Numbered Account

Thorne covered his head. He extended his hand and helped Joseph to his feet. "You didn't have to make my job so much harder," he said. "A lot of very convincing evidence is going up in smoke."

***

Moammar al Khan stared transfixed at the black and orange plume. He fumbled for the cellular phone, his right hand blindly patting the passenger seat. Look at that smoke, he thought to himself, cringing. A ton of Al-Mevlevi's product in flames. Allah have mercy.

A customs inspector banged the hood of the car and motioned for him to pass through the portico. Khan offered an Italian passport, but it was waved away.

"Drive. Don't look," said the customs official before moving off down the line of stalled automobiles.

Khan ignored his instructions, slowing the car to a crawl as he passed the flaming wreckage. A circle of policemen had surrounded a lone man lying prostrate on the ground. The man was injured. Blood poured from his nose. His clothing was torn, his face blackened by smoke. It was Joseph. He was alive. Inshallah! God is great! A gangly man wearing the green jacket of the customs inspectors broke through the circle of policemen. He bent himself upon one knee and spoke to Joseph.

Khan leaned over the passenger seat to look closer.

Thorne. The American agent. There was no mistaking it. The hair. The gaunt face. The DEA had intercepted Al-Mevlevi's shipment.

And then something strange happened. Thorne offered a hand to Joseph and hoisted him to his feet. He gave Joseph a pat on the shoulder, then leaned his head back and laughed. All the policemen were smiling, too. Their guns were lowered. Even Joseph was grinning.

Khan pulled the gold pendant from his shirt and kissed it.

Joseph is an informant.

Khan accelerated madly, driving for two minutes before pulling to the shoulder of the highway and stopping the car. He picked up the cellular phone and dialed the number Mevlevi had given him in case of emergency. Three rings passed. Finally, a voice answered.

Khan pressed the phone to his mouth. He drew in several sharp breaths, not knowing where to begin. Only one phrase came to mind.

"Joseph is one of them."

CHAPTER 64

Ali Mevlevi was angry. He'd been cooped up with this snit of a bureaucrat for far too long answering inane questions. Did he wish to establish his business in Switzerland? If so, how many employees would he be hiring? Would he avail himself of the tax credit offered to newly registered corporations? Would his relatives be coming to live with him? Now he had had enough. For whatever sum Kaiser was paying him, Wenker could fill out the forms himself. Let him invent the goddamned answers.

Mevlevi stood from the couch and buttoned his jacket. "I thank you for your help in this matter, but I'm afraid I'm the victim of a rather pressing schedule. I had been led to believe that this meeting was but a formality."

"You were misinformed," snapped Wenker. He waded through a stack of papers on the table, then turned his attention to a leather satchel lying next to him on the sofa. Giving a sigh of relief, he produced a thick manila envelope and handed it to Mevlevi. "A short history of our country. As a Swiss citizen, you will be expected to respect our long democratic tradition. The country was founded in 1291 when three forest cantons, Uri, Schwyz, and Unter-"

"Thank you very kindly," Mevlevi said brusquely, accepting the sealed envelope and sliding it into his briefcase. Did this jackass actually think he had time for a history lesson? "If we are finished, I must take my leave. Perhaps I can hear the fascinating history of this land at another date."

"Encore un instant. Not so quickly, Mr. Malvinas. I have one last paper that you must sign- a release from military service. It's obligatory, I'm afraid."

Mevlevi threw back his head and sighed. "Please hurry it up."

Just then, a shy chirp emanated from his briefcase. Thank God, thought Mevlevi. Gino Makdisi calling to tell me everything is going according to schedule. He took the cellular phone out of his briefcase and walked to the far side of the salon before answering. "Yes."

"Joseph is one of them," came the harried voice. "I watched it all. The truck was surrounded by police. The driver attempted to escape. He had no chance. Only Joseph lived. Everything is in flames."

Mevlevi placed a finger in his ear, as if the connection were poor and he could not make out his correspondent's words. But the connection was clear. And so were the words.

"Calm yourself, Khan," Mevlevi said in Arabic, checking to see if Wenker was listening. The bureaucrat appeared disinterested. "Repeat that again."

"The shipment was intercepted at the Chiasso border. As soon as the truck pulled into the inspection bay, it was surrounded by police. They were expecting it."

Mevlevi felt the hairs on the nape of his neck stand tall. The sum of his life rested in the voice at the other end of the telephone. "You said the shipment was destroyed, not captured. Make yourself clear."