Weapons of Mass Deception

CHAPTER 60

It still hurt to turn her head. Liz angled her chair toward the front of Tom Trask’s conference room so that she could see Don Riley.

The grainy video on the screen behind Don showed a stylishly dressed woman wearing dark glasses in the passenger seat of a convertible. She had her hand high on the thigh of an equally attractive man. He was laughing at something and his hand was reaching for a pair of passports.

“The driver, identified as Jose Carveza, was a Mexican national. He crossed the border into Mexico, with this, um, person, six days ago at Fabens, Texas. Mr. Carveza was discovered twenty-four hours later, shot in the back of the head, execution style. Local police considered the killing to be drug-related, given the MO. We didn’t find out about it until yesterday.” He switched slides, this one a close-up still photo of the woman.

“After closer scrutiny, and running the picture through facial recognition, we now believe this ‘woman’ is actually Rafiq Roshed.”

Liz spoke first. “Five days’ head start. He could be anywhere.” It still hurt to take a deep breath, but it was getting better every day. The cut on her temple had healed into a thin pale streak. With any luck, the doctor said she wouldn’t even have a scar. The sling on her right arm was a nuisance, but at least she was out of the temporary body brace for the broken ribs and fractured sternum. Even the bruising on her chest had faded into a pale greenish tinge.

Don nodded. “We believe he will try to make contact with his family. We have his assets frozen, of course, but we have no way of knowing what he might have set up in untraceable accounts.” He gave an apologetic grimace. “The Tri-Border Region is not known for rule of law, and our intelligence assets in the area are inadequate for a search of this magnitude.”

“So what’s our next move?” Brendan asked. Liz spun her chair so she could see him. He sat with his back to the window and the afternoon sun cast his face in shadow.

During the week she was in the hospital, Brendan had come to see her every day. When Liz tried to apologize for the night at the restaurant, he stopped her.

“Don’t,” he said with a mischievous smile. “I kind of enjoyed it. It’s not every day you get a beautiful woman throwing herself at you.”

“If I wasn’t in traction, I’d kick your ass.”

The banter came easily, and they talked for hours. On his second visit, Brendan held her hand. It wasn’t the grip of someone obligated to visit a friend in the hospital; it was the gentle touch of a man who knew what he wanted.

Liz smiled to herself. Brendan still hadn’t kissed her yet, but they were having dinner tonight…

Don clearing his throat brought her back to the moment. He flashed up a satellite photo of what looked like a sizable ranch.

“Estancia Refugio Seguro,” he said. “Safe Haven Ranch, Rafiq’s former estate in Argentina. His wife is dead, his fortune is frozen, and we have his kids under surveillance. Long story short, we have one very pissed-off terrorist on our hands. What do we do?” He shrugged.

“We search. We watch. We wait for him to make a mistake.”