Foreign Influence_ A Thriller - Brad Thor [65]
Vaughan shook his head. “Hey, don’t take it out on me. My wife’s not happy either and I’m sure it goes double for my kids. I normally cook pancakes on Sunday.”
“How old are they?”
“My wife would tell you her age is none of your business, but the kids are five and seven. How about you? Do you have children?”
“No. Just two extremely high-strung miniature Dobermans who piss the carpet if I shut the refrigerator too loud.”
“I hate tiny dogs.”
“Do you mind?” asked Davidson, his head pulled back. “You’re talking about my kids here.”
“Sorry.”
“Forget about it. I don’t like tiny dogs either. Can you picture what I look like walking those little apartment rats when the wife is under the weather?”
Vaughan chuckled.
“How about you?” continued Davidson. “Do you have any animals?”
“We’ve got a lab mix.”
“Mixed with what?”
“Pit bull.”
“Now that’s a man’s dog.”
“That’s what Mrs. Vaughan tells me,” he said as he opened up a bag and offered Davidson a doughnut. “Sorry. They didn’t have any turkey or tofu sausage.”
“I’ll let my wife know to add you to the wrongful death suit as well,” he said, reaching into the bag. “Which one has the Crestor sprinkles?”
Vaughan was about to laud the health benefits of doughnuts when his eye caught movement across the street. “I don’t believe it.”
“Me neither. They’re all glazed. There’s not a single chocolate one in the whole bag. Who goes for doughnuts and doesn’t bring back at least one chocolate?”
“I’m not talking doughnuts. Check out the guy who just got out of that car across the street.”
Davidson looked up as a fat man with a long gray beard and dark sunglasses was helped out of a car by two younger men. He looked to be in his late sixties and was dressed in traditional Muslim clothing with a length of fabric wrapped around his prayer cap.
“Look at his hands,” said Vaughan.
“Holy hand job, Batman. Where’d he get those back-scratchers?” exclaimed Davidson as he saw the man’s two stainless steel hooks.
“Probably not from baking cupcakes.”
“You can say that again. Don’t they cut off hands for stealing over there?”
“The Saudis do, and sometimes the Taliban. It’s definitely an Islamic thing, but I’ve got a feeling this guy’s a different story,” said Vaughan.
“Lose a hand and you end up becoming an instructor. Isn’t that what you said?”
Vaughan nodded.
“Judging by this guy’s qualifications, he must be teaching a Ph.D. course.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” said the Organized Crime officer as he put the lid back on his coffee cup.
“Maybe we should hand this over to the Joint Terrorism Task Force now.”
“And tell them what? While looking for our hit-and-run cabbie we saw a man with hooks for hands? Everything from Nasiri’s apartment is poisonous tree.”
Davidson knew he was right. “But if what we think is going on, actually is going on, we can’t just sit around and do nothing.”
“I agree. We need to do something, but the last thing we can afford to do is to be spotted. If that happens, everyone will scatter and this thing will go deeper underground. We’ve got one thread we’re hanging on by and if we lose it, there’s no telling how badly this will end.”
The Public Vehicles officer shook his head. “I wonder if this was why 9/11 didn’t get stopped.”
“We’re not going to let another 9/11 happen. I don’t care what we have to do. But the one thing we can’t do is continue to sit here in your Bronco. We need a better surveillance vehicle.”
“The PI company I moonlight for has one,” said Davidson as he pulled out his cell phone.
“Why didn’t you say anything before?”
“Because I don’t like using it.”
“Why not?”
“It has a certain feature that’s a real pain in the ass.”
“It gets hot and stuffy and begins to stink like every other surveillance vehicle?” asked Vaughan.
“No, not at all. This thing is wall-to-wall luxury. It’s like riding in a limo.”
“So then what’s the problem?”
Davidson turned on