"It looks like an impossible task," Robert said, scrolling through the list of events that were being held in the Washington area.

"Ignore the little things and look at the larger venues. Museums, churches and outdoor events are the least likely. It has to be a very public place where Viktor can blend in to reach his sniper's nest."

Michael had been doing his own reading and chosen the most likely target. Now he waited to see if Robert would come to the same conclusions. They thought differently because their training had been worlds apart. The FBI processed massive amounts of information to reach conclusions while Michael only had to think like a killer.

"The Washington Hilton has a financial conference in three days' time," Robert finally said. "The attendees list reads like the who's who of major global banking."

"Bankers represent institutions with large groups of board members, they make a poor target. Look further down the list and tell me what you see."

"Um ... European ministers from France and Belgium, a couple of Africans, and a delegation from Saudi Arabia. Oh, the head of their oil ministry and a Saudi prince."

"Bingo," Michael said. "I think that's our target."

"Doesn't the new king over there have a whole pack of sons ... why is this one special?"

"Education in the royal family allows them to dominate their system of ministries. This prince is steeped in knowledge about the oil industry and he could be a very good leader for them. I don't see any other event coming to town in the next few weeks with such strong business ties to the Middle East."

Robert nodded. "We have four days ... "

"And Viktor has been here long enough to scout out the hotel and surrounding area. I'm hungry," Michael said. "How's about we go have dinner at the Hilton?"

The driver dropped them off at the foot of T Street at the corner of Florida Avenue. The hotel grounds loomed to their right with office buildings across the street. Robert didn't say a word as he watched Michael studying the buildings.

How did a sniper think? They obviously saw things differently and Michael was experienced at what could only be termed an art. Washington was a city without the tallest buildings such as could be found in New York or Chicago, and when Robert first arrived in town he wanted to know why.

It seemed that in the early 1900's the government was worried about safety and fire equipment was not developed to reach the tops of high rise buildings. The law stipulated building height by the street it faced and that formula left the tallest buildings at around thirteen stories, between a 130 and 160 feet.

The Hilton looked to be about twelve stories high, but that concealed the lower levels in the mass of the double-curved architecture of the building. There were few buildings in the surrounding area that were taller but that made no difference since the target would be at street level.

Michael led the way up T Street and stood at the foot of the circular drive leading up to the hotel, and then walked up the pavement to the lobby entrance. There were several taxis disgorging riders and Michael stopped.

"Stand here with me for a moment," he asked Robert. "We'll attract less attention if we're having a brief conversation."

"Have you been in this hotel before?" Robert asked.

Michael gazed across the street, his eyes slowly moving from left to right. "A long time ago ... I even slept here during my early Unit 4 days."

"Pretty fancy barracks, isn't it?"

Michael smiled as his eyes kept moving. "We had just come back from the Stans and this town was the biggest piece of civilization I had seen in months. When I came through the airport doors there was this shuttle bus that said Washington Hilton sitting at the curb so I just stepped aboard."

"A random choice ... "

"Exactly. I slept for two days, ate nothing but room service. I showered three times a day in a futile attempt to wash the blood and sand out of my brain. You can come home but the job never leaves your mind ... .there," Michael said, looking across Connecticut Avenue.

"I think those are hotels," Robert said. "They don't look that tall."

"Doesn't matter, height increases the difficulty. The roof of either of those buildings would work. Distance is less than 500 meters, an easy shot. Technically the area is pretty open, no wind tunnels to worry about ... "

"May I help you, gentlemen?" A doorman doing his job.

"Just admiring the landscaping before dinner." Michael said.

"The spring flowers just started fading," the man said. "Maintenance will replace most of them before next week."

Michael smiled. "I'm sure they will ... shall we go, Robert?"

With that he turned Robert around and walked him back down the driveway.

"We're not eating here?"

"Who knows where Viktor is ... we don't need to be seen."

They walked down Connecticut Avenue and then around DuPont Circle. Early evening in Washington and the circle was filled with people, most of them gay. This was one of the few places Michael felt like he could be himself, but Robert looked puzzled until they reached 19th Street and followed it south.

"Where are we going?" Robert asked.

"I want a steak at The Palms."

"Okay ... and how do you plan to get in there ... reservations take weeks?"

