It’s taken care of,” Abdul-Hakim said.
Calvin Hancock exhaled into the phone. “Good. Go ahead with Phase Three.”
Abdul-Hakim glanced over at Sam Snyder, still tied to his chair. The little man had quit struggling against the ropes, but he raised his head to glare back. Abdul-Hakim smirked in contempt. A congressman, for goodness’ sake. What was the point of rising to power and authority and then living like a pauper?
“Just as soon as I get paid,” Abdul-Hakim said.
“You’ll get your money when it’s done.”
Abdul-Hakim was not about to give Sam Snyder the satisfaction of arguing in front of him. He wandered back toward the kitchen as he talked on the phone.
“When it’s done, I am out the door. What if there’s a glitch? You expect me to leave and trust it will be worked out? Or do you expect me to hang around and get caught?”
“There will be no glitch.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Then pay me now.”
“We had an agreement.”
“We still do. I have my laptop. I can check my bank balance. As soon as it registers a five-million-dollar deposit, I’ll proceed.”
“You’re not dictating terms.”
“No, I’m just making sure I get paid.” Abdul-Hakim poured himself another cup of coffee, now cold in the pot. “I am not a religious zealot. I am a businessman. That’s why you hired me. I can be bought, but only if I am paid. So, the stage is set, the actors are in place, we’re ready for Act Three. As soon as you pay your admission, the curtain will go up.”
“I don’t take orders from you.”
“Of course not. You’re in charge. I’m an employee, just waiting to be paid.”
“Now see here—”
“Call me when you’re ready,” Abdul-Hakim said, and hung up.