Ground Zero Read online

  “Fouad Muallah,” Lucy said. She bit her lips to keep from laughing out loud. “I’ll see what we can find out, Charles.”

  “You do have some good resources,” D’Arnot said wryly. “If you track this man down, I’d appreciate a call, cherie.”

  “You shall have it,” Lucy said. “Thank you very much. You’ve given me a lot to work with.”

  “Of course,” D’Arnot said with a Frenchman’s modesty. “And now I must go. My companions, they grow suspicious if I spend too long on the phone.”

  “I understand,” Lucy said. “Thanks so much.”

  “I told them you were my lover,” D’Arnot said with a laugh. “So if you ever come to Paris, I hope you are as beautiful as your voice. I do have a reputation to keep.”

  Lucy chuckled for a long time even after she hung up the phone, even as she set up her search engine to seek out Fouad Muallah. After three months of feeling like a bloated horror, it was wonderful to hear flattery. French flattery, no less. Parisian flattery. Ted would pretend to be jealous and cover her in kisses, tonight.

  But before tonight, she had to meet with someone at the Pentagon, an Admiral Kane. There were monsters to defeat before she could return to her castle and her prince.

  “And a monster to find,” Lucy murmured, leaning over her keyboard. “A monster named Fouad Muallah.”

  Fort Rucker Army Base, Alabama

  “You know what they call a Chinook?” Roseburg asked him, as Stillwell signed for his flight helmet.

  “What?” Stillwell asked apprehensively.

  “A loose collection of nuts and bolts flying in formation,” Roseburg laughed.

  “Why thank you,” Stillwell said. “I really needed to hear that.”

  “Have fun,” Roseburg said. “You’ve got two damn good pilots, I’ll tell you that much. Anything goes wrong with that bucket of bolts and they’ll bring you through it.”

  “I’m comforted,” Stillwell murmured, and headed in the direction Roseburg pointed. He ducked out of the hanger into the wet and the heat of an Alabama morning. The hills and forest – well, jungle really, Alabama woods were more like a jungle to Stillwell and always would be – were faded by the humidity into a soft palette of green and blue. The jungle started at the end of the runway, and on the runway was his ride.

  The Chinook was an ungainly looking aircraft with two rotors, one at the head and one at the tail. She stank of jet fuel, even at a distance. The air shimmered above her engines. Her roters were turning lazily. Chinooks looked like a joke, Stillwell had always thought. But he had presided at only two fatal crashes of the ridiculous looking birds. The statistics were with him. Or so he hoped.

  He hopped on board, clutching his flight bag. At last, it looked like he was heading for Colorado.

  Colorado Springs

  “I started at Schriever out of college,” Berto said to Eileen. “I wanted money, to help my family, and I wanted to do graphics simulation. That's what I love. When I interviewed, they showed me a globe of the earth on a Silicon Graphics Indy. It was so beautiful. I could see the sunrise line. I could see the city lights in Europe. That's what I wanted to do.”

  “So I start, and there's Art to help me. Ahh, I miss him. I'm going to miss him forever. I didn't know how to set up my workstation, and Nelson isn't around. I'm too nervous to talk to Joe or Sharon or Doug, and Lowell is busy. So I see this guy who looks friendly, and it turns out he's Art, the genius. I ask him to help me, he gets up from his desk like he's been waiting all day just for me. Turns out he stays late that night to make up for the time he spends with me. But that's Art.”

  “He comes over and sets me up. Soon we're talking graphics and morphing and the latest Hollywood pictures. I'm kind of arrogant, you know, stupid, because I've just graduated and I know everything I think. Art he never slaps me around like he should. Sully, oh boy. First time I pull that shit with her she takes me down.”

  'Berto stopped for a moment. He looked blankly into the distance.

  “Sully first. Now Art. I knew when she got together with Joe. He was on fire. He blew out like a candle when she died. Art got him through it, I think. Art and Meg, that’s his wife. Now Art, he's gone too. Joe, he's going to be hurting so bad. I want to call him, but I don't. Too scared of what's going to happen. I think everyone thinks I'm the murderer. I think you knock on the door this morning, this is the end.”

