Razing Beijing: A Thriller Read Online Free PDF Page B

scuttlebutt; word had it that FBI
counterintel had tapped into a terrorist source with the potential of becoming
another Penkovsky, or a Nosenko—there were few walking the corridors at Langley
who could personally recall such successes. But a thug like Mohammad Ahmadi, on
the loose in Washington ?
    McBurney suspected more bloodshed was about to be laid at
his feet. “It’s been a while. I don’t remember Ahmadi as being much of a
player.”
    “We weren’t exactly running him. I think it was more the
other way around.”
    McBurney was almost afraid to ask, “You suspect this man of
committing the murders?”
    “This is his residence. He’s one of the victims.”
    McBurney nodded slowly. “So he had been talking to you, and
somebody didn’t approve. Who’s the other victim?”
    McBurney’s question prompted Kosmalski to exchange a look
with his partner. “Mr. McBurney, the Bureau requested your presence this
morning as a courtesy. And frankly, only because I was overruled.”
    “I understood that you were referred to me regarding
something unexpected. Just what did you find?”
    “I’m obligated to provide you the minimum background in
order that you understand the context of what it is we found. Beyond that, the
murders are not your business.”
    “Understood. How soon do I get to leave?”
    Kosmalski ignored the remark in order to answer his cell
phone. “Kosmalski here...uh-huh. Thanks.” He ended the call.
    “Media on their way?” asked Kosmalski’s partner.
    “Hell, it is five-forty in the morning. I’m surprised it
took this long.” Kosmalski heaved a sigh. He turned toward McBurney. “I guess
we’d better take this up inside.”

5
    MCBURNEY WADED BEHIND Special
Agent Kosmalski through a lobby brimming with FBI, police, and other officials
conducting interviews of the building’s tenants; several dozen more appeared to
be comparing notes or simply milling around sipping coffee. Outside the Iranian
diplomat’s seventh floor apartment, the designated crime scene coordinator
requested that he and Kosmalski don surgical gloves and stretch Rayon socks
over their shoes before entering. McBurney noted the absence of any apparent
damage to the door. Inside, the place had been thoroughly ransacked. Three
forensics investigators clad in green overalls and baseball caps were in the
process of cataloging objects, most of them scattered about the floor amid
pieces of furniture. The sofa had been over-turned, slashed, and eviscerated. Doors
of cabinets and drawers had all been flung open, their contents in broken
pieces throughout the living room. A woman wearing blue FBI overalls carefully
dusted a water glass on the floor for fingerprints.
    McBurney was familiar enough with the exclusive Rivergate
address—the Iranian’s tastes had certainly evolved since his days blowing up
the neighborhoods of Beirut. Even so, an overturned wine rack and liquor
cabinet struck him as particularly out of character. He asked Kosmalski,
“Ahmadi lived here alone?”
    “I guess his wife and kids are back in Tehran.”
    “It might be insightful to verify if they’re even alive.”
    “Noted. So the police responded to a 911 disturbance call
and the manager let them in. Upon identifying the female victim they gave the
Bureau a call. We in turn called the Secret Service.”
    McBurney turned toward Kosmalski. “Secret Service?” The
strobe light of a photographer’s camera flashed from beyond the archway leading
out of the living room.
    Kosmalski jutted his chin. “The dining room.”
    McBurney realized upon rounding the archway that nothing Kosmalski
might have said could prepare him for the aftermath of a slaughter. Two FBI
crime scene investigators hovered over the victims, a man and a woman seated
back-to-back and slumped forward against what looked like lamp cord strung
tightly around their torsos. A starburst of blood and gore on the wall drew
McBurney’s eye to the bullet hole in each of their