Agent of Influence: A Thriller (47 page)

             
The silence in the room was an entity unto itself. Beads of sweat began to form on Aman’s temple. He could use a drink. They were still waiting patiently for his response.  His right hand suddenly balled into a fist and came thrashing down onto the solid wood of the desk. 

             
“The reporter,” Aman muttered under his breath. The son of a bitch must have horded some extra copies of those photos. I knew they should have let me kill him, he thought to himself. Now that mistake was haunting him at the worst possible moment.  He finally looked up to see they were both staring at him. There was nowhere to run. He was trapped.

             
“Very good, Aman. We found the reporter. Or should I say Marilyn did. You should have killed him when you had the chance. Zach is a member of the Brotherhood of the Caliphate. The hairy leg in the photo belongs to Zach and the tattoo is the symbol of your little brotherhood.  You brought Zach into this country illegally, which makes him an illegitimate candidate, and thus barred from holding any political office in this country.” Malcolm’s authoritative voice spoke the words with precision.

“These photos are fakes. I’m
going to have you arrested.” The words were hollow and uncertain. Aman grabbed for his cell phone, but Anna was ready.  She brought her hand down in one quick and violent motion, cracking his arm. He yelped in pain.

“Come on
, Aman. You can’t seriously think you were going to get away with that,” she said as she scooped up the phone and dropped it into her purse.

Aman tried desperately to think of a way to bargain his way out of the situation, but nothing seemed feasible. He would keep his mouth shut and s
ee what they offered. Jamal had been left out of the conversation up to that point so he could only hope they did not discover him, as well. 

             
Malcolm cut into the conversation. “Our offer is this, Aman. No games. We can keep this out of the press on one condition. Zach has to resign within two months of taking office. The stress of his wife’s death a few months ago, and a heart condition that somehow was missed during his physical exams. That will be the story. We will let him disappear quietly into private life, and he can spend his remaining years giving speeches for a hundred thousand a pop.”

“And if I refuse?”

              “Then we go public with the story within a few days. We have several copies of the photographs stashed in numerous locations in case of a problem. Even if the story is treated as an expose at the National Enquirer for a while, it will eventually attract enough attention and reporters. Like flies on crap. People will start digging around and asking unpleasant questions. It may take a few months, maybe even a year, but eventually it will catch up to him.”

Aman played along, pretending to grapple with a decision. Inside he was thrilled. They did not appear to know the full extent of his operation.

“I obviously cannot make any promises. I will need to run it by Zachariah.” He pushed himself out of his chair. “Now if you don’t mind. I need to touch base with him. I will have an answer for you very shortly.” Aman opened his palm in a silent gesture to have his phone returned to him.

Malcolm laughed heartily. It was a laugh that relayed how ridiculous the whole conversation was. They all knew the score, yet
no one was willing to admit it. “Oh, by the way, there is one other part of the deal. The new head of his security detail, Jamal Mahmud, must resign as well,” Malcolm said as he stared at the fat Egyptian. The time for games was over.

Aman looked around in panic. The self-assuredness that had returned for a few brief moments was once again replaced by the look of a cornered
animal about to be slaughtered. “Never. You’re too late. You cannot stop us.” The venomous words spilled out in a low hiss. “We have won, and you will not live long enough to see the glorious return.” The cryptic warnings were accompanied by a pounding on one of the doors.

Malcolm rushed towards Aman, getting the melon of a head in a chokehold just as a voice yelled out from behind the door, “Secret Service!” The door swung open and the agent stepped cautiously into view, his pistol sweeping th
e room in a professional manner. “Everyone, put your hands up!”

Anna stood behind the agent and out of his view. She acted instinctively, and her right leg flashed upward, cracking the agent
across the elbow and wounding his arm. The weapon clattered to the ground, and he let out a guttural growl of anger after being taken off guard. The agent immediately reached for the throwing knife tucked around his calf, but Anna thrust her right arm down in a lightning fast motion, catching him on the back of the neck, and rendering him unconscious. 

She performed a thorough sweep of the house. It was empty except for the three of them. She found some rope in a closet in the kitchen, and noticed the same r
ow of suitcases. After retrieving her pistol from the agent’s sport coat, she bound and gagged him, then tossed the remainder of the rope to Malcolm. He pushed Aman’s squat figure back into the chair and tied him down. Aman writhed in fury, trying to free himself from his bonds.

             
“Well, if we were not fugitives before we are now. I don’t know what the penalty is for assaulting a Secret Service agent, but I doubt it’s just a slap on the wrist,” Anna said.

Aman screamed once before Malcolm slapped him across the face, “Shut up. We have some more questions for you,” Malcolm said as he looked in Aman’s eyes. He saw the glazed look of a man who had lost all control. He doubted he would be able to get much
information out of him.

“You and your President are excellent at torturing people. This should be enjoyable for you.” Aman’s spittle landed on the desk in front of him, covering his papers and
an oversized note holder crammed with telephone messages in a small shower.

             
“What is with the luggage, Aman? Going somewhere?” Anna kicked open the side door that led to the kitchen, revealing the pricey designer luggage on the floor.

“You are wasting your time. Just kill me and get it over with. I will tell nothing.”

Anna ignored the comment. She picked up the stack of papers on the desk and began flipping through them. Malcolm pushed the note holder out of the way, moving it closer to Aman, and picked up a stack of envelopes to look through, as well.

“Here we are.” She raised the packet in triumph. It was buried under a list of dono
rs from Zach’s campaign. “One ticket to Cairo that leaves this evening,” she said, waving the ticket in the air to mock Aman. “Aren’t you going to stick around to watch your protégé take the oath of office?”