  “Why?” Eileen asked.

  “Because of me and Terry,” 'Berto said. He swallowed hard and rubbed his palms against his sweats. “I'm getting there. It's hard.”

  “So my second year there, I'm graphics king with Art's help, and I'm getting along with my new friends, and my family is happy. They find me Elena and her family, they're cousins away, but so I have family.”

  “But nobody special,” Eileen said.

  “Nobody special,” 'Berto repeated. He didn't meet Eileen’s eyes. “Terry and I never talked much. She was muy guapa, yes? She and Sully were different sides of the same coin. Sully, she was strong, but she was a woman. Full of heart. Terry, she's strong but full of hate. Hard to see that at first. You look at her, you think, I know what would make her happy. Get her in bed, get past all that armor, fuck her, she'll be happy. She just looks like that's what she needs.”

  “Lowell didn't know how to handle her, that's for sure. Always looking a little bit puzzled. And her holding out that body like a piece of fruit. Lowell doesn't know what to do with it, that's for sure.”

  “She decided she wanted you?”

  “She wanted me, sure. Not that I knew it for a while. She made me want her, I never knew until a lot later how I'd been set up.”

  “Set up?”

  “Set up like old style, woman style. She knows -- knew -- tricks they wrote in the book years ago. Centuries. I don't know. A woman like that, you burn for her. You want to conquer, to break her down, make her soft. You don't know you go to bed with her, you give her what she wants. Then she eats you afterwards, like a spider. No use for you after it's done.”

  'Berto sighed and shifted on the couch.

  “Why is it so easy for me to tell you this? They sent four of us to a conference, we had to attend some seminars on graphics. It was fun, the seminar part. Terry, me, Joe and Sully. They didn’t much like each other then. Or maybe they already liked each other but didn’t know it. We all went to dinner and they both disappeared to their hotel rooms every night. Not with each other. Sully probably set up her laptop and played. You can't log into the System long distance -- it's secure. But she liked those computer games. Joe, he read, I think, or went and swam in the pool. He’s always working out. He didn't like Terry and maybe he had a crush on Sully, and I think he would have liked to spend time with me but the only way to do that would be to say, I’m a guy, I want to hit the bars with 'Berto, OK?” 'Berto laughed. “Joe was too nice for that. So he disappeared, and Sully, so there was Terry and me.”

  “We went to the bar that first night, and somehow it was me asking her, I don't know how she did it. I thought I was in control.”

  “Did it happen the first night?”

  “Oh yeah, and the second too. That first night, I was so drunk. Don't know how that happened either. But there she was in my room, and all I wanted to do was get her out of her clothes, get her under me.”

  'Berto put his head in his hands and his shoulders rose. “I am so ashamed, the next day. Married! I break a solemn vow, me, Roberto. I wanted to be a priest when I was a little boy, an altar boy. And this is what I did.”

  “She used that, didn't she?” Eileen asked. Now she felt she understood all the references to Terry's sharp tongue. Joe hadn't understood when Terry asked 'Berto if he'd 'forgotten anything else.' 'Berto knew what Terry meant.

  “She used it. I was ashamed and hung over and the next night I was back in her bed like I had a ring through my nose. Then we flew home, and I took a shower forever. I didn't want to go to work the next day. But everything was fine. At first. Then she would m
ake references, in front of Lowell even, with that little kitten smile on her mouth and her eyes, so wide. Ahh, I blamed myself at first. But after a few months, I knew what she wanted. She had me on a string like a puppet, and she knew it. I didn't want to hurt anyone. I didn't want to see disgust in Joe’s eyes. Or Art's. She knew that.”

  “Did she ever ask you for any favors?” Eileen asked. She was thinking of Sharon's suspicions that someone was writing Terry’s code.

  “I helped integrate her code,” 'Berto said. “That means, I helped make her part fit into the simulation. I never complained about her stuff. After a while, it got a lot better. She didn't ask for anything, she just had it. She had it there and we both knew it.”

  “Did you hate her?”

