It was hurry up and wait. And the members of Account One were none too happy about it. In turn, they each shared their frustration and that of their people. In the case of the White House Intelligence Director, that meant the President. And he took no time at all to drop the big guy’s name.
“At some point, you are going to have to produce on this one,” White House directed at Seibel. “You have basically said the same thing for months. ‘Investigations are underway. Surveillance is providing solid leads. Our man is getting closer.’ When are you going to catch him?”
Seibel didn’t mind the aggressive line of questioning. In fact, he preferred it. It meant they were engaged. “You all know this is needle in the haystack stuff here. We have leads and evidence that point to multiple efforts underway by terrorist elements within the borders of the country. We are uncovering new information every day. But I never mislead you. And I have been clear for months that Anwar is still at large. He has proven to be a master at avoiding direct contact with other terrorist elements. He is our primary focus now, and will be until he is captured or killed.”
NSA weighed in with a new take. “All the evidence I have seen points to nothing. We are not convinced he is in the country, and several members of our analysis team are not sure he exists at all. He may be something of a myth or legend created by the Mujahedeen to scare the Russians. There is little or no proof he is in the country.”
Seibel nodded his head. “I understand your reservations. I can tell you we now have firm evidence he is in the country and has been in contact with other terrorists.” He looked around the room and pulled three sheets of paper out of the single manila folder on the table before him. He pushed a sheet to each member. “Of course, I will collect these before we leave this room. This man was captured two days ago in Detroit.” He paused to let them each read the information about Nosar.
“Who is he?” It was CIA, his boss. He wasn’t happy to be getting this info the same time as the others.
“He is a terrorist bomber from Yemen who has fought and trained with Anwar.”
“You are certain?” White House asked.
“We are now. I received this information this morning, less than three hours ago.”
“Where did this information come from? Who apprehended him?” White House again.
“Preacher.”
They all reviewed the page again and then looked at each other. Their looks said it all. If Preacher was involved, this was high-value information.
“Where is this Nosar now?” NSA this time.
“He is outside the country.”
“But he was captured in Detroit?” CIA’s turn.
“Yes.” Seibel looked at each of them individually before he continued. “There is no record of his capture and all evidence linking him to the scene has been eliminated. He disappeared.” Seibel’s vague words told the story that hard facts never would. Nosar was redacted from existence. He was no more. Gone.
Seibel continued with the bombshell, “Preacher relayed information obtained from the terrorist to the FBI giving precise detail about a bomb that had been constructed and was in the early stages of being deployed.”
All three members of Account One just stared at Seibel. Speechless, for the moment.
The White House broke the silence. “Where was this bomb found and where was it going to be deployed?”
“Detroit. The target was Ford headquarters. The bomb was large enough, that when the truck it was loaded onto drove into the Ford complex, it would have done significant and massive damage.” Seibel gave details in an emotionless fashion, slow and deliberate.
“It was on a truck? Jesus.” NSA shook his head and then rubbed his temple. “It could have been delivered anywhere. Why Detroit.”
“The captured terrorist simply said that is where he was told to place the bomb.” These words were haunting for what was not said. If he was told to place the bomb at that location, then someone gave him the orders. And if he was in Detroit, there were likely others in Chicago, New York, LA, Washington, DC.
“Do we know who gave him his orders?”
“Anwar. Preacher has determined Nosar was a longtime associate of Anwar’s. He identified him as one of the three who escaped the raid on the terrorist training facility on Tapul.”
“That was where Preacher was shot, right?” CIA this time.
“Correct. He was nearly killed. But his intel is reliable on this. He is sure Nosar was one of them. Information garnered from the suspect has proven reliable in two instances already.”
The CIA Director was first to respond, “I assume the device in Detroit was the first instance. What was the second?”
“Actually, the bomb was the second piece of information. The first was confirmation that Anwar is in the US.” Seibel was matter of fact with this second bombshell.
“Confirmation? How did we get this? Is it reliable?” White House again.
“Information on the potential location was relayed to the FBI field office in Baltimore. They found the place empty, but after obtaining video from businesses in the area, this image was captured.” Seibel pulled out a second set of single sheets of paper and handed one each around the table. On the sheet was a fairly clear image of a man walking into a FedEx office. “We have three previous photos of Anwar. While each is of different quality, they all feature the same composite. This image was fed into our computers and analysis confirms it is the same person in all four photos.”
“When was this taken?” The President’s man again.
“Four days ago at 10:15 in the morning.”
There was silence for a few moments as this data was processed. The top man at the NSA was first, “Do we feel this Nosar can provide additional information?”
“That process is underway at present. Expectations are that additional intel on other U.S. cells will come out. Initial information proves our theory that these cells are independent of one another. Not integrated, by design. They all know that knowledge of other operations can be obtained through various means. To protect their flanks, they keep each cell small, compartmentalized.”
White House responded, “Can I ask how you obtained and verified this information."
Seibel did not immediately respond, just stared. “It was obtained through various means.”
