“Except for the fella with the paring knife,” Brian replied. “Who were they?”
“I can’t ...”
“Our guess is URC. Somebody pushed the button on you, Mr. Bari.”
“What does that mean?”
“Somebody ordered you murdered. What were they asking you about?”
Bari didn’t reply.
“Look, without help, they’re going to get you. You might be able to hide for a while, but they’ll find you. Probably your family in Benghazi, too.”
Bari’s head jerked up. “You know about them?”
Dominic nodded. “And if we do ...”
“You’re Americans, aren’t you?”
“Does it matter?”
“No, I suppose it doesn’t.”
Brian said, “Help us and we’ll help you—try to get you out of the country.”
“How?”
“Let us worry about that. Who were they?”
“URC.”
“The same ones who did Dirar al-Kariim?”
“Who?”
“Web video. Guy with no head and no feet ...”
“Oh. Yes. That’s them.”
Dominic asked, “What’s his name, the one with the knife?”
“I know him as Fakhoury.”
“What’s he do?”
“What you saw here. Murder. Punishment. Very low-level type of person. He bragged about al-Kariim. Talked about it.”
“Why was he after you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Bullshit,” Brian said. “You and your bodyguards were in a hurry. You knew Fakhoury was on his way. How?”
“Word on the street was that I was talking to the police. It wasn’t true. I don’t know who said it, but with these people . . . security is everything. Killing me was a precaution.”
“What’d they want from you? You’re their Web nerd, right?”
“Yes. Fakhoury wanted to know if I’d kept any data.”
“Such as?”
“Domain names. Passwords. Graphics ...”
“Like banner images?”
“Yes. Yes, he asked about those.”
Dominic looked at Brian and muttered, “Stego.”
“Yep.”
“What are you talking about?” Bari asked.
“So what’s the answer?” Dominic asked. “Did you keep any data? A little insurance, maybe?”
Bari opened his mouth to speak, but Brian cut him off: “You lie to us and we’re going to cut Fakhoury free and leave.”
“Yes, I kept data. It’s on an SD card—secure digital, like for a camera. It’s under a tile behind the toilet.”
Brian was already moving. “Got it.” He was back two minutes later with a thumbnail-sized card.
Dominic asked Bari, “Who gives Fakhoury his marching orders?”
“I’ve only heard rumors.”
“Fine.”
“A man named Almasi.”
“Local?”
“No, he’s got a house outside Zuwarah.”
Dominic looked at Brian. “About sixty miles west of here.”
“How high up is this guy? Could he have okayed al-Kariim’s execution?”
“It’s possible.”
They left Bari alone and walked out into the courtyard. “What’dya think?” Brian asked.
“Bari’s a good catch, but it’d be nice to grab a fish higher up the food chain. If this Almasi has enough juice to green-light one of their own, it might be worth a try.”
Brian checked his watch. “Almost ten now. Figure a half-hour to get back to the car, then two hours to Zuwarah. Hit him by two, then back on the road.”
“So we take Bari, grab Almasi if we can.”
“Which leaves Fakhoury.”
“Dead weight, bro.”
Dominic thought it over and sighed.
Brian said, “He’s a stone-cold murderer, Dom.”
“No shit. Having trouble throwing the switch in my head, you know?”
“You threw it once. The kiddie-raper thing.”
“That was a little different.”
“Not much different. Bad guy that wasn’t going to stop on his own. Same thing here.”
Dominic considered this, then nodded. “I’ll do it.”
“No, bro, this one’s mine. Go get Bari ready to move. I’m going to police up.”
Five minutes later Dominic and Bari were in the courtyard. Brian came out, dropped a canvas shopping tote at Dominic’s feet. “Half a dozen semiautos and ten magazines. Be right back.” Brian went back inside.
“What’s he doing?” Bari asked.
From inside came a dull clap, then a second.
“Fakhoury?” Bari said to Dominic. “You killed him.”
“Would you rather he be alive to come after you?”
“No, but who’s to say you won’t do the same to me when you’re done?”
“I am. Worst case, we’ll let you walk away.”
“And best case.”
“That depends on how helpful you are.”
Brian walked out ten minutes later. He and Dominic walked to the far wall, and Brian boosted Dominic onto the roof. He was back ten seconds later with their backpacks. The three of them moved to the courtyard door.
Brian turned to Bari. “Just so we’re clear: You run, or draw attention to us, we’ll put a bullet in your head.”
“Why would I do such a thing?”
“Don’t know, don’t care. You put us in a jackpot, you’ll be the first one to die.”
“I understand.”
Forty minutes later they emerged from the Medina on Sidi Omran and walked two blocks east toward the Corinthia, where they’d parked the Opel. Five minutes after that, they were on Umar al Mukhtar and heading west toward the