The Infiltrator Read online

  At least she wasn’t running amok stabbing people on the street . . .

  We entered the foyer for Del Frisco’s and Knuckles said, “I’m not sitting next to her, whatever happens. It’s your engagement, so you can engage.”

  I smiled, wondering if Knuckles wasn’t a little afraid of her. Nothing against him, because I knew I was. Thank God she was sweet on me.

  I said, “No problem. Worse comes to worst, I’ll sick Jennifer on her.”

  Knuckles laughed, because that was a little bit of an inside joke. Originally, we’d thought Shoshana was a lesbian and was lusting after Jennifer. That was before we learned she was just crazy. Even with all of that, I truly liked her. Respected her. Admired her quest to crawl out of the abyss she’d been thrown in. Hell, truth be told, I saw more of me in her than I’d like to admit. I guess I loved her, in a teammate sort of way.

  My phone vibrated, and I saw a text from Jennifer.

  Upstairs bar.

  I texted: Here. Coming up. The demon with you?

  Not yet. Left the UN and putting principle to bed. Be here shortly.

  We mounted the stairs and saw Carly and Jennifer at the end of the bar, holding two seats for us. Each of them had two bags at the base of their barstools, which, I suppose, I should have expected.

  I gave Jennifer a kiss and took my stool, giving Carly’s barstool the side-eye to see if Knuckles would be brave enough to do the same. Jennifer saw what I was doing and tapped my knee, saying, “Quit that.”

  I turned my back to them, facing Jennifer, and saw her looking. She flicked her eyes to me and smiled, saying, “He kissed her.”

  I filed that in my repertoire of things I could use against my 2IC, and turned around, saying, “Our table good to go?”

  Carly said, “Yeah. They said it would just be a minute.”

  We made small talk, both Knuckles and me ribbing the ridiculously expensive purchases the girls had made, and the hostess arrived, leading us to our table. We sat down, and Jennifer picked up her phone, seeing a text. She said, “They’re here.”

  5

  I turned to the stairs and saw the dark angel cresting the top. She didn’t look like much of a threat. Tall and sinewy, without any womanly curves, she could easily be mistaken for a boy from behind, but her face was like a porcelain doll’s. Almost too perfect. She certainly didn’t look like a killer. Which was something many a man had regretted thinking.

  Aaron followed behind her, and anyone in my line of work could see the edge in him. He was big, the same size as me. About six-two, he carried some meat on his frame, and not in a bad way. And he was always scanning, looking for a threat. Even walking up the stairs of a steakhouse.

  Shoshana glanced around the balcony, found Jennifer, and I saw true joy. She went from her to me, locked eyes, then came running over. I stood up, and she hugged me fiercely, like she’d just found out I’d survived a plane crash. I put my arms around her looking at Jennifer. She shook her head, telling me to let it go. I did.

  She broke the hold and said, “Good to see you, Nephilim.”

  She knew I hated my given name, but used it anyway. I waited for the next part, and it came. She slapped my belly and said, “Looks like Jennifer’s still feeding you well.”

  Jesus Christ. If I grated cheese on my belly, she’d say the same thing. I was never sure if she thought it was an insult or a compliment.

  Knuckles laughed, and she turned to him for a hug. She took one look at him, then went to Carly, staring into her eyes. She glanced back to him and said, “You have a girlfriend now? Nobody told me.”

  Carly turned red. Knuckles fumed. Jennifer leaned back in her chair, covering a smile. I just shook my head. Shoshana had a weird, psychic ability to read people, something that went beyond just body language. She could really read a person’s intent. I’d thought it was bullshit at first, but I’d seen it in action, and it was real. As Carly had just found out.

  Knuckles blustered a bit, and Shoshana turned from him, not even realizing she’d done something wrong. She began talking to Carly.

  I shook Aaron’s hand, asking him about his trip here, and he leaned into me, saying, “I need to talk to you before this is done. One-on-one.”

  His eyes were serious, and the statement was intriguing. I nodded and said, “Okay. Easy day.”

