The Identity Mine

XXXVII

Ethan sat in the passenger seat of an unmarked Metropolitan Police Department cruiser as he waited for the word to go.

The building across the street was small, nestled among many others on a tree lined boulevard where a parade of former three — story homes had been converted into small shops and businesses. Most belonged to financiers, law firms and other professional outfits, polished brass plaques on the walls.

‘You got a visual yet?’ Ethan asked.

His voice was carried via microphone transmitter to one of several officers arrayed around the area, all waiting for the right time to launch the raid.

‘Negative,’ came the reply, ‘no movement inside.’

Ethan shifted in his seat and tried to get comfortable. The sunshine streaming through the windshield was uncomfortably hot, but they could not sit with the air conditioning running for fear of overheating the engine, and Ethan might possibly be recognized if he stepped out of the vehicle too soon.

He figured that whoever owned the offices would be showing up soon enough, and as soon as they did he would move in with the police and take all of the company’s records for the staff at the DIA to sift through in an attempt to track down Abrahem Nassir’s benefactors. He had a court’s subpoena in his pocket, clearing them to confiscate anything that might lead to a much needed breakthrough in the case.

Ethan rubbed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath of air.

‘You okay, man?’ the officer next to him asked.

‘Long night,’ Ethan replied. ‘When this is over I’m gonna sleep for a week.’

‘Wish I could,’ the officer replied. ‘Two kids, both under three.’

‘I’d rather take on these terrorists,’ Ethan murmured in reply, still convinced that young children would be the end of him.

‘Most days so would I,’ the officer replied. ‘Coming to work is a nice break, and…’

‘We’ve got movement.’

Adrenaline shot through Ethan’s veins and he sat up in his seat as he scanned the street behind him using the vehicle’s mirrors for any sign of the company’s owners. Almost immediately he saw a sleek, silver Mercedes pull into the sidewalk outside the building and a young man climbed out. He was dressed in a smart suit, his hair black and cut short, his shirt crisp and white, every inch the DC entrepreneur.

‘Wait for him to get the door open,’ Ethan whispered into his microphone.

The radio remained silent as the man strode up the steps to the front of the building and reached out with a key to unlock the door. Ethan reached out for his door handle, and as the suited man opened the door Ethan climbed out of the vehicle.

‘Go, now!’

From all corners of the street police officers appeared with weapons drawn as they sprinted toward the building. Ethan ran hard, feeling slightly restricted beneath the bullet proof vest that he wore, and dashed up the steps even as the suited man whirled with eyes wide at the shouts coming from the officers.

‘Stand still, hands on your head!’ Ethan yelled.

The suited man panicked and tried to slam the door shut. Ethan leaned his shoulder in as he ran and smashed into the door just before the latch caught. The door flew open and the suited man was hurled backwards onto the tiled floor of the corridor inside as Ethan skittered to a halt over him with his pistol aimed between the man’s eyes.

‘Hands on your head!’

The man cowered with his hands over his head as the police barged into the building, Ethan moving to one side to let them pour in and apprehend the suited man. Ethan lowered his pistol as he watched officers flood through the interior of the building and clear the other rooms, thundering up the staircases and barging through doors.

‘All clear!’

The police stood back from the suited man, who was now on his knees with his hands cuffed behind his back as Ethan holstered his pistol and grabbed hold of his collar. Ethan hauled the man to his feet and slammed him against the wall.

‘Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s rude to slam a door in somebody’s face?’

A sliver of defiance broke through the suited man’s fear. ‘It’s rude to kick somebody’s door in too.’

‘Why’d you try to shut me out?’

‘I was afraid, I didn’t know who you were.’

‘Didn’t the uniforms give you a clue?’ Ethan asked as he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the watching police.

‘I didn’t see them first. I saw you and you’re not wearing a uniform.’

‘Name?’

‘Rasheed,’ the man replied. ‘Rasheed Adel.’

‘This your business, Rasheed?’

‘Yes. I mean, no. I run it for my uncle but he’s never here.’

‘Who’s your uncle, Rasheed?’

‘Tariq,’ Rasheed replied. ‘What’s this all about?’

Ethan looked over his shoulder to see the main office behind him, sunlight streaming through bay windows that looked out over the tree lined boulevard. He turned and dragged Rasheed into the room and sat him down at his desk, the police following with weapons still drawn.

Ethan pulled the subpoena from his pocket and slammed it down in front of Rasheed.

‘This is signed by a court judge from the District, which means you have to do everything it says or you wind up in jail. It gives us the right to confiscate every single thing in this office, which is exactly what we’re going to do. But you’re going to help us do our job much faster than that, right Rasheed?’

Rasheed nodded frantically as Ethan jabbed a finger at the computer before Rasheed, the start button lighting up as the hard drive began to boot.

‘You’re going to bring up all of the records for flights into and out of Africa hired by this company. I want to know who flew where, and you’re going to start by telling me all about your uncle and a man named Abrahem Nassir.’

Rasheed frowned. ‘I don’t know anybody by that name.’

