Act of Terror

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Mervi hardly made it out of earshot from the gurgles of the dying girl when the cell phone in the pocket of his running shorts began to buzz. He hadn’t even had time to take out his comb and see to his hair. It had to be Dr. Badeeb. No one else had his number. He let it ring, wanting to put more distance between himself and Smallwood before she was discovered.

The very picture of impatience, Badeeb called again in a matter of seconds. Beg slowed to a walk in the shadowed, tunnel-like forest clearing along the heavily wooded Paint Branch trail. A gray squirrel chattered from the high limbs of an elm tree. Wiping sweat from his forehead with the tail of his shirt, he took a deep breath and answered curtly.

“ Al-salamu, Doctor.” He waved a mosquito away as he spoke.

“ Wa alaikum assalam,” Badeeb whined like the mosquito. “You are healthy, praise be to God…”

“I am,” Beg sighed, suddenly more fatigued than he should be. Nazeer Badeeb was his employer, but the Mervi found himself too weary for the customarily endless rounds of telephone politeness. “Why do you call?”

“I trust all is well in Maryland?” Badeeb sounded like a Pakistani version of the film actor Peter Lorre. The wheezing brought on by his ever-present cigarette was audible over the phone.

“It is,” Beg said, walking faster to outpace the mosquitoes that flung themselves from the surrounding foliage to swarm his face. “Our trouble in Rockville has been taken care of and that obstacle at the university has been cleared away. Your friend should have no trouble getting the job she wants.”

“Excellent,” Badeeb said, a broad smile evident in his voice. “Praise be to God that you are able to clear the path for so many.”

“Yes,” Beg said absentmindedly. “Praise be to God. What do you hear of Drake? Might we know anyone on this list of his?” The Mervi did not ask outright over the phone, but Badeeb would understand his meaning. Were they themselves, or any of their people, on the list?

Badeeb kept uncharacteristically silent for some time.

“I have not put eyes on it,” he said at length. “But Drake does us a great service by producing such a list. The Americans will devour themselves out of fear and mistrust of each other.”

“Maybe,” Beg mused. “Still, I do not like this politician. He seems much too powerful to have such radical thoughts.”

“He does, indeed,” the doctor said. Badeeb was always brooding over one idea or another. It was what made him so dangerous. “We will take care of Drake when the time is right.” The metallic sound of his cigarette lighter clinked in the background. “Right now we have larger fish to cook.”

“Fry,” Beg corrected, shaking his head. “You mean bigger fish to fry.”

“Yes.” Badeeb gave a forced laugh. “Of course. Much bigger fish…. You have done well, my friend. Praise be to God. Get some rest for now. I will call you.”

Beg ended the call and stuffed the phone back in his pocket. It was rare that he had more than a few days without some sort of assignment. In Dr. Badeeb’s world, there were always paths that needed clearing, loose ends to tie up. The doctor kept the details of his plans to himself, sharing them only when someone needed to be moved out of the way.

Suddenly hungry, the gaunt Mervi picked up his pace. He would eat some pancakes with lots of butter pecan syrup at the Denny’s around the corner and then return to his apartment in Virginia for some much-needed rest.

When he woke up, he would learn more of the dark woman who’d surprised him at Arbakova’s house.