Secret of the Oil: Prequel to the Donavan Chronicles by Tom Haase Read Free Book Online Page B

using the computer for a few minutes, he had closed it and gone out to relieve himself. Abdul had secretly observed this while lying on a couch, the back of which hid him from Mohammed’s view. When Mohammed stepped out, he got up quickly, and checked the computer. He found what he searched for. He had him. Going back to the couch, he waited. Mohammed returned to the room, sat down by a small table with a full pot of tea, and poured himself a cup.
    Abdul jumped up from the couch and raced toward Mohammed shouting, “You are a traitor. I saw you on the computer a few minutes ago when you thought we were all out. I have seen what you are doing. You are giving information to the Americans.”
    “No. Not at all. You are wrong. I only e-mail my friends in Saudi,” protested Mohammed.
    “You lie. I checked the computer right after you went out, but you only cleared the “message sent” file; you forgot to clear the “trash” file. There was one in there to an American. I have you now and Tewfik will kill you himself.”
    Abdul reached for Mohammed, but he rocketed up from his chair, deliberately dropping the teacup to the floor. As Mohammed started to race for the door, Abdul pulled a knife, lunged for him and stabbed him in the stomach. Reaching down to the small table, Mohammed managed to grab a glass water bottle and swung it with all his strength. It caught Abdul behind his ear, collapsing him like a rag doll. He didn’t move.
    Mohammed snatched a cloth from the table and tried to stop the gush of blood from his stomach. Now that Abdul had found him out, there was nothing to do but run. If he stayed here, they would kill him as a traitor. He staggered out of the door, checked his watch, and limped, pain shooting through him, toward his rendezvous with the American agent.
    A few moments after Mohammed departed, Abdul slowly opened his eyes. He was blind with pain. He held his head until his vision cleared. “Must tell Tewfik al-Hanbali,” he thought and as he groped his way to the phone. When al-Hanbali answered, Abdul talked fast.
    “We have a traitor in our midst. Mohammed has been in contact with the Americans and gave them information.”
    “What, what are you saying?” Tewfik asked.
    “Listen, look on your computer’s trash file and you will see his message to the American. He has run off and I’m going to follow him. I have to go. I’ll call later.” Abdul was breathing heavily and had started to shout.
    “Mohammed, is he…” were the final words he heard as he hung up the phone. Then he flung the front door open to follow the traitor.
    Outside the cell’s safe house, in the dim streetlight, he picked up the trail of blood and followed it to the nearby corner. At this location, they usually turned to go to the mosque. He thought he saw Mohammed in the distance, at least two corners away, moving slowly and using the walls to support himself. He hadn’t gone to the mosque. Abdul followed and was still well back from the man when he saw him disappear into a house. He stopped and looked around.
    Abdul was cautiously moving closer to where Mohammed had entered when he saw what he thought was a woman, dressed in Western clothes, rush across the street and use the same entrance. Abdul’s eyes opened wide, his pulse quickened and he smiled. He crept up to the door of the house and listened. He could hear an exchange between the woman and Mohammed going on beneath muffled noises from inside the house. Then a long silence followed and he heard movement inside but no more voices. He waited, hoping to hear the next bit of conversation. He decided to get out his Beretta just in case. At that exact moment, the woman opened the door. Taken by surprise, he fired as soon as he saw her.
    Now he was standing in the house where Mohammed and the woman both lay dead. Abdul surveyed the room with the flashlight one more time, and then turned it off. It was time to think exactly what he was going to tell al-Hanbali. He