The Lion's Game

CHAPTER 45

The Learjet continued its climb out of Colorado Springs. Asad Khalil moved to the port side of the aircraft and sat in the last seat. He stared out at the towering mountains as the aircraft continued north. It seemed to him that they had already climbed above the height of the tallest mountain, yet the aircraft continued straight ahead. In fact, he could now see the large, lighted expanse of Denver ahead.

He considered the possibility that the pilots may have been radioed a warning, and that they would feign a mechanical problem and land at some isolated airfield where the authorities were waiting for him. There was a quick and simple way to find out.

He stood and walked up the aisle to the cockpit. The partition was still open, and Khalil stood behind and between the two pilots. He said to them, "Are there any problems?"

Captain Fiske glanced over his shoulder and replied, "No, sir. Everything's fine."

Khalil studied the two pilots closely. He could always tell when someone was lying to him, or when someone was uneasy, no matter how good an actor that person thought he or she was. There appeared to be nothing in the manner of these two men that betrayed a problem, though he would like to have been able to see into their eyes.

Captain Fiske said, "We're beginning our turn west, over the mountains. We'll get some mountain turbulence, Mr. Perleman, so you may want to return to your seat."

Khalil turned and went back to his seat. The seat belt sign, which the captain had not used before, went on as a bell chimed.

The Lear banked to the left, then leveled off and continued on. Within a few minutes, the aircraft began to be buffeted by updrafts. Khalil could feel the jet continuing to gain altitude, its nose pointed up at a sharp angle.

The pilot came on the intercom and said, "We've just gotten our direct clearance for San Diego. En route time should be one hour and fifty minutes, which will put us on the ground at approximately six-fifteen A.M., California time. That's an hour earlier than Mountain Time, sir."

"Thank you. I think I understand the time zones now."

"Yes, sir."

In fact, Khalil thought, he had been traveling with the sun since Paris, and the earlier time changes had given him some extra hours, though he didn't particularly need them. His next time change would take him across the International Date Line, over the Pacific Ocean, and as Malik had said, "When you cross that line, the captain will announce this, and Mecca will be to the west, not in the east. Begin your prayers facing east, and end them facing west. God will hear you from both his ears, and you will be assured a safe journey home."

Khalil settled back in his leather seat, and his thoughts turned from Malik to Boris. It was Boris, he realized, who was more on his mind than Malik these last few days. Boris had been his primary briefing officer in regard to America and American customs, so it was natural now for Khalil to think more of Boris than of the others, who had trained his mind, body, and soul for this mission. Boris had trained him to understand the decadent culture in which Asad Khalil now found himself, though Boris did not always find American culture so decadent.

Boris had told him, "There are actually many cultures in America, from very high to very low. Also, there are many people, such as yourself, Asad, who believe deeply in God, and there are those who believe only in pleasure, money, and sex. There are patriots and those who show disloyalty to the central government. There are honest men and thieves. The average American is basically more honest than the thieving Libyans I've dealt with, despite your love of Allah. Do not underestimate the Americans-they've been underestimated by the British, the French, the Japanese warlords, Adolf Hitler, and by my former government. The British and French empires are gone, so is Hitler, the Japanese empire, and the Soviet empire. The Americans are still very much with us."

Khalil recalled replying to Boris, "The next century belongs to Islam."

Boris laughed and said, "You've been saying that for a thousand years. I'll tell you what is going to defeat you-your women. They are not going to put up with your nonsense much longer. The slaves will turn on their masters. I saw it happen in my country. One day your women will become tired of wearing veils, tired of being beaten, tired of being killed for fucking a man, tired of sitting home wasting their lives. When that day comes, people like you and your fucking mullahs had better be ready to negotiate."

"If you were a Muslim, that would be blasphemy,, and I would kill you right now."

To which Boris had replied, "Yob vas," then buried his fist in Khalil's solar plexus and walked away, leaving Khalil doubled over, gasping for air.

Khalil recalled that neither man spoke of the incident again, but both knew that Boris was already a dead man, so the incident needed no further resolution; it was the equivalent of a condemned prisoner spitting in the eye of the man who would behead him.

The aircraft was still climbing and still being tossed about by the mountain winds. Khalil looked down and saw the moonlit peaks of the snowcapped mountains, but the moonlight did not penetrate into the dark valleys.

