Witness to Death Page 19

  The man who’d met John at the door said, “I want nothing more to do with this.” He left the room.

  Omar watched him go. He stood loose, on the balls of his feet, as if ready to spring at any moment.

  “What did you hear?” John asked.

  “Enough,” he answered. “Who are you?”

  The voice was high pitched and thickly accented. It reminded John of a student he’d had his first year teaching.

  “I am a friend.”

  “What friend of mine will not identify himself?”

  “Maybe,” John said, “‘friend’ was a bad choice of word.”

  “What are you talking about? I don’t have time for this.”

  John took a deep breath. This was it. Zero time.

  “Peter was here. I’m looking for him.”

  Silence from Omar.

  “Have you see him?” John asked.

  “So tell me,” Omar said, “Who do you think you are? You come here and demand things from me. Expect my help. My friend and I, we have no idea who you are. And we know a lot.”

  His hair stuck out in different directions. He had on a white undershirt, khakis and a belt. He was barefoot.

  John waited for him to speak.

  Omar moved slowly, almost gliding as he grabbed the chair, twisted it, and sat.

  “You came here talking about Peter Callahan. Demanding answers. It’s clear you’re not a professional, or you would have shown up here with a better idea of what to do.”

  John’s mouth went dry.

  “I know Peter Callahan,” he said. “He’s gone missing. And I think you know where he is.”

  Omar crossed his arms over the back of the chair and leaned forward.

  “You know him as Peter Callahan? Interesting. Not many people know him by that name. From what I’ve been told, he’s had several different names. Peterson. Carnathan. Randolph. Henry. William.” Omar swallowed. “Frank.”

  John’s ears burned when Omar said the names. What else did Omar know about Frank? He couldn’t possibly know who John was.

  “Listen,” John said. “I think you work for the government. Maybe the guys in trenchcoats. That’s why you were on the docks the other night. Either way, I think you know where Fr—Peter is.”

  “With the government.” Omar showed his yellowed teeth.

  “Peter works for them too, doesn’t he? I want to find him. I need your help.”

  Omar took his hands off the back of the chair. Leaned back, as if stretching.

  “If you need help, then why seek me out? If you think he works for the government, why not go to them?”

  “I didn’t have time to really think about where else to start. I didn’t know how else to get answers. This is the address I have.”

  His voice quivered slightly. John noticed it, but hoped Omar didn’t.

  “Barging in here is a funny way to gain my trust,” Omar said.

  “I… Perhaps I misspoke.”

  Omar, however, wasn’t listening. He was staring at John, his red eyes blinking and watery. John thrust his hands in his pockets and turned to the side so he wasn’t directly facing Omar.

  “I don’t know where Peter is,” Omar said. “But you look very familiar. Yeah, yeah. I can’t put my finger on it. Where have I met you before?”

  John felt his armpits dampen. Omar didn’t hear him tell the other man about the docks. “I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

  Omar sniffled and wiped his nose. “I’m not surprised you’re here.”

  He stood up from the chair. Swung his head back toward John. John’s legs tightened and he felt the urge to run. Something was wrong, this wasn’t the way it was supposed to go.

  “Out on the harbor. You were with Peter. Did you lose him that night? Is that what happened? Maybe he was snatched, as planned. Maybe that’s why you can’t find him.”

  Omar walked over to the door before John could say more. He wiped at his nose one more time, then reached down and locked the door.

  He threw the papers from his hand on to the floor, reached behind his back, and came out with a gun.

  “You shouldn’t have come here.”

  “Uncuff me,” Callahan said.

  Christine stepped back from him. Sandler looked up from the picture of Weller.

  Callahan turned around and lifted his cuffed hands away from his back, as if he hadn’t heard Sandler. He waited. No one moved.

  “Like hell,” Sandler said.

  Sandler moved behind Callahan, who felt him grab the chain between the bracelets. A quick shake of the wrists and that was it. Callahan’s wrists dropped back to his body.

  “Why’d you do it? Why kill Weller?” He settled his gaze on Christine. Her knuckles whitened around the knife.

  “I didn’t do it,” she said. Her voice was soft, but not small.

  Callahan turned to Sandler. He spread his hands.

  “Things happen,” he said.

  With a government agent dead, there were going to be investigative agents everywhere. The FBI would probably get involved. Every thug in Washington was having their door kicked in today. Every phone line was being tapped. Emails being read.

  Killing a cop was bad. Killing a DHS boss? Apocalyptic.

