"I am doing that, sir."

"Good. Who hired you to meet this man at the airport?"

He cleared his throat again and replied, "I do not know… truly, I do not know…" He then went into a convoluted explanation of a mysterious man who accosted him one day, about two weeks ago, at the gas station in Hollywood where Mr. Rahman actually worked. The man asked his assistance in aiding a compatriot and offered him ten thousand dollars, ten percent then, ninety percent later, and so forth. Classic recruiting by an intelligence agent-maybe twice removed-of some poor schmuck who needed cash and had relatives in the old country. Dead end, since Mr. Rahman was not going to ever see this guy again to collect his nine Gs. I said to Rahman, "These people would kill you before they would pay you. You know too much. You understand?"

He understood.

"They picked you out of the Libyan community because you look like Asad Khalil, and you were sent here to see if there was a trap waiting for him. Not just to see if Wiggins was here. You understand?"

He nodded.

"And look at you now. Are you sure these people are your friends?"

He shook his head. The poor guy looked miserable, and I was feeling badly about kneeing him in the balls and almost suffocating him. But he'd brought it on himself.

I said, "Okay, here's the big question, and your life depends on the answer. When, where, and how are you supposed to contact Asad Khalil?"

He took a long, deep breath and replied, "I am to call him."

"Okay. Let's call him. What's the number?"

Azim Rahman recited a telephone number, and Tom said, "That's a cell phone number."

Mr. Rahman agreed and said, "Yes, I gave this man a cell phone. I was instructed to buy two cell phones… the other is in my vehicle."

Kate had that cell phone, which had a Caller ID on it, and I assumed Asad Khalil's cell phone also had a Caller ID. I asked Mr. Rahman, "What is the telephone company for these cell phones?"

He thought a moment, then replied, "Nextel."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I was instructed to use Nextel."

I looked at Tom, who shook his head, meaning they couldn't trace a Nextel call. In reality, it was difficult to trace any cell phone, though back at 26 Federal Plaza and One Police Plaza, we had these devices called Trigger Fish and Swamp Box that could at least tell you the general location of an AT T or Bell Atlantic call. Mr. Rahman's friends had apparently ignored the enticements and bullying of the big carriers and taken advantage of an unadvertised feature of a smaller carrier, a feature known in the trade as the Fuck the Feds Feature. These people were not as stupid as some of their compatriots. Bad break for us, but there had been a lot of them, and this wasn't the last.

It was time to make Mr. Rahman more comfortable, so Tom uncuffed him. Rahman rubbed his wrists, and we helped him to his feet.

He seemed to have difficulty standing straight and complained about a pain in an unspecified area.

We sat Mr. Rahman down in a nice easy chair, and Kim went into the kitchen to get him a cup of coffee.

Everyone was a little more optimistic, though the chances of Azim Rahman bullshitting Asad Khalil into thinking everything was fine at the Wiggins house were pretty slim. But you never know. Even a smart guy like Khalil could be conned if he was obsessed with a goal, like murdering someone.

Kim returned with a black coffee, which Mr. Rahman sipped. Okay, coffee break is over. I said to our government witness, "Look at me, Azim. Is there a code word you're supposed to use for danger?"

He looked at me like I'd discovered the secret of the universe. He said, "Yes. This is so. If I am… as I am now… then I am to say the word ' Ventura ' in my talk to him." He gave us a nice example, by using the word in a sentence like I had to do in school, and said, "Mr. Perleman, I have delivered the package to Ventura."

"Okay, make sure you don't say the word ' Ventura,' or I'll have to kill you."

He nodded vigorously.

So, Edie went into the kitchen to take the house phone off the hook, everyone shut off their cell phones, and if there had been a dog in the house, he would have gotten a nice walk.

I looked at my watch and saw that Mr. Rahman had been here about twenty minutes, which was not long enough to make Khalil nervous. I asked Azim, "Was there a specific time you were supposed to call?"

"Yes, sir. I was to deliver my package at nine P.M., then to drive ten minutes and make the telephone call from my van."

"Okay, tell him you got lost for a few minutes. Take a deep breath, relax, and think nice thoughts."

Mr. Rahman went into a deep-breathing meditation mode.

I asked him, "You watch the X-Files?"

I thought I heard Kate groan.

Mr. Rahman smiled and said, "Yes, I have watched this."

"Good. Scully and Mulder work for the FBI. Just like us. Do you like Scully and Mulder?"

"Yes."

"They're the good guys. Right? We're the good guys." He was polite enough not to bring up the subject of me knocking his nuts around. As long as he didn't forget it. I said, "And, we will make sure you are safely moved to wherever you want to live. I can get you out of California," I assured him. I asked, "Are you married?"

"Yes."

"Kids?"

"Five."

I'm glad he had the kids before he met me. I said, "You've heard of the Witness Protection Program. Right?"

"Yes."

"And you get some money. Right?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Are you supposed to meet this man after your telephone call?"

"Yes."

"Excellent. Where?"

"Where he says."

"Right. Make sure your telephone call leads to that meeting. Yes?"

I didn't get an enthusiastic response. I asked Mr. Rahman, "If all he needed from you was to come here and see if Wiggins was home, or to see if the police were here, why does he need to meet you again?"

Mr. Rahman had no idea, so I gave him an idea. "Because he wants to kill you, Azim. You know too much. Understand?" Mr. Rahman swallowed hard and nodded.

I had some good news for him, and I said, "This man will be captured, and he will cause you no further trouble. If you do this for us, we will take you to lunch at the White House, and you will meet the President. Then we give you the money. Okay?"

"Okay."

I took Tom to the side and said softly, "Does anyone here speak Arabic?"

He shook his head and said, "Never needed an Arabic speaker in Ventura." He added, "Juan speaks Spanish."

"Close enough." I went back to Mr. Rahman and said, "Okay, dial the number. Keep the conversation in English. But if you can't, my friend Juan here understands a little Arabic, so don't fuck around. Dial."

Mr. Azim Rahman took a deep breath, cleared his throat yet again and said, "I need to smoke a cigarette."

Oh, shit! I heard a few groans. I said, "Does anyone here smoke?"

Mr. Rahman said, "You have taken my cigarettes."

I informed him, "You can't smoke your own, pal."

"Why may I not-"

"In case they're poison. I thought you watched the X-Files."

"Poison? They are not poison."

"Of course they are. Forget the cigarettes."

"I must have a cigarette. Please."

I know the feeling. I said to Tom, "I'll light one of his."

Tom produced Azim's cigarettes-not Camels-and in an act of uncommon bravery, put one in his own mouth and flipped Azim's lighter. Tom said to Azim, "If this is poison, and it harms me, my friends will-"

I helped out and said, "We'll cut you up with knives and feed the pieces to a dog."

Azim looked at me. He said, "Please. I want only a cigarette."

Tom lit up, took a drag, coughed, didn't die, and handed the cigarette to Azim, who puffed away without dropping dead.

I said, "Okay, my friend. Time to make your telephone call. Keep it in English."