  “I hated her enough to kill her,” 'Berto said. “I could have killed her. But I didn't. I don't know how to make anyone believe that. I didn't kill her. She could have pushed me over the edge, I could have killed her. But I know I would have been sobbing for the priest the moment it was over. I got dispensation from my priest for adultery. I would have volunteered for the classes anyway, but they're part of my penance. He absolved me, and I'm washed clean. Terry knew that, I think. She knew she had me through embarrassment, and shame, but not through shame of my immortal soul. She hated that, I think. She ate people. She liked to have their souls.”

  Eileen shivered involuntarily.

  “Someone hated her. I think anyone who knew Terry would hate her. But it wasn't me. It wasn't me.”

  Mashaad, Iran

  “Mahdi,” the man said in reverent tones. The Mercedes was as dented as advertised, but gave a reassuring rumble of power. Muallah was aware of the deadening weight of exhaustion beneath his excitement. He needed sleep.

  “Allah be with you, Haadin,” Muallah said, smiling at the look of joy on the man’s face. Ali silently loaded the baggage into the back of the Mercedes, his face reflecting nothing, not even weariness.

  “I need to rest,” Muallah added shortly. Haadin seated him immediately in the Mercedes and drove with a reckless dash through the dusty streets of Mashaad. Haadin had rooms, of course, the best of which remained empty for Muallah. The rest of the rooms were occupied by Muallah’s Chosen Ones, ready at last to serve him as they knew they were born to do.

  Muallah rested his head against the back of the seat, trying to ignore the bumps and swerves. He needed to conserve his strength. He would allow himself only a few hours of rest before they began.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Central Intelligence Agency, Langley Virginia

  “Charles!” Lucy said with delight. She had a substantial CIA file she’d found on Fouad Muallah. Paper pages were spread on her lap and electronic ones covered her computer screen.

  “Lucy, ma cherie,” D’Arnot said. “I have an interesting tidbit for you.”

  “I’m ready,” Lucy said. She clicked on her notes screen and made an entry for D’Arnot’s information.

  “I spoke again to Sara, the chum,” D’Arnot said. “And something she said matches with what we found with Sufi.”

  “Okay, I’m ready,” Lucy said, typing.

  “Sufi had intercourse minutes before she died. Not rape; there was no trauma. But she was killed immediately afterward.”

  Lucy paused, her fingers poised over the keyboard.

  “He’s an egotistical bastard, isn’t he?” she said.

  “Yes! You’re beautiful and intelligent,” D’Arnot said admiringly. “Yes, Sara spoke of Muallah as a man who treated Sufi as a toy. Sufi loved him. She worshipped him.”

  “Muallah worships himself,” Lucy said slowly. She typed quickly. “He had sex with her as a gift to her before killing her, didn’t he?”

  “Looks like it to me,” D’Arnot said. “This is a very dangerous man, I think.”

  “I think so too,” Lucy said. She looked with new eyes at the file on Fouad Muallah. “I think so too.”

  Colorado Springs

  “Detective,” Doug Procell said in tones of relief. His face was thin and white and miserable. He looked like a handsome vampire two kills short of a full meal. He stood in his doorway and regarded Eileen. He was wearing sweats, the Gamer off duty uniform, it seemed. His were gray, and looked old.

  “Can I come in and talk?” Eileen said. “I'm too damn tired to haul you in.”

  “Yes, of course, I'm sorry,” Procell said, still looking at Eileen with a relieved expression. He swung open the door and nudged a golden retriever back with his bare foot.

  “Back, Cherry,” he said. “Go lie down.” The dog pressed against his foot and wagged its tail, looking at Eileen with shining happy dog eyes.

  “I like dogs,” Eileen said mildly. “It's all right.”

  Cherry didn't jump on Eileen as she entered. The dog sat in her path and put up a paw, wagging its tail. Then it switched paws. Eileen gravely put out a hand and shook the paw.

  “Nelson called me last night, after the police called. He said to stay home today. I don't think I could have gone to work anyway,” Procell said. “Do you want some coffee?”