He again settled into his seat and again thought of Boris. Boris, for all his blasphemies, his drunkenness, and his arrogance, had proved to be a good teacher. Boris knew America and Americans. His knowledge, Khalil had once discovered, had not been entirely accumulated during his time in America; Boris, in fact, had once worked in a secret training camp in Russia, a KGB facility, called, Khalil remembered, Mrs. Ivanova's Charm School, where Russian spies had learned to become Americans.

Boris had mentioned this secret to him once, in a drunken moment, of course, and told him that this was one of the last great secrets that had never been revealed by the old KGB after the collapse of the Soviet Union. The Americans, too, according to Boris, wanted this secret forever buried. Khalil had no idea what Boris was talking about, and Boris would not mention it again, even after much prodding by Khalil.

In any case, during Boris' time in that school, he claimed to have come to an understanding of the American soul and psyche beyond anything he'd learned by living in America. In fact, Boris had once said, "There are times when I think I am an American. I remember once going to a baseball game in Baltimore, and when The Star-Spangled Banner was played, I stood and felt tears forming in my eyes." Boris added, "Of course, I still feel the same way when I hear The Internationale." He smiled and said, "Perhaps I have developed multiple personalities."

Khalil recalled telling Boris, "As long as you don't develop multiple loyalties, you will be much happier and much healthier."

The intercom crackled, breaking into Khalil's memories of Boris.

Captain Fiske said, "Mr. Perleman, I apologize for the turbulence, but this is typical of a mountain range."

Khalil wondered why the pilot would apologize for something that God, not he, controlled.

Captain Fiske continued, "The air should smooth out in about twenty minutes. Our flight plan tonight will take us southwest across Colorado, then over what is known as the Four Corners-the place where the state borders of Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, and Utah come together. Then we continue southwest across the northern portion of Arizona. Unfortunately, you won't be able to see much after the moon sets, but you should be able to make out the desert and high plateaus."

Khalil had seen more desert in his life than these two had seen in their combined lives. He picked up his intercom and said, "Please let me know when we are passing over the Grand Canyon."

"Yes, sir. Hold on a moment… okay, in forty minutes we'll pass approximately fifty miles south of the South Rim. You may be able to see the general area of the Canyon from the right side, and certainly the high plateau beyond. But I'm afraid it won't be a very clear view from this altitude and distance."

Khalil had no interest at all in seeing the Grand Canyon. He was only assuring himself of a wake-up call in the event he fell asleep. He said, "Thank you. Don't hesitate to wake me when we approach the Canyon."

"Yes, sir."

Khalil tilted back his seat and closed his eyes. He thought again of Colonel Callum and was convinced he had made the correct decision in letting the Angel of Death deal with that murderer. He thought, too, of his next visit, to Lieutenant Wiggins. Wiggins, they had told him in Tripoli, was a man of erratic movements, unlike the men of habit and predictable existence that he had already killed. For this reason, and because Wiggins came at the end of his list, there would be someone in California to assist him. Khalil did not want or need assistance, but this portion of his mission was the most critical, the most dangerous, and also, as the world would soon discover, the most important.

Khalil felt himself falling into a sleep, and he dreamed again of a man who was stalking him. It was a confusing dream in which both he and the man were flying over the desert, Khalil in the lead, the man behind him, but out of sight-and flying over both of them was the Angel of Death that he had seen in the Kufra oasis. The Angel, he sensed, was contemplating which man he would touch and make fall to the earth.

This dream somehow transformed into a dream of him and the lady pilot flying naked, hand in hand, looking for a flat rooftop on which to alight so they could engage in carnal pleasure. Each building they saw below had been destroyed by a bomb.

The intercom crackled, and Khalil awoke with a start, sweat on his face, and his organ aroused.

The pilot said, " Grand Canyon coming up to your right, Mr. Perleman."

Khalil took a long breath, cleared his throat, and said into the intercom, "Thank you."

He rose and went into the lavatory. As he washed his face and hands in cold water, the dreams continued to run through his mind.

He returned to his seat and glanced out the window. The full moon had nearly set on the horizon, and the earth below was black.

He reached for the airphone and dialed a number from memory. A man's voice answered, "Hello."

