Chapter 10
More Than Meets the Eye
Aberdeen, Scotland – Late January, 2014
The customs agent studied the woman as she approached his booth and, despite her encasing attire, it was readily apparent that she was quite elderly.
Arriving at his station, the woman pushed her passport through the opening in the bullet-proof glass window, in the process whispering, “Good morning, kind sir.”
Because she was completely covered by the burka except for her eyes, he studied them carefully and was surprised to find them to be pale blue in color. Squinting obtrusively at her, he inquired brusquely, “What brings an Egyptian woman to Scotland, pray tell.”
Appearing to misunderstand, she responded softly, “Please, could you speak more slowly? My English is not so good.”
His visage softening a bit, he responded, “Sorry, let me rephrase that, why have you come to Scotland?”
At this she whispered, “My son is getting married. He lives in Edinburgh.”
“Ah, I see,” he responded, “And why then have you arrived by ship in Aberdeen, and from Amsterdam?”
“I am not wealthy, kind sir, and the airfare from Cairo to Amsterdam was by far the lowest.”
“I understand,” he replied, “And how long do you plan to stay in Scotland?”
“A week,” she responded.
“May I see your return ticket?”
“Yes, kind sir,” she replied, and so saying, she produced the requisite item.
“He studied it a moment and, surveying her eyes one last time, he pounded her passport with his stamp and, handing back to her, he announced, “Have a nice stay in Scotland, Ms. Rahman.”
MI6, London - February, 2014
Elspeth held out her hand to Director Wilson and offered, “Good to see you again, sir.”
“And you,” he responded candidly, “What brings you back to MI6, Ms. Moorehead? Please tell me it is nothing untoward.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir,” she responded matter-of-factly, “I assume you know why I am here.”
“Yes, well, I gather you have another theory, but please feel free to fill me in.”
“Yes, sir,” she responded, adding, “Is Agent Stuart about? I’d like for him to be in on this.”
“Need to know, and all that, Ms. Moorehead,” he replied sagely, “Does he indeed need to know?”
“When you hear what I have to say, I’m quite certain you shall agree that he does indeed have the need to know, sir.”
“Alright then, I shall get him for you.”
Moments later Connor entered the room and, surprise creasing his face, he exclaimed, “Elspeth! What brings you here?”
Taking his hand in hers, she smiled and responded, “It’s good to see you, too, Connor Stuart!”
“Oh, sorry,” he blurted in apparent embarrassment, “I meant to say - as am I, Elspeth. As am I…most certainly glad to see you.”
The discomforting pleasantries born by past history having been completed, Director Wilson instructed, “Please, have a seat Agent Stuart. Ms. Moorehead was just beginning to tell me about some new theory of hers.”
Connor sat as instructed, thereby giving Elspeth leave to commence with, “Gentlemen, I’m afraid our long and sordid interactions with Abdullah Al-Khoury have not yet reached their conclusion,” at which Director Wilson half-rose from his chair in obvious concern.
For his part, Connor simply leaned back in his chair, nonplussed by her unlikely assertion.
Eyeing her doubtfully, the director inquired, “What makes you say that?”
“Sir, I have evidence to suggest that Al-Khoury is still alive.”
“What! That simply cannot be!” the director exclaimed. “We are quite certain we killed him in Yemen.”
“Unfortunately, your conclusion appears to be incorrect, sir,” Elspeth countered.
At this Connor put in doubtfully, “So, Elspeth, how is it that my DNA matched that of the body found at the site of the drone kill?”
For her part, Elspeth turned towards Connor and exclaimed, “That son-of-a-bitch Al-Khoury had another son, Connor. I found a birth certificate – he was born in Libya in 1978, and his name was Suhinam Al-Khoury.”
“Wait a minute,” Connor blurted, “Are you telling me that this son of Al-Khoury’s was the person killed in Yemen?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you, Connor.”
“But…” Connor murmured, “But, if that is true, then Al-Khoury had his own son killed.”
At this Elspeth eyed him a moment and responded matter-of-factly, “It wouldn’t be the first time, Connor.”
“Alright,” the director interrupted, “Supposing this fantasy of yours is even possible, what proof do you have that it was indeed Al-Khoury’s son who was blown up in Yemen, Ms. Moorehead?”
