“Not a penny less, brother.”
“I’m not your brother.”
“You are my brother in jihad. You are enabling us to strike a mighty blow against the infidel. Allah will bless you greatly.”
“His blessing be upon you as well.”
The device was not large at all, certainly not as large as Al Thi’b had expected, but if the yield was what Tariq had promised, it would be plenty for what they had planned. Bigger would certainly be better, but portability was also a concern and this one would work fine. Six kilotons was not much by modern standards, but the device was small and would not require many men to transport it or get it into position when the time came. Most of its size at the moment was due to the lead- lined case it rested in.
He was taking all the necessary precautions. The ship he was standing on was loaded with legal and documented cargo. He had made the run from Karachi to Mexico three times in the last year, in preparation for this run. The device was in a lead- lined container and would be in a lead- lined sealed compartment on the ship. He was confident he could get it into Mexico undetected.
Getting it into the United States would actually be easier. His men had already smuggled untold quantities of weapons and explosives across the border in the preceding months with the aid of a local cartel. Then it would be a matter of driving it across to Miami. He would use a white Chevy Express cargo van. There were thousands of unmarked windowless vans traversing the highways in America on any given day. One more would hardly be noticed. He used such vehicles moving munitions to sleeper cells regularly and not once had one been caught.
Once in Miami, the plan was so simple it could not fail. Often it was the complicated plans that didn’t succeed. Too many moving parts or too many people involved only increased the odds of something going wrong. He had a small number of people in the know on this one. A brother would drive the van to a small municipal airport near Miami where he would find a plane waiting, a small Cessna 172 with a banner advertisement. Such planes were so often spotted over sporting events that one more would not draw attention. The pilot would arm the device with an altitude detonator once in the air and then would dive the plane directly into the center of the stadium.
Al Thi’b had no shortage of volunteers for this operation. The martyr’s family would be well- compensated for his sacrifice. Al Thi’b did not intent to be a martyr. What good was a successful mission if you didn’t live to enjoy your victory? Men like Al Thi’b used martyrs to further their own agendas, and there were plenty of young men willing to martyr themselves. He did not plan to die. No, he planned to strike a blow at the heart of the infidel. He liked to think his motives were pure, that he was doing this for the glory of Allah, but he knew his motives were much baser than that. This was retribution, pure and simple, nothing more than simple revenge.
He remembered the day like it was yesterday. It was ten years ago in a small village in central Iraq. His wife and daughter had just arrived at the village and were resting in the house. He was walking toward the house and was about a hundred yards away when all hell broke loose. That was the problem with the drones. You never saw them coming until the missiles fell. He buried his wife and daughter that day and swore he would avenge them. Simple. They would be avenged a million times over. If Allah took pleasure, so be it. If not, just as good. America would suffer as he had.
The next day.
Casey arrived at the office early to use the gym. His knee was still not 100%, but he was able to get a good workout in and still have time to soak in the hot tub. There was quite an operation downstairs and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it all. Jenny was a mystery. Running her company upstairs and then what she had going on downstairs was going to take one heck of a juggling act. The previous day with Nathan was an eye opener. They had access to an overwhelming amount of intelligence from around the world and some of what he had seen and heard shocked him. It wasn’t the information he saw that shocked him, but mainly the sources. It amounted to looking over the shoulder of any intelligence organization in the world and reading their mail.
This was a capability that could be terrifying in the wrong hands, but in the right hands it could be put to good use. Was it in the right hands? He knew very little about Jenny or her husband. Nathan and Phoebe seemed okay. Phoebe seemed more than okay. How did some geeky white dude like Nathan land an African bombshell like her? Some guys just have all the luck. Ahmed was a great guy, but he was in the same boat as Casey.
The possibilities were a little scary, but also a little exciting. Sure, it was still desk work, but he had a chance to do something that mattered. He had a chance to help protect his country. Patriotism was something about which he had never given much thought. He loved his country, but it was along the lines of loving your family. He just did because that’s just what you do. He enjoyed the freedom he had, he appreciated those who fought for it, and he felt warm and fuzzy around July 4th. Jenny took it to a whole different level though. Maybe it was the immigrant thing. He knew immigrants in college who were flat out in love with America.
Yes, he loved America, warts and all. He knew his country had problems, but didn’t they all? This was still a country that offered more opportunity to its citizens than any other. Someone could come from the humblest beginnings and make something of himself. The only barrier was the amount of work you were willing to do. His mother had taught him that. Sure, there were people who would hate you for the color of your skin, but they don’t determine what you can make of yourself. Mom was always drilling that into him. “Rise above the hate,” she would say, especially when he was going through a difficult time.
He looked at the clock. 7:30. He didn’t have to be there until 8:00, but maybe he should get dressed and head on down to his desk and get situated. Five minutes later he was logging onto his computer and thumbing through the music on his iPod. An elevator door opened at the end of the room. He heard laughter, heard Ahmed say, “I keel you,” and another round of laughter. Earl came by his desk and said, “Is that country music I hear?”