Khalil said, "This is Perleman. I'm sorry to have awakened you."

The man replied, "This is Tannenbaum. It is no problem. I sleep alone."

"Good. I'm calling to see if we have business to do."

The man said, "The business climate is good here."

"And where are our competitors?"

"They are nowhere to be seen."

The rehearsed exchange complete, Khalil concluded with, "I look forward to our meeting."

"As planned."

Khalil hung up and drew a deep breath, then picked up the intercom.

The captain answered, "Yes, Mr. Perleman?"

Khalil said, "My phone call has necessitated another change of plans."

"Yes, sir."

Boris had said to Khalil, "Mr. Perleman should not be overly apologetic when he keeps changing his flight plans. Mr. Perleman is Jewish, and he is paying good money, and he wants service for his money. Business comes firsthand everyone else's inconvenience is of no concern to him."

Khalil said to the pilot, "I need now to go to Santa Monica. I assume that is not a problem."

The pilot replied, "No, sir. There isn't much difference in flight time from our present position."

Khalil already knew that. "Good."

Captain Fiske continued, "There won't be any delay with Air Traffic Control at this hour."

"What is our flight time to Santa Monica?"

"I'm putting in the coordinates now, sir… okay, our flight time will be about forty minutes, which will get us near the municipal airport at about six A.M. We may have to slow up en route to be sure to land after six because of the noise curfew."

"I understand."

Twenty minutes later, the Learjet began its descent, and Khalil could see a low range of mountains in the soft glow of the sunrise behind them.

Captain Fiske came on the intercom and said, "We're beginning our descent, sir, so you may want to fasten your seat belt. Those are the San Bernardino Mountains ahead. Also, you can see the lights from the eastern edge of Los Angeles below. Santa Monica Airport is to your left front, near where the coast meets the ocean. We'll be on the ground in ten minutes."

Khalil did not reply. He felt the aircraft steepening its descent, and he could see enormous ribbons of lighted highways and roads below.

He set his wristwatch to California time, which was now 5:55 A.M.

He heard the pilot speaking on the radio, but could not hear the other end of the conversation because the pilots were listening on their earphones. They had not always used the earphones during the flight from New York, and Khalil had now and then been able to hear radio transmissions. He was not suspicious regarding the earphones, but it was worth noting in the event that other small deviations developed.

This flight had been planned in Tripoli so that his change of destination, announced over the Grand Canyon, would put him in Santa Monica no later-or even a few minutes earlier than if he'd landed in San Diego-and no earlier than the noise curfew allowed. If they were waiting for him in San Diego, and they discovered that he was going to Santa Monica, they had less than forty minutes to set a trap there. If it took longer to put the trap into place, the pilot would inform him of some delay, and Asad Khalil would make another request for a flight plan change, this time with a pistol to the pilot's head. Their alternate airport would be a small abandoned facility in the San Bernardino Mountains, only a few minutes' flying time from where they were now. A car with keys taped under the wheel well was waiting for him there. The authorities would soon learn who had the advantage-it was Asad Khalil in a private jet aircraft with a pistol.

They flew out over the ocean, then turned back toward the coast and continued their descent.

He waited for some indication of a delay in landing, but then he heard the Lear's landing gear being lowered, then watched the flaps extend from the back of the wing. Landing lights blinked on the tips of the wings and flashed into the cabin through the portholes.

All of these changes in flight plans, he knew, were no assurance that he would be safe on the ground. But since the possibility existed to change plans almost at will, it was decided to do so, if for no other reason than to make life more difficult for the Americans, if they were trying to trap him.

Malik had shown him two interesting films. In the first film, shown in slow motion, a lion was in full pursuit of a gazelle. The gazelle changed course to the left and Malik said, "Notice that the lion does not overcompensate in his turn to the left in order to intercept his prey. The lion knows that the gazelle can change direction quickly to the right, and the lion will overshoot his prey and lose him. The lion only changes directions at the same angle as his prey and follows directly behind him. He will not be fooled, and he knows that his speed will overtake even the gazelle, as long as he focuses on the animal's rear legs." The film ended with the lion leaping onto the haunches of the gazelle, who collapsed under the weight of his pursuer and waited quietly for his death.

