The Reluctant Assassin Box Set

by Lee Jackson

  “This goes way beyond personal,” Burly interjected. “That man is a known terrorist. He’s a threat not just to Atcho and his wife, but also to the US, and specifically the World Trade Center. He intends to bomb it.”

  “Which explains why you’re here,” Luciano said, turning to Sam. “You called last night to set up this meeting, and after that, Ms. Xiquez was kidnapped. What did you want to see us about?”

  Sam looked cornered. His eyes rounded. “To let you know what Burly just said—that we believe this building is about to get hit with a bomb.”

  As he spoke, the conference room door swung open and Jim Dude walked in. “That’s a personal belief that my very young special agent carries,” Dude said sternly, his voice raised. “It’s not the official position of the FBI or the New York field office.” He faced Sam. “It’s a good thing one of your more senior colleagues saw your phone traffic and clued me in. You’re walking on thin ice.”

  Atcho’s eyes burned with anger. He stepped close to Dude. “Sam is the only official in New York who takes the threat seriously.” He pointed at the television screen. “Look at the quality of that recording. Klaus pre-positioned his photographer. He wanted me to see this video.”

  “There’s another thing,” Burly interjected. He indicated for Dude to step away a few paces with him so they could confer in private. “I spoke with Mossad this morning. Their analysis also leads to the conclusion that the Twin Towers are targeted.”

  Dude regarded him sharply. “Is that a formal notice to our government?”

  Burly shook his head. “It’s wending its way through both bureaucracies. I got the information through backchannels.”

  Dude spun around and caught Atcho’s furious gaze. “Does he know?”

  “He does,” Burly replied. “We think the attack is imminent. Like at any moment.”

  “Can you replay that recording?” Dude called to Luciano.

  The security chief nodded to the female technician. She pointed the remote and started rewinding.

  “Sir,” she said as the VCR whirred, “while we compiled these recordings, we saw some things you should be aware of.”

  “What is being done to find my wife?” Atcho cut in, his attention directed pointedly at Dude.

  The FBI agent exhaled. “The city police and our agents are combing the streets now.” He turned to the young lady. “What did you see that was unusual?”

  She glanced at Atcho worriedly and pressed the remote. The group watched again, mesmerized by the vivid details of Sofia’s abduction. When it was finished, Dude turned to the technician. “Would you mind answering my question?”

  She indicated the TV monitor. “We started looking for any footage that showed Mrs. Xiquez,” she said. “We kept finding more and more of it. This is the third day in a row that she’s been videoed all over the complex, always wearing that same overcoat, boots, and gloves.” As she spoke, the technician let the video run. When the initial clip had finished, it continued on to other sequences of Sofia moving through the WTC complex. Footage toward the end showed Klaus in various places close to Sofia, apparently watching her. The technician stopped the machine, eyed Atcho, and said, “It was as if she was trying to be noticed.”

  “That’s exactly what she was doing,” Atcho responded. “She wanted Klaus to see her, to draw him out.”

  “Why would she do that?” Luciano asked.

  “Because the FBI won’t do its job, and neither will the CIA or the Department of Defense. They’re more concerned with procedure than protection these days. That man planted a nuclear bomb outside our house, and they still don’t take him seriously.” He whirled on Dude. “We have a family to protect, and if you won’t do your job, we’ll do it for you. That’s why she’s sacrificing herself…”

  He turned to Burly. “The president knows me. He backed our actions in Berlin and Kuwait. Why doesn’t he back us now?”

  Before Burly could answer, Atcho went on. “We know why—bad advice from his intelligence agencies and the Pentagon. And the FBI is cut off from information they need to make good decisions.” His voice trailed away as he caught himself.

  Then he poked a crooked finger at Luciano. “You’re getting bad advice too. Klaus is part of an organization that’s growing rapidly. It’s got funding and technology, and it knows tactics. They’ve rehearsed in other countries.” He faced Dude. “Have you bothered to connect the bombings in Buenos Aires and Lima? That man who kidnapped my wife is a recognized terrorist and was present at all three of those bombings.”

