Page 57 of Protecting You
Callan didn’t know what to think about Benson. He might look like a thug, but he’d sure known how to navigate the laptop.
There’d been a second there when Callan had worried the guy would get past his computer’s defenses.
But the guy hadn’t found the hidden profile. Nor had he discovered the built-in hotspot, which came in handy when Ghazi refused to share the Wi-Fi password and refused to return their phones.
“You can’t be serious!” Callan had launched himself out of the chair. “If I can’t have the password, and I can’t get on my hotspot, how am I supposed to work?”
“I suppose you could go home.” Ghazi’s words had been polite, his expression smug.
“Fat chance.” He’d huffed and settled back down, thankful they’d bought his little act. “I’ll work on reports. It’ll take me all weekend to catch up.”
Ghazi hadn’t even bothered to apologize.
When he was focused on Alyssa and those screens again, Callan navigated to his laptop’s built-in hotspot, connected to the Internet, and sent Malcolm an update.
Molly delivered lunch a little after one o’clock—sandwiches and little bags of chips. Alyssa took hers back to the desk, giving Callan no opportunity to talk to her. Not that he could have with Ghazi in the room.
When the man walked out for a few minutes here and there during the afternoon, Benson or Molly came in.
His laptop screen was nearly impossible to read unless a person were right in front of it, so even if there were cameras, the image would be nothing but gray if picked up by a camera. With his back to the wall of windows, he investigated Dariush Ghazi and the people he did business with.
According to the Agency’s dossier, he didn’t hold to any religious beliefs at all. He became in each situation whatever was necessary for him to achieve his goals. When he was with Muslims, he adhered to Islam. When he was in Israel, he’d gone so far as to don a skull cap.
When he posed as Charles Sanders, he spoke with an aristocratic British accent, the picture of a businessman and entrepreneur.
In Germany the previous fall, he’d been known as Dariush Shahin, a Christian convert, and using that persona, he’d infiltrated a refugee mission. Back then, he’d worked with an Iraqi terrorist named Hasan Mahmoud.
Mahmoud was in custody, but Ghazi had escaped.
Another interesting tidbit… Hasan Mahmoud was uncle to Leila and Jasmine Fayed, who were now married to Michael and Derrick Wright.
That explained how Alyssa had ended up on Ghazi’s radar.
Digging deeper into the operation in Munich, Callan learned Mahmoud had been after WMDs squirreled out of Iraq in the days following the invasion. Had Mahmoud, the head of that operation, intended to use those weapons, or sell them?
Callan sent a private text message to Alyssa’s cousin, asking the question. Michael answered immediately.
According to Mahmoud, they planned to release some at the Xmas market in Munich. The rest, they wanted to sell. He hasn’t given us a name, though we heard the buyer was Russian. Maybe the one whose name Alyssa found? Interrogators will question Mahmoud and get back to us. Maybe Ghazi’s reason for aligning with Mahmoud was to find that name.
Lots of maybes.
Was what happened in Germany last fall related to whatever he had Alyssa doing now?
It was after six o’clock when Molly knocked and then opened the door. “Dinner will be served in ten minutes.”
“Excellent.” Ghazi waited until the so-called housekeeper stepped out and closed the door again before focusing on Callan. “Alyssa and I need to speak privately for a few minutes. Please, make your way to the sunroom. Molly will get you a drink.”
Callan closed his laptop and slid it into the bag, then crossed to the opposite side of Alyssa’s desk. “You must be ready for a break.”
She finished typing something. “Yup.”
Her lips wore a smile that was tight at the corners, and that plus the flash of worry in her eyes had his stomach tightening.
There was nothing to do but play along. “See you downstairs.” He nodded to Ghazi, then, against his will and every ounce of good judgment, left them alone together.
Molly was waiting for him in the hallway. “This way please.”
“I’ll be right down. I’m going to drop this off in our room.” He lifted his laptop bag, then walked to the room she’d indicated.
