The Janus Reprisal

36

Manhar watched Dattar’s limousine pull into the gated drive of a house in Long Island. True to their word, Howell and Beckmann had let him go, and he had spent the first few hours holed up next to Khalil’s base camp. He’d been unable to decide what to do. To return home without having accomplished his goal meant death; that was certain. To admit failure to Khalil meant death by slow torture. He had huddled in a dark corner watching the half-finished building for any signs of his boss, and it was then that he saw Khalil’s limo pull up. He’d seen them push the woman into the construction site and later watched Smith stroll down the street and disappear inside. It was to his great dismay that he saw Khalil run away. He’d hoped that Smith would kill him.

He’d kept his ear to the ground during the entire mission and had heard a rumor that Dattar was flying into the States to stay at the home of a Pakistani nationalist who lived in Long Island. To the neighbors, this man was a Turkish import-export entrepreneur, but he was actually an arms trader. The rumor was that Dattar was renting the house for his own use.

Now Manhar stepped out of the bushes and ran behind the car in an awkward, limping motion due to his injured knee, and slid into the compound before the gates closed completely. The driveway was not long, perhaps fifty feet. He walked slowly toward the house, trying to stay calm as Dattar’s bodyguards climbed out from inside the limousine. Dattar himself stepped out next. Both he and the three bodyguards pulled weapons and trained them on him. He put his hands in the air.

“I’m unarmed. I just come to give you a proposition, Mr. Dattar, on how to recoup your stolen money.”

Dattar looked Manhar up and down. “Who are you?”

“Manhar. Khalil’s man. He plans on double-crossing you, and I thought you should know.”

Manhar was pleased to see the two bodyguards exchange a glance. Dattar raised an eyebrow but didn’t move. It was clear that Manhar had his attention.

“Why should I believe you?” Dattar said.

“I also know that he managed to let Howell slip out of his hands, and Smith nearly killed him one day ago. Smith did kill his first lieutenant.”

“And?”

“And I know where you can find Khalil. I know all of his safe houses. I’ll give you the information.”

“In exchange for what?”

“Safe passage home.”

Dattar shook his head. “Not enough. Leaving me with an address gets me nowhere, as I still have to get Khalil. And that will not be easy. You want to go home? You’ll have to assist me in catching him.”

Manhar didn’t like this development at all. He would rather never see Khalil again. Dattar must have noted Manhar’s hesitation because he frowned.

“You’re either in all the way or out. Make a choice. Now.” Manhar’s choices had been taken from him the minute he’d screwed up on killing Howell, this much he knew. He sighed.

“I’m in. Tell me what it is you want me to do.”

Dattar waved him forward. “In the house. We’ll lay it out for you.”

Manhar followed Dattar into the spacious home and through the main entrance to a kitchen filled with dark wood cabinets, granite countertops, and a large central island. Manhar had never seen such a kitchen. It was all he could do not to stare, his mouth open. He did his best to act nonchalant and took a seat at the table while Dattar reached into the refrigerator and removed a bottle of water. Dattar poured himself a glass, but offered nothing to Manhar.

A second, thin man entered the room and flicked a glance Manhar’s way. Dattar jerked a chin at him. “That’s Rajiid.” A third man appeared and placed a laptop computer on the island. He stared at the screen. “And that’s Nihal. My lead strategists. You will listen to them. This one,” he waved the glass in Manhar’s direction, “wishes to bring us to Khalil. He says Khalil is intent on taking my money from the American and pocketing it himself.”

Rajiid frowned. “Is Smith dead? Khalil was to have killed him days ago. He said it would be easy.”

Manhar shook his head. “Not only is Smith alive, but it was he who nearly killed Khalil.”

“And the American?”

“She’s with Smith.”

Dattar stopped drinking in what looked to Manhar like mid-swallow. He put the glass down.

“Smith has her? How did he know about her?”

Manhar shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Dattar started to pace.

“How he knows of her is unimportant,” Rajiid said. “What is important—”

“What is important is that she lives long enough to tell me where the money is!” Dattar’s voice carried an intensity that made Manhar sit up straighter. Rajiid inhaled.

“What is important is that we can still go forward with the plan,” Rajiid said. “After we do, you’ll have all the money and power you need.”

Dattar leveled a stare at Rajiid. “No one steals from me and gets away with it. Especially not hundreds of millions whisked away while I rotted in jail.”

“She won’t die immediately. We can begin and still have enough time to find her.”

“And who will stay when the weapon is placed, huh? I won’t be coming back here to die from my own weapon, will you?”

Rajiid shifted in his seat.

“I thought not,” Dattar said. “This is why I wanted Smith dead and her captured before we began, remember? I hired the best in the business to kill him, and now I’m told that Smith not only lives, but he survived an attack.”

“But—”

Nihal barked a laugh. It was such a strange reaction that Manhar stared at him. Both Rajiid and Dattar looked at Nihal as well, and the fury on Dattar’s face was evident.

“I think our troubles are over,” Nihal said. He sat back, a smirk on his face. “I have an e-mail from the American. She wants to cut a deal.”