Today’s excerpt is from Back
to Iraq, Book #2 of the nine-book Janitors Series. The terrorist bringing the satchel nuke to
America is running into difficulty. Enjoy
and have a wonderful day.
m.j.
In Madrid, the man there feared
the phone call just received might have jeopardized him, so he packed up and
left for Paris. He was correct in his
fears. His name had been found in the
volumes of data collected by the Janitors in Hit and his phone was under
surveillance by the Spanish. As he drove
down the street away from his residence, the Spanish authorities drove up,
missing him by less than a minute. The
Spanish decided to stake out his home and wait.
That allowed him to make good his escape to France. Once in Paris, he called the Toronto cell and
informed them of Kahdi’s predicament. He
told them to proceed with caution. That
call completed, he decided that Europe was no place for him and booked a flight
home to Saudi Arabia.
After a day of waiting outside
the empty house, the Spanish authorities finally had the thought to contact the
Canadians about the man in their midst.
They didn’t know his name, but were able to tell them where he was
located. That proved to be of little
help to the Canadian authorities because Sa’d Kahdi had checked into a hotel of
some size, which was frequented by a large number of Mideastern types. The best they could do was to put a
plainclothes detail in the lobby, hoping to spot a suspicious-looking person
and comb through the files of recent arrivals.
What they found there were thirty-seven people of Middle Eastern descent
who had checked in during the past seven days.
Further checking proved that none of those thirty-seven had placed a
call to Spain in the last two days.
Sa’d Kahdi had been picked for
this assignment because he was familiar with Canada and the United States,
having traveled to both countries on numerous occasions. During those trips, he came to the conclusion
that North American police forces more or less left people alone if they acted
in a normal and relaxed way. Now, as he
walked through the lobby of the hotel after having eaten, he was forced to put
that conclusion to the test, as he spotted what had to be police officers in
plainclothes.
Calmly he walked to the bank of
elevators, pushed the button, went to his floor, and into his room. Only when inside did he exhale fully. Kahdi wondered what to do. The police being present might have nothing
to do with him. But instinct told him otherwise. Yet, if he left the hotel he would never make
contact with the Toronto cell. And that
cell was vital because they could get his luggage aboard the flight he would
take to America and bypass customs in Chicago.
The experience of customs on arrival in Canada had been harrowing, even
though it had gone well. He knew a
closer inspection of his papers might arouse suspicion—suspicion that would
easily turn up the fact that he had no business being in Canada or the
United States.
He
felt he had used up all the luck he was entitled to. The Americans would not be so lax—especially
not now. Just as he was about to decide
to leave the hotel and take his chances on another method to reach America, the
phone rang. The voice said, “Check out
now. Leave the hotel, turn right, and
wait at the corner for a red sedan to pick you up.”
Kahdi hung up the phone, gathered
his things, went to the lobby, and checked out.
He did his best not to look at the police officers he had spotted
earlier, as he calmly walked from the hotel.
At the corner, the red car pulled up in front of him. Without haste he opened the door, put his
bags in the back, and rode off with a young woman at the wheel.
Around the corner and driving
with a pace to match traffic, the woman glanced at him. “You are Kahdi. No need for you to know my name. We cannot get you out of Canada and into the
United States by airline. Our man in
Chicago has been detained by the authorities for questioning.”
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