  Sandler took a step toward him, as if Callahan had said something wrong. Christine looked relaxed, but instead of watching Callahan, she had her eye on Sandler. Maybe she was waiting for him to give the order.

  He thought about Michelle and wondered where they were holding her. She God damn better still be breathing. For an instant he pictured his hands wrapped around Sandler’s throat, eyes bulging as he tried to get air. Callahan’s nerve endings sizzled.

  “You said I was only supposed to be kidnapped,” Callahan said.

  Sandler nodded. “Given the right information, you could have been useful once everything was completed.”

  Callahan still had no idea what Sandler was talking about. “Now what?”

  Sandler shrugged. “I’m going to let you think a little bit. When I come to see you next, I want an answer. Omar is very important to me. This is your last chance.”

  One of the trenchcoats came through the room, as if on a mission. He didn’t make eye contact with anyone, didn’t say anything. Just passed through from the hallway to the hangar.

  “What about these guys?” Callahan said when the trenchcoat was gone. “Blackwater?”

  “I needed men. Good men,” Sandler said. “A man like me needs bodyguards.”

  “So you hired guys who were involved in a national scandal?”

  “That Times article was fortunate, wasn’t it? Like I said, the media can be a very helpful thing. Once the story broke, my men were out of a job. Blackwater fired all of them.”

  Callahan thought about the Ameritech leak. Was that fortunate timing as well? He opened his mouth, but thought better of it. No need to say anymore.

  “Another few days, and then no one will have to worry at all,” Sandler said.

  Omar pointed the gun at John.

  John’s arms went limp and it felt as if warm water was running through his veins. He exhaled and then cursed himself for feeling this way after the weekend he’d had. He should be used to it by now.

  “I might be able to use you,” Omar said.

  John had his hands in the air.

  “For what?”

  “Nevermind that.”

  John took a step toward Omar, just to do something offensive—and Omar raised the gun from his chest to his head. John stepped backwards. His veins cooled, as if someone had turned the thermostat in his body down.

  “Stay there,” Omar said.

  John waited to see if Omar would fire, then relaxed, raising his hands again.

  “I’m just trying to find my friend,” he said.

  Omar stepped around the counter, the gun still aimed at John. He pointed toward the papers scattered around the room with his free hand.

  “Please,” he said, “don’t pretend like you don’t
know what all of this is.”

  John crooked his head to peek at the paper, the words illegible from this distance. All he could see were smudges of small dark print. Across the room, near a short hallway, lay a paper with some sort of diagram on it. The picture was boxy and mechanical. John couldn’t make out anything else.

  “I really don’t—”

  “Shut up! Another agent could be useful to me. I could get back in.”

  “No,” John said. His arms were getting tired. His shoulder felt as if a constant jolt of electricity ran through it.

  “If I shot you now, that wouldn’t be the message I want to send. It wouldn’t help the cause.” Omar seemed to be talking to himself, as if he was working things out in his head.

  John said, “I really just need to find Peter.”

  Omar kept advancing on him, cutting the distance down to about five feet.

  An image of Hannah sinking into water flashed through his mind, then Ashley trying to hold her guts in her body, then Michelle being dragged away by her sister. He had to survive. No more deaths.

  “Wait, wait! I’m just a teacher. I’m a friend of Peter’s girlfriend. She’s missing too. I’m just trying to find them. Please, I’m worried about her. Too many people I know have died.”

  “I think you should be more concerned about your own safety at the moment.”

  “Please. I need your help. I have to find her.”

  Omar lowered the gun to John’s chest.

  “You’re going to listen to me. Do what I say.” His voice was calmer now, even.

  “I know,” John said, rushing his words. “I know. I was just—I don’t know what I’m doing. I deal with thirteen year olds. Not terrorists. Not government agents.”

  Omar lowered the gun a few inches. “I am neither of those.”

  Clearly, John thought and exhaled hard. He reached around and gripped his bad shoulder. The electricity running through it dulled.

  “Know that I could kill you at any time.” Omar sniffled.

  John had seen that look before in one of his students, bloodshot eyes, a runny nose. This guy looked exhausted..

  “But you,” Omar looked toward John. “I still don’t understand why are you here? If you are what you say, why are you here on your own?”

  “I already told you.”

  Omar squinted. “I recognize you. Why were you on the docks the other night? You were helping Peter.”

  “What are you—No, I was following Peter. It was pure dumb luck that I showed up when you tried to kill him.”

  Omar laughed. “A teacher. I cannot believe a teacher will help me get where I want to be.”

