this unit’s business was serious. Vincent reacted accordingly.
“I doubled back on my route,” Javid assured him. “No sign of Redwing.”
“Good.” Whitney MacNair Romeo, Vincent’s gorgeous redheaded wife had been learning the ropes when Javid first met her. These six months later, she had earned her stripes and done the unit proud. Her family came from the same area of Martha’s Vineyard as his grandparents and mother, and her accent roused old memories. Not all of them good. “We can’t risk exposure at this point.”
Exposure. Javid thought again about Miah and flinched. “I’m damn glad this will be over with tomorrow.”
The agents picked up their discussion where Javid had interrupted it—something about the chief guard in charge of watching Zahir. At the mention of his brother’s name, Javid sat back in his chair, his mind rolling back to how it had all begun for him at about the same time the Chicago branch of Confidential opened its doors.
Their first assignment: stop a suspected terrorist attack on Quantum Industries, a multinational oil distribution giant, the largest buyer and seller of oil worldwide, whose home offices were based here in Chicago.
Since the inception of the war on terrorism, Javid had devoted himself to promoting goodwill worldwide on behalf of Anbar, on behalf of the decent citizenry of the Middle East, and to the pursuit and capture of suspected terrorists. He’d personally helped expose a few cells of the vicious fiends—which had led to his discovery that his own brother was behind an attack in Iceland on one of Quantum’s satellite offices.
He touched the spot above his heart where the scar remained, a raised and angry X, a “forever” reminder of the evil within his twin.
The attack had been a prelude, he’d learned, to something bigger targeting at Quantum’s home base, but ultimately, the target was Anbar, Father and himself. Quantum was the top buyer of Anbar oil. Javid had to do whatever was needed to ensure Quantum’s ongoing safety. He sat straighter in his chair and steepled his fingers. Zahir had the opposite agenda: he would like nothing better than to see Anbar go broke.
Javid had approached the Chicago Confidential agency in March, seeking their help to stop his brother from committing any other acts of terrorism against Quantum. He’d shared his information with the agents and had been working, on and off, with them to bring about Zahir’s capture, to try to find some way of stopping whatever Zahir and his henchmen had plotted for Quantum.
In the end, it was Zahir’s own men—mercenaries he hired—who’d tried to hijack one of Quantum Industries’s corporate jets and kidnap one of their vice presidents, Natalie Van Buren. Javid tapped his foot to the beat of the pulse at his temples. The evil plot was thwarted by one of Chicago Confidential’s own agents, Quint Crawford, who was now engaged to Natalie. At the time of Zahir’s arrest, the agents had suspected he was working with Khalaf Al-Sayed, but they had no tangible proof that would hold up in a court of law.
While connections were sought, Zahir had been incarcerated in a secret safe house. Earlier, Chicago Confidential had learned of Zahir’s betrothal to Khalaf’s newly found daughter. Since the time of Zahir’s arrest, Javid had been impersonating his twin, gathering what personal information he could on Khalaf. Javid had had as little interaction with Khalaf as possible, knowing he was the one who could expose him, he was the one who knew Zahir, he would spot the differences, know he was dealing with a fake.
But Khalaf had been as elusive as a desert breeze. Each time the agents had thought to arrest him, he’d failed to show up where expected. Since he would not miss Zahir and Miah’s wedding, the agents had decided to take him into custody there.
“I’d like it a hell of a lot better if you were getting married on land.” Lawson Davies intruded on his dark musings.
Law, as he preferred to be called, was a high-paid corporate lawyer who worked for Petrol Corporation, Quantum Industries’s closest competitor. His suit was a serious pinstripe, tie subdued, eyes intelligent, green. He yanked off his wire-rimmed reading glasses, eyeing Javid as though he’d just presented a distasteful brief.
“A yacht for God’s sakes. Makes this whole task more risky.”
“Unfortunately,” Javid said, “the ‘where’ of this affair was already set before I came on scene.”
Vincent’s expression was as serious as a thundercloud. “And Khalaf’s insistence on security makes this a ‘do it their way’ situation.”
“Y’all are makin’ too much out of this,” Quint Crawford drawled. Quint, a long lanky cowboy, had Texas oil in his blood, and embraced the accoutrements of his ranch lifestyle—boots, big black Stetson, silver belt buckle. He never took himself too seriously. “If you want to brand a calf, you gotta go to the corral.”
“That’s right.” Whitney’s hand went to her bright red hair. “The wedding takes place on a yacht, so we’ll be on the yacht.”
Quint punched the brim of his black Stetson higher on his forehead, his blue eyes twinkling. “I, for one, can’t wait to see the prince say ‘I do.’ Seems like getting hitched is contagious.”
Vincent glanced at his wife, Whitney. Only then did his expression and his tone soften. “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”
“I’m not knockin’ it.” Quint had a secret smile. “Heck, I’m all for it.”
“Hey,” Javid interjected. “There isn’t really going to be a ceremony, remember? So, make sure you take Khalaf into custody before I end up married to his daughter.”
“I’ve seen the charmin’ Ms. Miah,” Quint added, his infectious grin widening. “Worse things could happen to a man.”
“Just make sure you do your job, and everything will work out as it’s supposed to.” Even Javid could hear the peevishness in his voice. He cleared his throat and reined in his emotions. “Too much could go wrong. So far, I’ve avoided Khalaf as much as possible. But he’s no fool. If he discovers I’m not Zahir, our mission will be compromised.”
Vincent nodded grimly. “We aren’t underestimating the risks. We’re on top of everything.”
Andy Dexter burst into the room, slamming the door in his rush. His energy seemed to zing off the walls as though he were as electrified as his equipment. He didn’t bother with a greeting. He hurried to his chair, waving something that looked like a miniature floppy disk at the group. “Just picked this up from Ramses, my Egyptian informer. It’s a camera flashcard.”
He inserted the disk into his computer and directed all eyes to their individual monitors. A parking lot appeared in the first frame, followed by a quick sequence of others, moving like a slowed-down motion picture. A dark sedan occupied a deserted space before what seemed to be a park and an indeterminate body of water.
Javid asked, “What are we looking at?”
“Khalaf,” Andy answered. “Ramses has been following him since the sheik ‘disappeared’ last week.”
There were no people on the screen.
“So, where’s Khalaf?” Quint asked, his black hat dipping forward over his shaggy brown hair.
“In the car.”
“Who or what is he waiting for?” Law plunked his glasses back onto his nose.
“No one. He’s already in that car, meeting with someone.”
“Who?” Javid asked.
“Come on, Dexter.” Vincent groaned. “Don’t make us play twenty questions.”
“That’s just it.” Andy shrugged. “Ramses didn’t know or see who Khalaf was meeting. He thought we could figure it out.”
“What has this got to do with anything?” Whitney sounded as impatient as her husband.
They watched a white stretch