by Basil Sands
“You have?” Tomer asked with unguarded astonishment.
“Yes, I have,” Warner said. “While you two were chatting and making googly eyes at each other, I have noted that there were six valves that had been used within the past few weeks, and two of those within the past twenty-four hours. This was obvious by varying degrees of dust missing from the valve handles. But none of the bolts on the pipeline seams themselves appear to have been tampered with.”
He gave a hard tap of the metal baton onto segment JPF-3527-a. It responded with the same dull thunk as the previous segments had. Tomer gave a supercilious look and motioned toward the mass of cables, pipes, and electrical conduit on the opposite wall.
“Oh, well, while you were doing that, I was inspecting the electrical cables and this stuff up here on the wall for signs of a bomb.”
“And did you find any?”
“Any what?”
“Signs of a bomb?”
“Oh,” Tomer replied, waving the question away with his hands, “no. No signs of a bomb on this side of the tunnel.”
“Good. Let's get this thing finished and get up top for dinner.”
“Finish?” Tonia said. “It's noon, and we’re still near the entry we came in by. We’re at the halfway point. That means it will be nearly five o'clock before we get this inspection done. My stomach is telling me it's break time now. And if you go telling that sorry story about going for two weeks on a single MRE in Afghanistan, I'm going to take Tony here and walk out on your skinny ass. 'Cause I am not going to waste away down here in this tunnel while you play drums on these metal pipes all day long.”
She emphasized her wishes by crossing her arms, lowering her head, and looking up at him with a “gotcha” kind of stare.
“Yeah,” Tony said. “I'm kinda hungry too.”
“Somehow,” Warner replied, “I doubt that either one of you would waste away down here—at least not for a couple of weeks.”
Tonia's mouth dropped open at the insinuation,“Did you just call me fat?”
“No. I'm just saying that it takes more than a month without nutrition to die of starvation. Serious weight loss doesn't even start for two weeks. I was simply stating the facts.”
“I'm not fat,” Tomer said, “just big. My whole family is big. You should see my brother.”
“Yeah, me too.” Tonia turned to walk to the exit stairs, “My momma looks just like me and my sisters. Now my cousin Fatima, well, she was just that…fatimama.”
Warner shook his head and followed them up the stairs, mumbling under his breath, “It was only a week, and we had two MREs per man.”
Chapter 15
Fuel Pipeline Tunnel
Under Anchorage’s Park Strip
1:00 p.m.
The northern access hatch to the underground tunnel was housed in a small red-brick structure, similar to an outhouse, behind an office building on Eleventh Avenue. Its door had been locked, but Farrah's position with the gas company meant a master key to the system. Leka opened the door and climbed down the ladder, followed by Kreshnik, both laden with bags of tools and the heavy components designed to fit precisely inside the double wall pipe. When they placed the first one the day before, they discovered it was a sixteenth of an inch too thick and would not let the bolts line back up in their holes to secure the cover. They had replaced the cover without the insulation and gone back to the workshop at Farrah's rented house in order to resize the part. It needed to fit exactly in order to function correctly.
As they walked along the tunnel, Kreshnik tapped the pipes with a wrench, each resonating with a solid thunk in response. He kept striking the pipes until one rang out like a hollow bell.
“Here we are, cousin,” Kreshnik said in Albanian. “JPF-3528-a.”
“Get to work,” said Leka. “It had better fit this time. We need to get done before the Secret Service comes to inspect down here.”
“Don't worry. I've got it resized properly. How could I have known they used a different thickness on some of these segments?”
“You should have known—you did the research.” Leka looked up at the tunnel ceiling. “And make sure it is pointed right. It has to get through the top immediately for it to work.”
“No problem, cousin,” Kreshnik replied. “We fix this one, then we place the charges on the ceiling. The two devices are set off by the same signal. The fire that comes down the pipe will have no place to go but straight up.”
Leka nodded. “As long Farrah switches the valves in time.”
