Terror in D.C. by Randy Wayne White Read Free Book Online Page A

second-class citizens by the Arabic-speaking majority. And do you know why? It is because we work harder! We fare much better in business! But Arabics will not tolerate such industry. They steal our property, they usurp our lands. How can I ever hope to return my daughter to the homeland under such conditions?”
    Hawker thought of the smoky, Eastern beauty of the girl he had seen in the hall. He took a closer look at Rultan: small man in his late thirties, eyes bleary with discontent; a driven man separated from his homeland. Hawker felt a trickle of regret for the strong-arm methods he had used, but immediately shoved the regret out of his mind.
    He had to be ruthless. Innocent people were being murdered, and he had to find out who was doing it. Sometimes a little brutality could save a lot of time.
    â€œSo if your people aren’t doing it, Rultan, who is?”
    Again the man’s eyes shifted.
    Hawker leaned closer, his hands clenched into fists. “You know a hell of a lot more than you told the cops, Rultan. You’re an affluent businessman, a respected member of the Mideastern community here. And word travels fast in a small community. These bastards are killing innocent women and children. Doesn’t that bother you?”
    â€œOf course!”
    â€œThen what in the hell are you afraid of? Why don’t you talk! I’m not with any agency. I’m acting strictly alone. Tell me what you know, and I guarantee there’s absolutely no chance you’ll be called in for more questioning or made to testify.”
    The Syrian clasped his hands together with emotion. “Do you not understand? They would find out. They would know. It is not my own life for which I fear, it is the life of my daughter, Phanti, that I—”
    â€œWho is it, damn it! The Iranians? The Iraqis—”
    â€œI will not sentence my own daughter to be tortured!”
    Hawker grabbed the man by the collar and pulled him out of the chair. “They’re due to bomb again within the next three days. At least tell me where! Or would you rather be tortured by me?”
    Rultan took a deep breath, his eyes focused beyond Hawker. For a long time, he said nothing. Finally, he answered, “I cannot tell you exactly when the bombings will take place. It is the truth. But there are some things that I have heard, heard not from the people planting the bombs, but from friends on the street. They may just be rumors—”
    â€œWhat is it? What did you hear?”
    â€œI have heard that it would be unwise for a person from my country to be found driving through the suburb of Wells Church on Friday—”
    The gunshot came from the window behind Hawker. It was instantaneous with the sound of shattering glass. Rultan’s head was catapulted backward in a blur of spray, as if he had been hit in the face with a tomato.
    The impact of the slug knocked him out of his chair. Hawker tumbled over the desk after him, and came up on his knees, his own gun drawn.
    The curtain of beads was still moving. A dank breeze blew through the broken window.
    Hawker ran to the window and shoved the beads away. He poked his head out into the alleyway.
    No one was there.
    Rultan had said that he had another appointment. He had not been lying. Hawker wondered who the appointment was with.
    The person he was supposed to meet was probably the murderer.
    From the hall, someone was banging frantically on the door. A girl’s voice called out, “Father? Are you all right, Father? Unlock this door, please!”
    Hawker returned to the dead man’s desk and rummaged around until he found the appointment calendar.
    The writing was in Arabic.
    As someone in the hall began to throw a heavy shoulder against the door, Hawker stepped through the window into the alley.
    Halfway to the street he put his gun away, straightened his jacket, then stepped calmly into the flow of sidewalk traffic.
    He was anxious to get to his rental