Terror Trail. Don Pendleton

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СКАЧАТЬ helicopter you acquired for him. An extremely satisfactory arrangement.”

       “Hell, not one of the best. The best. And I’m not being a smart-ass here. My reputation speaks for itself. I make a deal, I deliver. Look, Jamal, I built my business over a long time. I don’t like disappointing my customers.”

       “But you have had your failures, Mr. Regan. Yes?”

       Regan threw up his hands. “First to admit it. Few of my deals have fallen through. I won’t deny it. But my successes outreach them by a golden mile. You have to realize this is a high-risk business. Things can go south. But what business is totally risk free?”

       Ryad sipped at his tea. He watched Regan for a moment before asking, “It does not concern you where the weapons are used?”

       Regan grinned. “I was wondering when you were going to get around to that. Look, like I told your boss man, Kerim, I buy and sell a commodity. I don’t care what the end user does with them. Hell, I’m no different to other sellers in the business. Goes against my religion to pick and choose where my ordnance ends up. Governments do it all the time. It’s big, big business, so why shouldn’t Jack Regan get his cut?”

       “But America?”

       “I ain’t lived on home soil for longer than I can remember. I move around. Go where my business takes me. Today I’m operating on home ground. Shit, Jamal, America has more guns floating around than even I could supply. People are blowing themselves away all the time. Don’t shoot me all that patriotic bullshit. Only thing I ever had in common with the U.S.A. was the race for the almighty dollar. It’s a dog-eat-dog world, and I do not aim to go hungry.”

       Ryad smiled. “You make it almost sound romantic, Mr. Regan.”

       “Hey, cut the mister crap. The name’s Jack.” Regan placed both hands flat on the table. “Okay, let’s talk numbers. We get this all worked out I can start filling your order and getting my people set up.”

      * * *

      LATER, AFTER RYAD had left, Regan switched on his sat phone and punched in a number. He waited until his call was picked up.

       “Carlos, hola, mi amigo.”

       “You sound in a good mood,” Carlos Gallegos said.

       “Why not, bubba? A man is allowed to be cheerful when he’s just negotiated a nice fat contract.”

       “The Muslim guy?”

       “Yes. So we can start to pull things together. You know what to do?”

       “Of course,” Regan’s liaison for the deal said. “We working to a deadline here?”

       “I told him around a few more days.”

       “We don’t even need that long,” Gallegos said.

       “You and me, bubba, we know that. But he doesn’t, so we can cruise this deal without raising a sweat. You get moving and keep in touch. I don’t want any fuckups on this, Carlos.”

       “No problems. Where will you be?”

       “I have to tie up a distribution deal so I’ll be busy a couple days.”

       “You using Sebastian for this Arab deal?”

       “Always done right by me before,” Regan said. “He’s in the right area and he has secure storage. I’ll head along to see him when the delivery is due. We can easily work out the schedule.”

       “I’ll get things rolling this end. Talk to you, Jack.”

       Regan cut the connection, then immediately made a second call.

       “Jason? It’s Jack. The deal is on. Terms as we agreed. Merchandise is being organized as we speak. I’ll make contact once Carlos gives me the okay. You all set at your end?”

       “I’m always ready, Jack,” Jason Sebastian said. “Crew and vehicles ready to roll.”

       “Okay, I’ll be at your place in a couple of days.”

       “You sure you need to make the trip?”

       “No way I’m letting this deal out of my hands. Has to be a man-to-man handover. Too much riding on it to risk any other way.”

       “No sweat, Jack. I’ll see you soon.”

       “That you will, bubba. That you will.”

      CHAPTER THREE

      New York

      Calvin James had waited, watching the coming and going of the worshipers. This was his fifth day lingering near the entrance to the mosque. He was expecting Shaia Kerim. After scoping out the mosque for the past few days, Calvin had the man’s habits logged in his mind. Kerim visited the mosque at the same time every day. James saw no reason why he shouldn’t do the same today. It was time to make a connection. Time to see if his new identity would get him recognized as a believer, and a possible recruit for Hand of Allah.

       The Stony Man warrior had allowed his hair to grow out. He hadn’t shaved for a few days. He wore washed-out chinos and a long cotton tunic under a faded, much abused jacket. His pockets held a few crumpled bills and some change. He had no cell phone or wallet. The only other item he carried was a well-thumbed copy of the Koran.

       At this point in time Calvin James had become Ibrahim Hammid, devoted follower of Allah and totally disenchanted with the U.S.A. Stony Man’s detailed profile, available for anyone who wanted to check him online, had Hammid as a potential troublemaker with leanings toward extremism. The false identity placed Hammid on the edge, isolated and angry at a world he felt alienated from. The intention was to get James accepted by Kerim and eventually by Hand of Allah. It was a long shot, but the only possible lead in to the radical group.

       James spotted Kerim as he came into view, heading in the direction of the mosque. The man was tall and lean, clad in Western clothing. A neat beard adorned the lower half of his slim face. His thick black hair was stylishly cut. As Kerim came closer James crossed the street, the Koran clutched in his hands, head down as he recited verses from the holy book. To any onlooker it would appear to be an accidental collision as James shouldered into Kerim, then stumbled awkwardly and allowed the Koran to slip from his grasp. James immediately began to apologize, offering Kerim his heartfelt words.

       “Assalam alaikum, my brother. If my clumsiness has offended you it was only my eagerness to seek the solace of the mosque that blinded me to your presence.”

       “Wa alaikum al salam. You are of the faith?” Kerim asked. He spotted the Koran lying at his feet and bent quickly to pick it up, examining the worn leather cover and inscription. Le Coran, translated by Muhammad Hamidullah and Michel Leturmy. “This is a rare copy. Where did you get it?”

       “My mother gave it to me when I was a child. And schooled me in French so I could understand.”

       “Where was she from?”

       “She was Algerian. My father was African-American. In the French Legion. He brought us to this place when he left the military. Made СКАЧАТЬ