“Let's give him the benefit of the doubt,” Kreshnik said with an exasperated tone.
“I'm trying, but I don't like him.”
Kreshnik glanced up at his cousin. “Why?”
“He's not one of us.”
“What do you mean, not one of us?” Kreshnik grimaced as he struggled with the bolts on the pipe segment. “He's Albanian, just like we are. His parents are Kosovar, just like ours.”
“No.” Leka shook his head. “He is British. They are friends to the Americans.”
“His parents were killed by the Americans, blown to pieces on a Kosovo mountainside. He is not their friend.”
“Every time he opens his mouth, I hear the sound of an Englishman.” Leka spat a sticky glob on the opposite wall. “He is too polite, too courteous to these infidel bastards and their fat whores. Even in Albanian, he will not curse them.”
Kreshnik let out a sigh. “You are too hard on him. He has been in the Jihad long enough that he should have gained your trust by now.”
“If he would only curse those filthy English and their way of life. Or even curse the Americans. Hell,” Leka gestured with his hands. “If he would simply stop smiling at them or opening doors for their women, I would feel better about him.”
“He is doing his part. He did not grow up like we did, but he is doing his part.” Kreshnik signaled to his cousin to help him lift the four-foot steel segment. “We have to finish this one. The other six are done already. And the special valves are done. Then we come back tomorrow night and install the devices on the ceiling,” he pointed to the ceiling light fixture directly above the pipe segment, “and we are done.”
They hefted the thick piece of pipe, veins bulging beneath the skin of their temples at the effort. They inched it to the side and carefully set it on the floor.
“A field of blood will be his proof for me,” Leka said. “I want him to see the infidels die, screaming like babies, and then I will watch his reaction. That is when I will know he is really one of us. And perhaps we can kill that crazy man, too.”
“Kharzai?” said Kreshnik as they lifted a large, curved electronic device shaped to fit precisely between the two layers of pipeline, placing it into the space previously filled by the insulation they removed the night before. “I like him.”
“How can you like that lunatic? I swear he is schizophrenic. He is one person now, a different tomorrow, and a third after that. And then he is back to the first and doesn't even seem to notice the difference.”
“But all his personalities are focused on the same goal,” Kreshnik replied, “and at least Kharzai has cursed the infidel.”
“Yeah, that is true. He has cursed the infidel, and the infidel's fat ugly wife, and his skinny lover, and his spoiled children, and his dog, and his potted plants. He never stops cursing the Americans and English alike.”
“See, since he is Farrah's friend, he makes up for what the Englishman is lacking, right?” Kreshnik smiled up at his cousin. Leka shook his head and turned toward the work.
Chapter 16
FBI Office
Downtown Anchorage
1:00 p.m.
Hilde’s Blackberry played a soft jazzy song. She pulled it from her purse, pressed the answer button with her thumb, and held the red cell phone to her ear.
“Hey, girlfriend!”
Tonia's voice was extremely loud, in spite of the fact that Hilde kept the volume of her cellphone relatively low. Hilde quickly st
retched her arm to get the phone away from her ear before it could cause permanent hearing damage as Tonia’s voice came over the tiny speaker with enough forcefor everyone within twenty feet to hear her.
“I see you tried to call me, but I missed it. You ready for that double date? I got a real man now.”
“Tonia? No time to be social. Where are you?”
“Huh?”
“Where are you? I’m not the only one trying to get hold of you—the SAC is too.”
“I’m at a little café downtown, by the hotel. What’s going on?”
“Can’t talk here. We need to see you face-to-face. Bring Warner and Tomer with you if you can.”
“How did you know I’m with Tony?”
“The SAC told us. Where are you? We’ll come there.”
“Snow City Café. Right beside the hotel.”
“I remember seeing it. Give us twenty minutes.”
