate and I love it." I added, "You should try it." I'll pack your chute.

Walsh fast forwarded. This shot was taken from the ground with a telephoto lens, and I could clearly see a few colored chutes against the blue sky, then Walsh put it into slow motion, and I could now see Kate free-falling with Khalil hooked up to her. Then I saw myself free-falling toward Kate and Khalil, and then Kate's chute opened, and then mine opened.

The room was very silent, but you could hear people on the ground talking, then the distinct voice of a man saying, "Look!"

Walsh froze the picture and said to me, "You don't have to watch this."

I didn't reply and he continued in slow motion.

As the scene unfolded, Walsh asked me to provide a commentary, but I said, "I'll put it in my report."

I saw myself pulling my gun and popping off two rounds at Khalil, but the action was so far away that no one but me knew what I'd done.

Meanwhile, the voices on the ground got louder, and they sounded more excited as they realized something was wrong.

Even in slow motion and with the telephoto lens, it was difficult for the people on the ground, or in this room, to see or comprehend what was happening at that altitude. But I knew the moment when Khalil cut Kate's throat, and I did bring that to everyone's attention.

Then you could see Khalil going into free fall, and I saw his chute opening, and I could see now that he'd steered himself toward the woods.

Khalil was out of the frame, and I looked back at where the cameraman had centered his shot, which was me steering toward Kate. Then our chutes collided and collapsed, and there was a lot of shouting on the ground and someone screamed.

Next you could see my collapsed chute sailing away after I jettisoned it, then Kate's chute, too, sailed off when I released it. And then there we were in free fall again.

It would appear to the uninitiated that Kate and I were falling to our deaths, but the skydivers on the ground understood that a collapsed main chute was actually worse than no chute.

Paresi asked me, "What the hell is happening?"

I explained, "I had to get rid of our main chutes to get us on the ground quickly before she bled to death." I assured him, "Our emergency chutes will open." That's why I'm here.

Paresi mumbled, "Jesus…"

Kate and I were free-falling for what seemed a very long time before Kate's emergency chute popped, followed by mine. Even in slow motion I could see now how fast we were falling with the small chutes, and I unconsciously braced myself for the impact. I wouldn't want to do that again.

I saw Kate hit the ground first, then before I hit, the cameraman must have stopped filming, because the next scene was of the ambulance racing toward where we'd landed, then a new scene of me in the distance kneeling over Kate. Then all I could see was the backs of people in jumpsuits ru

The cameraman was now moving quickly through the crowd as he filmed, and I could see brief glimpses of myself and the three EMS people gathered around Kate. The cameraman seemed intent on working his way closer to where we were trying to save Kate's life, but I don't know if he got that close because Walsh shut off the TV.

We all sat there for a few quiet seconds before Walsh said, "You did a good job."

I didn't reply.

Paresi said, as if to himself, "I can't believe that asshole did that."

Walsh suggested, "Let's take a fifteen-minute break."

I stood and walked out of the room and headed toward the elevators.

I got on the elevator and rode down by myself. I closed my eyes and I was falling through space… falling at two hundred miles an hour, and my wife was spurting blood into the airstream, and my heart pounded in my chest.

You bastard. You arrogant bastard.

"You only get one chance at me, asshole. You had it, and you blew it. Payback's a bitch."

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

I sat at my desk and stared out over the expanse of low-walled cubicles. It was still lunch hour, quiet and empty in Fedland-very unlike an NYPD squad room at any hour of any day.

A few desks away was where Gabe Haytham had worked, and I saw that the human resources people had already packed his desk into nice white boxes-business and personal-and I wondered if Gabe had any family to receive his personal effects.

On the far side of the open space were the cubicles where the FBI agents worked, and I looked at Kate's desk.

Captain Paresi appeared on the floor and walked over to my desk.

I inquired, "Slumming?"

He sat down in my side chair and asked me, "How you doing?"

"Fine."

He said to me, "I think you're experiencing post-traumatic stress."

Apparently Walsh had come up with a good reason for me to ask for some leave time. I didn't respond.

He assured me, "No one here"-he waved his arm to encompass the rows of empty desks-"will think any the less of you if you ask for time to be with your wife." He further assured me, "That's what a man and a husband does."

I wasn't sure if I should take marital advice from a man who's been married three times.

He asked me, "How did you know more about the Amir murder than I told you?"

I replied, "I have my sources."

He changed the subject and said, "I'll take your Khalil file."

I took my keys out of my pocket and unlocked my file cabinet beside my desk. In the bottom drawer was a folder marked "Islamic Community Outreach Program." I pulled the folder and handed it to Paresi, who glanced at the index tab, smiled, and commented, "I hope you read these memos carefully."

"Hey, I organize wet burqua contests at the hookah bars in Bay Ridge."

He opened the folder, flipped through the pages, and asked me a few questions. I briefed him on the efforts of the Lion Hunter team over the past three years and concluded, "No one in the general Muslim community seems to know anything about Asad Khalil. However, the small Libyan community knows of him." I explained, "His father, Captain Karim Khalil, was a big shot in the Khadafi government, and the Khalil family was close to the Khadafi family." I further informed him, "Captain Khalil was assassinated in Paris, supposedly by Israeli agents, making him a martyr for Islam and a surefire shoo-in for paradise." I added, "Actually, it was Khadafi himself who ordered the hit."

"Why?"

"The CIA says that Khadafi was sexually involved with Mrs. Khalil. Asad's mommy."

"No kidding?"

"It's complicated, but the CIA tried to turn Asad Khalil with this info and have him whack Khadafi."

Paresi thought about that, but did not comment.

"That's all I can say, and all you want to know… except keep an eye on the boys at 290 Broadway."

Paresi nodded.

I continued, "Prior to Karim Khalil's residence in paradise, he and his family lived in a former Italian military compound in Tripoli called Al Azziziyah. This was a privileged community where the Khadafis also had a house. It was a nice, quiet neighborhood until the night of April 15, 1986, when four U.S. Air Force F-111s, part of a larger attack group, dropped eight big fuck-you bombs on the compound, killing, among others, Khadafi's adopted daughter and, as I told you, Asad Khalil's entire family-his mother, two sisters, and two brothers."