In case the pilots were wondering, Khalil said, "Perhaps I should have gone directly to the airport there."

"Well, the noise curfew there lifts at seven A.M."

'Ah, then that's why my colleague instructed me to meet him here."

"Yes, sir. Probably."

In fact, Khalil knew all of this, and he smiled to himself at the thought of his pilots discovering sometime in the future that their passenger was not as ignorant as they themselves had been regarding his flight plans. He said to them, "Thank you." He addressed both men and said, "And I thank you for your assistance and your company."

Both pilots replied that it had been a pleasure having him on board. Khalil doubted their sincerity, but he gave each man a hundred dollars in cash and said, "I will request you both the next time I need your service."

They thanked Mr. Perleman, touched their caps, and walked off toward the open hangar.

Asad Khalil stood alone, exposed on the open ramp, and waited for the quiet to explode into screaming and running men. But nothing happened, which did not surprise him. He sensed no danger, and felt the presence of God in the rising sun.

He walked unhurriedly toward the glass building to the right of the hangar and entered.

He found the coffee shop and saw a man sitting alone at a table. The man wore jeans and a blue T-shirt and was reading the Los Angeles Times. Like himself, the man had Semitic features and was about his age. Asad Khalil approached the man and said, "Mr. Tannenbaum?"

The man stood. "Yes. Mr. Perleman?"

They shook hands, and the man who called himself Tannenbaum asked, "Would you like coffee?"

"I think we should go." Khalil exited the coffee shop.

The man paid for his coffee at the cash register and met Mr. Perleman outside the coffee shop. They left the building and began walking to the parking lot. Mr. Tannenbaum, still speaking English, inquired, "You have had a good journey?"

"If I had not, would I be here?"

The man didn't reply. He sensed that this compatriot walking beside him was not looking for companionship or idle talk.

Khalil asked, "Are you sure you weren't followed?"

"Yes, I'm certain. I am not involved in anything that would cause me to come to the attention of the authorities."

Khalil replied in Arabic, "You are not now involved in any such thing. Do not make any such assumptions, my friend."

The man answered in Arabic, "Of course. I apologize." They approached a blue van parked in the lot. On the side of the van were the words RAPID DELIVERY SERVICE-LOCAL AND STATEWIDE-GUARANTEED SAME OR NEXT DAY DELIVERY, followed by a phone number.

The man unlocked the doors and got into the driver's seat. Khalil climbed into the passenger seat and glanced into the rear of the van where a dozen packages sat on the floor.

The man started the engine and said, "Please fasten your seat belt to avoid being stopped by the police."

Khalil fastened his seat belt, keeping his black bag on his lap. He said, "Route Four-Zero-Five, north."

The man put the van in gear and drove out of the lot, then out of the municipal airport. Within a few minutes, they were on a wide Interstate, heading north. Khalil and the driver both looked in their sideview mirrors as they gathered speed.

The sky had lightened, and Khalil looked around as they continued north. He saw exit signs for Century City, Twentieth Century-Fox Studios, West Hollywood, Beverly Hills, and something called UCLA. Khalil knew that Hollywood was where the American movies were made, but he had no interest in that subject, and his driver volunteered no information.

The driver said, "I have parcels in the rear addressed to Mr. Perleman."

Khalil did not reply.

The driver added, "Of course I do not know what is in them, but I trust you will find everything you need."

Again, Khalil made no reply.

The driver remained quiet, and Khalil saw that the man was becoming uneasy, so Khalil addressed him by his real name and said, "So, Azim, you are from Benghazi."

"Yes."

"Do you miss your country?"

"Of course."

"And you miss your family. Your father, I believe, is still living in Libya."

Azim hesitated, then replied, "Yes."

"Soon you will be able to pay for a visit home, and you can shower your family with gifts."

"Yes."

They drove in silence awhile, both continuing to glance at the sideview mirrors.

They approached an interchange where the Interstate crossed the Ventura Freeway. To the east was Burbank and the west led to Ventura. Azim said, "I was told you had the address of your meeting."

Khalil replied, "I was told you had the address."

Azim nearly ran the van off the road and began sputtering, "No… no… I know nothing… they told me-"

Khalil laughed and put his hand on Azim's shoulder. "Oh, yes. I forgot. I have the address. Take the exit for Ventura."

Azim forced a smile and a small laugh, then slowed into the right-hand lane and took the exit for Ventura.

Asad Khalil looked at the wide valley filled with houses and commercial buildings, then looked off at the high hills in the distance. He noted, too, the palm trees, which reminded him of home.

Khalil dismissed his thoughts of home and thought of his next meal. Elwood Wiggins had been an elusive prey, but eventually he had been located in Burbank, then had unexpectedly moved to the place called Ventura farther north, up the coast. In fact, this move was fateful, and placed Wiggins closer to where Asad Khalil intended to end his visit to America. Khalil could not doubt that the hand of Allah was moving the last few players of the game into place.

If Lieutenant Wiggins was at home, then Asad Khalil could finish this business today, and move on to unfinished business.

If Lieutenant Elwood Wiggins was not at home, then when he ultimately returned home, he would find in his house a hungry lion waiting to rip out his throat.

Khalil let out a small laugh, and Azim glanced at him and smiled, but Azim's smile quickly faded as he saw the expression that had accompanied the laugh. Azim felt the hairs on his neck rise as he stared at his passenger, who had seemed to transform from man to beast.

CHAPTER 46

I dialed a Washington, D.C., number and a voice came on the line. "Homicide. Detective Kellum."

I replied, "This is John Corey, NYPD, Homicide. I'm looking for Detective Calvin Childers."

"He has an alibi for that night."

Everyone's a comedian. I played the game and replied, "He's black, he's armed, and he's mine."

Kellum laughed and said, "Hold on."

I waited a minute and Calvin Childers came on the line. "Hey, John. How's it going in the Big Apple?"

"Just peachy, Cal. Same old shit." The pleasantries over, I said, "I'm actually working on the Trans-Continental thing."

"Well, whoop-de-doo. How'd you get a piece of that?"

"It's a long story. To tell you the truth, I'm working for the FBI now."

"I knew you'd amount to no good."

We both chuckled. Cal Childers and I had attended the previously mentioned seminar at FBI Headquarters some years ago, and we took a liking to each other for reasons that had to do mostly with our problems with authority and Feds. It was Cal who told me the stupid Attorney General joke. I said to him, "You ever find out who killed the Wheaties?"

He laughed and said, "Hey, were those guys stiff, or what? They sat there and never cracked a smile. You working for those turkeys?"

"I'm on a short contract and a shorter leash."

"Yeah. So, what can I do for you?"

"Well… you want me to be straight, or should I try to bullshit you so that the less you know the better?"

"Are we on the air?"

"Probably."

"You got a cell phone?"