Hilde hung up. She was at a computer terminal in an empty office near Caufield's, looking up data related to Farrah and Kharzai. While she did that, Lonnie tried to identify the other two men she had seen at the accident from a list of photos that were tagged as related to either Farrah or Kharzai. After Tonia's call, Hilde rubbed her eyes, tired from the digital strain, and turned to Lonnie on the other side of the two-desk office space.
“Well, you heard that exchange,” Hilde said. “You ready for some lunch?”
“Yeah, definitely,” Lonnie said. “Starved, and I need a brain break after all these pictures. They're all starting to blend together. Farrah's not so bad, but Kharzai seems to be on intimate terms with almost every major terrorist in the past fifteen years.”
The two women logged off the computers and stepped out of the office. They walked toward the the single elevator door just before the stairwell and Lonnie pushed the button.
Continuing the conversation from the office, Hilde said, “When I first heard about Kharzai back in Ohio, I did some research on him. While there aren’t too many files that detail actual facts, he’s probably the most effective undercover agent the CIA has in the war on terror.”
“He certainly gets around,” Lonnie said. “Some of the people listed as 'connected' to him are faces I see on CNN or FoxNews every night.”
“That's why we were so shocked to see him here,” Hilde said. “Kharzai Ghiassi is no small-potatoes spy. He is a major wheel in the war machinery, and not someone you want to lose track of.”
They got out of the elevator and Lonnie excused herself to go into to the ladies’ room. Hilde waited in the downstairs lobby as an office assistant went to retrieve a government vehicle Caufield had agreed to loan her. The car, a newer model burgundy Ford Taurus with Alaska plates, pulled up to the entrance as Lonnie came out of the ladies’ room.
“Perfect timing,” Hilde said.
“Yeah,” Lonnie replied as she quick-waddled toward the doors. “I’m good at that. But the further this pregnancy goes, that skill is being tested to the limits. The baby seems to have taken most of the space previously reserved for my bladder.”
They climbed into the vehicle and drove to the Snow City Café, a quaint street-level yuppie-style eatery at the western edge of downtown. Although only a short distance from the bluff that looked out into Cook Inlet and its surrounding mountain ranges, the café had a feel more reminiscent of a New York deli, as its view consisted entirely of the tall buildings that ringed about it. The menu satisfied both vegetarian and carnivore, and the décor was youthful and trendy, a college diner layout with a long counter behind which jutted a soda dispenser and several beer taps labeled with the names of local micro-brews like Monk’s Mistress, Prince William White Ale, and Smoked Bear Piss Porter. Marcus, a lager and ale connoisseur, would have loved the beer selection, but also would have said the restaurant had a distinct tree hugger feel to it. The tattooed and pierced staff was friendly as they hustled between the remaining customers who lingered after the lunch rush. It was drawing near the end of their day, four p.m. Snow City was a breakfast and lunch establishment that only opened for dinner during special events such as poetry readings or jazz concerts, both of which happened fairly frequently as evidenced by a collection of posters on the bulletin board at the front entrance and plastered beneath the cash register.
Tonia and the two men were seated at a booth in the far corner when Hilde and Lonnie entered. A young woman with thick, sandy-colored dreadlocks bundled atop her head looked up with a friendly expression as they walked in. She had the tanned face of an avid outdoors enthusiast, probably a hiker or kayaker who spent many hours unprotected in the wind and sun. Wrinkles at the edges of her eyes and mouth rendered evidence of weather damage, giving her a prematurely aged look that put her in her mid-to-late thirties even though her body language suggested she was probably closer to twenty-five. Against her dark skin, a gold stud glimmered in the side of her nose, and a large gold pin shone in contrast to the eyebrow through which it pierced. Whether or not such scar-inducing jewelry was to a person's taste, the young lady was quite attractive nonetheless.
She smiled as the two ladies walked in and said, “Hi, welcome to Snow City. Just the two of you this afternoon?”
Tonia saw Hilde and Lonnie right away and stood up, calling out and motioning them to the table.
Hilde pointed that direction and said, “That's our party.”
