National Security

CHAPTER 45

Bo offered up the phone. “I think we’re into your bailiwick, Jer.”

“Hey, Cujo, this is Jericho,” he said. “What do you mean ‘in custody’?”

It was clear from the muffled grunts in the biker’s voice that he was on the move as he spoke.

“Moon spotted two guys sneakin’ up the back alley a couple houses down from you. We was able to work our way up a deep creek bed to get in behind ’em. Then we waited under a magnolia tree and conked ’em on the head as they tried to sneak by. Jacques checked ’em out. He says it’s not the guy you’re after, but they’re definitely the bad guys.”

Thibodaux’s drawl broke squelch on Jericho’s radio. “Neither one is Zafir, beb,” he said. “Both got all their fingers and toes… so far at least.”

“And you’re sure they’re Arabs and not from Mexico or Central America?”

“Chair Force,” Thibodaux grumbled into his radio. “You’re killin’ me, pal. I have spent a day or two in the Sandbox my own self. Neither one of ’em has an ID, but they were ‘Allah Akbar-in’ me to death ’til I gagged their sorry faces… And, lest you get too worried we smacked some poor member of the local mosque, one of ’em has a copy of Zafir’s martyr photo folded up in his back pocket. They’re either the SOB’s backup or they belong to his fan club. Either way…”

Jericho peered through the rifle scope across the street at Navarro’s front door while he thought. “Get them out of sight as fast as you can. Zafir’s out there somewhere and I don’t want to tip him off.”

“Where’s Moon?” Bo said two minutes later as Thibodaux and Cujo huffed in from the backyard, each carrying a bound and gagged Arab over his shoulder. A wave of heat and humidity rolled in with them when they opened the door.

Thibodaux dropped his prisoner unceremoniously in the middle of the living-room floor, well away from Bo’s Harley. “Moon stayed behind to keep his good eye peeled in case Zafir shows up. Sorry we couldn’t call earlier, Jericho. We sort of had our hands full.”

“Moon’s okay then?” Bo asked, checking out the front window.

“He’s fine, boss.” Cujo looked around the room, still holding his Arab over a broad shoulder. “I left the sawed-off with him.”

A prodigious beer belly rolled over the top of the biker’s jeans, completely hiding his belt buckle. He wasn’t as tall as Thibodaux, but he was every bit as muscular and the extra weight around his middle didn’t seem to hold him back at all. Completely bald, each side of his polished scalp was tattooed with matching black lighting bolts. He sneered, showing a gold front tooth.

“Where you want this one?”

Jericho pointed to the wall opposite the man Thibodaux had brought in. He took a deep breath, considering his options. The real problem was not how to interrogate the captives; the problem was doing what needed to be done in front of Mahoney.

“I need someone on the rifle scope,” he said, looking at the doctor. “If Zafir shows up, we don’t want to miss him.”

Mahoney nodded, taking a seat in front of the gun. Her mouth was set in a sort of nervous half grin.

“You shouldn’t have to shoot anyone,” Jericho consoled her. “Just keep an eye on the front of the house. Sing out if you see Zafir. Remember, we still have Ugly and Mean Jim up the street.”

“I’m fine with watching out for Zafir,” Mahoney said. She stared hard at the two Arab men, studying them with the eyes of a scientist. “What are we going to do with them?”

Awake now, both men peered over the top of their duct-tape gags with dark, sullen eyes. One of the men was considerably older than the other, well into his forties. The younger of the two was barely twenty. Both were clean shaven and wore simple cotton T-shirts and blue jeans. At first glance, most Texans might believe the men were Mexican.

“Shouldn’t we ask them if they know where Zafir is?” Megan said.

“That is exactly what we have to do.” Jericho shot a quick glance at Thibodaux, then turned back to Mahoney. “There is a near hundred-percent chance he’s only a block or two away. Right now, I need you to do me a favor and keep your eyes on that scope.”

“I understand,” she said, though he knew she didn’t… not yet.

He stepped closer, directly beside her, and put a hand on her shoulder. She flinched at the suddenness of his touch.

“Listen to me,” he whispered. His body was directly between her and the younger Arab. “You’ve told us over and over how deadly this virus is. We have to do whatever it takes to find Zafir and stop him. I can’t have you making eye contact with that kid against the wall.”

“Why?”

Jericho bit at his bottom lip, choosing his words carefully. “Because you’re not like the rest of us here in this room. You’re a nice person. You have a kind heart. This guy will study you like you study germs. Once he sees that kindness in your face, he’ll cling to it with everything he’s got.” Jericho leaned in, close enough that a lock of her hair brushed against his cheek. His lips were only inches from her ear, whispering. “He’ll begin to think he has a chance.”

“Doesn’t he?” Her voice was barely audible.

“No.”

Mahoney pressed her eye to the rifle scope and didn’t look up. Jericho had no idea what she thought of him now, but he was pretty sure she wouldn’t think much of him in the next few minutes.

Without the luxury of time, Jericho snapped into action. Stooping over his black Eagle Industries duffel, he gathered the things he’d need. “Cujo,” he said, screwing a Gemtech silencer on the threaded barrel of the custom .22-caliber Glock Miyagi had issued him. “I need you to carry the big guy into that back bedroom. Be sure and draw the blinds.” He turned and spoke several quick phrases of Arabic to the younger, more slightly built man leaning against the wall, explaining his plans. It was important the boy ponder what lay in store for his companion — and eventually himself. Both men’s eyes narrowed, brimming with pure, unabashed hatred.

Jericho checked to make sure the magazine was full, then tucked the pistol in his waistband. He bent to rummage through the duffel bag again, coming up with a small pair of pruning shears and a roll of white first-aid tape.

“Bo.” Jericho looked up at his brother, who towered like a sullen statue over the slumped younger Arab. “You mind waiting out here with him?” Jericho needed someone strong enough to keep the guy in line if he decided to make a fuss. But more than that, he didn’t want his kid brother to be a witness to what he was about to do. Killing the enemy in the heat of battle was one thing. Enhanced interrogation methods required an awfully cold heart. He wasn’t entirely sure how Thibodaux was going to handle it.

“Jacques,” he said, using the pruning shears to point at a standing lamp to the left of the front door. “Rip the power cord out of that.” He flipped the hall light switch on and off to make sure he had electricity. “Bring it with you to the back room. We’re going to need it.”

Behind the rifle, Mahoney shuddered.