Eileen Reed - Ground Zero Part 21

"Oops," Eileen said.

'Berto opened his mouth. Closed it again.

" 'Berto," Eileen said softly. "Come on."

Incredibly, 'Berto's eyes filled with tears. He hung his head, his hand pressed to the alb.u.m as though it were holding him up. Eileen didn't move. She hardly breathed.

"Please," Eileen whispered to herself. She needed just one-little break, that's all. Just one break. 'Berto lifted his head and wiped his eyes. He looked very young.

"I'll tell you," he said. "Can we sit down?"

Central Intelligence Agency, Langley, Virginia.

"An efficient job," Lucy mused, looking at the autopsy photographs of George Tabor. She was on the phone to Charles D'Arnot, a Paris police detective who supplemented his income by helping out the American CIA. D'Arnot spoke perfect English with a slight Scottish accent, which Lucy found hilarious. They were looking at pictures together, half a world apart, on the Internet. Lucy patted her computer monitor affectionately.

"Go to the next one," D'Arnot said. A red arrow appeared on Lucy's screen, showing the ligature marks on the neck. "He was a professional. Only one mark. He never had to s.h.i.+ft positions, and the bruising is slight. There is bruising, though." The arrow disappeared and reappeared at another place on the screen. "Your Mr. Tabor fought well, Lucy."

"He was surprised," Lucy murmured. "You can tell."

"We have another set of pictures for you, cherie" D'Arnot said cheerfully.

"Another set?" Lucy asked, sneaking a glance at her watch.

"Not of Tabor," D'Arnot said. "I'm uploading now."

Lucy watched with amazement as a new set of autopsy pictures appeared. The victim was a female, Arab, and young. She had the same markings on her neck as George Tabor. Even to Lucy's untrained eye, she thought the marks looked similar.

"Eh?" D'Arnot said with satisfaction.

"Who is she?" Lucy breathed.

"Sufi Ad-Din," D'Arnot said. "Found in her apartment less than five blocks from Tabor's rubbish heap."

"She's Arabic?"

"Jordanian, formerly Palestinian," D'Arnot said. "She had a lover. She told her neighbor what his name was, and the name he used when he traveled. Her neighbor was a-how do you say it in English-?"

"A girlfriend? A chum?" Lucy said.

"A chum," D'Arnot said. "Evidently the lover didn't know about the chum, or doubtless Sara would be as dead as Sufi."

"What was his name?" Lucy asked. Her fingers tingled and her heart pounded. She knew what D'Arnot was going to say before he said it.

"Johann Wulff. But his name was really Fouad Muallah. He is Jordanian as well, according to the chum, but we don't have any further information. We put a warrant out, but he has probably flown the coop, as you say."

"Fouad Muallah," Lucy said. She bit her lips to keep from laughing out loud. "I'll see what we can find out, Charles."

"You do have some good resources," D'Arnot said wryly. "If you track this man down, I'd appreciate a call, cherie."

"You shall have it," Lucy said. "Thank you very much. You've given me a lot to work with."

"Of course," D'Arnot said with a Frenchman's modesty. "And now I must go. My companions, they grow suspicious if I spend too long on the phone."

"I understand," Lucy said. "Thanks so much."

"I told them you were my lover," D'Arnot said with a laugh. "So if you ever come to Paris, I hope you are as beautiful as your voice. I do have a reputation to keep."

Lucy chuckled for a long time even after she hung up the phone, even as she set up her search engine to seek out Fouad Muallah. After three months of feeling like a bloated horror, it was wonderful to hear flattery. French flattery, no less. Parisian flattery. Ted would pretend to be jealous and cover her in kisses tonight.

But before tonight, she had to meet with someone at the Pentagon, an Admiral Kane. There were monsters to defeat before she could return to her castle and her prince.

"And a monster to find," Lucy murmured, leaning over her keyboard. "A monster named Fouad Muallah."

Fort Rucker Army Base, Alabama.

"You know what they call a Chinook?" Roseburg asked him as Stillwell signed for his flight helmet.

"What?" Stillwell asked apprehensively.

"A loose collection of nuts and bolts flying in formation," Roseburg laughed.

"Why, thank you," Stillwell said. "I really needed to hear that."

"Have fun," Roseburg said. "You've got two d.a.m.n good pilots, I'll tell you that much. Anything goes wrong with that bucket of bolts and they'll bring you through it."