  We ordered dinner, then sat around making small talk. Shoshana laughed at our bet, and Carly defended herself, then Jennifer made the mistake of asking where they were going on their honeymoon. Shoshana said, “Honeymoon? Like in the movies? Do people really do that?”

  The table went silent, Aaron rubbing his face. I couldn’t believe she thought a honeymoon was nothing more than a Hollywood fantasy. Surely she was kidding.

  Jennifer explained how it worked in the real world, and Shoshana became animated, loving the idea. Wanting to do anything that would make her normal. She turned to Aaron, rattling off what she wanted, and he looked like an old dog lying on the floor being teased by a child. I felt sorry for him.

  After eating the meal, I said, “Gotta go to the restroom. Anyone know where it is?” I looked at Aaron. He said, “Nope, but I could go too.”

  We left the table, finding the damn bathroom about seven feet away next to the bar. Not a lot of time to talk. We went in and I said, “Okay, what’s up? We don’t have much space before someone gets suspicious.”

  He said, “I need you to come to the wedding. Shoshana needs it.”

  Taken aback, thinking he was going to talk about some super-secret mission, I said, “Aaron, no offense, but Israel’s asking a bit much for a destination wedding. I’d love to be there, but I’m not made of money. That trip will cost five grand easy.”

  He said, “I know, but I think I’ve found a way to pay for you. You’re still owner of Grolier Recovery Services, right? Dealing with archeological sites?”

  Jennifer and I owned a company that ostensibly did coordination for archeological work around the world, but in reality was a cover to put some terrorist’s head on a spike for the Taskforce.

  Suspicious, I said, “Yeah? How’s that help?”

  “You’ve heard about the Hobby Lobby sting in Jerusalem, yes?”

  “Uh, no.”

  He looked shocked, like I should be following obscure news reports from Israel. He said, “The CEO of Hobby Lobby, the American company, is building a Bible museum, and he purchased a large amount of illegal artifacts from dealers in Jerusalem. As far as we can tell, he is not the culprit and thought he was doing the correct thing, but antiquities dealers in Jerusalem sold him illegal items. That’s why I’m here, in New York.”

  I said, “Okay? What’s that mean to me?”

  “We want to continue the sting but need an American buyer. That’s you. Your company fits in perfectly for someone who would do such a thing. All we want you to do is approach various dealers and attempt to purchase something illegal. We’ll tell you what is legal and what’s not.”

  “Last time you guys used my cover I almost ended up in the middle of World War Three.”

  Aaron chuckled and said, “No subterfuge. It’s exactly what I told you.”

  “And why do you want me to do this? Surely you guys could fabricate something on your own.”

  He looked at the floor, then came back to me. “Shoshana was devastated when you said you wouldn’t come to the wedding. You have no idea how much she reveres you and Jennifer. She has no family. They’re all dead. No friends. I’m it. She wants a real wedding because she thinks that’s what will make her whole. In her mind she had you in the audience, watching the vows. When you said you couldn’t come, it cut her deeply.”

  I was shocked. If I had known it was that important, I’d have fronted the money, regardless of the cost. To me, it just made sense not to go. I’d had no idea.

  He continued, “If you do this, my government will cover th
e cost of your trip. You do a couple days work, and you come to the wedding.”

  I held up my hands, saying, “Stop. Of course I’ll do it. I feel a little bit like a heel for saying no in the first place.”

  He smiled, relieved. “One more thing: Shoshana doesn’t know about this. You can’t let on that you’re coming now because Israel is footing the bill. You can’t let her know we talked.”

  I nodded, understanding completely. I said, “Just tell me the time and place.”

  He patted my arm, saying, “Trust me, you’ll enjoy it. I know Jennifer will. You can’t find anyplace with more history.”

  I said, “No offense, but I’m sure with Shoshana that wedding will turn into a shit show.”

  We both laughed, not realizing how prescient I would be.