“It is admittedly circumstantial, sir,” Elspeth observed, “But suppose we view it this way. In order for the DNA to match, it would have had to have been a close relative of Al-Khoury’s, or Al-Khoury himself, right?”
“I suppose so,” Director Wilson replied thoughtfully.
“Well then, in that case it had to be a relative of Al-Khoury’s rather than himself and, other than Connor here and myself, Suhinam Al-Khoury is Abdullah Al-Khoury’s only living blood relative.”
“Wait – why did you say rather than himself, Elspeth?” Connor interrupted.
At this Elspeth leaned back in her chair and observed serenely, “Because Abdullah Al-Khoury is at this very moment somewhere within the United Kingdom, gentlemen.”
At this revelation Director Wilson rose slowly from his seat and uttered a single word, “No!”
Eyeing the pair of them momentarily, Elspeth responded, “Yes, I’m afraid it’s true, sir. You see, Mr. Al-Khoury seems to have slipped up a tiny bit. Perhaps he was in some sort of hurry, but he used the passport of his now former paramour, one Tarraza Rahman, the mother of Farhan Rahman, to enter Scotland via a ferry from Amsterdam two weeks ago. It was a simple matter for me to search recent entries to the U.K. compared to names that seemed he might be likely to have used. I reasoned that, being quite aged, Al-Khoury might just possibly have disguised himself as an elderly Muslim woman wearing a full burka. I have been able to confirm that to be the case, gentlemen – Al-Khoury is now somewhere within this country, quite possibly disguised as an elderly woman wearing a burka.”
Regaining his composure, the director retook his seat and inquired incredulously, “Please, go on, Ms. Moorehead. I am, as they, all ears.”
“Yes, sir, it’s like this – I couldn’t believe that Al-Khoury, after all of the disparate ways that he managed to avoid capture or death, was so imprudent as to access his Swiss bank account electronically. Assuming that I was correct in my thinking, it was a short leap to the possibility that he might yet have another living relative, and sure enough – he did. Once I was able to confirm that fact, I determined that Suhinam Al-Khoury had entered Yemen prior to the drone attack, and that his whereabouts since are unknown. Given the likelihood that Suhinam was indeed the person killed by the drone, I began to wonder what possible purpose Al-Khoury could have had for allowing his own son to be so ignominiously assassinated. The only logical conclusion that came to mind was that Al-Khoury wanted to return to the West, something that he has not been able to do since 1970.
“And if Al-Khoury wanted to return to the West, two additional questions immediately came to mind. First, why would Al-Khoury want to do such a thing? Second, how could Al-Khoury achieve such a thing? Other than the obvious answer to the first question – to kill me – nothing came to mind. I therefore found it necessary to delve more deeply into Al-Khoury’s past. By the end of two weeks, nothing at all had turned up. I don’t mind telling you – by then my head hurt terribly from the effort.
“But then I had an idea – I realized that Connor Stuart is of course also part of Al-Khoury’s past! So I began researching Connor Stuart,
and I found something – something remarkable – to say the least.”
“And what might that be?” Connor inquired doubtfully.
“It seems that you, Connor, have just recently become the heir to the Earldom of Winston,” Elspeth countered placidly.
“What!” Connor exclaimed, and now it was his turn to pop from his chair.
Director Wilson now put in, “Ah, I know something about that Earldom. Wasn’t it in the paper recently – some Scotsman succeeded the 14th Earl of Winston, Trevor Sutherland, who passed away last month.”
“Correct,” Elspeth observed, “His name is Brandt MacCauley and, being the newly appointed 15th Earl of Winston, he is now ensconced at Wharton Manor in Gloucestershire.”
At this Connor responded incredulously, “But this is ridiculous! I’m quite certain that I am not related to any British royalty!”
“Well, yes and no,” Elspeth responded, “Brandt MacCauley was a quite distant relative of the former earl and, as it develops, you are indeed a distant relative of the current earl. In fact, you are the only living male heir of Brandt MacCauley, making you, Connor Stuart, the heir to an earldom.”
Stunned silence now pervading the room, the director eventually posited, “My, my, that is quite incredible. It is so incredible that I’ve completely lost my train of thought, Ms. Moorehead. Please - enlighten me – how does this have anything whatsoever to do with Mr. Al-Khoury?”