  Dude blanched, his eyes widening. He said nothing.

  Atcho did not wait for a response. “They’re coming for your Twin Towers,” he told Luciano, “and the bureaucrats are wearing blinders.”

  The room descended into silence.

  “I’ve reviewed Mr. Luciano’s security arrangements,” Dude said finally, almost apologetically. “They’re robust and adequate. I can’t second-guess our intelligence agencies. If the Pentagon and the CIA tell the president that our country is secure from a significant terror attack, I have to rely on that. My concentration at the moment is on finding your wife.”

  Atcho nodded, deadpan. “Find her, and you might find Klaus,” he said. “But my best advice to Mr. Luciano is to start inspecting every briefcase, every purse, every bag that comes into this building.” He leveled his gaze at the man. “If you had started yesterday, you might still be too late.” His brow furrowed. “Would you mind if I stay in here for a while to review those tapes?”

  Luciano assented with a nod. “Take your time. If you see something, let us know. Meanwhile, I’ll do what I can to beef up security. How much time do we have?”

  “I don’t know, but I’d say an attack is imminent.” Atcho sat down, leaned his elbows on the table, and buried his head in his hands. “Sofia deliberately baited Klaus. He knows it. He used her to lure me here. For all we know, the bomb is already somewhere in the complex. The stage is set.”

  “What’s your plan?” Burly asked when everyone else had left the conference room.

  Atcho shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m going through the videos again. Maybe Sofia was able to leave a clue or a message. She’ll try to learn Klaus’ plan and communicate with us.”

  “Have you thought of what Klaus might do to her?”

  Atcho closed his eyes and nodded. “I try not to think about it.” He sniffed. “If she manages to free herself, I pity Klaus.”

  One particular detail in the video of Sofia’s abduction haunted him. He re-ran the tape and watched again, his heart aching.

  Just as Klaus had forced Sofia into the car, she struggled upright momentarily and faced back toward the building. As she did, she brought her right hand up, just for a second, to cover her heart.

  Her gesture was one Atcho recognized, a message directly to him that said, “I love you. I always will.”

  On seeing the footage again, Atcho covered his face.

  “Burly, please,” he said in a broken voice. “I need to be alone for a few minutes.”

  44

  Klaus studied his handiwork carefully, examining each connection and diode in minute detail. Yielding to impulse, he rubbed his hand over the lead sphere containing the plutonium. Satisfied, he rubbed his eyes and switched off the light over his workbench. He swung around on a swivel stool and observed Ramzi on the other side of the room, still bent over his own devices.

  “I’m ready,” Klaus called in Arabic. “We can go at any time.”

  Ramzi turned around and smiled. “I’ll be finished in a few hours. We are already loading components onto the van. Is tomorrow soon enough?”

  Klaus’ eyes gleamed, and then he gave Ramzi a questioning look. “I’m curious about something. Why are we hitting the World Trade Center instead of the United Nations? The United States is not our only enemy, and we could hit several of them at one time if we bomb the UN headquarters.”

  “You’re not the only person to come up with that idea,” Ramz
i replied while turning back to his work, soldering gun in hand. “You know that no target is sanctioned in the US without Sheikh Omar’s approval—well, he doesn’t give approval, but we all know that if he thinks something is a bad idea, that’s a path we will not pursue.”

  “Why would hitting the UN be a bad idea?”

  “I had the same question, but I understand the reasoning. A Muslim striking the United Nations would be bad for Muslims. Not only would we hurt some of our own countries, but also other nations who either support or tolerate us. That could make things hard for Muslims living in those countries, but even more importantly, we could find ourselves actively opposed there.

