Ms. Tyka. It was inappropriate. What I meant to convey was how much I admire your exceptional skill set. You make what is difficult appear nothing more than child’s play.”
There was a moment of challenge between them. It had been a very long time since anyone had challenged Tyka, and she hated it and was turned on by it both in equal measure. The rest of the Bod Squad looked on with curiosity and amusement. Tyka blinked and nodded, choosing not to give him the satisfaction of a verbal response. Then Mahmoud continued, “Good, then it’s settled. We will all go our separate ways, using John and Ms. Fingers as our guides both in the states and locally. Any questions?”
The Boss cleared his throat. “Mahmoud, you’ve mentioned the head of this ring several times, but I don’t see any of his stats in the paperwork. Can you give us a bit more information about him?”
‡‡‡
MAHMOUD’S DARK SKIN turned ashen, and his expression turned to one of disgust. This was the topic he hated the most, but it was necessary to give them all the intel. “Forgive me, John,” he said. “I try to reference him as little as possible, though he is the linchpin of the whole operation. He goes by many names but is known to my people as ‘the Silence,’ because when he wreaks death upon an area, he leaves a silence in his wake. He is a criminal mastermind masquerading as an ordinary man.” Mahmoud took a pause, willing himself to remain in control as he went on. “Responsible for the slaughter of my parents and sister in the Casablanca bombings of 2003, the Silence was also behind the Madrid bombings the following year. He has been involved in countless other terrorist attacks, as he orchestrates the meetings of terrorist groups that have become so ubiquitous in the Casbah. In addition, he has been the silent partner—pun intended—in a series of crimes: He was connected to Enron and WorldCom; was a great profiteer in the massive white-collar-crime schemes of Allen Stanford, Jérôme Kerviel, and Bernie Madoff; and was instrumental in the art heists in Paraguay in 2002, at the Paris Museum of Modern art in 2010, and as far back as 1990 at the Gardner Museum in Boston. Despite his prolific crime history, we’ve never seen a picture of him, don’t know his real name, and can’t find a lead that doesn’t run dry. He is the world’s greatest mystery and is often perceived to be something straight out of modern-day folklore. That’s probably where he gets the name we call him, the name I have been given that seems to open the most doors.”
“What is it?” the Boss asked, all the members of the Bod Squad listening intently, ready to fight their newest foe.
Mahmoud took a deep drink of water. Then he cursed under his breath. “I never utter his name,” he said quietly, “as I believe it brings bad luck. I prefer to call him BS—an odd coincidence that it’s the same initials as your new Bod Squad. I tend to think this is a sign of promise that we, the forces of good, will vanquish this evil foe. Anyway, I will say his name once, but I must ask you all to never speak it again unless absolutely necessary. I believe all of our lives, especially the life of Susannah’s father, depend on this.”
“They got it, M,” Jackson said. “Tell them what we know, and we’ll do initials from here on out.”
Mahmoud appeared slightly nauseated for a moment, then stood up straighter. “It is an amalgam of folklore and Arabic with a twist. I first heard it after the death of my family in 2003. It was told to me by an undercover agent who was disemboweled in the Casbah days later. His name means something like ‘Father Happiness,’ a perfect piece of irony for such a dark demon.” He took a breath. “He is known to us as Baba Samka.”
5
WRAPPING UP ANOTHER DAY working his post at CIA headquarters in Langley, Robert Smith smiled as he read the latest report from Gabriella Marconi, his own private mole. He was five-seven,
There was a moment of challenge between them. It had been a very long time since anyone had challenged Tyka, and she hated it and was turned on by it both in equal measure. The rest of the Bod Squad looked on with curiosity and amusement. Tyka blinked and nodded, choosing not to give him the satisfaction of a verbal response. Then Mahmoud continued, “Good, then it’s settled. We will all go our separate ways, using John and Ms. Fingers as our guides both in the states and locally. Any questions?”
The Boss cleared his throat. “Mahmoud, you’ve mentioned the head of this ring several times, but I don’t see any of his stats in the paperwork. Can you give us a bit more information about him?”
‡‡‡
MAHMOUD’S DARK SKIN turned ashen, and his expression turned to one of disgust. This was the topic he hated the most, but it was necessary to give them all the intel. “Forgive me, John,” he said. “I try to reference him as little as possible, though he is the linchpin of the whole operation. He goes by many names but is known to my people as ‘the Silence,’ because when he wreaks death upon an area, he leaves a silence in his wake. He is a criminal mastermind masquerading as an ordinary man.” Mahmoud took a pause, willing himself to remain in control as he went on. “Responsible for the slaughter of my parents and sister in the Casablanca bombings of 2003, the Silence was also behind the Madrid bombings the following year. He has been involved in countless other terrorist attacks, as he orchestrates the meetings of terrorist groups that have become so ubiquitous in the Casbah. In addition, he has been the silent partner—pun intended—in a series of crimes: He was connected to Enron and WorldCom; was a great profiteer in the massive white-collar-crime schemes of Allen Stanford, Jérôme Kerviel, and Bernie Madoff; and was instrumental in the art heists in Paraguay in 2002, at the Paris Museum of Modern art in 2010, and as far back as 1990 at the Gardner Museum in Boston. Despite his prolific crime history, we’ve never seen a picture of him, don’t know his real name, and can’t find a lead that doesn’t run dry. He is the world’s greatest mystery and is often perceived to be something straight out of modern-day folklore. That’s probably where he gets the name we call him, the name I have been given that seems to open the most doors.”
“What is it?” the Boss asked, all the members of the Bod Squad listening intently, ready to fight their newest foe.
Mahmoud took a deep drink of water. Then he cursed under his breath. “I never utter his name,” he said quietly, “as I believe it brings bad luck. I prefer to call him BS—an odd coincidence that it’s the same initials as your new Bod Squad. I tend to think this is a sign of promise that we, the forces of good, will vanquish this evil foe. Anyway, I will say his name once, but I must ask you all to never speak it again unless absolutely necessary. I believe all of our lives, especially the life of Susannah’s father, depend on this.”
“They got it, M,” Jackson said. “Tell them what we know, and we’ll do initials from here on out.”
Mahmoud appeared slightly nauseated for a moment, then stood up straighter. “It is an amalgam of folklore and Arabic with a twist. I first heard it after the death of my family in 2003. It was told to me by an undercover agent who was disemboweled in the Casbah days later. His name means something like ‘Father Happiness,’ a perfect piece of irony for such a dark demon.” He took a breath. “He is known to us as Baba Samka.”
5
WRAPPING UP ANOTHER DAY working his post at CIA headquarters in Langley, Robert Smith smiled as he read the latest report from Gabriella Marconi, his own private mole. He was five-seven,
Similar Books