Elspeth replied succinctly, “I should think it would be obvious, sir. Abdullah Al-Khoury has only one remaining living relative – Connor Stuart – other than myself. And, being quite elderly, Al-Khoury wants to ensure that both his legacy and his lineage are intact upon his death. Now, what better way to ensure such a lineage than to see his only remaining relative appointed the Earl of Winston?”
“Oh…my…God…” Connor murmured to no one in particular, “He means to assassinate the newly appointed Earl!”
At this Elspeth put in, “Touché!”
Catching up rapidly, the director now inquired, “I see. So, Ms. Moorehead, what exactly do you think Al-Khoury has in mind to do?”
“Not sure, sir, but if my guess is correct, he plans to do just what Connor has suggested. And if that is indeed the case, he means to blow up Wharton Manor as a way of accomplishing his objective.”
“What makes you say that, Ms. Moorehead?”
“Just this, sir, Al-Khoury is a megalomaniac, a narcissist of the highest order, if you will. He is all too aware that this will be his final act on this Earth. What better way than to go out with a bang!”
At this revelation the director eyed her inquisitively and suggested, “A bang! I should say that is an understatement!” But then realizing the implications, he added, “But surely the British government would withhold the title from Connor should it be passed down by such a heinous act!”
At this suggestion Elspeth countered, “Tell me why, sir! Connor is entirely guiltless in all of this!”
Observing the veracity of her position, the director responded in exasperation, “I suppose you are correct. Damn!” And then, his mind moving at lightning speed, he queried, “So I assume you have further information regarding Al-Khoury, Ms. Moorehead?”
“Yes, sir. The CIA has been able to verify that two Apache helicopters shot down in the Iraqi War fell into the hands of Al Qaeda. Apparently, neither chopper was damaged beyond repair, thereby leading to the possibility that Al Qaeda now has two functioning Apache helicopters. I needn’t tell you that these are very dangerous weapons, sir.”
“Of, course,” the director responded, “And your point is?”
“Sir, evidence suggests that Al-Khoury will use the two choppers in an attack on the manor.”
“What! You must be kidding! Surely it isn’t possible for two such obvious weapons to penetrate the U.K.,” the director spat in denial.
“I believe they already have,” Elspeth replied, “We have some pretty damning evidence to support my contention, sir.”
“Like what?”
Tugging a photograph from her briefcase, Elspeth shoved it forward and inquired, “What do you make of that, sir?”
Examining the picture, the director allowed, “I don’t understand, it looks like nothing but a night photo of an expanse of ocean to me.”
“Correct, sir. Now, do you see the two tiny sets of red lights in the lower left hand corner?”
Squinting at the photo carefully, the director replied, “Yes, now that you mention it, I see them. What do you suppose they are?”
“Sir, that is a satellite photo. Because it is our satellite, we know the exact dimensions separating those lights, and there is only one aircraft in the world with that visual signature – an Apache helicopter.”
“I see…” the director murmured, adding, “And where was this photo taken, Ms. Moorehead?”
“It was taken less than a kilometer off the coast of the Isle of Islay, sir, and the line of travel is directly onshore.”
“Where did they come from?”
“Sir, we believe that they took off from a passing Russian tanker in the North Sea.”
“The Russians! Why am I not surprised,” the director responded and, examining the photos further, he suddenly sighed in signaled acceptance and agreed, “So it appears that two Apache helicopters have penetrated U.K. airspace. We must therefore assume that they are now in hiding somewhere within the U.K.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So, it seems that Mr. Al-Khoury has the means at his disposal to carry out this attack at any moment.”
“Yes sir, but he won’t, at least not just yet,” Elspeth replied matter-of-factly.
Arching one eyebrow in surprise, the director inquired, “What makes you say that?”
“There is one final detail that he must resolve.”
“And what exactly is that, Miss Moorehead?”
At this, Connor interrupted, “Elspeth!”
Grinning in satisfaction at Connor’s quickness, Elspeth posited, “Exactly! Al-Khoury remains desperate to wipe out the Stewart line. As I am the last of the Stewarts, his plan must necessarily include me, sir.”
“But…” the director responded in confusion, “How do you suppose he means to accomplish that?”
