He gave her a thoughtful look. “You said there were two things you would do for me. Money—one hundred thousand dollars for my family—and what else? What is the second thing?”
Kelly touched her hand to his arm, right above an IV line. “You won’t be executed. And the biggie? I won’t let it be known you’re a terrorist, so the other prisoners won’t stuff a bar of soap down your throat in the shower. Hey, I’ve got a couple photos we believe might be the Strategist taken at Heathrow, one at Gatwick. You want to take a look for me?”
“Heathrow? The Strategist would never fly in one of those places where people are cattle, herded through the ridiculous security, and the cameras everywhere, he wouldn’t—” He closed his mouth, turned his face away from her.
He didn’t see her quickly smile toward Sherlock and Cal. “Come on, now, Jamil, if you do not tell me Hercule’s full name I really don’t have any impetus to want to keep you breathing, do I?”
His mouth remained tightly seamed. He stared up at the ceiling, ignoring her, ignoring all of them. Finally, he said, “Do you think I fear for my fate after ridding the world of that useless scum Nasim? Nothing but a rich little whiner, who’d forsaken his religion, turned his back on what he should have willingly done for our cause. I have not. I will put my trust in Allah, not in you.
“I do not care what you do to me. I would never give up the Strategist. He knows already that I have been wounded or killed, and he trusts me to keep silent, and I will. You will never find him. He will stay a ghost, a shadow, until he is ready to kill whichever of you he chooses. He is a great man, a man to follow.” He looked at Sherlock. “He was surprised to hear you were visiting with Nasim again, woman. He was already angry with you. Now he will avenge me.” He looked at each of their faces. “He will kill all of you.”
ALCOTT COMPOUND
PLACKETT, VIRGINIA
Saturday morning
The rain had stopped, but dark clouds hung low, no sunlight to penetrate the thick trees surrounding the three Alcott houses. It would rain again soon. There wouldn’t be any children outside playing football on this dreary Saturday morning.
Savich turned off the Porsche’s engine in front of the main house. When he pressed the bell, it played the beginning of what sounded like a Gregorian chant, without the voices. Savich knew whoever was here had to have heard the Porsche, but there was no sound from inside the house. He tamped down on his anger, anger because a young boy had tried to kill him and Griffin only an hour before and that boy was now in the hospital. And someone in this house knew exactly who did it.
He rang the bell again. Oddly enough, the chime didn’t start at the beginning, it continued on with the same chant. It brought to mind monks at matins, or perhaps witches in a circle around a bonfire.
He finally heard footsteps, the sounds of children’s voices.
A man he didn’t know jerked the door open. He was big, mid-thirties, muscular, with the look of an aging football player or prizefighter. He was wearing faded jeans, a flannel work shirt, old worn boots. It had to be Liggert, the bully who’d tried to beat on Walter Givens. He looked a lot like Jonah, both bruisers, probably resembled their dead father, only Liggert was running to fat. Savich hadn’t yet met Liggert, because he drove a truck for Alcott Transportation out of Richmond and had been gone for two weeks. Jonah worked in the front office, probably being groomed to run the company someday. Savich had wondered why that was. After all, Liggert was older.
“Yeah, what do you want? We’re having breakfast and we’re not buying anything you’re selling.” Savich heard lots of mean beneath the velvet southern drawl.
“It’s Agent Savich,” Deliah Alcott called from behind her son. “Let him in, Liggert.”
Liggert gave Savich a look that threatened mayhem and stepped back. He turned on his heel and walked away down a long corridor, and didn’t look back. Deliah Alcott said, “Are you here about Brakey’s ankle bracelet? It must have fallen off his ankle and he can’t find it anywhere. He wanted to call you about it, but I told him it was too early and he should keep looking, he’d find it somewhere. But now you’re here.”
Voices sounded from behind her. Deliah said, “Everyone’s in the kitchen, eating pancakes. It’s a Saturday-morning tradition. So are you here about the bracelet?”
“Yes, I’m here about the bracelet.”
“Then come on in. Are you hungry?”
Pancakes, she’d said. “Yes, I’d like that, Mrs. Alcott. It’s very kind of you.” Savich followed Mrs. Alcott down the long back corridor.
The Alcott kitchen was enormous: a long pine table stretched down the middle of it, covered with a bright blue tablecloth. Brakey sat at the table with the rest of his family, eating pancakes, but his head was down. When he looked up to see Savich, he jumped to his feet, nearly knocking his chair over. “I was going to call you, Agent Savich. My ankle bracelet’s gone! I swear I never tried to take it off. I swear!”
“I know,” Savich said, “and you don’t remember getting out of bed, is that right?”
“No, no. I’m sure I didn’t get out of bed.”
“Then don’t worry about it, Brakey. Sit down and enjoy your breakfast.”
He looked around the table, pulled out his creds, and handed them around. He introduced himself to Liggert’s wife, Marly, and to each of the six children, listened to their names. All looked under the age of ten, he thought, with Tanny the oldest. He looked into her strange green eyes. She was one of Liggert’s children. The other children had grown quiet, not knowing what to make of him, but Tanny was staring at him hard. Liggert sat at the head of the table, his wife, Marly, a thin, anxious-looking young woman, on his right. Jonah was next to her. Where was Jonah’s wife?
Savich said to Jonah, “Your wife doesn’t like pancakes?”
“She’s working, the feed store in Plackett. She’s the assistant manager.”
Deliah clapped her hands. “Children, everyone sit down, more pancakes coming up. Tanny, please set a place for Agent Savich. He will join us.”
She turned back to spoon more batter into two big flat skillets. Everyone listened to the batter hiss and sputter.
Liggert said, “Why’d you come back so soon? It’s about Brakey’s bracelet; you’re not here for Mama’s pancakes.”
“That’s certainly a side benefit,” Savich said as he sat down next to Deliah Alcott’s place at the other end of the table. Tanny slid a plate with three stacked blueberry pancakes in front of him. Savich breathed them in, smiled up at her. “They smell great. Thank you, Mrs. Alcott.”
Ms. Louisa sidled her wheelchair into the kitchen and pulled up close to the table, a child on either side of her. She nodded to Savich and said in a scratchy drawl, “Well, Marly, did I lie? Isn’t he a looker? As for you, Liggert, don’t go all huffy and stick your knife in his gullet just because Marly appreciates the look of the man. That wouldn’t be polite.” She grabbed a bit of a child’s pancake, and stuffed it into her mouth. She laughed. “At least let him enjoy his breakfast first.”
“That isn’t funny, Mother,” Deliah said as she flipped another pancake.
Marly sent a nervous look at her husband, who was busy forking down a pancake, ignoring her and ignoring his grandmother.
Ms. Louisa said, “The boy’s here for a reason, Morgana. I’m helping him out. So now you’ve met both of Dilly’s older boys, Liggert and Jonah. They’re buff and loud and tough, aren’t they? Their daddy was as tough as they were once, but later on he wasn’t, not at all. Like I told you yesterday, Dilly was weak.”
“That’s not fair, Mother,” Deliah said patiently as she turned another pancake. “He was the strongest man I’ve ever known. After the first Gulf War, he simply couldn’t abide violence.” She said over her shoulder, “He was in Iraq. It . . . changed him.”