Nemesis (FBI Thriller #19)(47)
They moved around Nazari’s bed, careful not to disturb the IV tubing and monitoring wires connected to his body. Kelly pulled the curtain closed for privacy. It was a tight fit, but she wasn’t about to ask anyone to leave. All of them had a big stake in this. Kelly said quietly, “Please don’t say anything, let me handle this.”
Kelly shook his shoulders, said next to his ear, “Jamil, open your eyes. It’s me, you lazy baboon, it’s your sister. Wake up!”
He moaned, blinked his eyes, and frowned up at her. “Jana, I do not feel good, Jana. Where is Mama?” His English was clear, though stilted, his accent heavily Arabic.
Kelly did her best to mimic him. “She’s at home, you fool. Tell me what you’ve done, Jamil. Tell me right now or I’ll make you very sorry,” and she smacked him again on his shoulder.
“That hurt. You hurt me when we were young.”
“You always deserved it. Stop whining and tell me what you did right this minute.”
“I am thirsty.”
“Tell me right now and I’ll get you water, all right?”
“Yes, that would be good.” His brain tripped off into the ether, and he fell silent.
Kelly shook him again. “Jamil, tell me about the man who sent you to shoot Nasim. Tell me about the Strategist.”
“Ah, Jana, you always liked Hercule, didn’t you? You wanted to marry him, but he wasn’t interested.”
“Yes, I liked Hercule. What is he doing now, Jamil? Where does he live?”
Something clicked in Jamil’s glazed eyes. He blinked up at Kelly. “Wait! You are not Jana, she can barely speak English. You cannot be—I remember. I saw you at the safe house, you are—” Nazari pressed his head against the pillow and yelled, “Help me! Help me!”
Nurse Marr appeared around the privacy curtain. She looked dispassionately down at Jamil Nazari, whose mouth was still open as he stared up at her. “Help me.”
“You will have to keep your voice down, Mr. Nazari. You’re disturbing our other patient.”
“Wait, listen, they are going to kill me—”
“I’m sure you’re mistaken, Mr. Nazari. It’s the drugs making your mind fuzzy. They’ll wear off soon now. You’ll be fine. Trust me.”
The nurse pulled back and Kelly came down close to his face again. “What’s wrong, Jamil? Don’t you want to talk with your sister Jana anymore?”
“You bitch! I don’t want to talk to you!” Nazari let out another yell for help. Nurse Marr came back in and calmly punched a few buttons on his IV infusion set. In a few seconds, his head fell back and he was asleep.
“He was with it enough not to cooperate anymore, so I put him out again. Mr. Nazari won’t be talking to anyone for a long while, so you might as well leave now, get a good night’s sleep.” She smiled at Kelly. “I heard what you did. Good work.”
In the hallway outside Recovery, Kelly grinned madly and high-fived Jo, Cal, and Sherlock.
“Congrats, Giusti,” Cal said. “We now have a name, and that’s more than MI5 has.”
“A name, we’ve got a name,” Kelly said. “How many French Algerians can there be with a name like Hercule? And he knows Nazari’s family, his sister Jana. We can have the family questioned, track their contacts.”
Jo said, “It shouldn’t take too long. Like you said, Kelly, there can’t be many Hercules in Algeria. It’s an odd name. You done good.”
“At least we’ve got a good solid lead now,” Kelly said.
“It’s good for your career, too, Giusti,” Cal said. “Hey, you wanna hug?”
SAVICH HOUSE
GEORGETOWN
Friday, nearly midnight
It was late, after midnight, when Savich closed MAX down for the night. He’d tried every public record he could think of, but MAX had found nothing solid linking the Plackett murder victims, or their killers, other than what he already knew. He needed to do more legwork, speaking directly to people who knew both the killers and the victims. He’d call Sheriff Watson in the morning, see if he’d found anything promising. He lay in bed staring at the dark ceiling, hearing only the occasional settling-in moans the house made, sounds he knew, comforting sounds, but not comforting enough tonight. He missed Sherlock’s head against his shoulder, her hair tickling his nose, her soft, smooth breathing against his skin. He was afraid for her, he’d admitted it to himself the moment her helicopter took off for New York. He hadn’t told her that, but she knew.
He couldn’t sleep, so he got up to check on Sean. It was something Sherlock would have done if she couldn’t sleep. As he stood over Sean’s single bed in his kid’s room filled with bookshelves and posters of superheroes, he saw the pair of Sean’s sneakers kicked off in the corner near his desk, his jeans tossed over the back of a chair. He could hear Sherlock’s voice telling Sean to put his dirty clothes in the hamper and his shoes in the closet. It hadn’t even occurred to Savich to remind him. Well, he got the taking-a-bath and brushing-his-teeth parts right. Savich had sung a song to Sean while he’d bathed, Sean joining Savich when he belted out “Let It Go.” Savich had learned the words on his way to the Hoover Building that morning. Just in case.