Path Of The Assassin

“The last time I saw this face was during a press conference from Cairo after the hijacking, wasn’t it?” said the detective, pressing Harvath for confirmation of his assumption.

“You could be right, but I don’t suppose the powers that be want that spread around,” said Harvath.

“No, they don’t. The mere mention that a terrorist wanted only days ago for a hijacking in Cairo has somehow managed to slip into this country, blow up an office building in Chicago, and kill two FBI agents would cause widespread panic.”

“If it’s any consolation, the man in that picture is not who you’re looking for.”

“He’s not? Then why was I sent this?”

“Because that’s who the government believes was behind the explosion this morning.”

“And you’re saying the government is wrong?”

“Yes.”

“Based on what?”

“I saw him.”

“Wait a second. From what I understand, the suspect’s face was completely covered with a helmet.”

“It was.”

“Then how can you say this isn’t the same person?”

“Because I saw his eyes.”

“You what?”

“I saw his eyes. It was a different person. It was someone who works with the man the government is looking for.”

“Are you sure?”

“These are eyes like no eyes you have ever seen before; they’re-”

“Silver,” interrupted Meg, “and they can grow as black as night in an instant.”

Meg had thrown Harvath for a loop. “How did you know that?” he asked.

“On the plane. When Nidal first accosted me, the man with the silver eyes stopped him.”

“How come you didn’t tell anybody this before?”

“I did, but everyone seemed to be more interested in what I saw upstairs in the lounge when I pulled Nidal’s mask off.”

“What exactly did this man do?”

“When he saw what Nidal was trying to do to me, he got very upset. Some angry words went quietly back and forth, and then Nidal backed down-for the time being. I went back to my seat, and it wasn’t until later that he reappeared and forced me upstairs.”

Every one of the passengers on flight 7755 said the brown-eyed man gave all the orders, but what Meg was claiming took place between the two hijackers didn’t make sense. If Nidal was in charge, why did he back down? There had to be something more-something they weren’t seeing. A nagging suspicion began to tug at the edge of Harvath’s mind.

“Did anything else happen? Anything else at all that you can remember or didn’t think was significant?” he asked.

“No. Not really,” she lied. She held back the fact that she had been incredibly drawn to the hijacker’s luminescent silver eyes, had felt herself drowning in them, and that when he touched her cheek with his gloved hand, she felt an odd feeling of awe mixed with gratitude. She had heard it referred to once as Stockholm Syndrome-when hostages begin to identify with their captors, but Meg knew her reaction was something more than that. She was ashamed of her feelings and felt it best to keep them to herself.

“Okay, then I want to focus on getting you someplace safe,” said Harvath.

“Even though I never gave you an answer about what we discussed this morning?” Meg was choosing her words carefully in front of Gasteire.

“That doesn’t make any difference. Your safety is the number-one priority here.”

“So I guess this means I don’t get to ask any more questions,” injected Detective Gasteire.

“I’m afraid you’re right,” said Harvath. “There’s really no more either of us can tell you anyway.”

“Whether that’s true or not, we may never know.”

“Trust me, Detective, if there was anything we knew that could help you, you’d have it.”

“Then I guess that’s it.”

“Not exactly. There is one more thing.”

“What?”

“We need one of your officers to give us a ride.”

“I have to check out the boat over by Chinatown anyway. Where do you need to go?”

“We’re going back to Ms. Cassidy’s place on Astor Street to pack up some of her things-”

“No, we’re not,” said Meg. “We’re going to check in on Judy and the others at the hospital. Then we can go to my place.”

Harvath didn’t like it. “I don’t think that’s such a hot idea, Meg.”

“And why not?’

“Because at least with your apartment, we can send in a team to sweep first. The hospital is too large, too public a place. Our friend might be expecting you put in an appearance there.”

“Then you come up with a way to get us in without him knowing. Until I see my people, I’m not going anywhere else with you.”

Scot could see that she was serious. He thought for a moment and then pulled Detective Gasteire aside. Fifteen minutes later, Harvath and Meg had discreetly climbed into an ambulance via a lower-level loading dock and were on their way. Gasteire met them at one of the seldom-used alley entrances of Northwestern Hospital’s main facility. He provided them with surgical scrubs, long white lab coats, paper hats, and booties. Harvath was happy to get out of his wet clothes. He fastened his belt around his waist so he could continue to carry his gun and placed the rest of his belongings in the deep pockets of the lab coat. Everything else was left in the waiting ambulance.