Page 240 of Whisper
“Sirs!” One of the FBI techs shouted, waving her flashlight. “I’ve found something!”
George, Ryan, and the FBI deputy director jogged to her, clustering around her outstretched gloved hand.
A cell phone lay in the center of her palm. “It’s on,” she said. “It’s still making a call.”
“To who?”
She swiped through the screen, pulling up the number. “To itself, sir.”
“Oh my fucking God.Voicemail. It’s recording everything.” Ryan hung up the phone, jabbing his gloved finger on the button to end the call. “How long has it been going?”
The battery indicator flashed. It was low on juice. “Almost two hours, sir.”
“Let me see it.” George gently took the phone from her. His gloved fingers swiped to the home screen, then to the messages. The phone was a burner, a knock-off smart phone that looked fancy but was no more powerful than a cheap calculator.
The message inbox loaded. One message was on top, unread.
The phone’s owner had sent it to himself. He clicked the message icon.
To whoever finds this phone. This is the record of CIA officer Dawood Haddad meeting with an unknown CIA officer who has been passing intelligence and information to al-Qaeda for over two years. Please turn this phone immediately over to the FBI and CIA. A recording of the meeting will be lodged within this phone’s voicemail. Make sure this gets to the right people. Make sure justice is done.
“Holy shit,” Ryan breathed. “Someone get a phone charger!Now! We have to listen to this.”
“Haddad…” George’s throat clenched. “Well done.”
Chapter 35
September 11
0740 hours
Sunlight stabbed into Kris’s brain, bleached out his eyeballs, even through his eyelids. He groaned, trying to roll away from the light.
His head felt like a gong had been struck in the center of his brain, like his skull was a watermelon that had been split in two. He pressed his face against the cushion, smelled carpet cleaner and car upholstery—
Voices out of context, words without meaning.
Habibi!
You don’t understand what’s happening here.
It’s him.
Shut up! Suspects don’t get to speak!
I am so sorry.
Habibi.
I will pull this fucking trigger if you move one single muscle!
He blinked, struggling to make sense of the flutter of images whirling through his mind.Driving, a dark warehouse. Dawood on his knees. A prick of pain, his body going heavy. Dan…
He tried to sit up. His body ached, like he’d gone ten rounds with an entire frat house, or had spent the night in a cement mixer.
He couldn’t move his hands. He tried again, tried to pull his wrists out from behind his back.
He was cuffed. Why?