The next film showed a lion being pursued across a grassy plain by a Land Rover in which two men and two women rode. The people in the vehicle, according to the narrator, were trying to get close enough to the lion to shoot a tranquilizing dart into him so that he could be captured for some scientific purpose.

This film, too, was in slow motion, and Khalil noticed that the lion at first tried to rely on its speed to outdistance the vehicle, but as the lion tired, he changed direction to the right, and the vehicle went to the right as well, but at a steeper angle, in order to intercept the lion. But the lion, who now was in the position of a gazelle, knew by instinct and experience what the vehicle was doing, and the lion suddenly veered to the left, and the vehicle found itself far to the right of the retreating lion. The film ended, and Khalil never knew if the lion escaped.

Malik had said, "The lion, when he is the hunter, remains focused on his prey. The lion, as the hunted, relies on his knowledge and instincts as a hunter to trick his pursuers. There are times when you must change directions to avoid your pursuers, and times when an unnecessary change of direction allows your prey to escape. The worst change of direction is that which leads you directly into a trap. Know when to change course, and when to increase your speed, and when to slow your pace if you smell danger ahead. Know, too, when to stop and blend into the bush. A gazelle who has escaped the lion quickly goes back to its mindless grazing. The gazelle is happy filling its belly with grass and not exerting itself. The lion still wants its meat, and will wait for the gazelle to get even fatter and slower."

The Learjet passed over the threshold of the runway, and Khalil looked out the porthole as the aircraft touched down on the concrete landing strip.

The Lear came to a quick stop, then exited onto a taxi-way. A few minutes later, the Learjet taxied up to a nearly deserted General Aviation ramp.

Khalil watched closely through the cabin window, then stood, picked up his bag, walked to the front of the aircraft, and knelt behind the pilots. He scanned the scene through the cockpit windows and saw a man in front of them holding a set of lighted wands to guide the aircraft into a parking spot directly in front of the facility building.

Captain Fiske shut down the engines and said to his passenger, "Here we are, Mr. Perleman. Do you need a ride somewhere?"

"No. I am being met." Though I don't know by whom. Khalil continued to look through the cockpit windows.

The co-pilot, Sanford, unfastened his harness, stood, and excused himself as he slid past his passenger.

Sanford opened the cabin door and a soft breeze blew into the aircraft. Sanford then stepped out of the aircraft, and Asad Khalil followed him, ready to say good-bye, or to shoot the man in the head, depending on what happened in the next few seconds.

Captain Fiske also exited the aircraft, and the three men stood together in the cool dawn air. Khalil said, "I am to meet my colleague in the coffee shop."

"Yes, sir," said Captain Fiske. "There was a coffee shop in that two-story building last time I was here. Should be open now."

Khalil's eyes darted around at the hangars and the maintenance buildings, still in early morning shadow.

Captain Fiske said, "Over there, sir. That building with all the windows."

"Yes, I see it." He looked at his watch and said to Captain Fiske, "I will be driven to Burbank. How long will the drive be?"

Both pilots considered the question, then Terry Sanford replied, "Well, Burbank Airport is only about twelve miles north of here, so it shouldn't take long by car at this hour. Maybe twenty, thirty minutes."

In case the pilots were wondering, Khalil said, "Perhaps I should have gone directly to the airport there."

"Well, the noise curfew there lifts at seven A.M."

'Ah, then that's why my colleague instructed me to meet him here."

"Yes, sir. Probably."

In fact, Khalil knew all of this, and he smiled to himself at the thought of his pilots discovering sometime in the future that their passenger was not as ignorant as they themselves had been regarding his flight plans. He said to them, "Thank you." He addressed both men and said, "And I thank you for your assistance and your company."

Both pilots replied that it had been a pleasure having him on board. Khalil doubted their sincerity, but he gave each man a hundred dollars in cash and said, "I will request you both the next time I need your service."

They thanked Mr. Perleman, touched their caps, and walked off toward the open hangar.

Asad Khalil stood alone, exposed on the open ramp, and waited for the quiet to explode into screaming and running men. But nothing happened, which did not surprise him. He sensed no danger, and felt the presence of God in the rising sun.

He walked unhurriedly toward the glass building to the right of the hangar and entered.

He found the coffee shop and saw a man sitting alone at a table. The man wore jeans and a blue T-shirt and was reading the Los Angeles Times. Like himself, the man had Semitic features and was about his age. Asad Khalil approached the man and said, "Mr. Tannenbaum?"

