Abuse of Power - Michael Savage [63]
“Two reasons,” Swain told him. “First, we have no real desire to clean up another mess in a less than optimal location. Not here, not now. And second, as sad as this may be, you don’t really pose all that much of a threat to us.”
“Meaning what?”
“Despite what my own prime minister might think, you have no credibility, Mr. Hatfield. I think that was proven by the derision at that press conference. No one took you seriously then, and there’s no reason they would now.”
“Yet here we stand,” Jack said.
“Because I want you to understand the gravity of the situation in which you’ve found yourself. Trust me, if you continue to pursue this line of inquiry we will consider you a genuine problem and react accordingly. Is that understood?”
Jack stared at the Escalade’s windshield and considered calling Swain’s bluff. But he decided not to push his luck. The man was right about one thing: not here, not now.
“Understood,” Jack said tersely.
Swain smiled again, but there was no humor in it. “Excellent. I’m glad we could come to this agreement.”
Then he turned, went back to the Escalade and climbed in. A moment later, the SUV shot backward, quickly turned around in an empty space, and disappeared up the street.
It was only then that Jack realized he was trembling.
Returning the Remington to its case, he closed the trunk, then climbed back behind the wheel.
Contrary to what he’d told Swain, he had no intention whatsoever of adhering to their so-called agreement. And he knew Swain wouldn’t, either. When the time and environment were right, those men would strike again and Jack could only assume that he’d be the victim of a sudden heart attack or a tragic accident.
Worst of all, he still knew nothing about Operation Roadshow. And with Bob Copeland dead, there was little chance of him learning anything more.
He halfway considered calling the one man who had stuck by him during the Truth Tellers debacle—Senator Harold Wickham—but if Wickham were to start digging like Copeland had, who was to say he wouldn’t wind up suffering the same fate? Jack couldn’t have that on his conscience.
As he started the engine, he pulled his cell phone out and hit speed dial. A moment later, Tony Antiniori answered.
“I was getting worried,” his friend said. “Where the hell are you?”
It was amazing how reassuring it was just to hear Tony’s voice. Part of it was the fact that it was Tony himself, but part of it was having a friend on deck with him during a blow. Someone watching his back.
“I got sidetracked,” Jack told him. “I think it’s time for me to get a little more proactive with this story.”
“What does that mean?”
There was only one way Jack knew to make any leeway here and hopefully get the information he needed.
“I’m going to London,” he announced.
To which Tony replied, “I don’t think so, Jack.”
PART TWO
Vigilance
18
London, England
Ever since his return from the United States, Abdal al-Fida knew he had been living on borrowed time.
His contact in San Francisco had been vague about what might happen to him, and it would be up to the imam to decide whether he was to live or to die for his transgression. Abdal had received this news with trepidation, of course, but his meetings with his imam had given him hope. They had prayed together, and in the light of day he felt optimistic about his fate. He had sworn his undying allegiance to the Hand of Allah and begged for forgiveness, promising that he would never again fall prey to his impatience, and his own self-interest.
But with each night’s darkness came uncertainty. He would lie in his bed with Sara pressed against him, feeling the Newham cold seep in through his bedroom window, and anxiety would burrow into the pit of his stomach, the feeling that he would not be alive much longer.
Abdal would never have survived such torment if it had not been for Sara. She knew exactly who he was and what he believed, and what he was willing to do to further those beliefs. But she had not asked questions when he returned. She had only soothed him when he needed soothing,