Afraid of the Dark - James Grippando [117]
Littleton tried to control his anger. For purposes of handling the immediate problem, Habib was right: It mattered not why he had failed to destroy the files. But Habib would have some explaining to do once this fire was out.
“How big is the problem?”
“The only safe assumption is that the files are going straight to Chuck Mays.”
“Son of a bitch! Do you understand what that means?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think you do,” said Littleton. “The same technology that Mays is applying to kiddy porn can be used to reverse engineer the technological DNA of any video he gets his hands on. He can trace those black site videos back to Black Ice, and the things we did to those detainees make Abu Ghraib and Gitmo look like a spa.”
“Fortunately, you’re not in the videos.”
“It doesn’t matter! If Mays can link that kind of abuse to my company, I’m dead. You hear me? I’m not just talking about the cancellation of DOD security contracts in Iraq and Afghanistan. I mean this literally: I’m dead.”
“Sounds like you’re hitting the panic button.”
“I want to know what you are going to do about it?”
“I have the upper hand on Chuck Mays. All I need from you is a green light.”
“A green light to do what?”
“To play my ace in the hole.”
“Do I want to know what your ace in the hole is?”
“That’s a good question. Do you?”
Littleton considered it. There was always a danger of asking one question too many in this line of work.
“You have the green light,” said Littleton. “Do what you gotta do.”
Chapter Sixty-one
Your boyfriend is the Dark,” said Jack.
Jack’s use of “the Dark” meant nothing to Shada, but he put the pieces together and brought her up to speed on the string of notes with the same creepy messages: Are you afraid of The Dark?
“He killed your daughter,” Jack said. “He killed Jamal. He killed a guy named Ethan Chang. He probably killed my friend Neil and Dr. Spigelman along with him. And now it sounds like he almost killed Jamal’s uncle.”
Chuck’s reply rattled over the computer’s little speaker. “How did Jamal’s uncle get involved with this?”
“I’ve got a better question,” said Jack, looking at Shada. “Who is the girl in the cellar?”
“I don’t know,” said Shada. “This is the first I’ve heard anything about that.”
“It’s obvious that’s where Habib—the Dark—went today after he left you. And you’re telling me you had no idea—”
“I had absolutely no idea,” she said firmly.
“This wasn’t one of your threesomes you arranged for him?”
“No way. I told you it wasn’t anything illegal. And it definitely wasn’t about sex with underage girls.”
“Threesomes?” said Chuck.
“Oh, Chuck, like you didn’t enjoy them.”
“Oh, sure, here it comes. You’re sleeping with the sick son of a bitch who killed McKenna, and it’s all my fault because I turned you on to threesomes.”
“I didn’t say it was your—”
“Can we focus here, people?” said Jack, reaching for his cell. “Or I’m calling the police.”
The sparring stopped.
“Good,” said Jack. “I’m not asking you to settle all the issues between you here and now. Just behave yourselves. Now, whether you like it or, I’m calling Jamal’s mother. She deserves to know.”
No one argued.
It was midafternoon in Minnesota. Maryam Wakefield answered on her home phone, and Jack could hear her concern as soon as he said he was calling from London. He delivered the news as gently as he could. She caught her breath, but she didn’t sound totally shocked.
“Is Hassan dead or alive?” she asked.
“We don’t know,” said Jack.
“I told him not to go,” said Maryam, her voice quaking. “Islam has no place for vigilantism. But Hassan was convinced that there would be no justice for Jamal in a court system that treated an innocent boy like a terrorist.”
“I understand,” said Jack.
“When I asked you to help us sue Chuck Mays, and, instead, you teamed up with him and Vincent Paulo, that pushed Hassan over the edge.”
Jack understood that, too. “How did Hassan track down the Dark?”
“His brother.”
Jack started pacing as he spoke, as if