“And these means are less than legal, hence the transportation of the subject outside our borders.” He was grandstanding now.
“You have asked that we protect our nation and our interests. The details of the means and methods employed to offer that protection are not always pleasant.” Seibel held the stare.
“I assume these methods would not hold up in court. So their reliability must be called into question.” The lawyer in the man came out again.
The Director of the CIA butted in. “Information gathered by Seibel and his team has always been reliable. Intel garnered by his operative Preacher has been 100% accurate in all instances. This is not the time to question methods. We need to further empower our resources to stop or interdict these terrorist cells as soon as possible.”
“I agree completely, but my concern is our ability to prosecute these individuals once they are apprehended. Information obtained through illegal methods will not hold up in civil or military courts.”
Seibel transferred his stare to each member of Account One and waited an appropriate period before responding. He loved dramatic build-up. “Criminals, murderers and terrorists possessing vital information pertaining to the safety and security of this nation are not afforded the same rights as the rest of us. They have made their choice and will pay accordingly. You don’t need to worry about this information passing muster in a court of law. It won’t. This man, and many others, will never see the light of day again. They will never be a threat to us or anyone else, ever.”
Chapter 38
Anwar Mohamed Mustafa made very few mistakes. Few people in this world are as careful as he. Walking into a FedEx office to send a package wa
s no misstep. It was a message for anyone watching. His message was simple – the time for America to pay is near.
He looked up from the map spread out on the rest stop picnic table. It was another beautiful day. Not too cold, for New Jersey in February. The sun was out. The hum of the highway with an endless stream of vehicles was peaceful.
“Not long now.” He said to no one, to everyone. His plans, their plans, were in motion. Teams were in place. Dates and times were set. Each cell had its orders and knew nothing of the others. Each team had been trained and trained again. The bombs they would produce will shake this vapid and morally empty country to its foundations. Nothing would ever be the same. It would be Pearl Harbor, but on the mainland this time.
Looking at the map, he knew where every piece in this chess game sat. He never marked anything. Never left any evidence. That was his signature, as much as the methods he employed in perfecting his craft for the glory of Allah, for Islam.
Glancing at Michigan, and Detroit specifically, caused him to pause. He'd heard nothing from them. Even though it was only one communication sent through an indistinct channel, they had not replied for six days now. Tomorrow or the next day, he would contact them again. Nosar was one of his finest students, a true disciple of the art of death and justice. Anwar had known him for years and knew he would not fail.
One hundred and nineteen miles to the south and west of Anwar, Preacher, with Lance looking over his shoulder, surveyed a satellite image on a large monitor screen. This was nirvana for both of them. Looking down on the world from heaven and zooming into the details that only the highest power camera lens could capture was bliss. Preacher was focusing on Philadelphia at present. He was moving fluidly along streets. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but something in the pattern caught his eye.
He zoomed out again to a view of the entire nation. His eyes flitted from Detroit to Chicago to Boston to New York to Washington, D.C. to Atlanta, Dallas, Los Angeles and San Francisco. He repeated the pattern, and then repeated it again. He took Atlanta out. It didn't feel right. Lance was looking at the same pattern, but going in reverse, and then random.
“Zoom in on Dallas. Go downtown next to that spirit center.” Lance spoke into Preacher’s ear. Preacher didn’t have to think about how strange it was listening to himself talking from above. He knew this sort of thing happened more when he was tired, like now. And it always happened while he was asleep. That’s when Lance chose to have most of his conversations.
Preacher, who had gotten extremely adept at working the joystick and buttons controlling the satellite imagery software, flew down at a thousand miles an hour to downtown Dallas. He moved in a concentric fashion around the downtown he knew better than all the rest he was watching.
“Not enough time for us to cover all these cities. We’ll need help.” Lance was ready to move on to Chicago. He didn’t have to say it. Preacher knew what he was thinking, because he was thinking it as well, of course.
The two of them had good reason to be viewing these particular cities. Nosar had mentioned each of the locations the week before. He did not have much information about the cells, but he was convincing.
They did not have much time if Nosar could be believed. The clock was running and deadlines were set for the next couple of weeks. Preacher could feel in his bones that, like the triple bombings in Eastern Europe and Egypt, Anwar had called for each of these cities to be hit on the same day. Now Preacher just needed to determine the day, the time, the location of each cell in each city and then Anwar’s hiding place. No problem. He had two weeks.
Here’s the thing. Seibel had it wrong. He told Account One that Preacher used his special methods to extract vital information from Nosar. The methods employed were indeed special, but Preacher didn’t administer them in this instance.
Marta had worked her special brand of magic on Nosar. Preacher did weigh in several times to play good cop to her bad, very bad, despicable, ruthless, loathing, murderous cop. Just as he had told Ayers and Scarfino he would, Preacher called in the location of a bomb loaded onto a rented truck in a warehouse in a dilapidated industrial district a mile or so outside downtown Detroit.