"We don't need a reservation."

And they didn't since it seems Michael was known here.

"Hello, Louie ... got room for two more?" Michael asked.

"I always have room for you, Michael ... where have you been?"

"Away," Michael said.

Louie held up his hands. "I will ask no more."

Robert gave Louie the once over. Middle-aged, definitely gay ... but how did he know Michael? They were seated at a private corner table and the bar steward approached. They ordered cocktails and then sat back with the menus.

"I doubt if the FBI will pay for a meal here ... their prices are pretty steep," Robert said. "How did you get us in here?"

"If you want good food you have to pay for it," Michael replied, not even glancing at the offerings on the menu. "This dinner is on me so don't worry about it. You've been in Washington for a while, haven't you been in here before?"

"Nope, my ... uh ... social life has been somewhat limited."

"Louie tried to pick me up in a bar some years ago," Michael said. "I wasn't looking for anything and he wasn't pushy, instead we sat and talked half the night. You know how it is with us ... I ended too many points in our conversation with 'I can't tell you that.'"

"He invited me to dinner, and of course we came here. He's been all over the world, worked in some very exclusive restaurants before settling down here, and as you see he has a prodigious memory for names and faces."

"Seems like a nice guy," Robert said.

"He is, but I'm not so I tend not to inflict myself on others if I can help it."

Robert sat quietly studying the menu, and then put it down. "I can't imagine being in your shoes ... the stress alone would have done me in."

Michael shrugged. "I learned a long time ago that there are two minds at work inside my head. I have a job not many can do and I do it well, but I don't seek satisfaction in it. I'm not sure how long I plan to stick with it because this other half of me wants to be a civilian."

Michael looked around the room. "The job taught me to assess every detail of my surroundings ... do you have any idea how hard it is to not think like that in a place like this?"

"So how do you accomplish that?"

"I focus on the person across the table from me," Michael said. "In all fairness, you know a lot about me but I know little about you."

Robert smiled. "I don't have a jaded past so my life was pretty boring."

"Small town gay boys usually have a lot in common. I don't imagine Twin Falls had too many boys like you."

"Not too many, just a few," Robert said. "I wasn't bullied if that's what you mean. Daddy's job as Sheriff prevented any of that, at least from the gay angle. I wasn't out, not in my family, that didn't happen until college, and even then only a close few understood that.

"I had the typical boyhood crushes, usually on the wrong kind of guy so it went nowhere. I lurked in online chat rooms and made a few gay friends there, but that was always risky. No, I'd say there were only two other gay boys in my high school and I was terrified to be seen with them."

"So you never dated?" Michael asked.

"Not openly, but I saw them every day ... we were in the band together."

"You play an instrument?"

"Trumpet, but that was a long time ago. Albert played the flute and Joseph the trombone. We always joked that at least we were all blowing on something. Then in tenth grade band camp we spent a week together in the same hotel room." Robert laughed. "The threesome from hell and we played a lot more than music.

"Sixteen year old boys can get pretty kinky, but of course only two of us had any experience. Al and Joe had been fooling around for several years, and then got it in their heads that they should indoctrinate the new guy. They were polite about it, nothing rough, but I didn't get much sleep that week. So that's how it started for me."

"I never came out to my parents," Michael said. "I'm still not sure if they know."

"What do they think happened to you?"

"It's been a few years since we spoke. They still think I'm in some sort of Army intelligence position so they won't ask. So I guess your father influenced the desire to get into law enforcement."

"Perhaps to some degree, but then I always admired a guy in uniform. When I was a kid the department gave me a deputy's uniform and with my trumpet I used to play Taps at funerals and other occasions. But I would not join the country law enforcement because of my father. Let's just say being in the Bureau feels like good insulation from his excesses."

Michael understood that subject in their conversation was over, they needed to move on. The filets came to the table and they ate in near silence until Robert put his knife and fork down.

"Damn, I should have come here years ago," He said. "You don't eat like this all the time, do you?"

"Hardly," Michael said. "You would not believe some of the things I've eaten. But even then, the military rations were probably the worst. On the other hand, Ducky can eat anything."

"You've known him a long time."

"He saved my life a few times ... probably more times than I can count. There's just something about lying next to a guy under the worst possible conditions that forms a bond. I may have been the trigger man but he called the shots."