‘You will,’ Ethan promised as he handed Rasheed another piece of paper with a tail registration written upon it. ‘This aircraft, who hired it?’

Rasheed frowned.

‘Nobody,’ he said.

‘You and I both know that’s a lie,’ Ethan growled.

‘No, it’s not! That aircraft belongs to my uncle. It’s not been hired by anybody for some time.’

Ethan glanced at the screen as it lit up with Rasheed’s access details.

‘Your Uncle is called Tariq, you said?’

‘Yes, Tariq Adel. He is from Iraq, but mostly lives in Dubai after the wars.’

‘He owns a private jet?’ Ethan asked.

‘He owns twelve of them,’ Rasheed replied. ‘Tariq made his money in oil before the first Gulf War in 1991. Tariq did not agree with Saddam Hussein’s antagonizing of the West and feared that his plans to invade Kuwait would place the country’s economy in danger, so he sold his oil company and went into aviation hire. He moved to Dubai in 1989.’

Ethan turned to the police officers.

‘Take the place apart and have technical get in here and go through the computers.’

As the police officers whirled to undertake their duties, Ethan turned back to Rasheed.

‘Tariq, where is he now?’

Rasheed shrugged helplessly. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to him in weeks and…’

Ethan grabbed Rasheed’s collar and shoved him forward. The man’s nose impacted the desk with a dull crunch and a squeal of pain. Rasheed’s blood spilled across his crisp white shirt and was smeared on the desk as Ethan yanked him back up and glared into his eyes.

‘You’re right, I’m not a police officer and the law doesn’t apply to me, so either you start talking real fast or by the end of this you’ll wind up in Cook County Jail for a few years while I ensure that your case goes through real slowly. I’m guessing that sharing a cell with a couple of killers who like pretty young guys isn’t something you want to check out?’

‘You broke my nose!’ Rasheed coughed in futile rage.

‘Prison will break your will,’ Ethan hissed. ‘You got that broken nose resisting arrest, Rasheed. You shut the door in my face and dashed in here, and I pursued and detained you at your desk as you were trying to delete all of the files on your hard drive.’

‘That’s not true!’

‘Nobody else cares, Rasheed. Your uncle Tariq is involved in something that could result in him being shot dead on sight, so if you want to stay out of jail and perhaps save your uncle’s life then start damn well talking!!‘

Ethan shouted his last into Rasheed’s ear and the younger man suddenly collapsed into sobs as he slumped in his seat.

‘Okay, okay! Tariq flew from Morocco to Italy yesterday, and then to the United Kingdom. From there, he flew here and arrived in the early hours of this morning.’

‘What’s he doing here?’

‘I don’t know, honestly I don’t know! He’s not visited America in years! I only know that he’s here because he called and asked me to arrange the necessary paperwork for his flight with customs!’

Ethan shoved Rasheed to one side and pulled his cell phone out as he turned away and dialed a number. Jarvis answered within seconds.

‘Talk to me.’

‘Tariq Adel, Iraqi national now living in Dubai. He’s not on our radar but he’s got money from Iraqi oil and a high — class aviation business. He’s in the country, arrived last night. My guess is that he’s the benefactor behind Abrahem’s travel plans and funding. We find Tariq, we might find Abrahem.’

‘We’re on it,’ Jarvis promised, and the line went silent.

Ethan shut the cell off and turned to two of the armed police waiting nearby and gestured them over. The two men strode into the office and aimed their rifles at Rasheed. Ethan looked down at the terrified young man.

‘You really want to earn yourself some brownie points? Tell me where your uncle would stay while in the country. I want the location of every car hire, building rental and vacation resort he’s ever stayed at in the United States, with emphasis on recent locations in the DC area, understood?’

Rasheed bobbed his head up and down, his eyes wide with panic, and Ethan allowed himself the thought that perhaps the young man was innocent of any involvement in what his uncle had been doing. He pulled a tissue from his pocket and handed it to Rasheed, softening his tone slightly.

‘Get it done and you’ll be free to go soon.’

Rasheed took the tissue and used it to stem the flow of blood from his nose as he turned to the computer and began typing.

Ethan turned to the window and was surprised to see a Lincoln parked across the street and an auburn — haired woman sitting watching the building from behind sunglasses. Despite himself, a smile curled from the corner of his lips as he recognized Special Agent Hannah Ford watching him. To his surprise he realized that he was glad that she was okay and had obviously returned unharmed from Hong Kong.

‘He’s got something,’ an officer said from behind him.

Ethan turned back to Rasheed and saw on the computer screen a digital receipt.

‘A lock up, near the east side,’ Rasheed said, his voice now somewhat distorted by the blood clogging his broken nose. ‘It was rented a few weeks ago, but nothing’s stored there and it’s the most recent purchase made in DC by my uncle’s company.’

Ethan scanned the address and nodded.

‘Good, take him to get some medical attention,’ Ethan said as he pulled his cell out again. Jarvis answered even more quickly this time.

‘Bethesda, District Container Storage, Lot Four,’ Ethan said as he read off the screen. ‘I’m heading there now.’

‘I’ll send back up,’ Jarvis replied.