  6

  It had been a week since the secretive man had come to visit their little shop, and Dawood had begun acting more and more erratic, snapping at his younger brother for the smallest things. Two days ago, Dawood had slammed his laptop computer closed when Abdul came within sight of the screen; then yesterday, five strange men—boys, really—had entered the store. Once again, after Abdul greeted them, they demanded to see Dawood. After they’d left, Abdul’s curiosity got the better of him, and he snuck a look at Dawood’s computer. It was actually the store’s computer, but with their father currently in jail awaiting his day in court, Dawood had taken it as his own.

  Abdul typed in the password and was told it was incorrect. He did it again, and received the same result. Dawood had changed it.

  Abdul heard, “What are you doing?” causing him to jump in his chair. He saw Dawood in the doorway to their office and said, “Why did you change the password?”

  Dawood walked to him, closed the laptop, and said, “Because Father may tell those Jew dogs what it was. If they come back here, I’m not going to help them incarcerate him.”

  “But he’s done nothing wrong. The computer logs will help, not hurt.”

  “Let me worry about what’s right and what’s wrong. You just man the register until Father comes home. Do as you’re told. With Father gone, I’m in charge here.”

  Abdul said, “What are you hiding?”

  Dawood grew angry, advancing on his younger brother and snatching him by the arm. He marched Abdul to the front of the office, saying again, “Just do as your told.”

  He pushed Abdul through the door and said, “I will have some visitors soon. Send them straight back and keep an eye on the front desk. I won’t have time for customers.”

  Without another word, he slammed the door closed.

  Abdul stood for a moment, then went to the register. He was internally working up the courage to confront his brother again when the front entrance bell rang. The five men from the day before entered. The lead one, a thin man with a scraggly teenager beard said, “Dawood?”

  Abdul knew him as Faisal. He pointed to the back, and all five disappeared into the office, closing the door behind them.

  Abdul waited for a moment, glanced toward the storefront, then walked on tiptoe to the office door. He gently placed his ear to the crack between the door and the frame, hearing voices.

  “. . . did you get the explosives?” Abdul recognized his brother’s voice.

  “Yes. I have a complete shahid vest. It will fit under my clothes.” Abdul thought that was Faisal, the leader of the group of men, but he couldn’t be sure.

  “You can’t wear it with the clothes you have on now. You need to look like a tourist. A Christian tourist.”

  “I know. I’ve already conducted a reconnaissance, and had no trouble getting into the church.”

  “Good. Very good. Were there Americans inside?”

  “Pretty much the entire place.”

  “Even better. The American benefactors continue to help Israel keep us away from where Muhammad, peace be upon him, ascended into heaven, and we will do the same with their prophet.”

  Abdul had no idea what that meant, but the sweat beaded at the base of his neck all the same. He knew it wasn’t good.

  Faisal said, “What about you? Did you get the weapons?”

  “They’ll be delivered today.”

  “They are expecting all six of us. When five show up, will that be a problem?”

  “No. What can they do? Haram al-Sharif will be locked down by those Jew dogs if even one of us shows up. It will be fine. The key is you cannot attack until ours is complete. You must have patience. Wait for my call, or until you hear the police response moving away from you.”

  “What about your contact with the Islamic Movement? He will be angry at the change of the plan.”

  Abdul heard Dawood laugh, then say, “What do we care? We’ll be martyrs.”

  Abdul’s eyes snapped wide at the words, then he heard the bell ding to the front door. He wiped the sweat from his neck and scampered to the register desk, seeing two females entering.

  One was lithe, almost androgynous, with a pageboy cut of black hair and the porcelain face of a doll. The other was tall, with her blond hair in a ponytail and gray eyes that reminded Abdul of the scandalous pages of a Maxim magazine he secretly kept hidden in his room.

  The black-haired woman said, “Hello. My friend here is from the United States and is looking to buy some unique antiquities. We were told you might have something of interest to show her.”

  Abdul went back and forth between them, not hearing her question, the words from his brother still bouncing about his head. She waved her hand in front of his face, saying, “You there?”