“Sir, he means to dupe me into visiting Wharton Manor.”
“What! That’s preposterous! How do you suppose he could get you to do such a thing?”
“By luring me there, sir.”
“Luring you! But you know of his intentions. Why ever would you submit to such cajoling?”
“It’s the only way to flush him out, sir.”
“Alright, supposing you are correct – how do you suppose he means to lure you in?”
“I should think that would be obvious. After all, he has already lured me all the way across the Atlantic.”
“What! You think he is leading you on, Ms. Moorehead?”
“There is no question in my mind, sir. Remember, I said that he seemed to have slipped up when he used Ms. Rahman’s passport to enter the U.K.? That was the act of an amateur, and Al-Khoury is certainly no amateur! He’s dropping a trail of breadcrumbs, sir, a trail meant to lure me to Wharton Manor. And until I do so, he shall refrain from attacking the manor.”
Dragging one hand to his forehead, the director murmured wearily, “I can see this is going to get far worse before it gets better.”
Wharton Manor, Gloucestershire – Two Days Later
The car pulled up to the manor and, a look of utter dismay clouding her features, Elspeth stepped from within. The front door of the manor opened immediately thereafter, in the process disgorging a tall handsome man from within. Approaching her, he exclaimed, “You must be Elspeth Moorehead. I am Brandt MacCauley, at your service.”
Having no earthly idea how one should greet an earl, Elspeth sort of bent from the waist and responded, “A pleasure, sir.”
Smiling impishly at her, he replied, “Please, Ms. Moorehead
, we do not stand on ceremony here at Wharton Manor. Call me Brandt, if you will.”
“Certainly,” she replied hesitantly, “And by all means - call me Elspeth.”
“Thank you, Elspeth,” he chirped, “And now, if you will follow me.”
Once ensconced within the library, he initiated the discussion with, “So, Director Wilson tells me that you are CIA, and that you have been assigned to protect us.”
“That is correct,” she replied noncommittally.
At that moment a lovely woman about Elspeth’s age entered the room, at which Brandt announced, “Ah, here she is, my lovely wife, Patience.”
Rising from her seat, Elspeth responded, “Yes, we’ve already met,” and, seeing the confusion on Patience’s face, she added, “Er, at least I feel like we’ve already met.”
At this Patience cocked one eyebrow and inquired, “How so?”
Elspeth grinned and responded, “Patience Walker, world famous for bringing down that vermin Kareem Al-Wadi. You are a true legend within the annals of the CIA. It is a great honor to meet you, Ms. MacCauley.”
At this Patience simply grinned and replied, “Please, call me Patience, as I shall call you Elspeth.”
“Done,” Elspeth observed, “Now, shall we get down to business?”
“Yes, of course,” Brandt responded, “Please begin, Elspeth.”
At this, Elspeth eyed the pair of them for a moment, and then she launched into the plan, “Well, as you both know, Connor Stuart is the heir to the Earldom of Winston. I don’t mind telling you, this revelation came as a great shock to him.”
“To us as well,” Brandt responded, “But I digress. Please, continue.”
“Yes, well, this has little bearing, but Connor and I were friends in college at Harvard years ago. I believe that Director Wilson filled you in on some of the details, so I will skip over them and get straight to the point. Connor is not only the heir to the Earldom, he is also the son of one Abdullah Al-Khoury, one of the most horrific terrorists alive today. But Mr. Al-Khoury, being ninety-three years old, is nearing the end of his reign of terror. Given this fact, we have been able to determine that he desperately wants to see his son appointed to the Earldom before his own passing. This of course would require that you, the current earl, have departed this world. Thus, Al-Khoury has undertaken to hasten that departure.
“Yes, I understand,” Brandt responded thoughtfully, “And you surmise that the attack will come here at the manor?”
“Yes, we do,” Elspeth replied matter-of-factly.
“Why not attempt to assassinate me while I am on some trip or other, Elspeth? That way, if and when Connor inherits the Earldom, he also gets Wharton Manor.”
“Good question,” Elspeth posited, “With a somewhat convoluted answer. First of all, previous terrorist activities attributed to Mr. Al-Khoury have demonstrated conclusively that he is a narcissist – a man who is desperate to prove his stature as one of the great villains of our time. Ergo, Mr. Al-Khoury wishes to accomplish his final mission with great flair. To put it succinctly, he wishes to go out ‘in style’.”
