Chapter 7
Mac pushed his key into the lock and began to open the door. He froze as he realized that the lights were on and sounds of movement were coming from inside his apartment. Cautiously he pushed the door open, his hand automatically going to his hip and flipping open the safety catch on his holster. Not sensing anyone at the other side of the door he opened it only to come face to face with Don coming out of his kitchen with chopsticks in one hand and what smelt like sweet and sour pork in the other. For a second they stared at one another like rabbits caught in headlights until a voice from Mac's left drew them from their surprised stupor.
"Mac! Perfect timing! I think we may have something for you."
Mac looked over to see Reed chewing on a spring roll with one hand and clicking his mouse with the other. The coffee table was almost invisible, being hidden by two laptop computers, a portable printer, reams of paper, a Chinese takeaway, beer bottles and what looked like his photograph album. But what was most surprising was that Adam was sitting next to him on Mac's sofa looking rather guilty with a beer bottle in one hand.
A wry look crossed Mac's face. Dammit he was too tired and confused to ask why Adam was there, what they had been doing, and whether it was legal or not. He hung up his coat and looked at them.
"Please tell me you haven't drunk all my beer?"
Don laughed. "Nah, we've left one for you." he quipped. Mac smiled and Adam looked somewhat less guilty.
Ten minutes later, Mac had changed and was sitting with the others with a beer in one hand. He looked expectantly round the table. Adam and Reed looked at Don clearly expecting him to take the lead.
Don finished his mouthful of Chinese food with a gulp and washed it down with a swig of beer. "Okay. First of all we've been through the list of your marine buddies that you gave Adam, checking their whereabouts and we now have a short-list of men in the New York area. There's Simon Yates who you and ...er Jo ... have just been to see." Don wiggled his eyebrows up and down as Mac threw him his famous Taylor glare. "and Jonathan Finch who's working for a private security company in Brooklyn although he's currently out in Iraq baby-sitting some oil executives."
Mac nodded but didn't say anything as he took in this information. He sensed that there was more to come so he let Don continue.
Second of all, Reed here has done some checking around Ali Hanin and his business " At Mac's look of concern. "No don't worry he seems perfectly legit but we think someone may have been using his business to illegally import stuff into the country."
"Stuff?" asked Mac.
"Antiquities." clarified Reed. "Since the Gulf war there are huge numbers of looted antiquities that still haven't been recovered. There is an enormous market for these pieces in the US. Now I got in touch with a friend who has done some work on this. Mostly the looting and smuggling is done by organised bands who then use the money from the sales to fund insurgents. I'm thinking that maybe this is why Marsh and his pals are involved. They're thinking that this could be a source of money for some home-grown terrorists."
Mac nodded. "Possible. What makes you think that they were using Ali Hanin's business?"
Reed looked a little uncomfortable but continued. "I … er … checked out the warehouse where he stores his stuff. The security guard was pretty helpful. It's a boring job and he seemed quite happy to have someone to chat to." At Mac's look of displeasure. "I know … I know … just hear me out!" Mac capitulated so Reed grinned and carried on. "Generally Hanin, accompanied by his young friend Nigel, visited the lock-up once or twice a month to bring in new stock and restock the shop. He mostly imports carpets and textiles but also some ceramics. Now on Thursday they came in to move some stuff and unusually, according to the security guard, they opened the cases right there in the lock-up. Normally they just load them up and leave. But this time the guard heard something break so thinking they might need help he went over to check. One of the ceramics had shattered on the floor and Hanin and Nigel were looking at something among the debris. The security guard said that Hanin was furious at someone called Yates. Anyway they cleared up the mess but the next day they came back and loaded up all the crates leaving the carpets and textiles. The security guard said that they were in a big hurry and he also said Hanin seemed worried and looked really ill."
Mac nodded. "Simon Yates said Ali had been asking about sculptures his wife was buying. The strange thing is that Simon's wife walked out 15 years ago. He said she wouldn't give him the time of day let alone a sculpture. Anything else? "
Adam picked up the story "I checked the records that Danny and Lindsay found in Hanin's shop. All the orders for this Yates came from one supplier, and all were sculptures. Mostly there were orders for three or four items every six months or so. Except this month. Yates supposedly ordered 18 sculptures. A big difference, enough perhaps to make Ali suspicious …?"
Mac nodded. "Possible. But where did he take them?"