  “There’s a stronger reason, though. The UN headquarters isn’t the head of the snake. It’s the anus. It’s where all the smelly waste pours out onto the world. No one means anything they say in all their meetings. It’s just a place for people to pretend that they get along while scheming behind each other’s backs.

  “The US is the head of the snake, and the brain cavity is right here in New York City. We’ll kill the snake by killing the financial system. If either bomb works as planned…” He blew over his hands to simulate an explosion, arched his eyebrows, and laughed. “Bye-bye America. We’ll rip open its belly, leaving it easy prey for jackals and other filthy beasts that feast on carrion.”

  Klaus nodded his understanding. Ramzi continued working, the rancid smell of solder and strong chemicals filling the air. At the opposite end of the workshop, a van was parked with its rear doors open. Blue plastic barrels had already been arranged in its dim interior.

  “I’ve had some experience with explosives, but your design is beyond anything I’ve worked with,” Klaus said. “Can you explain what you’ve done?”

  Ramzi looked up at him and smiled patiently. “The difference is that you’ve mainly used explosives intended for routine military missions or converted from civilian use, like for mining or road construction. We can’t get a big enough blast out of those to do the kind of damage we need to topple at least one tower, and hopefully both. But knocking the second one down relies on putting enough force at the precise point on the first one. To do that, we had to identify the exact location against a foundation wall and enhance the explosives’ power sufficiently to penetrate completely through the outer wall. That’s where my powdered metals come in to expand the blast. Then gravity takes over. It’s a simple combination of civil and chemical engineering, and physics.” He chuckled. “If you like, you can help us load the nitroglycerine. We have four sealed buckets of it.”

  Klaus shook his head, laughing. “Never mind that. I have to make it to the target in one piece.”

  “How are you getting in? They’ll be looking for men with briefcases.”

  “You know how stupid the Americans are. They barely check the people who keep their businesses and lives running. I’ll go in through the employees’ entrance. A brother who works in security there will let me in, and I already have a work uniform with ID. I’ll carry a toolbox in with me. I reconfigured the bomb so that it’s long and fits under a false bottom.

  “All the parts interact the same way as in the original bomb. It was a matter of extending the wires and making sure the current to each component was the same. I’ve run all the tests dozens of times, and they check out. I’m ready.”

  Ramzi nodded his approval. “We’re planning on striking just after noon. People will be going to lunch, and the restaurants near the parking garage will be packed. We’ll kill a lot of people then. Which one of us detonates first?”

  Klaus pursed his lips. “I’d say we detonate at the same time.”

  Ramzi shook his head. “We can’t guarantee that we can do that. On my bomb, we’re using detonation cords. There are four of them, and they feed into the nitroglycerine. We only need one. The other three are backups, and they burn at a rate that gives us time to get out. What about you? Have you provided sufficient time to escape?”

  Klaus’ eyes became somber. “I won’t be staying around this time, brother. I’ll be spending tomorrow night in Paradise.”

  Ramzi looked at him in wonder. “A martyr? You’re going to blow up with your bomb?”

  Klaus dropped his head and nodded. “I’m tired of them not working, for whatever reason. They’re ruining my reputation. I can blame Atcho for that, but the fact is, nothing gets blown up. This time, I’m going to make sure the damn thing goes. I’ll go up high enough in the building so that I won’t be affected by your initial blast, and I’ll set the timer to go off five minutes after your expected detonation. If mine doesn’t go off then, I’ll click the remote, and if that still doesn’t work, I’ll open the bomb. I set a failsafe.”

  The wonder in Ramzi’s eyes had not receded. He crossed the room to Klaus and embraced him. “You have truly earned your way into Paradise with all the rewards of a martyr. I will make sure that no one forgets your sacrifice.”

  They discussed other details while Ramzi resumed his work. As time proceeded past midnight into early morning, he jutted his jaw toward a small door near the van.

  “What about the woman?”

