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One Rough Man - Brad Taylor [149]

By Root 1467 0
through the key. When I went past the last tumbler, I pulled the key back out until it clicked once. Looking left and right, ensuring I was alone, I raised the mallet and gave the key a sharp rap, applying torque as soon as the key seated past the pins. The lock broke free, the cylinder turning. I rotated the key and turned the lever, pushing the door. It didn’t budge. I paused a half second and pushed again. The door was still locked. Puzzled, feeling the press of time, my instinct was to simply kick in the door. Hold on. Solve the problem. I went through possibilities in my mind. I remembered that European locks sometimes go two full rotations to open. I repeated the procedure with the bump key, feeling a sense of relief when the lock cylinder turned again, releasing the door. I entered the room.

Once again, Jennifer’s description was spot on. The room was small, consisting of a single floor lamp, an end table, a chair, and a twin-sized bed. No closet and no bathroom. I went to a duffel bag on the chair first, sifting through the clothes. Finding an American passport, I saw that Jennifer had been right. The name inside was Carlos Menendez. Hispanic. Very smart. I wrote down the name and passport number for future reference. I saw nothing else of interest. I moved to the nightstand, opened a drawer, and found a wooden box inside. I pulled it out, setting it on top of the end table.

89

Bakr sat at his usual table, staring at the in-box for the e-mail account between him and Sayyidd. The box was still empty. Bakr felt drained, cheated of the gift for which he had so patiently waited. What the hell was Sayyidd up to? Why hadn’t he e-mailed? Bakr couldn’t bring himself to think the unthinkable—that Sayyidd had been captured or killed. Surely he was just hung up on his trip with Walid. They were too close to paradise for something to happen now.

He calmed down, mentally chastising himself for his pathetic wheedling. The forty-eight hours were up, and he had told Sayyidd he would immediately leave, but he decided to give his partner more time. Too much was riding on Walid’s coordination. If Sayyidd didn’t send an e-mail by this afternoon, he would begin looking for routes into Israel on his own, planning his next steps. He would return tomorrow morning and check again, giving Sayyidd an extra twenty-four hours. If there was still no response, he would assume the worst and leave Bosnia, heading perhaps toward Turkey, then onward into Syria.

Leaving the café, Bakr chastised himself again for his weak constitution, purposely picking up his gait to get away from the thoughts of self-pity.

INSIDE CARLOS’S HOTEL ROOM, I was carefully checking the box for any indications of booby traps when my phone rang.

“Yeah? How long? Okay. I’m headed out. No, I haven’t found anything, but I really haven’t had time to check it out completely.”

I started the chronograph feature of my watch, figuring I had about two minutes to finish up. Sure the box was clean, I lifted the lid and found my first indication of terrorist activity. I pulled the remote detonation device out of the box and turned it over in my hands, considering what I should do with it. I looked for some way to disable it without Carlos being aware, but quickly dismissed the idea, since I couldn’t read the Cyrillic writing and didn’t know enough about its operational capability to ensure I did it correctly without his knowing. I placed it back in the box and returned it to the drawer exactly as I had found it.

Before I closed the drawer I noticed a scrap of paper with an international number written on it. I copied it down, assuming it had been placed there by Carlos, since the end table and room were completely barren, without a trace of rubbish.

I searched the rest of the room but found nothing at all. I had confirmed the detonation device the terrorist had referred to in his e-mail, but still could not prove or disprove any connection to WMD. I looked at my watch, seeing one minute and forty-three seconds had passed since Jennifer’s call. Out of time. I need to

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