Afraid of the Dark - James Grippando [131]
“You said I could talk to Vince in the morning.”
The Dark gripped the phone, angered by the audacity. “There’s plenty of morning left,” he said, seething as he ended the call.
For some of us.
He tucked the phone away and started back to the hotel.
Jack’s cell rang as he stepped out of the Curry House’s storage room.
The Web conference following the Dark’s ransom demand had gone exactly as Chuck and Reza had choreographed it. Shada was ready to make the delivery. Jack would tail her—after he took this phone call.
He ducked into Reza’s office and answered it.
“It’s me,” said Andie. “First thing I want to say is that I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For pressuring you to drop the Jamal Wakefield case.”
There was a knock, and then Jack heard Reza’s voice on the other side of the closed door. “We have to go, my friend.”
“Andie, don’t worry about it,” said Jack. “We can talk when I get home.”
“No, you don’t understand. When I found out that you were trying to prove the existence of a black site, I had no idea that I was investigating the same black site that was at the end of your trail.”
Jack’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“It’s complicated, and I’m so angry with the bureau right now that I can hardly stand it. But you were representing Jamal ever since he was Khaled al-Jawar, Prisoner No. 977 at Gitmo. Obviously, the FBI knew he was really Jamal Wakefield, which means they knew his lawyers would eventually get into the issue of black sites in Prague. It was no coincidence that I was given this assignment. Someone high up thought they could play the national security card and pressure me into compromising your case. Or at least throw you off the trail of the black site in Prague, if need be.”
Jack lowered himself into the desk chair. He was having trouble getting his head around this one. “Wow. Andie, it’s five thirty in the morning here, I’ve hardly slept, and . . . just, wow.”
There was another knock at the door. “Jack,” said Reza, “we really have to go.”
“Andie, this is all good to know,” said Jack. “But I—”
“Good to know?” said Andie, incredulous. “Jack, I could be fired for telling you this. But here’s the point. I don’t know what exactly you’re doing over there in London, but you need to know that the people who ran this black site are beyond evil. Don’t kid yourself into thinking otherwise. Please, please, don’t take unnecessary chances.”
The door opened, and Reza stuck his head into the room. “Hang up the phone. We’re leaving.”
Andie asked, “Who was that?”
Jack hesitated too long, but Andie’s tone changed abruptly. “I gotta go,” she said. “Be careful, Jack. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he said, and the call ended.
Chapter Seventy-two
The Black Ice limo cruised through the night at forty miles per hour, top speed in a snowstorm like the one that was slamming the Mid-Atlantic region. Andie glanced out the dark-tinted windows. She’d seen few cars on the road tonight, virtually none since they’d exited the expressway. Bahena had told her that they were headed for the airport, but she had her doubts.
“Doesn’t look like a good night to fly,” she said.
Littleton didn’t answer. He was seated across from her, facing forward. Andie was in the other bench seat with her back to the cockpit. The chauffer’s partition behind her head was closed, leaving her and Littleton in privacy. They were forty minutes into the drive, and he had yet to speak a word to her.
Not a good sign.
Andie had ended the phone call with Jack in the nick of time, before Bahena had come around with the company limo. She’d made riskier calls while working undercover, and this one should have gone undetected. But she was beginning to have doubts.
The limo slowed, then pulled off the road to a stop. Andie glanced out the window. They were outside the glow of city lights, nowhere near an airport—nowhere near anything she recognized.
“Why are we stopping?” she asked.
Littleton stared at her, his face illuminated only by the dim, blue glow of the liquor cabinet to Andie’s right.
“Who are you?” asked Littleton. His