"Funny, he said pretty much the same about you," Robert said.

Michael grinned. "He's too modest to take the credit. But he always had the better sense of imagination when we were on the job. As a for instance, he never smoked until we ended up in the Stans. We both carried cigarettes to bribe the tribesmen for information.

"I remember sitting around a village campfire in the mountains outside of Dewa with some of the local leaders. They were smoking this water pipe with some of the foulest smelling tobacco I ever encountered, so of course they offered us some. I begged off but Ducky knew it was a test of their courtesy and so he took a toke.

"First time I ever saw him turn green but he braved it out, and then he took out a pack of American cigarettes and offered them around. Those three old guys must have thought it was Christmas by the way they reacted to the smokes, but it worked and we got the information we needed. I'm pretty sure Ducky hasn't smoked a thing since that day."

Robert laughed. "Courage under fire ... they give medals for that."

"I have about forty-two commendations in a file somewhere that no one will ever see. Nobody in our outfit gets medals. Shall we go?"

Michael paid the bill in cash and left a generous tip for the waiter. Louie saw them off at the door and urged Michael to return soon if at all possible. It was the first evening they had been in town without the pressure to work. Robert's team would be sifting through information but they didn't need to be there for that.

"Are you up for coffee?" Robert asked as they headed back towards Connecticut Avenue.

Michael looked at his watch. "Sure, it's only eight o'clock."

Kramerbooks & Afterwards was situated in the heart of the gay community a few blocks north of DuPont Circle. The evening was nice so they took coffee to go and headed for the benches around the Circle.

The gay community was out and about like peacocks strutting their stuff. Two men with coffee cups sitting on a bench didn't attract much attention.

"Why do you suppose ... " Robert began. "Sorry ... I need to leave work behind for the evening."

Michael smiled. "It's hard to do sometimes. We're always thinking about ... " And Robert's cell phone rang.

He looked at the number and said," Rebecca."

"What are you still doing at the office?" Robert asked.

"We received a flash from NSA ... someone is trying to reach Michael Pruitt, someone in the Middle East. Is he there?"

"He is," and Robert handed Michael his phone.

"Rebecca ... what's up?"

"NSA received a message from an intel source in Dubai with your name on it, or at least the name Michael Pruitt. The source requests contact and left a phone number. But the source is questionable because he's on our watch list, or was ... "

"What name did he use?" Michael asked.

"Bishara."

"Okay, I know him ... or at least I did ... I thought he was dead. Give me the number."

"If this is an intelligence source regarding any current operations we should monitor and record the phone call," Rebecca said.

"You can't ... he'll know and terminate the call."

"That's impossible ... "

"You don't know who he is or what he is capable of doing ... but I do, if it's him. But I need a secure line and I bet Robert can fix me up with that. I promise to write down what he says so at least you can log that."

"Put me back on with Robert ... "

They returned to Robert's condo where there was a flash message waiting on the computer from Ducky. It was nine in the evening but Michael knew the man would be at his desk.

"Ducky," Michael said once they made contact.

"Bishara ... he's looking for you."

"I got that from the FBI. So it seems I missed, or at least only wounded him. I wonder what he wants."

"He's a terrorist, Michael, what do any of them want?" Ducky said.

"Yesterday's enemies are today's allies, Ducky, at least in the Middle East. I think I should talk to him ... can you monitor the link?"

"We can, he'll never know we're there. About an eight hour time difference, it's early morning in Dubai."

"If he's even there," Michael said.

"We'll know ... you want to call him now?"

"Secure link?" Michael asked Robert.

"Yes."

"I'm ready," Ducky said and Michael punched in the number.

The digital signal went through several evolutions before Michael heard a solid click and one ring tone before a face appeared on the monitor screen. Robert backed away as Michael found himself looking at a familiar face.

Bishara nodded at the screen and a slight smile played across his lips. "Ah, Michael ... we finally meet."

"I suppose your death notice in the Iranian papers was in error," Michael said.

"Yes, but such a glowing obituary, don't you think? I wrote it myself while I was recovering from your bullet. I still have the scar ... but this is not why I called looking for you. I am in possession of something you want."

