Not-So-Secret

Chapter fifty-three

"I TELL YOU, Boss, I don't trust him."

Jones leaned back in his chair and stared out across the Las Vegas Valley. The smog was bad, obscuring the view of the foothills. He could see the whole Strip from this seat, watch his fortunes rise as each plane carrying tourists dollars sailed past to land at McCarran. Who said this wasn't a great country? A man from such humble roots as his own could grow up to be richer than his father could have dreamed. His father. A weak man who'd done very few things right in his life. One was to have himself heavily insured. The other was to have been killed in a car crash while on a business trip. Double indemnity. That crash has started Jones on his own road and whenever he thought of it, he liked to tip his hat to his old man for having the sense to die well.

He thought about Karpov and his cargo, somewhere in the Atlantic ocean, heading toward California.

This deal, this simple transaction, would change everything. He thought about telling Lee, but no, even Lee who had proved his loyalty time and again couldn't be trusted with this tidbit. No one knew. Not Karpov, not the Iraqi buyer, not the Pakistani buyer. No one understood the real beauty of Jones's plan.

The ultimate outcome would be a marvel to behold.

The bomb would be sold. Twice. He would end up with well over a billion dollars, safely ensconced in several offshore banks. No one would die, except of course for those most intimately involved.

Then he would turn the bomb over to the authorities, which would make him a hero. Him. He'd save the country. They'd owe him.

"Why, Henry?" Jones spun in a lazy arc to face Lee.

"Why don't you trust him?"

"Because he doesn't respect you."

Jones smiled. He felt more honest affection for the hulking man standing by his Renoir than anyone else in his life, with the possible exception of his son. Surely in time, when Shaun had proven his loyalty, he'd outshine Lee considerably. Regardless, Lee was a good man. A man who knew his place.

But so did James. They were opposites, James and Lee and that was the way he wanted it. Where Lee was like a bloodhound, James was like a fox. They served in contrasting but equally important ways.

"It's good that you watch James, Henry. But he's still useful to me. Remember that."

"Yes, sir."

"You were right to call me about Kelly. I've taken care of that situation."

"Yes, sir."

"I need you to pick up a man from the airport today, Henry. His name is Tariq Mahmood Ahmad. Don't worry. He speaks excellent English. You'll bring him here. Take him to the Ambassador Suite and make sure he's comfortable. He'll want to see me, but you'll tell him I won't be available until tomorrow and make sure, before you go to the airport, that you personally double-check the phone taps in his room."

Lee nodded. Jones knew he would ask no more questions, except for the time of the Pakistani's arrival. This was a job particularly suited to Lee. James would have asked a great many questions. No, James was where he needed to be. His players were all in position.

His only quarrel this morning was with himself. He'd gotten drunk last night and that was something he couldn't afford to do again. Not until he opened a chilled bottle of French champagne the night his plan came to fruition. A billion tax-free dollars and the thanks of a grateful nation. Quite a legacy to leave his son.