Terror Stash by Tracy Cooper-Posey Page A

far the two survivors haven’t said a word.”
    “ Two survivors?” Mentally, she winced and sought for a way to cover her slip. “How many people were in this fight?” she demanded, pouring outrage into her voice. The outrage was easy. This time, the nausea that swept through her was bereft of any positive tension. She felt sick. Had she let herself be lulled by Caden Rawn’s confident assurance that he had avoiding killing any of them. Had he lied to her?
    She had believed him without proof, then encouraged him to flee from the police.
    She clung to the one fact she knew about Rawn. He had shown nothing but cool control and reasoning. Why lie to her? He’d offered to stay and face the authorities if she asked for it. He wouldn’t have done that if he’d known he’d killed two of the assailants. There was no reason to lie.
    “What’s the matter, Montana? Do knife fights offend you?”
    She scrambled to find a normal response. “When they might involve my friends, they do.”
    “Ah.” Nelson relaxed. “I’ll get Crystal to copy you on any news bulletins about it.”
    “Thanks, I’d appreciate it. And the access to the files?”
    “Ah, that.” He wove his fingers together again. “Who is it you think you have found?”
    “It looks like he’s got lots of names, but the regular one is Ghenghis Bob.”
    “Ghenghis Bob?” Finally, Nelson did start to chuckle. His whole body wobbled as he let the almost soundless belly laugh out.
    “I’m not making up the name. I know it sounds totally bizarre for a terrorist—they love aliases that align them with religious icons or warrior heroes, but that’s his name. I checked.”
    “Oh, I believe you,” Nelson said, catching his breath. “Oh dear....” He wiped his eyes. “You really are naïve when it comes to this stuff, aren’t you?”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “No, clearly not. Let me tell you a bit about Ghenghis Bob, my dear. You’re quite right, he was with Black September, but that was years ago, now. He was so radically fundamentalist that even Black September had problems with his extremist ideals and behavior. Do you remember the Primo situation in Turkey, about nine years ago?”
    She recalled the salient details. They were engraved on most State department officers’ minds. While touring Turkey, the wife of an east coast Senator, Brian Primo, had been kidnapped and taken across the border into Syria. Black September had instantly claimed responsibility and set up negotiations. In their ruthless view of the world, this had merely been a quick, convenient way to raise a bit more cash for their main operations. But while the negotiations were still underway, a video had been delivered to the Senator. On it was the last three hours of his wife’s life. They had gutted her, laid out her entrails on the table before her and watched her die, all while quoting the Koran to her.
    She had been eight weeks pregnant.
    The negotiators had quickly decamped, their mission to stall the authorities a success.
    “I remember the case,” Montana told Nelson.
    “Some weeks after the Senator’s wife died, rumors started spreading around the intelligence world, then out to diplomatic circles, that Black September had not intended to murder her. They blamed a former member of their organization, who had acted on his own authority. They cited the man as being a religious fanatic who fell well beyond even their own borders of tolerance.”
    “Ghenghis Bob?” Montana guessed, feeling sick.
    Nelson smiled benevolently at her. “Ghenghis Bob. It was made very clear that Black September and Ghenghis Bob had come to a parting of ways.”
    “So he might still be out there somewhere, then.”
    “You don’t resign from Black September, Montana. You don’t ever get to leave.”
    “They executed him?”
    “Exactly.” He flicked his fingernails at the sheets she had given him. “Clearly, you were off chasing imaginary Palestinians this weekend, while the real