The man stood. "Yes. Mr. Perleman?"

They shook hands, and the man who called himself Tannenbaum asked, "Would you like coffee?"

"I think we should go." Khalil exited the coffee shop.

The man paid for his coffee at the cash register and met Mr. Perleman outside the coffee shop. They left the building and began walking to the parking lot. Mr. Tannenbaum, still speaking English, inquired, "You have had a good journey?"

"If I had not, would I be here?"

The man didn't reply. He sensed that this compatriot walking beside him was not looking for companionship or idle talk.

Khalil asked, "Are you sure you weren't followed?"

"Yes, I'm certain. I am not involved in anything that would cause me to come to the attention of the authorities."

Khalil replied in Arabic, "You are not now involved in any such thing. Do not make any such assumptions, my friend."

The man answered in Arabic, "Of course. I apologize." They approached a blue van parked in the lot. On the side of the van were the words RAPID DELIVERY SERVICE-LOCAL AND STATEWIDE-GUARANTEED SAME OR NEXT DAY DELIVERY, followed by a phone number.

The man unlocked the doors and got into the driver's seat. Khalil climbed into the passenger seat and glanced into the rear of the van where a dozen packages sat on the floor.

The man started the engine and said, "Please fasten your seat belt to avoid being stopped by the police."

Khalil fastened his seat belt, keeping his black bag on his lap. He said, "Route Four-Zero-Five, north."

The man put the van in gear and drove out of the lot, then out of the municipal airport. Within a few minutes, they were on a wide Interstate, heading north. Khalil and the driver both looked in their sideview mirrors as they gathered speed.

The sky had lightened, and Khalil looked around as they continued north. He saw exit signs for Century City, Twentieth Century-Fox Studios, West Hollywood, Beverly Hills, and something called UCLA. Khalil knew that Hollywood was where the American movies were made, but he had no interest in that subject, and his driver volunteered no information.

The driver said, "I have parcels in the rear addressed to Mr. Perleman."

Khalil did not reply.

The driver added, "Of course I do not know what is in them, but I trust you will find everything you need."

Again, Khalil made no reply.

The driver remained quiet, and Khalil saw that the man was becoming uneasy, so Khalil addressed him by his real name and said, "So, Azim, you are from Benghazi."

"Yes."

"Do you miss your country?"

"Of course."

"And you miss your family. Your father, I believe, is still living in Libya."

Azim hesitated, then replied, "Yes."

"Soon you will be able to pay for a visit home, and you can shower your family with gifts."

"Yes."

They drove in silence awhile, both continuing to glance at the sideview mirrors.

They approached an interchange where the Interstate crossed the Ventura Freeway. To the east was Burbank and the west led to Ventura. Azim said, "I was told you had the address of your meeting."

Khalil replied, "I was told you had the address."

Azim nearly ran the van off the road and began sputtering, "No… no… I know nothing… they told me-"

Khalil laughed and put his hand on Azim's shoulder. "Oh, yes. I forgot. I have the address. Take the exit for Ventura."

Azim forced a smile and a small laugh, then slowed into the right-hand lane and took the exit for Ventura.

Asad Khalil looked at the wide valley filled with houses and commercial buildings, then looked off at the high hills in the distance. He noted, too, the palm trees, which reminded him of home.

Khalil dismissed his thoughts of home and thought of his next meal. Elwood Wiggins had been an elusive prey, but eventually he had been located in Burbank, then had unexpectedly moved to the place called Ventura farther north, up the coast. In fact, this move was fateful, and placed Wiggins closer to where Asad Khalil intended to end his visit to America. Khalil could not doubt that the hand of Allah was moving the last few players of the game into place.

If Lieutenant Wiggins was at home, then Asad Khalil could finish this business today, and move on to unfinished business.

If Lieutenant Elwood Wiggins was not at home, then when he ultimately returned home, he would find in his house a hungry lion waiting to rip out his throat.

Khalil let out a small laugh, and Azim glanced at him and smiled, but Azim's smile quickly faded as he saw the expression that had accompanied the laugh. Azim felt the hairs on his neck rise as he stared at his passenger, who had seemed to transform from man to beast.