  “No coffee,” Eileen said, and patted Cherry on the head. She followed Procell down a hallway and into a sunny living room. The newspaper spread over the floor in untidy piles. Cherry immediately headed for a bright band of sunlight, her tail wagging. She flopped down in the sunlit section and gazed back at Eileen.

  “She's happy I'm home,” Procell said.

  “How about your wife? Kids? Are they home?” Eileen knew they weren't, just by the empty house feel of the place.

  “Janet, she's at work. She's an attorney. And Martha is in day care. I had Jan take her to school anyway, I wouldn't be able to think about taking care of her today. You sure you don't want coffee? How about some breakfast?”

  “Well, breakfast you could interest me in,” Eileen said, and shrugged off her jacket. Her shoulder holster was clearly visible, but Procell seemed more relieved at the sight than discomfited.

  “OK,” Procell said. Unexpectedly, he grinned. “I'll fix you a good breakfast and then you won't arrest me. Isn't that how it works?”

  “Depends on the breakfast,” Eileen said. Procell went into the kitchen and Eileen took a seat at the bar. Cherry abandoned her place in the sunlight and walked over to Eileen. She nudged Eileen’s hip with her nose until she reached down and started to pet her.

  “Cherry's a big baby,” Procell said, opening the refrigerator. “She loves being petted. I think I could eat something now.” He set out eggs, cheese, and a package of what were obviously homemade tortillas. “Huevos be okay? I make them spicy.”

  “Good huevos rancheros might keep you out of jail,” Eileen said, and turned so she could rest her back against the wall. She closed her eyes, her hand smoothing the dog's silky head, enjoying the sunshine.

  “You don't think I did it, do you?” Procell asked, cracking eggs into a bowl. His voice was sounding less pinched. Eileen suddenly realized why Procell was happy that she was here. Procell felt safe. Procell wasn't afraid of being arrested. He was afraid of being murdered.

  “No, I don't,” Eileen said. “But I don't think it was your conspiracy, either.”

  “You don't?” Procell asked in surprise. “I would think that would be certain now.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, because Art was murdered. Why Terry and Art both?”

  “Why don't you tell me?”

  “I don't know.” Procell was honestly bewildered. He started beating the eggs again. He added some spices and milk, and poured the mixture into a skillet. He got a bowl of refried beans from the refrigerator and set them in the microwave to warm, then opened a can of green Chile sauce. He handed a block of cheese and a grater to Eileen, who took them and started working on the cheese. The kitchen began to smell delicious.

  “All right then, answer me this. How did a hired killer get clearance to come onto the base?”

  Procell, stirring the eggs, stared over at her blankly.

 
“He'd have to have help.”

  “Exactly. How did the killer get under the floors?”

  “Someone had to put him there,” Procell said slowly. “I never really thought about it. If that's the case, then -- Major Blaine!” He looked at Eileen with amazement. “It's Major Blaine! It has to be! He -- he --”

  “Hold your horses,” Eileen said. “Major Blaine would be suspect number one in a conspiracy. But even Major Blaine couldn't get a new person on base without leaving a trail a mile wide. There is no trail. No one new came onto the base in the last two weeks, not anyone with a permanent badge. We checked on all the temporary types too, and they're all accounted for during the time of the murder. And what about getting Mr. Hired Killer out of the floor?”

  Procell stirred the eggs and shook some Chile powder into the skillet. His attention remained focused on the food. Eileen couldn't see his expression.

  “I think I just figured whoever it was could do anything. But killing Terry like that... you know, it's not their style.”

  Eileen, still grating cheese, felt a chill. There was a pattern in the Procell file, and she'd completely missed it until now. The deaths were all automobile related. Not a single scientist whose obituary filled Procell's file had died of any other cause. Some were more bizarre, like the young Britain who had driven his car into a stack of gasoline canisters. Some were completely normal, like Harriet Sullivan's single car accident on the highway. Procell, the author of the file, saw the pattern. Eileen hadn't.

  Terry's murder, and now Art's, were completely out of pattern. What troubled Eileen was the feeling she was seeing the shadowy edge of something much larger than Terry or Art. If there was a relationship, it was too subtle to be seen. She still couldn’t believe in Procell’s conspiracy. But there seemed to be something going on.