“I see,” Brandt put in, “And what is the second reason, if I may be so bold?”
Elspeth pondered a moment, then suggested, “This is a bit strange, to say the least, I’m afraid. You see, Mr. Al-Khoury is perhaps even more desperate to do away with me.”
“What! You mean kill you?” Patience interrupted.
“Yes, of course,” Elspeth exclaimed and, seeing their mutual doubt, she continued with, “It’s a long story, you see. Mr. Al-Khoury was at one time named James Moorehead, a citizen of the Unites States. He was a respected academic who rose to the presidency of Harvard University. And along the way he sired a son, Robert Moorehead, who was my own father. Mr. Al-Khoury is therefore my grandfather.”
At this Brandt stared at her in disbelief and blurted, “As well as Connor Stuart’s father!”
“Correct,” she responded blandly, “So it developed that James Moorehead had a mortal enemy on the faculty at Harvard. His name was Sloan Stewart, and he was my grandfather on my mother’s side. For whatever reasons, President Moorehead was dismissed from Harvard in 1968.
“He then disappeared for many years, only to resurface in 1988 as Abdullah Al-Khoury, at which time he was the principle planner behind the Lockerbie bombing.”
At this Brandt responded introspectively, “I remember that plane crash, I was still living in Edinburgh at the time. It was horrible!”
“Precisely,” Elspeth put in, “And my parents were onboard the aircraft.”
Reaching for her throat, Patience blurted in apparent horror, “My goodness!”
Elspeth now recommenced with, “I was fifteen at the time, but the memory stuck with me, so that eventually I began to question what had really happened that day. Once I went to work for the DIA, I had access to technology that allowed me to research the circumstances surrounding the bombing. Of course, this all evolved over the course of many years, but I eventually began to suspect that Al-Khoury was indeed my grandfather, and as such, he continued to carry a grudge against my other grandfather, despite the fact he had already passed away. Accordingly, Al-Khoury went after Sloan Stewart’s widow, my grandmother Sabrina.
“And now we come to you, Patience. You were supposed to be collateral damage in the bombing of the Lido Hotel in Las Vegas in 1997. We have confirmed that Abdullah Al-Khoury contracted with Kareem Al-Wadi to bomb the Lido in an attempt to kill my grandmother, who was attending a showgirls’ reunion within the hotel at the time. Because of your heroics, that attempt failed. Unfortunately for you, Al-Khoury tracked you to New York City, and in 2001 he affected the attack on the World Trade Center, perhaps the most successful terrorist attack of all time.
“But I don’t understand,” Brandt interrupted, “Are you telling me that Patience was subjected to years of misery due to a family feud?”
Elspeth arched one eyebrow and observed, “That is exactly what I am telling you, Brandt.”
“Incredible,” he blurted, “Please, continue.”
“My mother eventually passed away last year, thereby leaving only me, the last of the Stewart line, alive. In his zeal to go out “in style”, Al-Khoury means to kill two birds with one stone, meaning you and me, Brandt. Taking out both Patience and Wharton Manor in the process will simply be frosting on the cake.”
At this there was a momentary silence in the room, followed by Patience’s inquiry, “So, when is all of this going down, Elspeth?”
“We believe that he will not strike during the daytime. So it most likely will be tonight, or sometime with the next two or three days. Now that I have arrived at the manor, Al-Khoury will surely make his move sooner than later.”
At this Brandt responded, “So I take it that the reason that there is no armed force already guarding the manor is that we are being watched at this very moment by Al-Khoury’s associates?”
“That is correct, Brandt. However, we have already taken the necessary precautions, which is why it has taken me two days to arrive at the manor since you were notified by Director Wilson. We could not risk having me arrive at the manor until the defenses were prepared for the impending attack.”
At this, Brandt eyed her suspiciously and inquired, “I don’t understand how you know all of this, Elspeth…”
“Oh, it’s simple, Brandt – Al-Khoury is playing me. He’s been feeding me misleading information from the very start. What he doesn’t know is that I’ve been on his trail for long enough to have uncovered every one of his means of deception. He is quite intelligent, but I am more so.”