  He blinked his eyes and said, “I’m sorry, what did you ask?”

  The black-haired one stared at him, her eyes squinting slightly. The blonde stuck out her hand, saying, “My name is Jennifer, and this is Shoshana. I own a company called Grolier Services, and we deal with archeological sites.”

  She held out a card, but the other woman captured his entire focus, her glare penetrating. Scary. He took the card without looking at the blonde. She continued, “I’m looking to purchase Iraqi cuneiform tablets, preferably older than 1000 BC. Can you help with that?”

  Like an animal caught in a spotlight, Abdul couldn’t break from Shoshana’s eyes, her gaze giving off a weird glow. This time Jennifer put a hand in front of his face and snapped her fingers, saying, “Hey, are you listening?”

  He turned to her, saying, “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  Jennifer repeated her request, and he animatedly held up his hands, saying, “No, no, we can’t help with that. We don’t deal in other countries’ artifacts—especially Iraq.”

  Shoshana said, “That’s not true. I know Jerusalem vendors buy things from UAE and other places. You get them here and scrub them through your business.”

  “Maybe someone can, but you most certainly won’t through this store. We follow the law strictly.” He turned to Jennifer and said, “A word of advice: You should be very careful of anyone selling such things in Jerusalem. Iraq has had an enormous amount of looting, so the provenance of such things will always be in question. You’ll either buy a fake, or you’ll buy something stolen.”

  Shoshana started to say something when the office door opened, the five new friends exiting, followed by Dawood.

  He walked to Abdul, hugged him, kissed him on the cheek, and said, “I’m going to spend the night at Faisal’s place. Lock up the store for me, okay?”

  Abdul nodded dumbly, remembering his brother’s earlier words.

  Dawood said, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” then left the store behind the other men. Abdul saw Shoshana float her weird gaze on the lot of them, centering on Dawood.

  When the door swung shut, she turned back to him, and he saw something dangerous underneath her gaze. Deadly. He nervously turned to Jennifer and said, “I’m sorry I’m no help.”

  He drummed his fingers on the counter, pra
ying they would leave. Jennifer said, “No, that’s okay. Your advice is a big help. I appreciate it.”

  She smiled warmly and said, “You might have saved me from some trouble I didn’t know was there. Sorry to bother you.”

  He gratefully drank in her kindness, doing his best to avoid the animosity radiating from the woman to her right.

  They left the store, and he sagged down onto a stool, placing his head on the counter and sucking in great breaths of air. The black-haired woman had rattled him, and he didn’t know why.

  Then he remembered what his brother had said, and a wave of nausea roiled him. He needed to do something, but what? He couldn’t turn in his own blood to the Jewish authorities. He just couldn’t. But he couldn’t let Dawood do something heinous. He had to stop it somehow.

  He went through his options and decided he would confront his brother tomorrow. Tell him what he’d heard. It would be difficult, and his brother might beat him, as older brothers did, but Abdul’s protests would stop him if he remained resolute. He nodded to no one, convincing himself of his decision, feeling more confident now that he had made one.

  His mind returned to the woman, her eyes boring into his soul. He felt the sweat break out again, wondering what she had seen.

  7

  Ezra looked at his watch, seeing that Masoud was now twenty minutes late. Not a good sign. Best case, he hoped Masoud was having trouble finding the safe house. Worst case, Masoud had decided not to play. Actually, worst, worst case was he’d not only decided not to play, but had informed his supervisors of the plot.

  He began working mitigation plans in his mind, wondering if he should pull the trigger on his nuclear option. Ezra had learned much from his time working with Yamas and Shin Bet, the first one being always cover your ass. Before even contacting Masoud, he’d set the Arab up for multiple different transgressions, all of which would cast any story he portrayed as a desperate attempt to save himself. The key to success, though, was to execute before someone broke down Ezra’s door. Before it would look like Ezra was retaliating. It had to appear as if Masoud was doing that.