Tonight he must work to get his plan ready. He would rig the explosive charges and ready them for activation. Tomorrow was a big day. Tomorrow the world would witness the most egregious terrorist attack in history. Hashim Khan would die in a blaze of glory.
Tomorrow he would become, once again, a citizen of the United States of America.
† † †
Over the Atlantic Ocean
45,000 Feet
Jake sat in the leather chair with the unopened envelope Bentley had given him in his lap. It’d been there for over three hours. Part of him wanted to open it, but Bentley’s last words were ominous.
Two days ago, or was it three? He was at his parents’ funeral in Newnan. Kyli was by his side. It hadn’t been that long since he’d seen her but he missed her. He missed her smile, her innocent, flirtatious teasing. The more he thought about her, the more he felt it. Maybe it wasn’t so innocent. When this was over, after he’d killed Khan, he knew he would be returning to Belgium. Then he would see if there was anything there.
Wiley’s emissary in San Sebastian had left him with intel on Khan and his next target. Intel he now knew was gathered by the Korean woman he found in Mustafa Bin Yasir’s tent in Australia and by the gendarmerie in Trappes after they did a thorough search of the mosque. Now Jake knew the target city, New York, and the presumed occupation and alias. Astronomer, Esteban Menendez.
He placed the unopened envelope on the empty seat next to him and grabbed the laptop. Wiley spared no expense, wifi capability with close to high-speed internet on all his jets. He turned on the computer and launched the web browser. He started with a Google search “esteban+menendez.” He clicked ‘Search.’ The search found nothing. Next he typed in “astronomy+new york.” Bingo. A conference of astronomers from all over the globe started tomorrow in New York. A two-day gathering at The Excelsior Hotel in Manhattan of the GAF—Global Astronomy Federation.
Jake had a hunch there was a connection but what was Khan’s target? Khan wanting to blow up a hundred aging astronomers was not what he’d expect from someone as evil and devious as Khan. There had to be more. Something else he wasn’t seeing. Something he was missing. But what?
Jake grabbed the flight phone and placed a call to Langley. On the second ring, a familiar voice.
“George. Jake Pendleton. I need you to look something up for me.”
“Jake, you know I can’t do that without the director’s authorization and the director won’t arrive for another three or four hours.”
“George, listen carefully.” Jake’s tone changed. “I’m playing a long shot here, but I might know how to track down Hashim Khan. To see if I’m right, all I need you to do is check the names on a hotel registry. I’ll be in New York in a couple of hours, I don’t have time to wait for Bentley…and neither do you.”
Fontaine said nothing. Then, “Jake, I could lose my job if—”
“You won’t lose your job, I promise. But you might save a lot of lives. Now hack into The Excelsior Hotel.”
“Give me a minute or two.”
Jake looked at the envelope again. Plain. Brown. 9 x 12. Thin, not much inside to contain such horrendous news.
“Okay, Jake. I’m in.”
“Great, can you read me all the names of guests that start with ‘M'?”
“Sure, you ready?”
“Ready.”
“McCall, McCullough, Medici, Meliksetian…I think that’s right, Mendelsen, Menendez, Mills, Mlyar, Montgomery, and Mudali. Any of those who you’re looking for?”
“No, George. I’ll keep trying though. Thanks.”
“Wait. Jake, maybe who you’re looking for is using a different name or a different hotel.”
“Possibly. I was just playing a hunch. I was wrong. I’ll have to keep searching…but just in case, will you be there for a while?”
“Bentley’s got me here all night.”
Jake hung up. Number six on the list. He hated lying to Fontaine but he didn’t want him alerting Bentley who, in turn, would send his own assets after Khan. “I gotcha now, Khan.”
He typed in the location of The Excelsior Hotel on Google Maps. Right next to Central Park. He did a search for events in Central Park but nothing out of the ordinary that would draw much interest came up. He studied the map. American Museum of Natural History was right across the street from The Excelsior. He did another search, typed in the museum name and astronomy and waited. Almost instantly the number one search grabbed his attention, a link to the New York Times. He clicked it.
The page loaded slower than he wanted. Before the page loaded he knew what Khan was planning, the headline said it all. And it could be the most heinous of all attacks. He stared in disbelief.
