Rules of Betrayal

77

Jonathan stepped off the aircraft and walked briskly up the skyway into the terminal at JFK International Airport in New York City. He was happy to be back on solid ground. The remaining hours of the flight had passed with maddening slowness. He’d had too much time to question what steps he might take to find Sultan Haq and precious little success in coming up with the answers. The fact was, there was little he could do. He was traveling on a false passport. He was wanted for questioning by U.S. intelligence. He could hardly approach the first policeman and say, “Hello, I’m an operative working for Division and I believe that someone is trying to smuggle a nuclear weapon into the United States.” Without Frank Connor to vouch for him, he could count on his warnings being met with arrest and incarceration.

Danni walked beside him. She had her cell phone out and was checking her voicemail. She pulled at his elbow and mouthed for him to wait while she listened to a message. Immediately her eyes narrowed and her shoulders tightened. “Here,” she said after what seemed like a while. “It’s Frank.”

“Connor? What did he say?”

“Listen for yourself.”

Jonathan raised the phone to his ear. “Hello, Danni. You know who this is.” Connor’s voice sounded thin, unsteady. It was obvious the man was in pain. “Haq got away. He’s here in the States, or will be soon. My guess is his target is on the eastern seaboard, probably Washington or New York. Prince Rashid is helping him. I don’t know how or why or anything else, just that Haq is on his way. I talked to Benny. He’s setting something up. That’s all I know for now. I’ve got some issues of my own. Oh, and be careful, both of you. Emma’s here, and she’s after Haq, too.”

“Who’s Benny?” asked Jonathan when the message was finished.

“My Frank.”

They walked to the end of the long, featureless corridor and descended a flight of steps. A sign on the wall read, “Welcome to the United States.” They proceeded to the end of another corridor. The passport area opened to their left. They stood in the line reserved for non-Americans. It advanced slowly.

“Excuse me, Dr. Ransom? My name is Bob. I’m with DHS-the Department of Homeland Security. Mind coming with me?”

Bob was fifty, balding, and avuncular and wore a black leather jacket over a turtleneck and jeans. Another man stood next to him, also in jeans and a leather jacket, but taller and lean, with gaunt cheeks and sunken black eyes.

Unexpectedly, Danni stepped forward and kissed him on both cheeks. “Hello, Benny,” she said.

“Looks like you got yourself into trouble,” said Benny, reprovingly.

Danni didn’t flinch. “I did what I did.”

“So you’re not arresting me?” said Jonathan.

“Not yet,” said Bob. “Come with me.”

He led them through a series of doors and hallways to a shabby, windowless office. Posters and pamphlets advertising the various ways of getting around New York adorned the walls. They sat down at a table littered with empty Styrofoam cups.

“Benny tells me that we have the possibility of a nuclear device being smuggled into the United States. Is that correct?”

“We think so,” said Jonathan. “Unfortunately, we don’t have much of an idea where.”

“Tell me what you know. If you can give me some details, I’ll do my best to alert the proper authorities. I take what Benny tells me very seriously.”

Jonathan gave a summary of what he had learned and witnessed the past few days at Balfour’s estate. He drew a picture of the reconfigured warhead and offered a description of Sultan Haq. “Frank Connor believes the target area is either Washington or New York,” he said in closing.

“That doesn’t help us much,” said Bob.

Danni leaned forward. “He also mentioned that Prince Rashid of the UAE is involved.”

“We’re trying to track him down now,” said Benny. “I have a call in to the American Secret Service to see if he’s due for a visit soon.”

“A sketch artist is on the way,” added Bob. “It will help to have a portrait to get out to all ports of entry. You want some coffee while we wait?”

Jonathan stood. Suddenly the room was too small, the lights too bright. “Is that it?” he asked. “We’re just going to sit and wait for the bomb to go off?”

Bob opened his hands. “You’re not giving us much to go on.”

“Haq is here,” continued Jonathan, unable to contain his frustration. “If Emma’s looking for him, you’d better believe this is happening now.”

“Who’s Emma?” asked Bob, searching the faces around him for clarification.

Danni spoke swiftly to Benny, and Benny said, “Don’t worry about it. We don’t talk about her.”

Jonathan stopped his pacing. His eye had landed on a cluster of pamphlets drooping out of a plastic holder attached to the bottom of a poster for the Metropolitan Transportation Association. The pamphlets had a blue border across the top, and there was something about the logo that looked familiar.

“Jonathan? Are you all right?” Danni stood and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah.” He took a pamphlet giving the train schedule for White Plains, Chappaqua, and Mount Kisco. “Are there more of these?”

“Don’t worry about taking a train,” said Bob, irritated. “We have cars at DHS.”

Jonathan pulled out all the pamphlets and started leafing through them. Then he saw it. On one of the pamphlets, the border read, “Metro-North Railroad.” M-E-T-R-O-N. “Haq had one of these,” he said. “Not an original. It was something he’d downloaded off the Net. Are there lines that begin with H-A-R?”

“Harlem Line,” said Bob.

“And N-E-W-H?”

“New Haven Line.”

“Where do they go?”

Bob looked at the faces staring at him. He shrugged, as if he’d been asked the dumbest question in the world. “Grand Central Station.”