The smiling woman called after them as they headed toward the booth. “Would you like a menu? We still have lunch and serve breakfast all day.”
Lonnie suddenly realized she was more than just hungry. She was, in fact, famished.
“Yes, please. Could you bring it to our friend’s table?”
“Sure thing.” The woman reached the table just a moment after the two women sat down. She set the menus and glasses of ice water in front of each of them, then gathered the used dishes from the table.
“Would the rest of you like something else? More coffee, maybe?”
“Sure.” Warner’s face softened slightly as he handed the cup to her. She took it with smile and a nod.
“I’ll be right back.”
The young woman walked away with his cup. She was thin and fit, with feminine curves accentuated by a hiker’s muscular physique. Warner followed her with his eyes for a few seconds, then turned back to the remnants of French fries on his plate.
“Damn, Warner,” Tonia said, “is that an attraction to the opposite sex I see on your face?”
“Huh?” Warner nearly choked on a fry.
“He’s blushing,” Tomer said. “Looks real enough to me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Warner looked down at his plate and stuffed two more fries into his mouth.
Tonia turned towards Hilde. “Mr. Roboto has been hassling me and Tony all day for being friendly with each other.” Tonia nudged Tomer with her shoulder in a playful flirtatious gesture.
Lonnie’s eyes went wide and she coughed at the image. “You and Tony?”
Warner looked up from his plate and blurted out, “They’ve been flirting like teenage puppies since they met.”
“You’re just jealous,” Tonia said. She wrapped her arm through Tomer’s. “At least I’ve got a date for tonight. Better than you can say, Mr. Personality.”
The young woman came back with Warner’s coffee.
“Hey.” Tonia looked up at the waitress with a smile. “You seem nice. What’s your name?”
“Thank you. It’s Myriam, with a ‘y.’” A friendly sparkle lit her eyes as she glanced around the table. Her gaze stopped on Warner as she handed his coffee down. Warner squeezed out a tight smile, his eyes softening as he looked up.
“Got a boyfriend, Myriam with a ‘y’?” Tonia asked.
Warner blushed, and his gaze fell back to his French fries.
“Nope. Spent four years in the Army, then got out and went to college. Just finished last month, so I've never had time until now.”
“Army? Well, you certainly look like an outdoorsy type,
” Tonia said. “I bet you like hiking and kayaking.”
“Yeah, I do,” Myriam said. “You too?”
“Me, no,” Tonia replied. She pointed across the table with an open-handed gesture, “but Warner here does all that kind of wild man stuff.”
“You’d better ask Myriam out, Warner,” Tomer blurted. “Army, wilderness chick—she’s definitely your type. And probably your last hope.”
“You clearly find her attractive,” Tonia added.
“You’ve been staring at her since we walked in,” Tomer said.
“So just ask, man,” Tonia said.
Myriam’s tan skin turned bright pink. Warner’s face flushed beet red. He looked up apologetically. “Please excuse my co-workers.” His voice stayed smooth despite the purple of his complexion. “They’re not very well educated in social manners.”
“Uh…” Myriam turned toward Hilde, who had remained silent the whole time. “Can I take your order ma’am?”
“Yes.” Hilde was only half amused by the discussion and wanted to get to business. “Turkey club with coleslaw, please, and iced tea with lemon.”
Lonnie ordered a cold roast beef sandwich, a side of jalapenos, and water with lots of lime wedges. Myriam glanced at Warner, her expression somewhere between sympathetic and bewildered.
“I’ll have that right out,” she said, her voice a little shaky. She turned and walked quickly back to the kitchen.
“You’d better not leave here without her phone number,” Tonia said.
“That would be unforgivable,” Tomer added.
Warner just shook his head and looked out the window, the purple in his cheeks slowly diminishing.
“Sorry to break the mood, but we have a serious issue we need to address,” Hilde said. “There’s a possible tango in town.”
Warner’s attention snapped to Hilde like an alerted guard dog.