Michael studied the face. The head was shaved revealing a long scar down the side of the man's head above the left ear. The bullet aimed between Bishara's eyes had only marked him for life. Michael could see the man was in some kind of uniform, but he couldn't make out what it was.

"I want a lot of things but it seems a gust of desert wind kept me from obtaining one of them."

"The will of Allah," Bishara said. "You should pray to him, I do all the time. And imagine this ... my prayers were answered yesterday morning when I came across one of my enemies. He used to be your boss, although now I see through our intelligence that he is no longer in favor."

"Terrance," Michael said.

"Yes, Terrance, the man who sent you to shoot me. Aren't you glad you missed?"

Michael smiled. "I suppose that depends upon which side you're on now."

The image of Bishara zoomed out, revealing him sitting at a desk in an office with the Saudi Arabian flag behind him. Now the uniform became clear as did the badge of rank pinned to his shoulders. Bishara was a Colonel and Michael could only wonder at the story behind that.

"I see from the expression on your face that you are curious about my current position and this uniform. I work for the Saudi Interior Ministry these days and my job is the security of the royal family."

Bishara grinned. "I know, this is not what Terrance told you about me when you were sent to assassinate a terrorist. But by now you know him to be nothing but a liar by all the things he has done to you and your country.

"Be that as it may, I survived and our nations are allies. I have been up all night in long conversations with Terrance and he has revealed much. He told me of you during the first several hours of our chat so I know you were misled and only a tool of his excesses. Would you like to see him?"

The image on the monitor suddenly changed to reveal Terrance ... or what was left of him. The bloody body was naked and hanging in chains on the wall of some dimly lit chamber. Michael could only imagine the things they had done to him, but then in the Arab world torture was a refined art.

"He seems to be alive," Michael said.

"For the moment," Bishara said. An icon appeared at the corner of the screen and Michael moved the mouse until the cursor hovered over it. "This is a digital file of all he told us and a most curious story it is. We have suspected all along that your military has a secret organization to prosecute terrorists ... well, so have we.

"But since we seem to serve the same purpose I will set that aside for the moment. My main concern is for the safety and security of the royal family and it appears that there is going to be an attempt on the life of Prince Abdulaziz bin Salman in your Nation's Capital."

"Viktor," Michael said. "We already know about this."

"I figured you might," Bishara said. "Do you have a handle on him?"

"He is here and I'm almost certain how he plans to attack. Are you going to call off the Prince's attendance at this meeting?"

Bishara slowly shook his head. "His presence is mandatory under orders of the King. This only makes my job harder ... and yours as well. The Prince travels with his family and although they will not be at the meeting their presence in your city requires my personal attention."

"When will you be here?" Michael asked.

"Tomorrow evening if all goes well. I imagine you have a team of FBI and intelligence people surrounding you ... I should like to meet with them."

"That can be arranged. I understand Viktor and his methods, but it would be invaluable to get your perspective on the Prince and his security team."

Bishara nodded. "Those are my best people, they will not fail me."

Michael stared at the image and wondered at the reasons behind Terrance's kill order. He would not ask, not now, but perhaps Bishara would tell him face to face.

"And Terrance?" Michael asked.

"In about two hours we will seize members of his terror group, the ones he calls Principals. Several of them are foreign nationals, as is Terrance, but since they will quickly disappear I doubt if they will cause further trouble."

"You're going to plant them in the sandbox I suppose," Michael asked.

"Exactly," Bishara replied. "How shall I reach you when I arrive?"

Robert pointed at his cell phone and Michael nodded. "Let me give you a contact number."

Bishara wrote down the number and then looked up at the camera lens. He raised a hand and touched the side of his head and the scar Michael had given him.

"I bear no hatred for this," He said. "Your miss was my ticket to greater things within my government. I look forward to seeing you." And the image vanished.

"Wow," Robert said, "that was intense ... what's a sandbox?"

Michael sighed. "A helicopter at five thousand feet above the remote desert ... and if they want to be nice they'll shoot you in the back of the head before they push you out."

"Oh My God ... really?"

Michael smiled. "It's not an original idea on their part ... they learned it from us."

On to Chapter Eleven

Back to Chapter Nine

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"No Reason to Kill" Copyright © Chris James. All rights reserved.
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