“I have more important things to tend to. My work here is finished. I have don
e what I have been called to do.” Aman spoke with a sense of true satisfaction. It was a completely honest statement.

             
“For the Brotherhood?” Malcolm asked.

Anna suddenly had an idea
. She took the unconscious agent’s throwing knife, wheeled Aman’s chair so he faced the wall, and grabbed one of his legs. She roughly cut out two large swaths of the beige fabric. He sat frozen while she did it, petrified she was about to cut off his genitals. She roughly tore off the remaining shreds of his pants, tossing the remnants to the side like a child discarding wrapping paper on Christmas morning. She ignored the grotesque waistline and grasped his inner leg, trying to view it. He squirmed in annoyance now that the knife had been put down. It was there. She knew it would be. The two Arabic K’s with the green slash through them stared back at her. It was the same tattoo that was on Zach’s inner thigh. Malcolm looked on from a few feet away. He knew what she was doing.

             
“Do you want to tell me what they stand for, or do I get to really cause you some pain?” She stepped away from him.  She grasped the knife, flipping it playfully around in her hand while she circled around to the other side of the desk so she could stand beside Malcolm.

***

Aman smiled at her. In her exuberant wrenching of his pants she accidentally loosened his binds just enough to allow him to make the attempt. He willed himself to do it.

             
“Well?” She asked him.

“Of course. It stands for Khalifah Khilahah. It means Caliphate creation.” Aman leaned back in his chair as if he was debating what else to say. It was the only solution and he knew it. There was no one else
from whom they could extract information, and with only forty-eight hours until the inauguration they would not be able to stop it. He was their last hope to prove anything. If he was dead they had nothing. Aman acted on this reassuring thought before he could change his mind.

Without warning his upper body suddenly came throttling forward, his head slamming into the pointed note holder resting on the desk in front of him. It tore into his left eye, piercing through his brain in a white hot flash of pain.
Blood flowed out over the desk. His job was complete. Aman’s slumped body twitched horridly in the throes of death as Malcolm and Anna watched in helpless shock.

Alex opened his eyes to nothing but a black void.
Am I dead?
The pain that shot through his wrists told him ‘no.’ After a few seconds he adjusted to the disorientation of not being able to see, and realized the blackness was caused by a piece of cloth that was tied tightly around his head.  As his senses became more attuned he began to feel pain in different areas. The vice grip of the rope that bound his wrists to the metal chair and the tightly bound cloth squeezing his temples were accompanied by more rope that secured his ankles to the chair. The professionally tied knots began to hurt more as he slowly awakened and remembered what had happened.

He had no i
dea how long he had been unconscious. His head throbbed from the blow he took from the unknown assailant. The silence of the room provided no clues as to where he could be. The black void was silent torture, and it was beginning to make him claustrophobic. He began sweating profusely. The panic quickly began to bubble up, and his chest heaved as his breathing became more erratic. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

             
A thunderclap smashed across his face, knocking him and his chair to the floor with a thud. In a perverse way it felt good. It was the first sign that he was not lying in a ditch or buried alive somewhere. Two strong hands grasped the back of the chair and pulled him back up as if the chair were empty and not occupied by a two hundred pound man.

             
“Who is there?” Alex suddenly remembered that still being alive meant he could actually speak and not just sit there like a mute.  Another smack to the face answered his question. This one was not quite as intense as the first since he still remained upright. “Whoever you are, I think you have the wrong guy,” Alex said as he gasped feebly, trying to catch his breath.

“Hah,” an amused voice rep
lied. “I don’t have the wrong guy. You are in league with the CIA Director and that woman. I know it is so. Do not try to bluff me.”

“What are you talking…” Alex tried to intervene.

“You clearly know what they know, or at least most of it. I have seen you with them. I’m not going to fool around so I will tell you this once,” the stranger said in a staccato burst of words.

             
“I don’t know what this…” Alex tried to horn in on his speech.

“Enough! Say another word and I will break a finger
in two. I will not lie. I don’t have time to play any games or fool around. Either talk now and tell me everything you know, and perhaps I’ll let you live. I cannot guarantee it, but you will at least have a chance. If you don’t talk now you will talk very soon afterwards, and then you will die a horrible death.  And you will have caused yourself a great deal of excruciating pain for no reason besides your foolish pride. I will give you ten minutes while I prepare. After that, there will be no bargaining and no remorse.” Jamal stood up and went about making the necessary preparations.

             
Alex tried to speak but was immediately cut off by another slap across the face. He was confused and disorientated by the lack of chitchat. He was not even being given some sort of bargain. It was an all or nothing proposition. Alex’s body was now drenched in sweat. He could feel his clothes becoming heavier from the dampness created by his own body. He twitched and fiddled with his arms in a pointless attempt to free himself. He heard a small chuckle from across the room. Whoever it was, he seemed to be enjoying his power. Alex made up his mind and steeled his body for the pain that his decision would bring down on him.

             
Jamal munched on pita bread and hummus while he cleaned up the room. It was a habit he could not break, even as he was preparing to launch an inquisition. He picked up a few pieces of trash that were strewn about the cheap linoleum floor of his little safe house on the Virginia side of the Potomac. The mortgage on it had been paid by a few of his co-workers in the Secret Service who used it for a variety of reasons. There had been many a mistress brought to the secluded home, and all his colleagues paid him for the privilege to use the house. The money was helpful, but Jamal found the home more useful because of the power that it gave him over his co-workers. He had even used the house to entrap the former head of President Gray’s Secret Service detail, forcing the man into an early retirement. This allowed Jamal to take over the man’s post.