“Well, I certainly hope you are correct, Elspeth,” he murmured.
“Trust me - I am,” she posited self-assuredly, “And now, shall we survey the manor for the purpose of determining where might be the safest place for us to set up our defenses?”
“Defenses? What defenses?” Brandt responded in surprise.
; “A flower truck will arrive this afternoon at precisely three o’clock,” Elspeth replied, “And it will be carrying armaments disguised within flower boxes. We shall be well prepared to defend ourselves, I assure you.”
“What about reinforcements, Elspeth,” Patience inquired.
“We can’t risk having them directly on site,” Elspeth explained, “Otherwise, Al-Khoury might smell a rat and back out of the attack.”
“Wouldn’t that be a good thing?” Patience suggested.
“Which would you rather have, a bombing way out here in the countryside where the loss of life would be minimal, or somewhere like London, where the damage and loss of life would be catastrophic?”
“I see,” she responded, “So, we are to be guinea pigs, is it?”
“Correct,” Elspeth replied matter-of-factly, “But you do not have to be here, Patience. You may leave at any time.”
“Are you kidding me?” she blurted, “I wouldn’t miss this for the world!”
“You may change your mind when you hear what I have to say next,” Elspeth volunteered.
“And what is that?”
“We believe that two Apache helicopters will be used in the attack.”
At this Patience clutched her throat yet again and murmured, “Oh, my…”
“Well?” Elspeth inquired.
“Well, what?”
“Are you staying or going, Patience?”
“I’m staying, of course,” she replied serenely, “My place is with my husband,” and so saying, she patted him lovingly on the leg.
Brandt now grinned and suggested, “Well, we’d best get on with it, Elspeth.”
“Right, let’s look at the manor,” Elspeth responded, and off the three went in search of exactly what they knew not.
That Night
Elspeth touched his shoulder lightly and commanded, “Brandt, wake up!”
Lurching from a deep sleep, he blurted, “Huh? What?”
Seeing that he was now completely awake, she reported, “It’s started. Wake up Patience and Smithers. The attack will reach us within minutes.”
“Yes, of course,” he responded and, awakening the other two, he responded shortly thereafter, “We’re ready, Elspeth.”
“Right, now take your places as I instructed. And remember, no shooting unless the perimeter of the manor is breached. We don’t want to take down any of our own agents.”
Elspeth then grabbed her radio and exclaimed, “We’re ready, General Hastings.”
Shortly thereafter, an explosion was heard, followed by scattered gunfire, some of it clearly coming from semi-automatic weapons. This was followed by an enormous explosion that could be felt even from their secure position within the manor basement.
More gunfire ensued, followed by additional explosions, all of which lasted no more than a few minutes.
Elspeth then received a call on her radio, to which she responded, “Yes, sir, we are all safe. So far as we can tell, no one has breached the manor perimeter,” and after a further pause, “Yes, sir, we understand. We are to remain here until daybreak. Yes, sir,” and with that she broke off. She then turned to the others and posited, “We believe that the attack has been successfully repelled. However, as there may be additional insurgents, we are instructed to remain in place until the battlefield is cleared.”
The Following Morning
Elspeth received an additional call. Answering, she responded, “Yes sir, I understand – all clear. Yes, sir,” and at this she hung up. She then turned to her three charges and said, “It’s all over. We can exit and see what the heck happened during the night.”
The four of them made their way to the manor entrance, whereupon they hurried outside, only to discover the grounds littered with both medical personnel and soldiers, all of whom seemed to be engaged in triaging the wounded. Here and there they observed sheets marking those killed in the attack.
At this point Brandt surveyed the melee and, still in complete shock, he observed, “This is just too incredible! There must have been an entire battalion attacking the manor last night!”
At this Elspeth grunted and responded, “Actually, no, Brandt. We were able to estimate from known terrorist records that there would no more than twenty-five insurgents, and that turned out to be an accurate estimate. We therefore placed a company of soldiers on the field of battle under the command of General Hastings.”
“How big is a company?”
“Just under a hundred,” Elspeth responded, “Why?”
“Where were they located?” Brandt inquired, “I never saw anyone yesterday.”
“Right,” Elspeth replied, “They were moved in last night under cover of darkness. They quickly built foxholes at a perimeter of three hundred meters from the manor. Obviously, the defensive plan was well designed.”
