Legacies

17.

"So," Kemel said. "You've had all day to find out who this man is, and you have no idea."

Sam Baker looked flustered as Kemel watched him pace back and forth in the living room of his apartment. And well he should. He deserved to be more than flustered; he should look dejected and suicidally ashamed. Not only had he been made to look foolish by this nameless stranger, his bloated bonus was in serious jeopardy.

"It's like the guy doesn't fucking exist."

"Oh, he exists, Mr. Baker. The few remaining survivors of your team can attest to that."

"Yeah, but a guy with those kind of finely honed chops should have a rep, a name, a signature. People like me, or people I know, should have heard of him. He's obviously a merc, and if he's a merc, I should know him. Guys like that don't appear out of nowhere. They don't pop onto the street full grown. They gotta come up through the ranks. But not this guy. He's like some kinda ghost, coming out of the woodwork, fucking things up, then disappearing."

"I do not care about his name," Kemel said, controlling his anger. This man was such a fool. Why hadn't Nazer assigned him someone more competent? "I merely want you to deal with him."

"Can't deal with him if I can't find him."

"Perhaps he will find you."

He caught a flash of uncertainty before Baker's expression hardened. "I'm ready for him. I see him, he's dead."

"Let us hope so," Kemel said, and turned away.

He had spent an anxiety-ridden day, monitoring the news—a radio or television on in every room—waiting to hear the dreaded announcement of a revolutionary new power source that would change the world. But he had heard nothing. What was the American expression? No news is good news. Yes, in this case, that was most certainly so.

And the longer the span of no news, the better.

Dare I hope? he'd wondered.

If Alicia Clayton had proof of something so awe-inspiring as her father's technology, surely she would be acting on it. Surely she would be trumpeting it to the world.

The longer the silence, the more likely that she and her hireling—her "merc," as Baker called him—had found nothing in the house.

Kemel had spent the day fasting, praying that it was so. And then, wonderful news. A call from Gordon Haffner saying he had heard from the Clayton woman's attorney and the sale of the house was proceeding.

Kemel had been jubilant. Now he could return to Riyadh and help extricate Ghali from the criminal charges against him.

But then suspicion had reared its head like a desert rat. What if her desire to proceed with the sale was a ruse, a ploy to dupe him into dropping his guard? Kemel had checked with Baker, who had been busy disposing of the bodies of his men, and instructed him to use the transponder in the Clayton woman's handbag to track her movements. So far she had not left her workplace.

Perhaps she truly meant to sell the house after all. Ten million dollars was, after all, ten mill—

The phone rang. Kemel answered it and recognized Thomas Clayton's voice, although it sounded more nasal than usual.

"They were here!" he said. "They know!"

Fear sank its cold talons into Kemel's shoulders. "Who? Who knows?"

"Alicia and her bully boy. He broke my goddamn nose!"

"You said, 'they know.' What do they know?"

"Everything! More than we do!"

The room spun. Everything! Oh, no. This could not be. Allah, please—

"The transmitter?"

"No. I don't think they have that. At least not yet. But I've got a bad feeling they may know a way to find it. What do we do?"

Kemel closed his eyes and reached for calmness, found the hem of its thobe, and clutched it.

"I will tell you soon."

He hung up and gave Baker a quick summary, omitting, as usual, the nature of what they sought.

"Simple enough," the mercenary said. "We go get the girl and make her tell us. And believe me—let me at her, and she'll talk."

Kemel closed his eyes again. This man was such an idiot.

"What if she doesn't know how to find what we seek?" he said softly. "That will surely change her mind about selling the house. And what if her hireling is there and disables what few men you have left? What if, in your infinite clumsiness, you kill her before you learn what we need to know?"

"Hey, listen. I—"

"No. You will not touch her. But you will use the transponder to track her. If she makes any move to leave the city, you will inform me and together we will follow her. Together. Is that clear?"

"Yeah, but—"

"IS… THAT… CLEAR?" Kemel shouted the words.

"Clear," Baker said.

"Good. Start tracking her immediately. And keep me informed."

He turned back to the window and stared unseeing at the night. He asked Allah to forgive him for the instant of doubt when he thought his God had deserted him. Now he saw Allah's plan. Alicia Clayton was His instrument, and would guide Kemel to her father's secret. Praise Allah.