70

Finney ran most of the way, taking short breaks to catch his breath. It seemed to take forever, though it was probably no more than fifteen minutes. He was still a few hundred yards from the entrance when he met Victoria, running back toward him, breathless.

“They’ve got Kareem in there,” she gasped. “They’re going to kill him.”

“McCormack?” Finney asked, jogging beside her.

“Yes.” Victoria was so shaken that she didn’t seem surprised about Finney’s knowing. “And Gus, too. They’ve both got guns.”

Gus? Finney kept jogging, though his body was numb from fatigue. His legs began to cramp. “What did you see?” he managed.

Between ragged breaths, Victoria filled him in. She followed the voices she heard from the mouth of the cave and crept through a couple of openings that led to a large chamber. She crouched in the shadows at the entrance to the chamber, aghast at the scene in front of her. McCormack and Gus had bound Kareem’s wrists behind his back using the same shackles that had been used during the Chinese water torture. They apparently didn’t want to leave any marks on Kareem that couldn’t be explained. The two captors made Kareem kneel on his prayer mat while they argued about what to do next.

They had apparently put together an initial plan to drown Kareem on Saturday night and make it look like an accident. As a backup alibi, they had framed Randolph so it would appear that he had ordered the hit on Kareem to avenge the loss of his cousin in the World Trade Center.

“Gus is apparently a paid hit man,” Victoria whispered. They slowed down a little as they approached the mouth of the cave. “I’m guessing that Gus is Azrael. He was probably going to disappear after the drowning, and his e-mails to Randolph would divert attention away from McCormack if the authorities didn’t buy the accident scenario. He seems upset that McCormack even came to the cave tonight—like Gus was supposed to handle this on his own.”

Chaos, Finney thought. Planning gone awry. Maybe I can use that to my advantage.

They were now just a few yards from the entrance, and they slowed to regain their breath. “I can’t believe McCormack is part of this,” she whispered.

“I’m not surprised,” Finney said softly.

The opening to the caves could be easily missed by a casual visitor. Three large rock structures jutting out of the ground partially shielded the jagged entrance. Victoria stopped and listened for a moment before she ducked inside. Finney had to bend over as he followed her into the first chamber.

“I hope Kareem’s still alive,” she said, struggling to catch her breath. “I wanted to do something but knew I needed help.”

Finney followed her through a few openings and turns until they reached the chamber where the three men were located. Finney and Kline crouched down and peered around the stalagmites. Kareem was still kneeling on his prayer mat, his face dimly illuminated by the kerosene torch and the light from a camera sitting on the cave floor. Behind him stood Gus, looking disdainfully at the Muslim. Bryce McCormack stood with his back to Finney and Kline, pointing a gun at Kareem.

“Let me hear a new prayer chant,” McCormack taunted. “Something like ‘Allah is weak; praise be to Bryce McCormack.’”

“Never,” Kareem said.

“Hurry up,” Gus snapped, looking at McCormack. “We don’t have time for this.”

Finney inched closer to Victoria. “Run back to the resort and get help. I’ll stall them.”

Her eyes hardened, and she shook her head. “I’m not leaving,” she whispered.

“Victoria, think this through—”

She put her finger on his lips. “Forget it, Oliver. Think of a new plan.”

McCormack took a step closer to his victim. “You need to bow when I say bow.”

Kareem spit. McCormack kept the gun leveled on Kareem but spoke to Gus. “The stun gun,” he hissed.

Gus narrowed his eyes and pressed the weapon against Kareem’s neck, forcing Kareem down on his face, his body twitching in spasms of pain. His moans curled Finney’s stomach. Finney noticed that Gus now kept his angry eyes fixed on McCormack.

“We’ve got to help,” Victoria whispered.

“I’ll distract them,” Finney whispered as he watched Kareem try to recover. His brave friend rolled to his side, hands shackled behind his back, and struggled to his knees. “You sneak in behind McCormack and get as close as possible. Grab a good-size rock. Move on my signal.”

“Which is?”

“The word ‘Go!’” Finney said. “Let’s keep it simple.”

“You believe in an eye for an eye? A family for a family?” McCormack asked Kareem.

“Enough of this,” Gus said.

“I’m not talking to you,” McCormack responded. Though Finney could see only the man’s back, he could imagine the look of cold hatred in McCormack’s eyes. Vengeance against Kareem had taken the place of reason.

Finney quickly patched together a plan, premised on the apparent ill blood between McCormack and his paid assassin.

Finney crawled through the opening and crouched in the shadows next to the wall. He was now in the same cave as McCormack and the others, though still fifty feet away.

“My daughter is dead. She’ll never return,” McCormack said.

“I am truly sorry,” Kareem responded. His eyes locked on his tormenter’s.

“You are sorry,” McCormack sneered. “You put a rapist on the street based on a technicality. And you’re sorry. But sorry will not bring my daughter back.”

“Nothing does,” Kareem answered. “This won’t either.”

Finney started inching along the wall, moving closer. If he stayed in the shadows, he could perhaps move within twenty feet of McCormack before being noticed. He signaled for Victoria to begin making her way along the opposite wall. If Finney could just move close enough and make a rush at them, Victoria could possibly come in from behind.

McCormack leveled his gun at Kareem’s forehead. “You have a choice. Deny your god or destroy your family, Mr. Hasaan.”

Finney slid a few more inches, kicked a loose rock by accident, and froze. McCormack never turned. But Finney had another problem. He felt a cough rumbling in his chest, forcing its way up his windpipe. The running had aggravated his lung condition. He wheezed as he sucked in air. He closed his mouth and tried to choke it back. The urge grew irresistible . . .

“If you don’t deny your faith, then Azrael will have another assignment. A year from now, he breaks into your home. Shoots your kids. Helps your wife commit suicide. If you deny your faith right now and curse Allah, I may decide to show you some mercy.

“Justice requires a family for a family, Mr. Hasaan. But I might just let your family live.”

Finney couldn’t hold out any longer. He was too far away to lunge for McCormack. Instead, he quickly crawled back toward the opening of the chamber. Fighting back the cough, praying for control . . .

“There is no god but Allah, and Muhammad is his prophet,” Kareem said, his face trembling with rage and determination. “Praise be to Allah.”

McCormack laughed scornfully. “See if Allah spares your wife. See if Allah saves your children.”

At that moment, still a few feet from the entrance to the chamber, Oliver Finney coughed. Knowing he had blown his cover, he quickly rose to his full height and coughed loudly—a raspy, forceful, phlegm-producing cough that echoed throughout the chamber.

McCormack and Gus swung their guns in his direction, while Finney covered his mouth with his fist and kept on coughing as if his life depended on it.

And maybe it did. After all, who had ever shot a man while he was coughing?