"I don't know but wherever it was it's about two hours drive from the mid-town tunnel." Adam looked very pleased with himself at Mac's surprise. "I thought I would check the toll booth cams. The pick-up left the storage facility shortly after 11 o'clock and returned via the mid-town tunnel just after 5 o'clock. Allowing around 30 to 40 minutes unloading that means he must have driven just over two hours before turning back. The crates were in the back when he left but not when he came back."
Mac nodded. He was exhausted and his head was pounding. He tried to get his mind around the information he had been given but with so little sleep in past 48 hours plus the beer and not much food, his brain wasn't working. The others could see how beat he was.
Don made a grab for the leftover food on the table and began clearing it away. "Look Mac. It's getting late. The others have all gone home. Why don't we sleep on it and see what tomorrow brings? Yeah?"
Mac smiled. "Yeah. I got to admit I can't get my head round this right now."
Don grinned at Mac's admission. "Well you can sleep tight with your baby-sitters right across the street. "
"What? What baby-sitters?" Mac's head shot up in surprise.
"I checked. Our friend Marsh has people sitting outside Hanin's shop and his lock-up. And it looks like he's got a couple watching you too. I saw them at the lab and they pulled up outside a few minutes ago just after you arrived."
Mac crossed over to the mezzanine and looked out the side window.
"Blue Taurus." shouted Don.
Sure enough Mac could just about make out a blue Taurus parked so as to see the front of his building and the alley between the two complexes. "Sonofabitch!" he whispered to himself.
Don and Adam took their leave as Reed finished clearing up.
"You okay with me staying another night Mac?" Reed asked out of politeness knowing exactly what Mac's answer would be.
Mac nodded. "Of course Reed. Shouldn't you be back posting your story? You're gonna miss your deadline."
Reed shook his head. "Nah. I can still do that and stick around to help you out. Besides I owe you one." He smiled as he headed towards the spare room.
Mac called after him. "Thank you Reed."
Reed turned back. "Hey that's what family are for."
Mac smiled to himself. He gathered up the files that Adam had left together with the print-outs and, tucking them under his arm, made his way to his room. He threw them down on the bed and used the bathroom. His head was pounding but he still picked up the top file and looked down the list of names. He flung himself down on top of the covers and nodded to himself as he recalled the names. He smiled as he read his own name and 'NYPD', that of Yates listed as 'bar tender'; he shook his head, not sure that Simon would be happy with that. His eyebrows raised to see that Cortez was in Nebraska listed as a Park Ranger and that Henley was at the Pentagon. His face fell as he read that both Jameson and Sanders as well as Donnelly were listed as 'deceased'. Mac leaned back into the pillows and closed his eyes. The names and faces floated in and out of his mind as he succumbed to his exhaustion and slowly the file fell from his hand.
The dust whirled in the air making it impossible to see his hand in front of face. He inched his way forward across the rough ground, sharp stones digging into his elbows and knees. Despite the scarf across his nose and mouth the dust seemed to get into every orifice. He felt as though he was choking. It was hard to hear above the howling wind but he had to keep going. The sound of mortar fire sounded distant in the dust storm but he knew he was getting closer. How far had he come? No he couldn't think about that now. Just keep going. Don't stop. Ignore the cuts and bruises, the aching muscles. Just keep going. The sharp retort of a rifle came from his left. He was closer than he thought. The dust continued to swirl but a sudden lull in the storm cleared the air in front of him for a few seconds and he glimpsed the transport some fifty yards away, it's side peppered with bullet rounds. He must be almost under the bunker now. He inched forward another few feet and listened. Nothing. He continued some more and then he froze to the spot. His knee had touched something cold and metallic through the tear in his pants. He knew he was in trouble. Sweat broke out on his brow as he slowly twisted around. He reached down with is finger-tips to feel the edge of the land-mine. The wind began to calm and the dust began to settle. He could see the transport again, more clearly this time and he thought he heard moaning but perhaps that was just the wind. Looking up he realized that the bunker was directly above him, a rifle barrel clearly visible. It moved. If the man holding it leant forward and looked down he was a dead man … if he moved his knee he was a dead man … if he did nothing, the men in transport would be dead men too.
Mac awoke suddenly, sweat running down his neck, his breathing uneven. He automatically grabbed his phone.
"Taylor." he whispered, his voice hoarse. He blinked his eyes to focus on the clock. 6am.
"Mac?" the fear and trembling in the voice on the other end of the phone were evident.
He sat up. "Jo?"
"Mac, there's something I need you to do."