"I'm comforted," Stillwell murmured, and headed in the direction Roseburg pointed. He ducked out of the hangar into the wet and the heat of an Alabama morning. The hills and forest-well, jungle really; Alabama woods were more like a jungle to Stillwell and always would be-were faded by the humidity into a soft palette of green and blue. The jungle started at the end of the runway, and on the runway was his ride.

The Chinook was an ungainly looking aircraft with two rotors, one at the head and one at the tail. She stank of jet fuel, even at a distance. The air s.h.i.+mmered above her engines. Her rotors were turning lazily. Chinooks looked like a joke, Still-well had always thought. But he had presided at only two fatal crashes of the ridiculous-looking birds. The statistics were with him. Or so he hoped.

He hopped onboard, clutching his flight bag. At last, it looked like he was heading for Colorado.

Colorado Springs.

"I started at Schriever out of college," 'Berto said to Eileen. "I wanted money, to help my family, and I wanted to do graphics simulation. That's what I love. When I interviewed, they showed me a globe of the earth on a Silicon Graphics Indy. It was so beautiful. I could see the sunrise line. I could see the city lights in Europe. That's what I wanted to do.

"So I start, and there's Art to help me. Ahh, I miss him. I'm going to miss him forever. I didn't know how to set up my workstation, and Nelson isn't around. I'm too nervous to talk to Joe or Sharon or Doug, and Lowell is busy. So I see this guy who looks friendly, and it turns out he's Art, the genius. I ask him to help me, he gets up from his desk like he's been waiting all day just for me. Turns out he stays late that night to make up for the time he spends with me. But that's Art.

"He comes over and sets me up. Soon we're talking graphics and morphing and the latest Hollywood pictures. I'm kind of arrogant, you know, stupid, because I've just graduated and I know everything, I think. Art, he never slaps me around like he should. Sully, oh boy. First time I pull that s.h.i.+t with her, she takes me down."

'Berto stopped for a moment. He looked blankly into the distance.

"Sully first. Now Art. I knew when she got together with Joe. He was on fire. He blew out like a candle when she died. Art got him through it, I think. Art and Meg, that's his wife. Now Art, he's gone too. Joe, he's going to be hurting so bad. I want to call him, but I don't. Too scared of what's going to happen. I think everyone thinks I'm the murderer. I think you knock on the door this morning, this is the end."

"Why?" Eileen asked.

"Because of me and Terry," 'Berto said. He swallowed hard and rubbed his palms against his sweats. "I'm getting there. It's hard.

"So my second year there, I'm graphics king with Art's help, and I'm getting along with my new friends, and my family is happy. They find me Elena and her family, they're cousins away, but so I have family."

"But n.o.body special," Eileen said.

"n.o.body special," 'Berto repeated. He didn't meet Eileen's eyes. "Terry and I never talked much. She was muy guapa, yes? She and Sully were different sides of the same coin. Sully, she was strong, but she was a woman. Full of heart. Terry, she's strong but full of hate. Hard to see that at first. You look at her, you think, I know what would make her happy. Get her in bed, get past all that armor, f.u.c.k her, she'll be happy. She just looks like that's what she needs.

"Lowell didn't know how to handle her, that's for sure. Always looking a little bit puzzled. And her holding out that body like a piece of fruit. Lowell doesn't know what to do with it, that's for sure."

"She decided she wanted you?"

"She wanted me, sure. Not that I knew it for a while. She made me want her. I never knew until a lot later how I'd been set up."

"Set up?"

"Set up like old style, woman style. She knows-knew- tricks they wrote in the book years ago. Centuries. I don't know. A woman like that, you burn for her. You want to conquer, to break her down, make her soft. You don't know you go to bed with her, you give her what she wants. Then she eats you afterwards, like a spider. No use for you after it's done."

'Berto sighed and s.h.i.+fted on the couch.

"Why is it so easy for me to tell you this? They sent four of us to a conference, we had to attend some seminars on graphics. It was fun, the seminar part. Terry, me, Joe, and Sully. They didn't much like each other then. Or maybe they already liked each other but didn't know it. We all went to dinner, and they both disappeared to their hotel rooms every night. Not with each other. Sully probably set up her laptop and played. You can't log into the system long distance- it's secure. But she liked those computer games. Joe, he read, I think, or went and swam in the pool. He's always working out. He didn't like Terry and maybe he had a crush on Sully, and I think he would have liked to spend time with me, but the only way to do that would be to say, I'm a guy, I want to hit the bars with 'Berto, okay?" 'Berto laughed. "Joe was too nice for that. So he disappeared, and Sully, so there was Terry and me."