HAYDEN PLANETARIUM TO HOST OVER 4000 FROM CITY PUBLIC SCHOOLS
.
Khan was planning to kill thousands of school kids. He read the article. The American Museum of Natural History was hosting
School Space Day
for public schools from all over New York City. And the biggest surprise of all, Senator Richard Boden, the Democrat from New York, would be keynote speaker for the event. He read on, and then he looked at his watch and the date. If he was right, he only had six hours before busloads of children from all over New York City filed into a potential disaster. And if Jake was successful, by the time the first busload arrived, Khan would be dead.
Jake leaned back in his seat, content in his plan to kill Khan. He grabbed the envelope and ripped open the seal, and let the contents slip into his hands. At first, he didn’t understand what he was looking at, two newspaper articles and a photograph. He stared at the one on top, a newspaper clipping of Beth’s obituary with a shamrock taped to it. The second, a newspaper article about the tragic fire that took the lives of his parents with two shamrocks taped to it.
“What the…?”
He flipped to the last sheet, a photo of him at his parents’ funeral, just days ago, with a target symbol drawn on his face.
When the impact hit him, it hammered him. Every sinew in his body tightened. Waves of rage coursed through his veins. The airplane’s cabin closed in on him. He began to sweat. His hands trembled.
Collins.
Ian Collins had killed Beth. The son of a bitch murdered Beth and his parents.
The bastard.
Bentley had forewarned him, and he was right. This was the worst thing he’d ever read. He felt his anger swell but this time it wasn’t Laurence O’Rourke’s face he saw, it was that blue-eyed, brown-eyed, streaked-haired Irishman, Ian Collins.
And Collins would have to pay. Jake would track Collins to the depths of Hell and back if he had to, but Collins would pay.
Collins would pay with his life.
Then another revelation hit him. He picked up the photo of him at his parents’ funeral. The bastard was there at the cemetery. Watching. Watching him grieve. The sick bastard was there.
He grabbed the laptop with both hands and hurled it across the cabin where it smashed onto the galley floor. “You’ll suffer, you son of a bitch.”
That was the moment he felt it, cold and empty inside. Now, only one thing in life mattered.
Jake had to kill Collins—or die trying.
CHAPTER 65
I
SABELLA HUNT PICKED Kaplan and Bentley up from the CIA hangar at the Dulles International Airport. She drove a white, non-descript Company van. Bentley’s bodyguards assisted Kaplan to the back of the van. With the pin in Kaplan’s leg and the cast preventing his knee from bending, a car would make transportation difficult. Bentley had urged Kaplan to check into a hospital, but Kaplan refused. He said he wanted to sleep in his own bed. He’d volunteered to come to Langley the next day for a full medical evaluation.
She’d spent the past two days regretting she didn’t tell Kaplan everything. It had been bothering her for a long time. Despite what she’d said to Bentley, maybe Kaplan did have a right to know. But still, it was her problem and she’d always handled her own problems her own way. And always alone. She wasn’t used to sharing or having others take the reins in her personal life.
Maybe she’d try to bring up the subject later with Kaplan.
Maybe.
Hunt pulled the van into the entry lane at CIA Headquarters allowing the guards to check all credentials. Even though the director was with them, certain security precautions and protocols were still required. After the van was scanned and identifications authenticated, the van was allowed entry onto the grounds of the spy agency. Hunt pulled to the underground entry and dropped off Bentley. His bodyguards exited the van first, checked the area then opened the door to the bulletproofed armored van. The two linebackers escorted the director into the HQ building as Isabella Hunt drove away.
“I’ll be your chauffer for the next few days, Mr. Kaplan.” She quipped. “May I take you somewhere? Perhaps the pool, I understand you enjoy swimming.”
Kaplan played along. “No, Miss Hunt, I think I’d like to go home. And I’ll probably require some assistance after we arrive. I hope that won’t be a problem for you.”
“No sir, Mr. Kaplan.” She turned around and smiled. “I aim to please.”
“How’s your leg?” She asked.
“Hurts like a son of a bitch.”
“Your fingers?”
“Not so bad. I’ve broken fingers before, just tape ‘em up and go. Of course, now I have these fancy little splints. Not sure I like them.”
