Full Throttle (Black Knights Inc. #7)(79)
“I know not what you say!” Rajen screamed, more tears welling in his eyes, and was that? Yeah, the dude had a serious amount of snot running over his lips. Dan’s own lips curled. “I know nothing of—”
“How did they know about the transmitters in Abby’s clothes!” he bellowed, pressing the barrel of his weapon tight against Rajen’s head.
“I know not!” the security director’s voice screeched loud and high enough to send a flock of pigeons that had alighted on one of the gazillion overhead wires strung across the city, into noisy flight.
“Then why did you—”
But that’s all he managed because Penni interrupted him by yelling, “Go back inside your homes!” He found her gripping her service weapon with both hands and turning in a slow circle, keeping her eyes trained on the people who had begun slipping from their houses to investigate the commotion. “We are American authorities!” She shifted her Glock to one hand so she could reach for her Secret Service badge with the other, flashing her credentials to the growing crowd. “This man is a terrorist!”
“No! No terrorist!” Rajen cried, hiccupping and releasing Dan to once again place both hands around his injured leg.
A few murmurs rippled through those gathered even as more people slowly emerged from homes, backyards, and the narrow alleys running between the houses.
“I don’t think they understand you,” Dan whispered. “And even if they do, I don’t think that badge of yours holds much water with ’em.” The twanging hairs on the back of his neck told him they might be about to find themselves in a world of trouble. The kind that happened when a crowd turned into a mob. Tension vibrated through the air, and he was reminded of the time he accidently stumbled into a notoriously gang-violent neighborhood back in good ol’ Detroit Rock City. Just like back then, he thought, This could get real bad, real quick. “Penni, get the car.”
“Uh-huh.” She nodded, swallowing. “I think you’re right.”
He watched her break into a run toward the SUV, keeping an eye on one particular guy who was stalking up the street toward them. To say the dude’s expression was unfriendly would be like calling a great white shark unfriendly.
“No. Fuck, no,” he whispered to himself, well versed in how quickly things could turn violent in a situation like this. “If you didn’t know what their plans were, if you’re so innocent,” he continued to question Rajen because, holy shit, if Penni didn’t get that vehicle back to him PDQ he might be fighting off half the population of Kuala Lumpur and miss his chance to ask the man anything else, “then why did you run when you saw us? Why did you call in sick to work today?”
Rajen, too frightened and too preoccupied by his own pain to recognize the volatility of his environment—and just how close he might be to obtaining his freedom—answered tearfully, “I call in sick because the man, he tell me to. When I say I the only one to know how to get footage from hotel cameras, he say that good. That may help slow authorities down. And then he offer me more money to stay home today.”
Shit ten thousand bricks! This was turning into a CCF. A classic clusterf*ck. “And you ran when you saw us because?” he prompted, narrowing his eyes at the man who was still advancing in their direction. He shook his head, the universal signal for you want no part of this, buddy. Unfortunately, the guy didn’t agree. He just kept on coming. And the crowd…it was beginning to vibrate, to hum with disapproval. In short: the natives were growing restless. Dan’s heart beat out a rapid lub-dub, his every cell focusing as he readied himself to take his Ruger away from Rajen’s head so he could point it elsewhere. He figured he’d start with Mr. Looking for a Fight.
“B-because you look like Americans. I gave room numbers of Americans to Jemaah Islamiyah. I scared! I in trouble!”
“Sure, sure.” Dan nodded, the hairs on his arms alerting him to the fact that he was sitting in the middle of a lit powder keg, and things were about tens second away from blowing the hell up. “So not so innocent are you, Rajen? You knew the JI wouldn’t use that information you gave ’em for anything good.”
“But I—”
Whatever Rajen was about to say was drowned out by the sound of the big engine on the SUV roaring to life up the street. The squeal of tires followed a half second later.
“Come on, Mr. Musa,” he said, bending to grab the security director’s collar in one hand—careful to simultaneously keep hold of his P90; yeah, you better believe it—while wrapping the other around the guy’s waistband. “You’re coming with us.”
“No!” Rajen yelled, struggling in his grip. And that’s all it took for the crowd to ignite. All at once, two dozen individuals, tall, short, fat, small, young, and old began advancing in Dan’s direction. But Penni, bless her, was quicker than the mob. The SUV lurched to a stop beside him, the rear passenger-side door swinging open. With a heave and a toss, he lobbed Rajen into the bucket seat, diving in after the guy and yelling, “Get us outta here!”
Penni didn’t hesitate. She stepped on the gas, working through the gears like a classic Motown speed racer as the big vehicle fishtailed its way down the block.
“You get anything more from him?” she called over her shoulder after a bit.
“Only that you were right. He’s just as much of a dupe as Irdina. He’ll be useless in helping us found out who the mole is.”