  Klaus followed his glance. “She’s yours. Do what you want with her. Give her to your men for sport, if you like. Just promise me one thing.” He reached across and grasped Ramzi’s shoulder. “Make sure she’s dead before the day is out.”

  Ramzi held Klaus’ gaze for an extended time and then dropped his head. “It shall be done, my brother, as you wish.”

  45

  Sofia’s eyes opened slowly; her mind felt dull. She tried to turn on her side, but her arms were bound at the wrist behind her back. Her ankles were also tied together. Finding herself constrained shocked her to full consciousness, and she struggled against the ropes momentarily as memory of her capture flooded back.

  Fully awake in a dark room, she remembered walking to the car with Klaus.

  Klaus. Her blood ran cold at the thought of him. She had played through his charade of making a public spectacle of her abduction—doing so served her own purpose of providing a positive identification of the terrorist to Atcho and authorities via the expected video.

  She remembered her small gesture. Just before ducking her head to enter the car, she had brought her right hand over her heart in a circular movement. The motion was slight and would not be noticed by most people, but Sofia was sure that Atcho would see the video and understand.

  The tiny action was one of intimacy between Atcho and Sofia. It had sprung spontaneously, a cute way of expressing their affection in public places when they caught each other’s eye. They had used the signal in countless meetings, parties, even formal events, and it always served to warm their hearts when they found themselves separated by distance.

  In this instance, Sofia had sent her love to Atcho as a last farewell. She did not expect to live through the events that were sure to follow. She only hoped that pulling Klaus out of the shadows would provide Atcho with an opportunity to trip him up, to save New York and the millions of people squeezed into a single square mile, the size of the blast area. And with Klaus eliminated, the direct threat against Jameson, Isabel, Kattrina, and the rest of her extended family would disappear.

  Another man had been waiting in the back seat when Sofia fell into the car. He immediately clamped a wet cloth over her mouth and nose. She remembered nothing else.

  Now, lying in the dark, her mind quickly turned to survival. She had no death wish. Having exposed Klaus and finding herself still alive with her mental acuity intact, she assessed her situation.

  She still wore her heavy coat and boots. The only light entering the room came from under a door several feet away, and it was dim. Otherwise, she was in a pitch-black area of indeterminate size. The murmur of voices floated from the other side.

  The surface on which she lay was cold and hard, and she guessed it to be the floor. She struggled onto her back, bent her knees, and shoved with her feet until she bumped her head against an upright surface. A wall. />
  She tilted her neck and shoved with her feet, repeating until the backs of her shoulders pressed against the wall. Her breaths came in short gasps as she watched the light for signs of approaching guards, but none came. She continued the action until she had propped herself up in a sitting position. Then, by rocking onto one side and then the other, she inched her wrists past her buttocks and up under her knees. Thank God for all that ballet and martial arts training.

  Sofia’s coat became an obstacle, its thick folds adding friction and bulk to overcome. Her eyes watered and her breathing became constricted as she curled her body into a tight knot and pushed her wrists over her feet, struggling unmercifully to pull the rope and her palms over the spike heels.

  A sense of panic set in as she sensed that she had tied herself into a knot and could not slide the rope the remaining millimeters past the pointed toes of her boots. Then, holding back a scream, she scrunched her stomach, pushed her shoulders against her knees, and shoved her arms forward with her remaining strength. The rope slid forward, and her legs fell to the floor with a muffled thump.

  Sofia stayed still and listened. The low murmur of voices beyond the door continued without interruption.

  She rolled onto her stomach, pushed herself to a standing position, and hopped to the door. The voices on the other side continued in Arabic. Sofia distinguished two men, one of them Klaus.

  She rotated her wrists by the faint light below the door as best she could until she could make out the ends of the rope and the shape of the knot. Then, using her teeth, she struggled with it until it came loose.

  When her hands were finally free, she worked the cord around her feet until it fell loose. Then she felt her way around the bare room, judging it to be an empty storage room.

  46

  February 26, 1992