“How’s Jake?”
“He did all right. I can’t figure him out though.”
She turned the van onto Kaplan’s street. “What do you mean?”
“He ditched us in Spain, then he reappeared like nothing had happened with a boat he’d rented and everything arranged. Like he knew ahead of time what Khan was doing. The CIA had no knowledge of any of it. And not only that, he had acquired weapons and ammo and provisions…if you can call candy bars provisions.”
“Did you ask him about it?”
“Oh yeah. And I got some smart-ass reply. He avoided saying anything definitive. The thing is…if he hadn’t done that, Khan would be long gone and we would probably be dead.”
Hunt pulled into Kaplan’s driveway. “But Khan is long gone. He got away and you two almost died.”
“If it weren’t for Jake, I would be dead right now. He’s very resourceful. And something tells me he knows Khan's location and is already on his trail.
“You think?”
“I’m sure of it.”
She got out and opened the door for Kaplan. He leaned on her as she walked with him to his front door. His keychain got caught in his finger splints and he dropped his keys on the front porch.
Hunt leaned down and grabbed them. “Allow me, sir.”
She got the correct key on the second try. “Now, may I assist you to your room?”
“Maybe the couch for now.” Kaplan hobbled toward a seven-foot leather couch in the middle of his den. “I think we have a few things to talk about, don’t you.”
“I don’t know, Gregg. I don’t want it to get complicated.” In reality, she knew it was already complicated. What she really meant was she didn’t want it to get more complicated. Her condition was her problem, why should she make it his as well? She should spare him the inevitable—it would be the right thing to do—but her heart wouldn’t let her. She was selfish and she wanted this time with him, however brief it might be. What she knew was the right thing to do and what she wanted to do were raging a battle inside her consciousness. It wasn’t fair. Just when she’d found someone, this happened. And her next decisions, she knew, would be the hardest she’d ever made.
CHAPTER 66
A
T PRECISELY 7:00 A.M., Khan’s contact picked him up in front of The Excelsior Hotel in a black sedan; there were hundreds of black sedans with tinted windows in the city so it went unnoticed.
“Is everything in place?” Khan slid to the middle of the back seat.
“Exactly as instructed.” The driver merged into traffic then drove five blocks and pulled into an alley behind an abandoned West Side Manhattan building.
The sedan stopped at the rear entrance, a service door opened, the sedan drove in, and the door closed behind them.
The open expanse on the ground floor was lit only with suspension lights dangling from the ceiling and what little sunlight found its way inside. Parked to one side was a box truck disguised as catering truck. As instructed, Khan’s contact had the three men load the truck prior to his arrival then leave. Time was running out, he still had several tasks to complete before he brought death to the infidels. At the top of his list, go to the bank to pick up his documents. He needed to be ready to disappear as Esteban Menendez and Hashim Khan at the same moment the museum came crashing down on top of four thousand infidel children.
In four hours those names would become history. One an alias for the other, which would become the most infamous of all. Forever the name Khan would hold a new connotation; it would rank with the likes of bin Laden, Hussein, and Hitler. The modern world would cringe at the sound of the name.
Hashim Khan.
He would get to watch history unfold from the quiet little Midwest town of Cottleville, Missouri just outside St. Louis. He would live a sedentary life of leisure as a retired computer programmer made wealthy from a buyout of his software company. The life he would live as a man known as Paul Scot Rayburn, which was a play on his true identity from years ago. Raymond Paul Scott from Bozeman, Montana.
He’d already purchased the 4300 square foot home nestled on a thirty-five acre spread. Using photos sent by a real estate agent, he’d had the entire estate furnished, ready for his arrival. Everything purchased under his new identity. Title to the property, paid for in cash by his legal representative, along with two new vehicles, a Ford F-250 pickup and a black BMW 750 Li sedan.
Khan planned to remain in New York City for two days, blending into obscurity, before flying to St. Louis where a limo would deliver him to his new life in Cottleville. He’d taken great measures to ensure he would be untraceable to his former life. He’d spent a lot of time and money to find the right broker for the job, a broker who made his living by discretion, and was rich from it. He was Khan's only loose end, he’d eventually eliminate.