Free A Touch of Deceit (Nick Bracco Series #1) by Gary Ponzo Page A

look.
    “Come on,” Jake said. “Surely you know who Abdullah Amin Shah is? He works for Kemel Kharrazi.”
    “We know,” Matt said. “I think you’ll find some of his blood on my pant leg.”
    Nick turned to Jake. “Without the mechanical cheat sheet, how much do you really know about Kharrazi?”
    Jake shrugged, “I’ve heard all the stories. You know, the CIA agent’s head sent to his home, the story about him slaughtering children in the streets of Ankara because they didn’t know his name. He killed his own mother for betraying him. After a while you wonder whether they’re just urban legends.”
    Nick rubbed the stubble growing on the side of his face. “I used to wonder the same thing myself.”
    “But you know it’s all real don’t you, Agent Bracco?”
    Nick sighed. “You don’t have to worry. You won’t be setting eyes on Kemel Kharrazi tonight.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    Nick took a breath. He was tired, he needed a shave, he was hungry, and most of all, he wished he could turn off his brain. Just long enough to relax and make believe it was going to be all right. His brother was alive, he had to hang on to that thought.
    “Sir?” Jake said. “Why won’t we see him?”
    “Because,” Nick said, “when you’re dealing with terrorists, coincidences are dangerous.”
    Nick could tell by the silence that his message had fallen short of its target. He added, “When you find a square peg on the ground and a few feet away you find a perfectly square hole to put it in, it’s time to look over your shoulder. Nothing is ever that easy, especially when you’re dealing with someone like Kharrazi.”
    Jim Evans peered through the rear view mirror and said, “You think this is a wild goose chase?”
    Nick could sense a schism developing between the two branches. Vegas dealt mostly with racketeering and organized crime. The majority of their criminals engaged in murder, extortion, bribery—spontaneous acts that lacked the planning required to escape detection. An evidence collector’s dream world, Las Vegas. But Nick and Matt’s world revolved around one thing—terrorists. A type of criminal who planned attacks eons before they were enacted. There were many cases where a terrorist would spend years infiltrating a community. They’d teach in schools, run grocery stores, repair cars. Then one day the word comes and it’s time to act. Few could prepare for that kind of operative. Nick knew he needed everyone on the same page if he was going to find Phil.
    Nick said, “Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake.”
    This brought more silence. He could hear Matt sigh.
    “Napoleon,” Matt said.
    “Exactly,” Nick said. “Let’s hope this limo thing is their mistake.”
    It was nearly 2 AM when the van rolled to a stop behind a second nondescript van. The agents exited into the cool night air and followed Evans to the forward van. The door slid open and exposed a man and a woman wearing headphones. The woman held an index finger to her lips. “They’re on the phone,” she whispered. “My Kurdish is a little rusty.”
    Nick asked Evans where the house was. Evans pointed down the narrow street. “It’s around the corner. They can’t see us from here, but we own the perimeter.” He tapped the radio clipped to his shirt. “We’re in contact with Hostage Rescue. Twenty of them. When the time comes, we’ll be ready.”
    The woman lowered her headphones. “I keep hearing the same casual conversation.”
    A faint ringing sound caused Nick to walk away from the van and push a button on his secure phone. “Bracco,” he answered.
    “I just got word about the airport incident,” Walt Jackson said in a half-yawn. “I caught a nap here in the office, but the coffee’s flowing now. You two okay?”
    “We’re fine. We found the limo in a residential area and we’re intercepting phone messages from the house. The conversations are in Kurdish. The deed is under the name of