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She and Ryan left Tribeca around 11:00 a.m., making their way up West End Avenue in Ryan’s equipment-laden truck. Crawling up Tenth, they turned onto West 116th Street, headed east and parked a block away from the meat market. Climbing out of the van, Ryan paused long enough to place a forged “Clergy” card in the windshield—a personal statement on his part because he hated paying for parking in Manhattan.
Garbed in a traditional burka, Leilah walked ahead of Ryan, keeping a half block distance between them. By the time Ryan entered the store, Leilah was waiting in line, pacing up and down the length of the meat case. Ryan took his cue, and went over to examine some of the prepared foods—or at least pretended to. In reality, he was scanning the locations of the HVAC supplies and returns. It was a start. He’d need to get his hands on detailed drawings in order to put Gecko into play.
Leilah was still pacing. The owner of the store began darting irritated looks at her. By the time the patron ahead of her had completed her transaction, the shop owner was visibly agitated.
“May I help you?” he asked her in heavily accented English.
Leilah responded in Arabic. The owner reverted to his native Arabic, as well.
A heated conversation ensued.
Ryan had no clue what they were saying, but Leilah’s raised voice and her accusing finger pointing at the lamb kabobs in the case launched the owner on a tirade. He ended with a few tightly controlled, furious words, and then stormed into the back.
Leilah met Ryan’s eyes and nodded, letting him know that this was his opportunity. Ryan nodded back. He’d already used the time when Leilah was doing battle to select the ideal location to plant a bug—just beneath a wooden railing. To the untrained eye, it looked like a piece of used chewing gum. It felt like one, too. So, anyone coming across it by accident would leave well enough alone, too grossed out to touch or to closely inspect someone else’s disgusting leftover.
A man entered the meat market and glanced around, looking for the owner. On his heels, a woman with a shopping bag came into the small store, also gazing quizzically around. She asked Leilah where the owner was.
Before Leilah could respond, the owner returned, emphatically shoving what was clearly a newly cut batch of lamb kabobs at her. He turned to the two new customers, forced a smile and said he’d be with them in just a minute. Then he turned back to Leilah, who was peering at the bright red contents on the brown paper. After a thorough inspection, she gave a nod of approval.
The owner quickly weighed the meat, wrapped it up and told Leilah how much she owed him. She handed him a hundred-dollar bill. He rang up her purchase, pulled out change from the register and handed over the meat and her money.
It was blatantly obvious that he couldn’t wait for her to leave.
Ryan checked his watch, frowning as he ostensibly realized how late it was. He put down the container of prepared couscous that he’d planned on buying, and headed for the door.
A few minutes later, he and Leilah were back inside the van.
“What the hell happened in there?” Ryan demanded. “I thought the guy was going to bust a gut.”
Laughing, Leilah peeled off her burka, tossed back her head and shook out her full mane of hair.
“I told him the lamb in the case looked like a dead carcass cut up into pieces. I asked him if his meat was halal or did that just apply to the sign in the window. He was livid. He told me to go elsewhere to buy my meat. Then I told him I needed five pounds of kabobs—five fresh pounds—which I demanded he cut for me on the spot.” A lighthearted shrug. “I guess he wanted my money, so he forgot about my insult.”
Ryan began to laugh. “A brilliant strategy and an equally brilliant performance. I’m totally impressed.”
“I aim to please.” Leilah preened like a beautiful peacock.
“I knew you spoke Arabic. But where did you learn how to pull off a scene like that?”
“From my mother,” Leilah replied. “She was quite the force to be reckoned with. As a little girl, I would go with her to the meat market. The shopkeepers would cringe when we walked in. But they tolerated her badgering because she was a good customer.” She gave him a sunny smile. “And while we’re on the subject of badgering, you owe me five hundred bucks for my performance, another hundred for the meat, and I’m hungry. When are you going to cook these kabobs I so painstakingly acquired?”
“Later,” Ryan promised. “After we get what we came for. I promise I’ll
fire up Big Bertha and char this lamb to perfection.” Big Bertha was Ryan’s homemade grill that looked more like a midnight requisition from an oil refinery than a typical gas grill. “In the meantime, I brought you a snack as a substitute.”
He opened a cooler, placed the meat inside for safekeeping and removed a Ziploc bag, offering it to Leilah.
She glanced down at the contents. “You remembered!” She leaned forward and gave him a long, sensual kiss—one that might have gone somewhere if Ryan had let it.
He eased back on his haunches, preparing to get the audio information off his bug.
“I hope you brought something else for yourself.” Leilah spoke between mouthfuls of the buffalo jerky that was her favorite.
“I’m fine. I just want our venture to pay off.” He fast-forwarded the digitally recorded audio stream from the bug he’d planted. Oddly, the woman who’d entered the store after the man was being helped by the owner first. The transaction seemed normal enough. She made her purchase, paid and left.
Ryan could hear the door slam shut. Immediately thereafter, the two men began speaking in Arabic.
Nudging Leilah, Ryan hissed, “Translate.”