“You got that right!” Brandt responded, “But what happened to the helicopters?”
“Oh, that,” Elspeth replied, “I had Al-Khoury by the balls. You see, he was feeding me information, but he assumed we didn’t know about the choppers. I figured that out all by myself, so we had a squadron of Harriers waiting. Al-Khoury ordered the choppers to fly under the radar, but we placed mobile ground radar units in a circle twenty miles out from the manor. Sure enough, we got both choppers before they ever even fired a shot.”
“Wow! You people know what you’re doing!” Brandt blurted but, suddenly changing his demeanor, he inquired, “What about Al-Khoury? Did they get him?”
“No, no chance of that,” Elspeth replied morosely, “He’s much too cagey to be caught in the act. He will at this moment be attempting to escape the U.K. In the meantime, Wharton Manor is safe, as are you and I.”
At this, Patience chimed in with, “Thanks ever so much, Elspeth. We are indeed indebted to you.”
“Right,” Elspeth observed, “It’s all in the line of duty. Now, I’m afraid I must be off. One more fish to fry, if you get my meaning.”
Douglas Harbor, The Isle of Man – Three Days Later
Elspeth and Connor hopped from the car and, observing the cacophony of activity within the harbor, they approached the shack directly in front of them. As they did so, a burly man pushed his way from within and announced, “You must be Stuart and Moorehead. They told me you were on your way.”
“Correct,” Connor responded.
“Right, the man responded, “I’m the harbor master.”
Shaking his outstretched hand, Connor inquired, “Which one is it, then?”
“It’s that one over there,” the harbor master responded and, pointing in the distance, he indicated a freighter that seemed to be loading cargo.
“Perfect,” Connor responded, “Alright if we simply drive over on our own?”
“Yes, but let me go with you. I can help you with locating the cargo.”
“Perfect,” Connor replied, and with that the three of them piled into the vehicle.
Once they arrived on the wharf beside the ship, the harbor master advised, “Let me check with the loading crew. They will doubtless remember the cargo. We don’t get caskets too often, and they will know exactly where it is located onboard the ship.”
“Alright,” Connor replied, “But tell them to keep a wide berth, the contents may be quite dangerous. In fact, there may be high energy explosives within the container.”
“Right,” the harbor master responded, “I’ll be right back.”
Elspeth and Connor watched as he strolled over to a crew of workers and conversed with them.
As he did so, Connor inquired, “You really think it’s Al-Khoury?”
At this Elspeth replied, “Has to be, Connor. He’s still dropping breadcrumbs. I’m the only person who could follow his tracks, and he knows it. This is his final trap, and he means to capture me in it. I’m his final chance for immortality, and he’s expecting me to show up.”
“Just exactly how’d you locate him, anyway?”
She eyed
him momentarily , and then she explained, “Think about it, Connor. How do you get a ninety-three year old man out of the U.K. without him being spotted? All vehicles are subject to search, and because our border agents are on the lookout, disguises of any sort don’t work on someone that age. The only way is for him to be dead - or at least – dead to all appearances. So I checked records of all bodies being shipped out of the U.K., and this is the only one that fits our profile.”
“Profile! What profile?” he blurted.
“It’s like this, Connor. All the other caskets either contained bodies that had been autopsied or they were being flown out, which would have subjected them to temperatures within the cargo hold sufficient to kill anyone alive within. Only this one fits the profile. And to make it even more likely, that ship is headed for the Suez Canal.”
“Okay, I get it,” he replied, “You always were a step ahead of everyone else. But tell me again – why do you think he won’t blow up a bomb if we catch him?”
At this Elspeth condescended, “I already told you, Connor, Al-Khoury isn’t going to blow up a bomb. He’s after me. He wants to see me squirm, just like Farhan did.”
“Supposing you’re right,” Connor responded, “And we open the casket. He’s surely going to shoot you or something like that as soon as we open the casket.”
“He won’t,” she said flatly.
“What makes you so certain?”
“He’s a narcissist, damn it! He wants to gloat before he dies. We may capture him, but as long as I’m dead first, in his mind he wins.”
“Alright, I can see that I can’t dissuade you from this insanity, but let’s be careful!”
