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Acres managed a smile. “Thank you, Agent Rose.”
“We’ll show ourselves out,” Lyons said.
After expressing their condolences one last time, Able Team beat a hasty retreat from the house and returned to their SUV.
Lyons placed an immediate call to Stony Man as they made their way for Acres’s downtown office.
“What do you need?” Price asked.
“Everything you can tell us about one Genseric Biinadaz,” Lyons replied.
“You’ll have it within twenty minutes,” she said after a short pause, the clack of computer keys evident in the background. She was obviously messaging Kurtzman to get on it as they spoke. “What about Mrs. Acres? Anything there?”
“Nothing that spoke to us,” Lyons said. “We agree she probably doesn’t have anything to do with this. She cooperated fully with us and wasn’t evasive at all during questioning. We also decided not to reveal more than we absolutely had to in case she lets something slip to the wrong people.”
“What about others in the family who might be involved?”
“The maid is the only other one with regular access to them,” Lyons said. “You might want to check on her legal status, just in case, but she seems to be very protective of the family. I have serious doubts she’s got anything to do with it.”
“Tell them about the personal security,” Schwarz reminded him.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Lyons said with a nod. “Apparently after Congresswoman Giffords was shot in Arizona, Acres decided the family needed to have a personal security team assigned to them whenever they were in public.”
“I’m not sure what you’re driving at,” Price said.
“Well, we’re kind of curious to know where that personal security was when John Jay Acres got snatched,” Lyons said. “And how come there wasn’t someone with Acres at all times in Washington. Seems to me that they’d have a better handle on what was going on if they were a professional team.”
“Unless there’s something to your theory about Biinadaz being on the Red Brood’s payroll,” Price replied. “It’s not unlikely Acres might have turned selection of the security team over to his personal assistant.”
“And so instead of selecting a legit outfit, Biinadaz saw an opportunity to get some of Khalidi’s human traffickers inside for this job,” Lyons said. “That’s a very sharp observation, Barb.”
“That’s why they pay her the big bucks,” Schwarz said close to Lyons’s ear.
The Able Team leader feinted swatting his friend. “Would you knock it off?”
“What?” Price said.
“Nothing,” Lyons replied. “Just Gadgets up to his usual antics.”
“Ah, of course. We’ll get the information to you shortly. You boys be careful.”
“Yes, mother. Out here.” Lyons broke the connection and said, “Okay. Let’s go have a cozy little chat with Biinadaz.”
CHAPTER SIX
Rabat, Morocco
Abbas el Khalidi studied the rocky cliff face off the shores of the capital city of Rabat. While the country of Morocco technically owned all coastal lands, Khalidi had wielded his influence to convince officials to lease this small area for “commercial purposes,” which resulted in some additional revenue for the government. In return, nobody looked too carefully at what he was doing. In fact, the contract allowed for government inspectors to enter the property boundaries at any time and for any purpose, although there wasn’t much to see. From this vantage point of the cliff face, which looked predominantly like sheer rock covered with lichen and coral pits, the remnant of volcanic seas long dead, the area appeared practically untouched.
At the base of those cliff faces, however, a much closer inspection would have revealed the three separate hidden entrances spaced approximately fifty yards apart. This area formed a sort of cove, although uninhabitable given the sharp, rocky outcroppings that met immediately with the waves of the Atlantic crashing against them. They formed a natural, inhospitable barrier, and it was for this very reason Khalidi had selected the site as the entrance to the underwater complex.
Natural underwater inlets had been dug into the cliffs, thousands of years of erosion slowly chipping away at their base, leaving behind the basalt and granophyres that formed natural and massive caves. From this infrastructure, Khalidi had hired some of the finest minds in archaeology and marine construction from points all over the world to design and build the infrastructure that supported the complex. Highly pressured iron and steel formed cross frames meshed by thick plates of Plexiglas eight inches thick and heat-sealed against the massive water pressure. Vents to the surface provided natural air movement, and a pair of twin, water-driven underwater turbines generated all of the electrical power needed by the vast complex.
Only one surface entrance existed, its location a secret to no more than the two dozen controllers and a complement of mercenary teams that resided on-site. From this base of operations, Khalidi moved the drugs, transporting them in specially designed flat-bottom launches capable of high speeds that moved the product from the shores to ships already in transit. A quick load of the hulls and in no time the ships were bound for ports throughout Europe and even a few distribution points in Southeast Asia.
On the other side, similar teams would off-load the drugs while still in international waters and the ships would arrive on schedule, if not ahead of time, carrying only the cargo on their manifests. It was this vast system of smuggling that had built wealth upon Khalidi’s wealth. Every employee underwent a rigorous screening and once in they all knew there was only one way out besides accepting a generous retirement package: attrition in Abbas el Khalidi’s outfit only occurred feetfirst. A few had managed to escape but none had ever been stupid enough to betray Khalidi—such an action would’ve spelled certain death.
Khalidi wasn’t stupid enough to think he hadn’t been extremely fortunate up until now. No operation of this nature lasted forever, so Khalidi proceeded under the guise of covert operations supposedly on behalf of the Moroccan government. Since there were officials within the highest halls of power who regularly consorted with Khalidi, some even on his payroll because public service in such a country didn’t exactly pay well, most never questioned what they were doing or why. It was an arrangement Khalidi knew he couldn’t maintain indefinitely, but to this point he’d operated with considerable autonomy.
When it all fell apart, he would simply pack up operations and move somewhere else.
Whatever happened, Khalidi had arranged things so that nothing could ever come back to him personally. He could continue to be “Prince Story” for his public, a champion and voice of the worldwide Muslim community, while reaping the profits that would keep his empire afloat probably long after he was dead. Khalidi considered that he would soon need to think of siring legitimate offspring, take a wife so that his children could carry on his legacy. The one thing Khalidi wanted more than all else was to secure the freedom of Islam: freedom from the enslavement of those who would use Islam for purely personal gain; freedom from the Westerners and their allies who wanted to destroy them; freedom from the oppression and poverty and hunger they had suffered in such places as Israel and Libya.
This...yes, this was the answer to his goals.
Khalidi took a deep breath and then turned and proceeded back to his Mercedes. He gunned the engine, put it in gear and then proceeded to the shore-top entrance accessible by a private road off the coastal highway just north of the city limits. He drove to the entrance, carved out of the living rock, presented his credentials to the guards with the pass-code of the day and then drove into the cavern that descended sharply to the underground parking area. From this point, it was a fifty-yard walk to a single-access lift that dropped nearly one hundred yards to the main area of the complex. The hiss of