Choke Point. Don Pendleton

Khalidi could not help but let it mesmerize him; this one thing had never really become workaday or routine to him.

      The drug trafficker stopped to watch a school of remoras before turning and entering an antechamber that led to control center. Standing at one of the several computer terminals was Ebi Sahaf, Khalidi’s chief adviser and director of operations within the complex. Sahaf had first come into Khalidi’s employ as a technical adviser for Abd-el-Aziz, but Khalidi quickly realized the man’s potential after seeing him in action. Not only had Sahaf demonstrated his technical competence and ability to command men, but he was also a devout Muslim and faithful ally. Sahaf took to his new assignment like a dog to a bone. He’d proved his worth and loyalty more times than Khalidi could recall, and in this regard had become one of his leader’s closest friends and advisers.

      “Good day, Abbas,” Sahaf said without even turning from the screen.

      Although Sahaf spoke flawless Arabic, the British accent was evident in his voice—a clear sign of his upbringing in New Delhi. It was at university in India where he’d learned his technical skills and demonstrated his uncanny skills as both an information systems and structural engineer. It was a rare and unusual combination of skills and Khalidi had always admired Sahaf for his talent.

      “How did you know I was here?”

      “The guards called ahead, as they are instructed to do whenever you show for a surprise visit.”

      “I would hardly call my visit a surprise,” Khalidi said, raising one eyebrow.

      Sahaf turned and smiled. “I merely jest with you, Abbas. Don’t be so serious.”

      “I’m a serious man with serious issues on my mind.”

      “You speak of the recent incidents in America?”

      Khalidi nodded and Sahaf looked around. The staff seemed otherwise preoccupied with their respective duties, but Sahaf, a man with a singularly suspicious nature, gestured for Khalidi to follow him to a location where they could talk privately. They entered a small conference room adjoining the complex and closed the heavy door behind them. They didn’t have to worry about being overheard or eavesdropping. A personal team—handpicked from the mercenary force that oversaw security—swept twice a day for surveillance devices, every door in the complex provided a waterproof and practically soundproof seal.

      Khalidi took a seat at the conference table while Sahaf proceeded to a nearby coffeepot and prepared two single-size servings of strong Turkish coffee. Once he’d returned to a seat next to Khalidi and served him the cup filled with the dark liquid, he scratched his eyebrow beneath the lens of his bifocals and groaned inwardly.

      “I must admit that the news troubled me, as well, when I heard it,” Sahaf said.

      Khalidi took a sip from the cup before asking, “How did you find out?”

      “During my regularly scheduled call with Ibn Sayed.”

      Khalidi had always found it difficult to understand why Sahaf refused to call Genseric Biinadaz by his given name instead of the more formal Genseric Biinadaz Ibn Sayed. Of course, Sahaf had very traditional views in this regard, but he also saw Biinadaz as somewhat of an outsider given his affiliation with the Taliban party in Afghanistan.

      “Were these men he had selected responsible for this debacle?” Khalidi inquired. “The information I’ve been given was not detailed.”

      “It took some prodding but he was eventually forthcoming in saying these two men had gone rogue,” Sahaf replied with a shrug. “As far as I know, they were men that he cleared. Whether he knew about their plans to operate outside of protocols could never be proved by mere inquiry alone. Older, more tried methods would be needed to ascertain the truth.”

      “It sounds as if you’re inferring some impropriety on Genseric’s part.”

      “Not inferring so much as suggesting we not dismiss the possibility,” Sahaf said over his cup.

      “Do you have any evidence?”

      “I don’t. This is why I’ve not made any direct accusation. You know me better than this, I think.”

      “Indeed I do.”

      Sahaf took another sip and sighed. He stared at the half-empty cup for a time before saying, “I’ve never made it any secret there is a level of distrust I have for Ibn Sayed.”

      “Yes,” Khalidi replied, “and this is not the first time we’ve had a discussion like this. What troubles me is that every time we talk about it you never seem to give me reasons why.”

      “It’s because I do not wish to insult you.”

      “It would take more than mere candor for me to think you were insulting me, old friend.”

      “Honesty, then.”

      “I want nothing less,” Khalidi said. “I deserve nothing less. No?”

      “No.” Sahaf took a deep breath in an obvious gesture of collecting his thoughts. “To be plain, Abbas, I do not trust him because he has not made his goals known. I don’t trust men who won’t verbalize their personal or political ambitions. It speaks of a double-minded man who wavers when questioned about his past affiliations. Double-minded men can be very dangerous.”

      Khalidi didn’t want to laugh but he couldn’t help himself in the moment.

      Sahaf glowered. “Why do you laugh at me?”

      “I’m not laughing at you,” Khalidi said. “I’m laughing because I seem to recall times when you first worked for me where you held your own ambitions rather close to the heart. I had to practically beat it out of you when looking for someone to oversee the construction of this facility. And now look!”

      Khalidi rose and began to pace the small conference room, waving toward the invisible reinforcement beams high above them. “Look at what you’ve accomplished.”

      “With your guidance, Abbas.” Sahaf sat back in the chair and folded his arms. “It was your vision that inspired me. I would have never achieved this on my own.”

      “Of course not!” Khalidi said. “But that is exactly my point. Don’t you understand, Ebi? Don’t you see what the completion of this facility means? We are on the precipice of a success for Islam unlike anything ever foretold. Others merely eke out a paltry living while they stand along the side of Allah’s path and observe the trail of history. But we—” he slapped the table for emphasis “—we are making history!”

      Khalidi took his seat once more. “When we started this project more than three years ago, I know you couldn’t ever see it coming to completion. And yet here you have attained an historical success. And yet you did not start off being plainly ambitious. Is it now so difficult to believe that success cannot be won by Genseric Biinadaz just because he is not forthright with alternative plans?”

      “You are right, of course,” Sahaf said immediately. “I ask your forgiveness for not seeing it.”

      “Ha! My friend, there is nothing to forgive,” Khalidi protested. “And you must know that I have not completely discounted your concerns. I’ve found you to be insightful and prodigious, single-minded in your goals and utterly ingenious. You are a superb reader of others and I would be an ignorant fool not to heed your advice. Particularly on a matter as important as our operations in America.”

      “I appreciate your understanding, Abbas.”

      “So exactly what is it you propose should concern us about Genseric?”

      “I have received some disturbing information about our trafficking operations,” Sahaf said. “Information that indicates the Americans have agents now investigating the deaths of their officials, and the disappearance of the boy sired by this Congressman Acres.”

      “Are you saying that Genseric claims not to know the boy’s whereabouts?”

      “Yes.”