"We went to the bar that first night, and somehow it was me asking her, I don't know how she did it. I thought I was in control."

"Did it happen the first night?"

"Oh yeah, and the second too. That first night, I was so drunk. Don't know how that happened either. But there she was in my room, and all I wanted to do was get her out of her clothes, get her under me."

'Berto put his head in his hands, and his shoulders rose. "I am so ashamed the next day. Married! I break a solemn vow, me, Roberto. I wanted to be a priest when I was a little boy, an altar boy. And this is what I did."

"She used that, didn't she?" Eileen asked. Now she felt she understood all the references to Terry's sharp tongue. Joe hadn't understood when Terry asked 'Berto if he'd "forgotten anything else." 'Berto knew what Terry meant.

"She used it. I was ashamed and hungover, and the next night I was back in her bed like I had a ring through my nose. Then we flew home, and I took a shower forever. I didn't want to go to work the next day. But everything was fine. At first. Then she would make references, in front of Lowell even, with that little kitten smile on her mouth and her eyes, so wide. Ahh, I blamed myself at first. But after a few months, I knew what she wanted. She had me on a string like a puppet, and she knew it. I didn't want to hurt anyone. I didn't want to see disgust in Joe's eyes. Or Art's. She knew that."

"Did she ever ask you for any favors?" Eileen asked. She was thinking of Sharon's suspicion that someone was writing Terry's code.

"I helped integrate her code," 'Berto said. "That means I helped make her part fit into the simulation. I never complained about her stuff. After a while, it got a lot better. She didn't ask for anything, she just had it. She had it there and we both knew it."

"Did you hate her?"

"I hated her enough to kill her," 'Berto said. "I could have killed her. But I didn't. I don't know how to make anyone believe that. I didn't kill her. She could have pushed me over the edge, I could have killed her. But I know I would have been sobbing for the priest the moment it was over. I got dispensation from my priest for adultery. I would have volunteered for the cla.s.ses anyway, but they're part of my penance. He absolved me, and I'm washed clean. Terry knew that, I think. She knew she had me through embarra.s.sment, and shame, but not through shame of my immortal soul. She hated that, I think. She ate people. She liked to have their souls."

Eileen s.h.i.+vered involuntarily.

"Someone hated her. I think anyone who knew Terry would hate her. But it wasn't me. It wasn't me."

Mashhad, Iran.

"Mahdi," the man said in reverent tones. The Mercedes was as dented as advertised, but gave a rea.s.suring rumble of power. Muallah was aware of the deadening weight of exhaustion beneath his excitement. He needed sleep.

"Allah be with you, Haadin," Muallah said, smiling at the look of joy on the man's face. Ali silently loaded the baggage into the back of the Mercedes, his face reflecting nothing, not even weariness.

"I need to rest," Muallah added shortly. Haadin seated him immediately in the Mercedes and drove with a reckless dash through the dusty streets of Mashhad. Haadin had rooms, of course, the best of which remained empty for Muallah. The rest of the rooms were occupied by Muallah's Chosen Ones, ready at last to serve him as they knew they were born to do. Muallah rested his head against the back of the seat, trying to ignore the b.u.mps and swerves. He needed to conserve his strength. He would allow himself only a few hours of rest before they began.

21.

Central Intelligence Agency, Langley, Virginia.

"Charles!" Lucy said with delight. She had a substantial CIA file she'd found on Fouad Muallah. Paper pages were spread on her lap and electronic ones covered her computer screen.

"Lucy, ma cherie," D'Arnot said. "I have an interesting tidbit for you."

"I'm ready," Lucy said. She clicked on her notes screen and made an entry for D'Arnot's information.

"I spoke again to Sara, the chum," D'Arnot said. "And something she said matches with what we found with Sufi."

"Okay, I'm ready," Lucy said, typing.

"Sufi had intercourse minutes before she died. Not rape; there was no trauma. But she was killed immediately afterward."

Lucy paused, her fingers poised over the keyboard.

"He's an egotistical b.a.s.t.a.r.d, isn't he?" she said.