Foreign Influence by Brad Thor

Author:Brad Thor
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: ATRIA PAPERBACK
Published: 2010-06-30T03:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 35

CHICAGO

John Vaughan sat in a plush leather captain’s chair inside the most comfortable surveillance vehicle he had ever seen and wondered what Paul Davidson’s problem was.

Josh Levy, the owner of Surety Private Investigations, Ltd., and Davidson’s boss when he was moonlighting as a PI, couldn’t have been more personable, polite, or professional if he had tried. He was a handsome, well-dressed man in his late fifties and very experienced in private investigative work. There was no question in Vaughan’s mind that Levy had easily spent over a hundred thousand dollars on his surveillance van. It really was decked out like a limo inside and the electronic equipment rivaled anything the CPD or the FBI owned. Unless this guy had a DVD carousel loaded with animal porn, Vaughan couldn’t find anything even remotely questionable about him. It was beyond him why Davidson so disliked doing surveillance with his boss.

“Is the temperature okay for you?” asked Levy. “There’s plenty of juice left in the batteries to run the air exchangers.”

As the man bent down to flip a switch, Davidson looked at Vaughan and rolled his eyes.

“The air’s real good, Josh. Thank you,” said Vaughan, ignoring Davidson.

Levy righted himself, leaned over, flipped open a mini-fridge and pulled out a cup of yogurt. Davidson tapped Vaughan on the shoulder with the back of his hand.

“Anybody want one?” asked Levy.

“No thanks, Josh,” responded Davidson. “We’re all good.”

Vaughan watched as Levy peeled back the lid and licked the yogurt from the top. When he was done, he placed the lid on the narrow counter beneath the surveillance equipment and went to work folding it into eighths, before dropping it into a Ziplocked garbage bag hanging from the wall.

While he was fishing a spoon from a drawer near the fridge, Davidson tapped Vaughan again and rolled his eyes. The Organized Crime cop looked back at him and shrugged. He had no idea what Davidson’s problem was.

Levy took a bite of his yogurt and then picked up the copy of Mohammed Nasiri’s picture. “So this is our guy, but we don’t know if he’s inside the mosque. Correct?”

“That’s right,” said Vaughan. “Based on the calls we’ve made, he hasn’t gotten on any airplanes out of town.”

“But he could have hopped on a bus, a train, or borrowed a car and left.”

“That’s correct.”

Levy took another bite of yogurt. This time, he licked both sides of the spoon afterward. “Why do you think he’s inside?”

Vaughan could feel Davidson’s glance, begging him to notice how Levy was licking the spoon, and he tried to ignore it. “We saw a lot of this stuff in Iraq. They know we won’t come into a mosque unless we’ve got a mountain of overwhelming evidence. Especially in the U.S., it’s political suicide. The mosque is a sanctuary for these guys. We’d never in a million years think of doing in a church or a synagogue what they do in their mosques.”

“Nor would any priest or rabbi put up with it,” added Davidson. “I can’t

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