He did not tell the FBI anti-terrorism taskforce agents how he, or Marta, extracted the information. They would not have the proper appreciation for it.
After shoving Nosar in to the trunk, Marta drove them just a few miles to the Ambassador Bridge, connecting Detroit to Windsor, Ontario. They passed through the checkpoint with ease and cruised 15 miles to an exit, which allowed them to venture into a clearing with a heavily wooded area fronting it, creating an ideal location to interrogate a suspect.
Preacher took a little walk into the woods. Marta asked him to give her a few minutes with Nosar. “And please ask Lance to go with you.” Marta motioned to the sky above them. “He doesn’t need to be snooping down on me.”
“Got it,” Preacher turned and meandered into the thick of trees. Marta opened the trunk and pulled Nosar out. He was in bad shape. Most of the bleeding had stopped where his ears had been, but he’d lost a decent amount of blood.
“Walk over there,” Marta motioned with the gun. He complied and took several steps away from the vehicle. “You have information my associate needs to relay to the FBI.”
“I have nothing to say.” Nosar was arrogant and dismissive of the woman daring to speak to him in such a manner.
“I understand your perception and misunderstanding of this situation. You see a woman before you. Just a woman, nothing more. But what you don’t see is the woman I see shaking in front of me.”
He squinted at the remark. “What do you mean?”
“Where do you think we are taking you?”
“I don’t know. I thought you would arrest me and take me to a jail, a prison.”
“Where nothing would be done for days, weeks maybe. No, we are not taking you to U.S. authorities. You are going somewhere you will likely never return from. You are going to a special place that only welcomes homosexual offenders. A unique prison for the extremely socially unfit.” Marta stayed matter of fact.
“I, I am not a homosexual.”
“Please. I could tell the moment you started running that you were light in your loafers. You are much less than a man. Certainly no one I would ever consider.”
This line so completely caught Nosar off guard that he huffed, exhaled in surprise. “You have the wrong man. I am not a homosexual, I would never.”
“That’s why I said I wish you could see the woman standing in front of me. You are more of a woman than I. If you could see what I see, you’d notice the little things that are going to make you so attractive to the people waiting for you. Not only are you fairly pretty, you’re a fake Muslim. That guarantees your position, which will be bent over, most of the time.
Nosar laughed. “You go ahead and play your games. I know you are all talk. You will not take me to such a place. You will follow that laws of your pitiful nation.”
“Which nation?”
“America. The U.S.A.”
“Didn’t you hear the steady beat of a bridge under the tires a half hour ago? We left America. We are in Canada. You will never set foot in the U.S. again. You are going to be taken about 400 miles north of here to a hole in the ground that only the worst kind go. It is very secret, but very useful. Men are taken there and given to others for safekeeping. You will be quite a prize. I can see from here that you will make an excellent warm blanket for one or more of them.”
“Talk.”
“Why do you think he cut your ears off?” The question caught Nosar off guard.
“He is insane, a bastard.” Nosar brought his hands up to his missing ears again. The look on his face told Marta he still didn’t believe it had happened.
“He’s that, yes. But he took your ears to mark you. Where you are going, people who have lost an ear are known to others as narcs, snitches. Do you know what that word? With both ears gone, everyone will know you are the wor
st kind of snitch. You will be treated as less than a woman; like an animal, maybe a goat that a herder lies down with in the mountains. You’re life will be pure hell. And here’s the best part. You will get to go to hell when it’s all over. You certainly won’t be welcomed into heaven after bedding down with men, many men.”
That was it. In a few minutes, she evaluated the subject, zeroed in on the most vulnerable spot in his ego and exploited his greatest fear. It took all of another 35 seconds for Nosar to beg Marta not to send him to this place. Three minutes later, he was trading on his associates and even Anwar. By the time Preacher came back from his walk in the woods, the terrorist hugged and begged him to convince “this evil woman” not to send him to hell.
Less than 20 minutes later, Preacher pulled into a gas station and called Ayers’ enormous cell phone to give him the location of the truck in the warehouse. He also told him about a package Nosar received a couple of days earlier sent from a Baltimore FedEx location. Baltimore field agents obtained the videotape from that location three hours later.
The biggest break in stopping Anwar's far-flung operation to bring terrorism to American shores came from Preacher recognizing a man he last saw on the island of Tapul, and Marta putting the fear of eternal afterlife in hell into the terrorist. They were quite a pair.
Chapter 39
“You know, all this domestic action is outside my area of expertise,” Seibel was across the table from Preacher and Marta. They were at a Denny’s in Irving, Texas, just a couple of miles from Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport. Seibel had to catch a flight. Preacher and Marta were traveling by car, minivan actually. It was her first chance to see a good bit of the country.
In the past two weeks, they had traveled from Detroit to Chicago to Philadelphia to Boston to New York and Dallas. Los Angeles was next and San Francisco after that. Seibel asked to meet with them in Dallas to go over the latest from the mountains of intelligence coming in from around the country.
The Perfect Weapon Page 25