“Of course!” she shot back, “Now, the harbor master is coming this way. Let’s go get this scumbag.”
As the harbor master approached he motioned that he knew where to go. At this point Elspeth called the backup squad and the group followed in the harbor master’s wake. Moments later they boarded and, following him into the bowels of the ship, they eventually came to a large and dimly lit holding area three levels below decks. The harbor master now scanned about with his torch and, eventually spotting what he was searching for, he pointed and said, “There it is, over there.”
Searching in the direction he was pointing, Connor said, “Alright, sir, if you wouldn’t mind, please clear the area. My agents will take over from here.”
“Roger that,” the harbor master chimed, and with that he made a hasty retreat.
Connor then turned to the four agents and commanded, “Alright, men, you know the drill. Take your respective places at a safe distance, and shine your torches on the casket.” The four nodded their understanding and immediately dispersed to appropriate cover.
Connor now addressed Elspeth, “I’m just going to ask this one more time, Elspeth. Please, let’s just shoot the hell out of the damn thing and be done with it. After all, it’s either Al-Khoury, or it’s someone who is already dead.”
“No can do,” she smirked.
“Just give me one good reason why, Elspeth!”
“Because he killed my parents, you jackass. As bad as he wants to see me squirm, I want to see him squirm even more!”
Eyeing the hardened look on her face, he understood that there was no dissuading her, thereby prompting him to say, “Well then, wear this bullet-proof vest. It’s the least I can do for you.”
“Certainly,” she replied, and with that she donned the vest. She then turned toward the casket and announced, “I’m going in, I hope you’ve got my back, Connor.”
At this he responded, “I’ll be close. Now, go get him!”
Elspeth approached the casket tenuously, but then, throwing caution to the wind, she traipsed forward and grabbed the latches. Carefully undoing each one in turn, she tested the lid and, seeing that it was free, she lifted it slowly on its hinges. Within she observed a body clothed within a black burka. But the headdress had been removed, and the face was clearly that of a quite elderly man. She reached forward and, touching the pallid face, she realized that it was still warm.
Then suddenly the pale blue eyes popped open and, lurching backward in shock, she heard him whisper, “Thank God you’re here, Elspeth! I thought I might die before you arrived. But here you are, and all is well.”
She gazed downward at her prey, but it was somehow difficult to summon hatred. She could only say, “Hello, grandfather.”
He peered carefully at her and observed softly, “I’m so glad to finally meet you, Elspeth. You have your grandmother’s eyes, you know. She was such a lovely lady. I was saddened to hear of her passing.”
At this, Elspeth suddenly regained her senses, blurting, “You bastard! You tried to kill her!”
He simply gazed upwards at her and replied, “It was nothing personal. I’m sure you understand. It was all to do with Sloan, you see. I simply couldn’t allow him to win.”
“And now you’re here to kill me!” she blurted.
“Yes, well, there is that, Elspeth. But not yet. We must talk for a moment first. Surely you understand,” and, his soothing whisper mesmerizing her into docility, he suggested, “Now, if you will, please give me your hand. We must surely touch one another one time before I make my exit from this world.”
He raised his hand for hers, and Elspeth reached forward to enact his bidding, but just as she did so, a blur came from behind her and, grasping Al-Khoury’s outstretched hand, he plunged one finger deep into Al-Khoury’s pale blue eye.
At this surprising turn of events, Elspeth cringed and gasped, “Connor! Why did you do that?”
Connor grasped her by the shoulders and screamed, “Elspeth, he has a metallic blade attached to his index finger! He was going to poison you!”
Turning back towards the prone figure within the casket, she watched as his life blood slipped away, a look of horror frozen on his dying features. With his remaining eye, he stared forlornly at her, realization apparently sinking in that he’d played his final move.
Glaring at him, Elspeth leaned forward and screamed in triumph, “I got you, you son-of-a-bitch! Now, hurry up and GO TO HELL, where you surely belong!”
At this, his dying gasp escaping his lips, they actually curled into a tiny consenting smile.
Realizing that her quarry had finally and for all time ceased to breathe, Elspeth turned away in horror and, collapsing into Connor’s outstretched arms, she whispered, “Thank you, Connor. Damn, he nearly got me!”
Abdullah Al-Khoury, nee James Moorehead, had at long last departed this earth.