“Thought I’d bring my iPod in today.”
“Never had you for the country type.”
“‘Cause I’m black, is that it?”
“Uh…dunno…”
“It’s okay dude. I get that a lot. I know you didn’t mean any harm.”
“Casey, it’s not like…”
“Yeah Earl, it is like that. I get it. The way Jenny talks about you, I know you’re no racist. You just didn’t expect a black guy from the inner city to be into country. If it’s good enough for Darius to sing it, I figure it’s good enough for me to listen to it.”
“You’re into Darius?”
“Man, who isn’t. Only two kinds of people. Folks who like Darius Rucker and folks who don’t like music.”
“Man after my own heart. You played for the Bucks and you like real music. If you like to fish, I reckon we’ll get along just fine.”
“I think you married out of your league. We agree on that, too?”
“Man, you don’t doubt it. You catch Darius down here last summer?”
“Yeah. Me and Adam Johnson came down. Coach didn’t like us being out that late, but we came back sober, so he didn’t complain too much.”
“Adam Johnson likes country too?”
“Oh heck no. He’s into rap. I just thought I’d try to civilize him.”
“How’d that go?”
“Not too well, he’s gonna play for the Steelers.”
“Ouch, talk about a strain on a friendship.”
“He’s lucky. He could have been drafted by the Browns.”
“So how does a black kid in the inner city start listenin’ to country?”
“It’s all my mama. I came home one day with a rap CD and man, we had a talk. She didn’t like the language and how it disrespected women. She gave me that look black women get, head bobbing like a chicken and finger waggin’. Nothin’ good ever came after that look. You see a black woma
n give you that look, all you can do is beg for a quick death. Then she asked me what I would do if someone talked about my sister like that.”
“What’d you say?”
“Said I’d kick his ass.”
“What did she say to that?”
“You know what soap tastes like?”
“Yeah, brother, all too well. You might want to watch it around here, too. I know me and Jenny slip up sometimes, and wait ‘til you meet Clyde, but we’re all tryin’ to do better. Reckon the Lord don’t take kindly to too much cussin’ and we like to stay on his good side.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. You’d like my mama. She’s kind of a black redneck.”
“Ha, that’s funny.”
“It’s true. No rap, no saggin’ pants, and in church every time the doors are open. She doesn’t watch NASCAR, but it wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Your mom sounds like a good lady.”
“She’s the best.”
“Well buddy, I’ll let you get to work. By the way, Brad Paisley’s in town in a couple months. Whatta ya say? You, me, Clyde?”
“Sounds good.”
Ahmed sat down at the workstation next to him and said, “Hey buddy, Jenny brought doughnuts, want one?”
He didn’t wait for Casey to respond, just passed him a doughnut.
“Thanks, man. You know Ahmed, we’ll make a good American out of you yet.”
“I hope so. Like Earl.”
“Earl’s a redneck. He’s as redneck as they come. It doesn’t bother you, what they say about rednecks and Muslims?”
“I know he doesn’t hate me. He just disagrees with my religion.”
“So do I, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. Just means I gotta keep praying for you.”
“You’re okay too, buddy. I know you guys don’t hate Muslims, but I wouldn’t blame you if you did, the way some are.”
“That’s what we’re here for isn’t it? Stop the bad ones so the good ones like you can have a bit of peace?”
6
Jenny was on the phone with a client when the bookcase slid open and Casey stepped out of the hidden elevator.
“Hate to barge in like this, Jenny…”
“Excuse me, can you hold a sec…”
She put the call on hold. “What is it, Casey?”
“Computers flagged something. Lot of chatter all of a sudden. Web sites, emails, weird phone calls that never show up on the same number twice.”
“Those would be burners,” Avi Zielinski said as he walked in the office.
“Avi, you scared me. I didn’t hear you walk in.”
“Earl told me what you got going on here. Had to stop by and see for myself. Oh, Mr. Reddick, nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too. You know who I am?”
“I watch a bit of football. Anyway, those are burner phones. People buy prepaid cell phones and use them once and throw them away. Once it’s used, it’s no good because if any conversation gets caught the number is flagged. If a number never pops up again, it’s a burner.”
“How do you know so much about this?”
“You don’t read Brad Thor?”
“Can’t say that I have. Anyway, we picked up a lot of talk all of a sudden. All in Arabic. Ahmed’s translating it. Thought you’d like to know.”
“Something is afoot?” Avi asked, “Sounds exciting. Care if I tag along?”
Jenny took her customer off hold. “Jake, something’s come up. Can I call you back later?”
They joined Casey in the elevator and went downstairs.
Ahmed had headphones on, Arabic web sites open on all of his screens, and he was typing furiously.
“What do you have, Ahmed?” Jenny asked.
“Things just blew up, well not literally, but it seems like that is the plan. Chatter like crazy. I tapped the NSA like Nathan showed me and got all kinds of phone calls. Bunch of numbers would pop up once, only got bits of conversations. Jihad sites are getting massive hits and two email accounts the NSA had flagged had messages in the draft folders. Got most of it typed up, but I can make a better report in a few minutes.”
