"Speaking of which, did I mention that Dr. Sheldon is dead?"
Jones arched his eyebrows. "No."
"Raskin searched his personnel file, and he was listed as dead. Died three years ago."
"Wow. He was a little pale, but he didn't look dead."
"Just because he's white doesn't mean he's pale."
Jones smiled, no racial tension at all. "What else did his file say?"
"Not much. Randy was supposed to see what he could find. Maybe we'll luck out."
"Maybe we already have."
"How so?"
"Think back to our meeting with Colonel Harrington. When he talked about Schmidt, he said he ceased to exist after the incident. That term's been bugging me ever since. At first I thought he meant Schmidt went nuts. But maybe he was talking in different terms. Maybe that's when they recruited him into black ops. One minute he was in the system, the next he wasn't."
"And you think the same thing happened with Sheldon?
They killed him on paper so he had more freedom overseas. … That's not a bad theory."
"I have my moments." Jones yawned, suddenly feeling tired. "What else did Randy mention? Anything about the prisoners?"
"Unfortunately, he was pretty tight-lipped on the topic. He hinted that Harrington could get us clearance, but if you don't mind, I'd prefer to fly solo for a while. I'm still pissed about his lack of disclosure. He should've told us about Schmidt from the very beginning. It would've saved us a lot of legwork."
"Any thoughts on where we can get the intel?"
Payne nodded. "Don't worry. I've got someone in mind."
Nick Dial was known for two things: one professional, one personal. He ran the homicide division at Interpol, the first American ever promoted to such an illustrious position in the French-based agency. But to his friends, he was known for his chin. His world-class chin. The type that movie stars would pay big bucks for. It sat at the bottom of his face like a perfectly sculpted granite masterpiece. Very heroic-looking. Like Dudley Do-Right.
Because of his job, Dial kept strange hours, often flying from country to country to cut through red tape or handle border disputes whenever they interfered with a case. Never knowing where he might fly to next. Or when he might get there. Interpol was a worldwide organization, which meant his duties were international. And his knowledge was extensive.
The sound of Dial's phone was followed by a low growl. One of utter frustration. He was sitting at his desk in Lyon, France, trying to catch up on his paperwork. But this was one of those days when his phone wouldn't stop ringing- six times in the past fifteen minutes-and his only recourse was to growl at it, trying to intimidate it. Hoping it would stop. Yet the damn thing kept ringing over and over again. Finally he felt obligated to pick it up.
"What?" he barked.
"Oh, crap, someone's cranky."
Dial grinned, recognizing the sound of Payne's voice. "Sorry, Jon. Long day."
"Me, too. I'm getting too old for this shit."
"You mean lounging in your corporate penthouse, counting your cash? Yeah, tough life."
"Not today I'm not. They pulled me back in."
No further explanation was necessary. Dial knew who they were. He'd met Payne and Jones several years ago at Stars amp; Stripes, a European bar that catered to Americans who worked overseas. They were in the MANIACs at the time, and Dial was still rising through the ranks at Interpol. The three of them hit it off, and they'd kept in touch ever since-occasionally bumping into each other in the strangest places. Last time was in Italy. At the airport.
"Anything I can help you with?"
"That depends. How secure is this line?"
"Hold on." Dial stood from his leather chair and walked over to his office door. He locked it with a loud click. "Okay. We're good."
"How good?"
"The phone's encrypted. The office is soundproof. And we sweep daily for bugs."
"Good enough for me."
Dial leaned back in his chair, intrigued. "What's going on?"
"Can't get into specifics. But it looks like we hooked a big fish."
Fish was a slang term for international fugitive. "We talking shark?"
"I'm talking whale."
"That's great news, isn't it?"
"It was until he slipped off the hook. Took a lot of fishermen with him."
Dial knew he wouldn't-get any further details, so he didn't bother to ask. "Sorry to hear that, Jon. How can I help?"
"Pardon the pun, but some things are radier fishy on my end. I'd appreciate if you could talk to some of your sources and let me know what you find. Facts, rumors, anything."
"Not a problem. Of course, things would go much smoother if I had a name."
"Yeah," Payne agreed. "That makes two of us."
21
For the first time since her arrival in Mecca, Shari Shasmeen did not want to be in the tunnel.
The murder of Fred Nasir had spooked her. The lack of an explanation from Abdul-Khaliq, who normally had an answer for everything, made things worse. But the final straw was her isolation with this new guard. It was unbearable. There was something about him that creeped her out. Maybe it was the way he grabbed her hand when he tried to take her keys. Or the detached way that his men disposed of the body. Or the way he looked at her.
Whatever it was, he made her squirm.
At first, she figured she'd be allowed to leave as soon as she'd given him a short tour. But he stopped halfway through to make a phone call to one of his men. Followed by another. And another. Any other place and she would've left the site and gone back to her hotel. Her time was valuable, and he was wasting it. On purpose. But in Saudi Arabia, women weren't allowed to walk the streets alone. They had to travel with a close male relative, who could protect their virtue, or several other women, who could protect their reputation. Abdul-Khaliq had provided her with phony paperwork that claimed kinship with the other American scholars-it's what allowed her to work with them in close proximity." But the lead guard had sent her coworkers away when he first arrived, and they wouldn't return until they were summoned.
That meant she was trapped in the tunnel until he said she could leave.
To kill time, she entered the main site and made sure everything was all right. Like a protective mother who was about to go away for the weekend, worried about leaving something so precious in someone else's hands.