Jihad

CHAPTER 89

Tommy Karr’s familiar grin shocked Dr. Ramil, not because he didn’t expect the blond-haired Desk Three op to be here, but because his manner was as casual as it had been in the after-hours bull sessions they’d had during training. It seemed almost obscene to smile in an emergency room, at least before the patient had been examined.

“Condition is stable,” said Karr, walking along with the two ambulance attendants. “Vitals are all good, except his blood pressure is slightly low. He might just have fainted.”

Ramil stood behind Dr. Penney, careful to stay out of Asad’s line of sight.

How would he kill him? There were countless ways — a scalpel was nearby. He could take it, make two quick cuts; Asad would quickly bleed to death.

But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. And even if he had decided to do that — even if he thought it wasn’t insane to even think of doing it — there were too many people here. They would stop him, or save Asad.

Take a knife, and slit his neck. A quick cut and it is done.

Too many people. He’d never get away with it.

I’m a lousy coward, Ramil thought to himself. A failure in the eyes of God, and in mine as well.

“Is it a heart attack?” Jackson asked.

“No,” said Dr. Penney. He glanced back at Ramil, who shook his head as well. “His blood pressure is low and his heart is somewhat erratic. He fainted. Could be a precursor for a stroke, could be heart disease, could be diabetes, or even that he’s just exhausted. We’d have to do some tests to be sure.”

“He does have a heart condition,” said Ramil.

“Ah.” Penney continued his examination. He ran his fingers over the back of his skull, where the device had been implanted. “This wound hasn’t healed right. There may be something still in there.”

“There was surgery in that area recently to remove a small tumor,” said Jackson. “The scar tissue you feel is the unfortunate result.”

Jackson could tell that Penney wasn’t buying this.

“Please check for oxygen saturation,” said Ramil. “And of course, you’ll want to look at blood sug—”

“You don’t have to tell me my job,” said Penney. He nodded at the nurse, who was placing a fingertip monitor on Asad’s hand. Before she could secure it, however, Asad stirred on the table. Dr. Penney put a hand on his chest, keeping him down.

“You’re all right,” said Penney. “You fainted. I want to run some tests.”

Asad blinked at him but said nothing.

“Doctor, can I talk to you for a second?” asked Penney, gesturing them outside.

Penney’s antagonism angered Ramil, and he felt his own animosity rising. He was glad for it, in a way; it was something to focus on.

“It’s not an aneurysm,” Ramil told Penney. “Obviously he has a heart condition, and that’s why he fainted. His head is fine.”

“How can you rule anything out without taking a CAT scan?”

“It’s unnecessary,” said Ramil.

“You don’t want me to take one, right? That’s what the problem is.”

“Do whatever tests you want,” said Ramil.

“What is that scar tissue all about?”

‘I told you.”

“And I don’t believe you, doctor.”

Ambassador Jackson stepped between them. “Dr. Penney, the lump you noted has to do with the matter we discussed earlier. The patient is not aware of it at this time, and that must continue. If you want to proceed with any tests or procedures you feel are necessary to ensure his health, by all means, proceed.”

Ramil saw the distrust in Penney’s eyes. The fool was going to betray them — he was going to help the devil.

They’d take Asad into custody if they had to. They could always do that; it was the plan. But it felt like a defeat somehow.

“You can perform whatever tests you feel are necessary,” Jackson repeated. “But call this number first.”

He slipped a business card into the doctor’s hand. Penney looked at it and frowned.

If you’re not brave, evil will prevail.

Ramil struggled to ignore the voice. The lump could be scar tissue; his explanation was not so far-fetched that he deserved to be insulted.

“Go ahead and call the number,” said Ramil.

Penney frowned, then went to find a phone.

Asad heard a hum in his ears, the sound of a loud motor idling. People were moving around him, but they were shadows of people, indistinct blurs. He pushed to get up but he could not.

He struggled to focus his eyes. Finally one of the blurs congealed into the face of an old man hovering above his.

“Can you hear me?” asked the man.

“Yes,” said Asad.

“You seem to have fainted. Can you tell me what happened?”

“I passed out.” Asad’s instincts said that he must escape.

“Did you have heart palpitations? Pains?”

“Pains? Maybe.”

“Are you on medication?”

“I want to leave.”

He pushed to get up. This time, someone helped him — a large man with blond hair standing next to him.

What had happened to Kenan?

“I was with a friend,” said Asad. “Is he here?”

“We can check for you.”

“I’ll check myself,” said Asad.

“You’re still too weak,” said another man, stepping forward. He was a young black man, obviously a doctor.

“No, I can go.”

“Mr. Rahman, I’m Dr. Penney,” said the man. “You may have a heart condition. There are a series of tests we can do, all quite painless, that can determine exactly what the problem is.”

He started to slide off the table. The large blond man grabbed him. Asad braced himself for a struggle, then realized that the man was helping him to his feet.

Ramil felt Jackson’s light touch on his back, a signal to stay back, to keep his face turned away and out of sight. Asad had not seen him, and there was no sense blowing it now.

Do it! He is an enemy to the faith and must be destroyed.

The knife was out of reach, but there was a pair of scissors on the table nearby.

“Are you sure you want to leave? I can’t stress how serious this may be,” Penney said to Asad, helping him toward the hall.

Do it!

Whether it was the word of God or some internal conscience, it was speaking the truth — Asad was a demon, a threat to all. He must be destroyed.

But it was too late. The al-Qaeda leader was gone.

Realizing his hand was wet, Ramil looked down at his fist. He’d squeezed the scissors so tightly that he’d cut a gash in his forefinger, and blood was dripping onto the floor. He dropped the scissors with a shudder, then went to wash his hand in the nearby sink.