Not on His Watch. Cassie Miles
boy,’ but you’d better learn to say it with a smile.”
“You might not have noticed,” Whitney said, “but my husband isn’t big on unnecessary grins. I think it’s a brooding Italian thing.”
“I think his shorts are too tight.” Andy Dexter gave a snorting laugh and shot a loopy grin in Quint’s direction. Like most guys who spent a lot of time with computers, Andy was lacking in social skills. He was, however, a genius in telecommunications and computer forensics. His specialized computer equipment made the special-ops room look like the cockpit of a 747, with wall-to-wall blinking lights, switches, screens and dials. In an instant, Andy could analyze and match voiceprints or fingerprints, pull up Interpol data or reproduce satellite photos of troop movements in Zaire. It had been his idea to install built-in laptops in front of each chair at the round table for briefings.
“Could we get back to business?” Lawson Davies glanced at his Rolex. “It’s already nine-fifteen, and I have a deposition in forty-five minutes.”
“Really, Law?” Whitney arched a delicate eyebrow. “I wouldn’t think the vice president in charge of a big corporation’s legal department needed to bother with such mundane legal tasks.”
“I’m observing and training a new attorney.” He turned toward Vincent. “That bombing in Iceland. It was the building where Quantum Industries has its offices. Correct?”
“Yes,” Vincent said.
“The story they put out to the media claimed the explosion was an accident caused by a gas leak,” Law said thoughtfully. He was well acquainted with the ins and outs of the oil business. When not on undercover assignment, he worked for Petrol Corporation, an oil distributor whose competition was the multinational giant, Quantum Industries, the largest buyer and seller of oil worldwide. “Why was the bombing covered up?”
“There was a need for an undercover investigation.” Though Vincent directed his reply toward Law, he trained his gaze on Quint. “Within Quantum, nobody but the CEO knows the truth.”
Staring back at Vincent, Quint asked, “Do we know who set the bomb?”
“Not yet.”
“Any of the usual terrorist suspects?”
“Not as far as we can tell.” Vincent nodded to his pretty redheaded wife. “Please proceed with the briefing information.”
“Right.” Whitney tapped a few computer keys on the laptop in front of her. The built-in screens all around the table came to life. “First, you have detailed information about Quantum Industries, which you can read later. Second, we have an analysis of the bomb—a high-tech mechanism on an override timer which appeared to be deactivated long enough for the old man and his dog to pass safely. We’re assuming the terrorists didn’t want to attract unnecessary attention with fatalities. The third point is most important for our investigation. Although nobody took credit for the bombing, there was a message. It said: ‘Next time, home base.’”
“Are we sure they meant Quantum?” Law asked. “There are other offices in that building.”
“We’re sure,” Vincent said.
“Then, home base is Chicago.” Law looked away from the screen and removed the wire-rimmed glasses he wore for reading. “If we had windows in this special-ops room, I could point out the Quantum Building over toward the Sears Tower.”
“Right here in our own backyard,” Whitney said. “That’s why we’re involved. Several other agencies are working on security and surveillance. We’ll be undercover, as always, trying to prevent another strike.”
Law asked, “Where did we get this video?”
“There was a routine surveillance camera across the street.”
“Digitally enhanced,” Andy said, calling on his expertise. “I’m sure the original wasn’t in color and wasn’t so sharp. If you want, I can run a downgrade to give us the actual picture.”
“Not necessary,” Vincent said. “But I would like your digital analysis on the incendiary and the trigger mechanism. Your assignment, in addition to the usual telecommunications, is to study the Quantum Building blueprints and pinpoint probable locations for explosives.”
Andy beamed. Excitedly, he dragged his skinny fingers through the wild mop of blond hair that perched like a bird’s nest atop his narrow forehead. “Oh, man! I love a challenge.”
The younger man’s enthusiasm brought a smile to Quint’s lips. It had been a very long time since he’d been so eager about anything. “I’m assuming,” he said, “that since both Law and I are in the oil business, we’re going to investigate Quantum.”
“Correct,” Vincent said. “There’s the possibility that this is an inside job. However, it’s much more likely that we’re looking toward the Middle East.”
“We’ll start with the nation of Imad.” Whitney tapped another key on her computer. A map displayed on their individual screens. “Imad is on the Arabian Peninsula, bordered by Oman, Anbar and Arabia. This oil-rich emirate is under the thumb of Sheik Khalaf Al-Sayed. Though it’s not general knowledge, the sheik is suspected of human rights violations. Imad is on the verge of being sanctioned by the United States.”
Quint exchanged a glance with Law. Both men nodded. Whitney’s information wasn’t news to them.
Law said, “Several distributors are already refusing to buy oil from Imad. Quantum is among them.”
“Correct,” Whitney said. “Quantum was the first distributor to back off from Imad.”
“Sounds like a motive for terrorism,” Quint said. “Maybe the sheik blew up the Quantum Building in Iceland for revenge.”
“Revenge doesn’t make sense,” Whitney said. “The sheik wants to be friendly with Quantum, to have them buy his oil reserves. In any case, we have reason to believe Sheik Khalaf Al-Sayed has plans to come to Chicago. He has a daughter, Miah, who lives here.”
“In Chicago?” Quint asked.
“Yes, and I’ll have more information about her later,” Whitney said. “This is our most recent photograph of Khalaf.”
Their screens displayed a sharp picture of a trim, older man, dressed in a tailored military uniform. Though his expression was stiff, his dark eyes burned with a sinister inner flame.
Whitney continued her briefing. “This trip is highly unusual. Sheik Khalaf seldom leaves Imad, especially now when he appears to be building up his military.”
“What’s the reason for the buildup?” Quint asked.
“Money,” Whitney answered. “The bottom line is always money. Unless Quantum starts buying oil from him again, the sheik’s regime will go broke. He might attempt to gain leverage by taking over the country to the north of him—Anbar.”
“We’re friendly with Anbar,” Law said.
“Yes,” Whitney said. The photograph on the screen changed. “This is Prince Javid Haji Haleem of Anbar. He’s next in the line of succession for the throne of Anbar.”
With curling black hair and dark piercing eyes, he was a good-looking man. Even Quint would call him handsome, and Quint didn’t generally notice such things about other men. “I’ll bet the ladies are standing in line to join this guy’s harem.”
“Not funny,” Whitney chastised as she displayed a series of photos of Javid. “The future ruler of Anbar believes in treating women as human beings and not chattel. In many ways, he’s an enlightened leader, promoting literacy and education among his people. He travels all over the world as a goodwill ambassador for Anbar, and he investigates.”
“Investigates what?” Quint asked.
“Javid is an expert on terrorism. With his assistance, a lot of