  Something in his eyes changed as he stared at John. They softened, no longer angry. They widened a bit, and John could see the long red veins that ran around his pupils.

  “You impress me,” Omar said. “To go through so much for a friend.”

  John took a deep breath. Someone walked up the steps outside, the wooden stairs creaking with each step. They waited as the footsteps passed and started up the next flight.

  “If you’re not going to help me, can I go?” John asked finally.

  “I’ve been out of the game for a few days,” Omar said. “That doesn’t mean I’m an iditot.”

  Omar sat very still, his eyes shifting from John to the door behind him. No other movement. Like a student waiting for the bell to ring, the period to end, and not wanting to say anything that would get him weekend homework.

  Omar nodded. “All those guns, all those deaths, they weren’t supposed to happen that night.”

  John didn’t speak.

  “I thought,” Omar continued, “for the first time since I met Sandler, that Peter had the upper hand. Maybe he’d have gotten to me. I had no choice but to hide. Though you’re here now. That changes things.”

  John felt his stomach go light. Sandler? Omar knew Sandler? For how long?

  “How were you involved?”

  Omar shook his head. “I need to contact my son. Tell him that things are going to go as planned. You’re coming with me. I’m going to fix things. This can still be a triumph.”

  “Where are Michelle and Peter?” John asked.

  Omar said, “You’ll see them soon. It’ll be no trouble at all.”

  A breeze ran through the room, and John got a deep whiff of a smell resembling an unclean toilet. He wanted to get the hell out of there. He felt his muscles tensing again, urging him to run. But he couldn’t yet. Not until he found out where Michelle and Peter were.

  “You shouldn’t have been a part of this. But now you are. Just come with me.” Omar waved the gun toward the door.

  As much as John wanted to listen to Omar’s instructions, he stayed right where he was.

  Omar’s face went slack and then taut as if he was gritting his teeth. The crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes tightened, and a slow moan came from his lips. After a few seconds it passed.

  “There is nothing you can do about it. I am tired of all of this hiding,” Omar said. “I have one more chance to make things right. I can get them to listen to me. And we’ll finally do things the right way.”

  John wanted to scream at him to hurry up. Instead, he kept his mouth shut and waited.

  Omar turned away for a moment, and then yelled, “Jawad!”

  The man John had spoken with earlier peeked around the edge of the door, and then entered the room.

  “I am leaving,” Omar said. “The mission.”

  Jawad straightened himself. “I will miss you, my friend. Wear the device well.”

  Omar spoke Arabic in return and embraced Jawad. John heard the word “Allah” repeated several times.

  But that wasn’t the word that stuck with John. No, he couldn’t get past “device.”

  John felt sweat on his back as he looked out the passenger window and saw the Hudson.

  “We have to make a stop,” Omar said, once the building was out of sight. “I need to get out of this car. No sudden movements.”

  “Why are we stopping?” John asked.

  The car stopped at a red light, and Omar popped open the console and fished around. John watched, making sure he wasn’t reaching for another weapon. But Omar pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offered one to John, who declined, and then took one for himself.

  The light turned green. Omar let a stream of smoke out of his mouth, then stepped hard on the gas.

  They parked in a public lot near the Weehawken ferry. Omar opened his door and stepped out. John’s mouth was open a bit, and his eyes felt watery.

  “Robert Sandler’s men. I’m doing a favor for them.” Omar paused. “Actually, they’re doing a favor for me.”

  “What is the device?” John asked.

  Omar shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Your friend mentioned a device.”

  “Have you ever heard of Ameritech?”

  “No,” John said.

  “Ameritech makes weapons. They sell them to the government, secretly. Well, secretly until today.”

  John wanted to ask for an explanation, but it seemed every time he asked a question, Omar slowed down his answers.

  “Today, the newspapers discovered what they do. The articles are critical of the Americans keeping another secret from the public, as if the citizens of this country need to know everything.”

  Omar sucked on the cigarette a bit, the harsh smell of smoke lingering under John’s nose. John wished he had reached across the console, grabbed the cigarette out of his mouth when he had tried to light it. If he could only breathe, he’d shake the man until he told them everything.

  “Well by tomorrow afternoon, Ameritech will be out of business.”

  John felt his mouth go dry. The ache in his shoulder returned, washing over him like a breaking wave.

  “What does all this have to do with Sandler?”

  “What does he do?” Omar asked.

  “He makes weapons.”

  “For whom?”r />
  “According to his daughter, France, Italy, other allies. Nothing major.”