Aboud shrugged. “Of course, I know the Said family. Why would I deny it? Mr. Said and I have done business for years. If Adara Said was involved, it has nothing to do with me. What reason would I have? It’s ridiculous. Is this about my Sikorsky again? You know it was stolen, I reported it.”
Savich said, “Mr. Aboud, come out from behind your desk and place your hands on top of your head.”
Aboud slowly came around his desk, his hands on his head. Savich quickly patted him down. Aboud glanced over at Musa, who was cradling his thumb, looking stoic.
Savich said, “Ollie, check his desk, the top right-hand drawer.”
Special Agent Ollie Hamish held up a Smith & Wesson 9 mm pistol. He shook his head. “Are you so stupid you would have actually drawn a weapon on federal officers?”
No answer. Ollie bagged the gun.
Savich said, “We know your helicopter wasn’t stolen, Mr. Aboud. You were covering your tracks reporting it stolen on the chance your plan went sideways, which it did. We did lie to you in our initial interview. Neither the pilot nor the shooter survived. The pilot of the Sikorsky has been identified as Ansir Hussein, a veteran of Assad’s government forces in Syria. His DNA identified your Sikorsky mechanic, Ali Amin, as his half brother, also a veteran of Assad’s government forces until two years ago, when you recruited him and brought him to the U.S.
“He blames you for the death of his half brother Ansir, who’d had no experience flying the Sikorsky, yet you insisted he do it. He gave you up without a whimper. Yet another poorly planned attack.”
Aboud said, “May I put my arms down?”
Savich nodded.
Aboud said as he began rubbing his arms, “I understand now. As you know, my Sikorsky was very valuable. I think Ansir and his brother stole it and planned to sell it, after attacking Lady Elizabeth, for whoever it was who paid them. Ali Amin cameup with that story to protect himself. You must have offered him immunity, an obvious ploy no jury would believe. If ever this nonsense came to a U.S. court, my lawyers would destroy him.”
Sherlock said, “Mr. Aboud, we’re well aware killing Lady Elizabeth wasn’t your idea, that you didn’t wish to be involved, but Adara Said gave you no choice.”
Aboud stared at her, slowly shook his head.
“During our first visit here, I planted a bug on the leg of your desk. When we listened to the recording, all we had was a few words before it was destroyed. Our technicians determined it was a woman’s voice, a young woman with a British accent. In London, Adara Said was recorded in the hospital after she was shot during the last attempt on Lady Elizabeth’s life. It occurred to us it could be the same voice. Acoustic analysis confirmed it was Adara Said we heard. We know she flew into Dulles two days before your Sikorsky was used in the attack on Lady Elizabeth. The GPS in her rented Tesla showed she drove here.”
Savich picked it up. “As I said, you didn’t choose to try to kill the daughter of a peer of the English realm, but Adara knew something dangerous enough to force you to agree. In our search of your office our agents found papers in a hidden safe. They were written in Arabic. The translation is very clear, Mr. Aboud. You paid Samir Basara a vast sum to murder Admiral Lord Hawley. Basara chose to fulfill your contract by killing him in the bombing of St. Paul’s last year. If the bombs had exploded, there would have been well over a hundred deaths and it would have been called a terrorist attack, as Basara wanted his men to believe. No one would have suspected it was done to kill one man, Admiral Lord Hawley.
“It was Admiral Lord Hawley who ordered your son’s fighter jet shot down by a British missile fired from a ship stationed in the Mediterranean. He’d strayed too close and was consideredan immediate threat. This was your first son, Mr. Aboud, by your first wife.
“When Samir Basara’s plan to kill him by bombing St. Paul’s failed, you arranged to kill Hawley yourself. You flew to London seven months ago, stayed two days at the Connaught before you flew on to Damascus, the same day Hawley was killed in a supposed hit-and-run auto accident.”
Aboud’s face was white with rage. “Yes, yes, I was happy to hear Hawley was dead. He was responsible, he killed my son. But you will listen to me—I did not pay Basara to kill him. I did not order him run down in London!”
Savich said, “Your barrister will advise you, sir. We don’t know which of your crimes will send you to prison for the rest of your life, and I really don’t care. We’re done here.” Savich nodded to Sherlock and zip-tied Aboud’s wrists behind his back. Like Dillon, she didn’t know which of his crimes he’d pay for, but it didn’t matter. Elizabeth was safe.
Chapter Seventy
Navarro house
Titusville, Virginia
Five days later
Archer Navarro sat beside Tash in his brother’s backyard, his face raised to a cool breeze cutting the afternoon heat. He realized he was happy, and it caught him off guard. He remembered the shock when he found out the two people outside his family he was closest to, the two people he’d trusted and cared about, had betrayed him. Wonder of wonders, the shock didn’t feel as sharp today. What was sharp was realizing his life was his own again. Today he was surrounded by his family and by new friends who’d worked to save him. He would owe them forever.
His brother and Ethan Merriweather were manning the grill with beers in their hands, talking about the Eagles’ chances this upcoming season. He breathed in the scent of the sizzling steaks and hamburgers, even the light scent of the wrapped corn on the cob on the grill destined for Agent Savich, a man he wanted to be part of his life, now that he had a life again. He heard Sherlock laugh, light as a sweet kiss, as she talked with Sheriff Dix Noble, Agent Ruth Noble’s husband.
After his first bite of a fully loaded burger Archer doubted the day could get better, until Tash leaned over him and swipeda potato chip through some bean dip, laughing like a loon at something Autumn said. Archer’s arm went around his son and squeezed him, and Tash’s smile bloomed up at him, wide and happy. He kept staring at his little boy, tanned and fit, strong, and what a talker he was now. That was thanks to everyone in Titusville, and especially the little girl next to him, Autumn Merriweather. He’d spoken at length with Rebel and with Autumn’s parents about the gifts the kids shared, gifts he now embraced. He wondered yet again what would have happened if they hadn’t found him in Barcelona. He thought of Celia, thanked her silently for giving him their son, their gifted son. He would take his clues about how to deal with Tash’s gifts from the Merriweathers now, and from Agent Savich. They’d told him not to worry, that it would be enough for them to be honest with each other, and for him to love and support Tash as any father would his son. And to believe him.
When they finished apple pie and a gallon of vanilla ice cream, the sun had begun to fall in the blue cloud-strewn sky, giving the mountains a purplish haze. Everyone was still sitting around the table, talking—Sherlock and Ruth, the two agents who’d come to Barcelona to bring him home, and their husbands; Joanna and Ethan Merriweather; and Tash and Autumn, whispering in each other’s ears.
It was time. Archer rose, cleared his throat. The conversations fell away as he looked around the table. “I want to thank all of you for believing in me. Without all of you, I might not be here.” He looked at his brother. “Rebel, you used your magnificent brain to nail Carla, and you protected Tash, tended to him, loved and supported him. It’s easy to see you and Tash have come to love each other—I didn’t have to give this much thought. Tash, here’s what your uncle and I have decided.
“I will leave you here for the rest of the summer while I try to set the Navarro Investment Fund to rights, woo back some clients if I’m able to. I’m hoping some of them will forgiveme for my failure to protect the money they invested with my fund. Even though Carla refused to give the location of the money she and Sasha stole, it’s being tracked, and some has already been found and returned.
“By the end of the summer, I hope to be able to cut down on my time at the Philadelphia office and work remotely.” He laid his hand on Tash’s shoulder, looked down at him. Everyone was waiting, waiting—
