The Last Patriot - Brad Thor [13]
Dodd was an assassin, not a bomber. And despite Omar’s justifications backed up with extensive recitations from the Koran and Hadith that non-Muslims could never be considered innocents, Dodd disagreed. He didn’t like killing civilians. What’s more, the bombing was excessive. It was using a sledgehammer when all that was needed was a flyswatter.
To pull off the bombing, Omar had reached out to people he knew who had contacts in France. It was too many degrees of separation and had all been one big clusterfuck from the get-go.
Omar’s local talent had been able to get only half the amount of explosives they needed. When they finally were ready to pull off the attack, the trigger man had gotten jumpy and had blown the Mercedes prematurely. As a result, Nichols had survived.
The entire operation had been a waste of time and money and now Nichols was spooked instead of dead.
But no matter how incompetent the team had been, it was still Dodd’s assignment and he took responsibility for it. He was nothing if not a man of honor.
The first few drops of an approaching rain began to fall and Dodd turned up the collar of his coat. He was in the process of considering moving to one of the cafés along the edge of the Parc Monceau when the prepaid cell phone he’d purchased that morning vibrated.
“Yes,” he said as he activated the call.
The deep voice of Sheik Omar resonated from the phone as if he were sitting right there on the bench next to him. “How were the lines at Versailles today?” he asked.
“Not as bad as the Louvre,” replied Dodd.
With the authentication between them complete, Omar inquired, “Did the flight take off on time?”
“No,” replied Dodd. “It actually took off early. Before all the passengers were able to board.”
Though the cleric said nothing, Dodd could feel Omar’s anger building from almost four thousand miles away back in America. “Tell me what happened,” the sheik finally said.
Dodd filled him in as ambiguously as he could, ever leery of the U.S. government’s eavesdropping systems. Both were on chat-n-chuck, throwaway phones purchased strictly for this conversation, but if the NSA had his voiceprint and the ECHELON system registered a match, it wouldn’t do them much good.
“We need to make sure any passengers that missed the flight are rebooked as soon as possible,” stated Omar.
“Same airline as before, or can this be a private charter, as I originally suggested?”
It took a moment, but the cleric relented. “Private charter will be fine. Just make sure that our passengers get to their destination.”
“Understood,” stated Dodd. “Anything else?”
“Yes,” replied the sheik, almost as an afterthought. “You mentioned another man who was rushing for the plane as it left the gate.”
“I did. He had a woman with him. Do I need to be concerned about them?”
“I’m not sure,” said Omar. “I’ll leave it to your discretion, but should you happen to see them again, I’d like them treated as VIPs.”
“Understood,” replied Dodd as he stood up from the bench. “I’ll make sure they’re booked on the next flight as well.”
He ended the call and removed the phone’s battery and SIM card, then broke the phone into several pieces, all of which he dumped into a series of storm drains as he exited the Parc Monceau.
Dodd had his orders. He needed to find Anthony Nichols and finish the job. If the man and woman from outside the café got in his way again, he would kill them too. And this time, he would do it his way.
CHAPTER 9
Harvath glanced at his Kobold Chronograph. He and Tracy had spent twenty minutes searching for Anthony Nichols. They had no way of knowing if he’d walked away of his own accord or if he’d stumbled off as a result of his head wound and was bleeding in a doorway somewhere. Harvath, though, had a hard time believing it was the latter.
He stopped walking and turned to Tracy. “This guy obviously doesn’t want to be found. I’m inclined to support his wish.”
“Then what do we do now?”
Harvath could see a Metro stop at the end of the block and he pointed at it as it began to