Fortress

52

Kyle had overheard Tom’s exchange with Jefferson. ‘Like I told you, we just do the job. We don’t ask why. That’s not part of the brief.’

There was an empty look in his eyes.

Tom struggled to move. ‘For fuck’s sake, Kyle. What is this shit?’

‘Too many questions.’

‘Just listen a moment. Let’s calm down, shall we, and talk this through?’

But Tom could tell that wasn’t going to happen. He dived out of Kyle’s line of sight just as he fired.

The shot slammed into the cabinet door he had just been leaning against, narrowly missing his shoulder. A cloud of wood chippings erupted and scattered over Jefferson’s body. No more negotiation. Tom’s reflexes took over and his shot burst a hole in Kyle’s forehead as he collapsed in a heap in the doorway.

Tom didn’t move for several seconds, struggling to absorb what had just happened. He had killed a man who had once saved his life. But he had been left with no choice. Whatever Kyle had signed up for, it didn’t take account of friendship. The only other sound apart from his heaving chest was the chorus of cicadas outside. He reached forward, and pulled Kyle’s corpse further into the trailer.

Mullah Zuabi — who the fuck was he? How did he fit into Oryxis’s agenda? Too many questions were mounting up.

Tom knew he needed to get the hell out of there before anyone came looking, but the opportunity to search the place for more information about what Jefferson was up to was too good to pass up. He reached over Kyle and closed the door. Then he pulled him over to the seating area and folded him as best he could under the table. He wouldn’t be entirely hidden but was at least less obvious if someone were to peer in. Then he pulled up the blinds to let a little more light in. He ducked while a pick-up rolled past, blaring Johnny Cash, a couple of dogs perched on the deck, then began his search.

He didn’t have much time. Eventually someone would notice that Kyle hadn’t shown up, and as for Jefferson, even neo-Nazis looked out for their own. Luckily, since he was definitely a minimalist in the furnishings department, there were very few places to look. On the table was a yellow legal notebook. He flipped it open and read the large, childlike handwriting.

It was disturbing all right. But he put it down when he spotted a rectangular shape under the thin bedcovers: a laptop. He carefully lifted the lid and stroked the trackpad: it came to life. Nolene’s Escorts. Proudly serving Houston surroundings, available 24/7. A girl for every taste. What’s yours? Call now to meet one of our fifty luscious babes. So far, so normal. There was an AOL email account, one of the last in existence, but it needed a password. He clicked on the Search History. The last twenty or so pages were more of Nolene and her luscious babes, then some local news pages: UH tops Florida on Senior Night. Evidently his racial obsessions didn’t get in the way of his interest in basketball. Then Teen leads cops on high speed chase… Arms seized in South Houston drug bust… Grand Mosque nears completion. He opened it: a front page from the Houston Chronicle — Houston’s largest mosque nears completion. The photo: a group of men in suits and hard hats, posing in front of a tower of scaffolding, with a much shorter, smiling bearded man, olive complexion, in a white topi and white robes. The caption: City councilors get sneak peek at Houston’s newest Islamic Center Masjid As-Sabur, hosted by Mullah Asim Zuabi.

Asim Zuabi — this guy was Stutz’s ‘associate’, whose would-be assassin he had sent them to kill?

From down the road not far away came the sound of sirens. Blue and red lights flickered in the distance. Tom closed the laptop and turned his attention to Jefferson. He took a photograph of the corpse, then patted down the pockets. Then he relieved him of his phone, pulled the blinds down, closed the door behind him and stepped out into the night.