“Is it serious?”
“Looks like it, and all the phone calls are in the midwest. Got Chicago, Indianapolis, Milwaukee, Cleveland, Buffalo, and Cincinnati. Lots of mention of bus stations and tomorrow’s date.”
“Get your best assessment typed up and email me a pdf as soon as you can.”
The Precinct
Cincinnati
Julio Vasquez was finishing the best steak he had eaten in ages, but what made the steak even better was the company he was in. He looked across the table at his girlfriend, the stunning Keisha Reddick. The most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on, he thought to himself. He couldn’t get enough of those brown eyes and that soft radiant smile. He had met her last year when they were both attending the University of Cincinnati. Julio had since graduated and landed a good job as a sales rep for a major pharmaceutical company, while Keisha would be graduating this coming winter. He had his fork in one hand and his other hand in his pocket, holding a small box and waiting for the perfect moment.
Keisha looked across at Julio and saw that he was staring at her and trying to finish his steak. This was their favorite place, but they hardly ate there when they were in college since the prices were a bit high for the typical student budget. Now he took her there more often. He had a good job and he was trying to spoil her. She rather liked being spoiled, and Mama liked him too, so that was a done deal. If Mama didn’t like him, there was no hope. Why did he look so darn nervous?
“You’re staring at me, Julio Vasquez. It’s not polite to stare.”
“I can’t help myself, with something so beautiful right there in front of me.”
“You’re trying to flatter me.”
“It’s true. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“You’re not too shabby yourself, Mr. Vasquez.”
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Keisha…don’t know…what I’d do…without you.”
“Then why don’t you stick around a day or two more?”
“I can’t miss that meeting.”
“I know, love. I just wish you didn’t have to go. Casey’s got this new job and isn’t around much. Just me and Mama at the house. When will you be back?”
“Just two days, then I’ll be right back.”
“When do you have to leave?”
“Taking the 9:00 am bus. You can drop me?”
“I’ll drop you, and I’ll be waiting for you. You come back quick, okay?”
“If you’re waiting for me, I’ll always come back quick,” he said as he slid the box across the table to her. She hesitated a second and opened the box. The diamond caught the flicker of the candle flame in sparkling brilliance to be outshone only by the sparkle in Keisha’s eyes. Julio stared into those eyes and when he saw the tears start, he almost couldn’t get the words out.
“Keisha…I love you…I love you so much…Will you…marry me?”
Keisha used the corner of her napkin to wipe the tears from her cheeks and looked over at Julio. There was only one answer she could give.
Jenny had Ahmed’s report, a concise well- written assessment of the situation. Sleeper cells had woken with a start and appeared to be planning to attack bus stations in six cities the following morning. Why bus stations? It was hardly a symbolic target, and depending on the station the casualties might not be that high. It simply made no sense. Whether it made sense or not, the intel was solid.
This was why she built this facility and she was about to put it to good use. There was an attack planned, she knew about it, and she had the ability to warn the authorities. This would be tricky. This was the part she hadn’t thought through before. It had to be anonymous. If she just called the police, she would be asked how she knew and there was no way she could disclose that. This would have to go higher. She took Ahmed’s report and added some
notes of her own explaining the sources of the information and sent it off in an encrypted email, bouncing it through several proxy servers so the recipient would not be able to trace where it came from.
Langley, VA
Doug Prescott, the new CIA director, sat at his desk and read the email a second time. Another private intelligence outfit had uncovered a threat, or so it seemed. The CIA had seen some chatter on jihadist web sites recently, but could not back it up with anything more solid, so as far as he was concerned, it was just chatter. Whoever sent this file was saying they had recorded phone conversations and email messages to back up the internet chatter.
These cells were in the habit of using burner phones and not sending emails, making them hard to catch. How in the world did some private wannabe spy outfit tap into those? This was a domestic problem, he figured, so in the spirit of cooperation the new president was trying to foster, he forwarded the email to Steve Walcott, the director of the FBI, and followed it up with a phone call.
“Hey Doug, just got your email. Why’d you send it to me?”
“Looks like something right up your alley. Domestic threat and all.”
“You taking this seriously? How often have we been burned by these private outfits?”
“I hear you, but these folks are citing their sources here.”
“Anyone could make up stuff like that.”
“Yeah, and most of the time that’s the case, but what if this one is legit?”
“You think it is? I think it’s another conspiracy theory whack job sitting in his mom’s basement trying to get a reaction.”
“We couldn’t trace the source of the email.”
“Any hacker worth his weight can do that kind of thing these days.”
“Anyway, Steve, this looks like FBI’s jurisdiction. Just take a look at it, okay?”
“What do you expect me to do? If we go and clear out these bus stations and nothing happens, what do you think that’s going to look like?”
Wolf Trap (Casey Reddick Book 1) Page 4
