The Lion

Captain Paresi processed that, then asked, "How did that bastard survive?"

I replied, "I don't know. But Asad Khalil would tell you he was spared by God to seek revenge, for himself, and for his Great Leader, Muammar Khadafi."

"Right. Still pissed after all these years."

"I would be, too."

"So, Chip Wiggins was the last of those eight pilots."

"He was," I replied.

"So, time to go home."

"Well, I would. You would. But you know, he's in town anyway, so why not whack a few more people on the way out?"

Captain Paresi observed, "He's got a big hate eating his guts."

"You think?"

Paresi flipped through the folder and asked, "What's in here that I can use to find Asad Khalil?"

I replied, "The names and contact info of people we've worked with around the world-foreign intelligence people, police agencies, INTERPOL, and informants."

"Good. Any Khalil sightings?"

"No. He seems to have totally disappeared for three years." I added, "The serious bad guys usually do that before they resurface for a big mission."

Paresi nodded and said, "I guess he's been preparing for this."

"Or he may have been fighting in Afghanistan or Iraq."

Paresi nodded, then asked me, "How about the million-dollar reward? Any takers?"

"No, but a few interested parties."

"Right. That's how we find ninety percent of the assholes we're looking for. Money talks."

"Except when people are scared shitless. Or if the guy we're looking for has become a legend. How much are we offering for Osama bin Laden?"

"I think it's twenty million."

"Saddam Hussein?"

"That's twenty-five million," he replied.

"How we doing on that?"

"We'll see."

Paresi and I kicked around a few thoughts, and the subject came up regarding where Khalil might be hiding out. We both agreed that he wouldn't be holed up in a Muslim neighborhood where detectives from the Task Force would be looking for him-or where someone might decide that even a measly million dollars was just too tempting.

I said to Paresi, "As we can see, Khalil is well-funded and he has some sophisticated backing, apparently a network or cell here in New York. Whoever these people are, they probably have a few safe houses in Manhattan-apartments rented by XYZ Corporation for visiting colleagues." I speculated, "They could have an apartment in your building."

He forced a smile and said, "Or yours."

"Right. Or Walsh's. Point is, Asad Khalil is not sleeping on cousin Abdul's couch in Bay Ridge or having tea in a hookah bar. He's totally separated from his compatriots-until he needs something from them-then he has one or two cut-outs so he doesn't deal directly with the guy he eventually meets up with. So, for instance, when Farid in California and Amir in New York met Asad Khalil, it was their first meeting-and also their last."

Paresi thought a moment and said, "If Khalil read that text message that Walsh sent to Kate's cell phone, then he may be spooked-which is good and bad. Good because it cuts him off from his Libyan contacts, and bad because we don't have much hope of following some Abdul who could lead us to another Abdul who could lead us to Khalil."

"Right. But I'd rather have Khalil spooked and isolated from his contacts." I reminded him, "We know of three safe house apartment buildings in Manhattan, and you should have around-the-clock surveillance on those buildings."

"We do."

"But I'm fairly sure his sponsors have a never-used place for him to hang out."

Paresi considered all that and concluded, "It won't be easy to find this guy in the usual way."

"No. But we will find him."

"Right. Murderers always leave a trail and sometimes they screw up at the scene."

"Correct. And we have the advantage of knowing at least one person he plans to kill."

Captain Paresi seemed to recall that he might also be on Khalil's list. He said, "We'll discuss personal security in Walsh's office."

I said to him, "Maybe we should discuss now your thought about what else Khalil is doing here to pay back his sponsors."

He didn't reply for a few seconds, then said, "That would be a very speculative discussion." He added, "We have no information on that possibility."

I pointed out, "We need to think about that and look for evidence of a larger terrorist attack."

He didn't respond directly, but said, "We need to apprehend him quickly so we don't have to worry about that." He added, "When we get him, we can ask him those questions."

Apparently Captain Paresi did not want to pursue this subject that he himself had brought up. At least he didn't want to pursue it with me.

Vince Paresi is a good guy-an honest cop-and he, like me, had entered a different world of criminal justice than the world we once worked in. We had made our adjustments and hoped we were doing the right thing for truth, justice, and the American way. And mostly, I think, we were-except now and then when something weird came up and we were told to back off and shut up. And as proof that we were still outsiders, never once were we asked to do something that was questionable. I mean, I did things like that on my own.

On that subject, Paresi said to me, "I sense that you may be thinking about pursuing this matter on your own time. So here's some advice-don't. But if you do, be careful, and be successful. If you're not successful, you will be brought up on criminal charges. If you're not careful, you will be dead." He added, "That's off the record."

For the record, I didn't reply.

He glanced at his watch and said, "We're a minute late." He stood and walked toward the elevators, carrying my folder with him.

I waited a few minutes, then followed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Tom Walsh didn't comment on my lateness or on the fact that George Foster was not there. I also noticed that Paresi had gotten rid of my Khalil folder.

Walsh looked at me and said, "John, let me begin by saying that you've done an outstanding job on this case, and we appreciate your dedication to duty, especially in light of Kate's serious injuries, and the stress"-stress on the stress-"that you've been under-"

"Thank you."

He continued, "After thinking about this situation, and after consulting with Captain Paresi, I strongly suggest that you ask for traumatic leave so that you can be with your wife during her convalescence."

I didn't respond.

He sweetened the deal by saying, "This will be paid leave, of course."

I asked, "How long?"

"Thirty days." He added, "Maybe longer."

I informed him, "This will all be over within a week."

He didn't comment on that prediction, and he continued, "I would advise you to stay in your apartment, except for necessary errands and such."

"Can I see a Yankees game?"

"No." He went on, "You'll have ample time at home to write your incident report and to write me a confidential memo regarding everything you know about Asad Khalil and about what happened three years ago."

I glanced at Paresi, fully expecting him to say to Walsh, "Tom, I have a whole folder that John just gave me on that very subject. Let me make a copy for you."

But Captain Paresi did not say that. In fact, Captain Paresi had been screwed so many times by the FBI that he was keeping this to himself. Why share information? No one else does. Paresi's fantasy, of course, was that he and his detectives-sans Detective Corey-would find Asad Khalil without help from the FBI. Competition is good. We're not socialists. And we're really not team players. We're individualists. We're Americans. We're cowboys.

"John?"

I looked at Walsh.

"I said I'd like that report and memo within seventy-two hours."

I had the urge to tell him that seventy-two hours from now, we could all be dead. Then I wouldn't have to write the stupid incident report or the stupid memo. I said, however, "No problem."