“And now he’s back.”
9:35 P.M.
The convention center
Las Vegas, Nevada
“I suspected that we had been betrayed,” the shaikh began, his normally soft voice trembling ever so slightly with anger. “When the FBI raided our house of worship in Michigan, I suspected it. But I didn’t want to believe that one of our brethren—one of Allah’s faithful, was apostate.”
His hypnotic blue eyes came to rest on Jamal’s face. “And where do your loyalties lie? With your brother? Or with your God?”
The college student’s fists clenched, tears of anger running afresh down his face. “I have no brother. My life is pledged to the holy struggle, as Allah wills.”
Silence. Tarik seemed to consider his words for a moment, looking around at the group assembled in the middle of the convention center. His mujahideen. The men he had prayed Allah for every lonely day in Cuba, spreading out his prayer mat overlooking the sea—toward Mecca.
And God had answered his prayers…yet given him this test. They must not fail.
“If that is true, then you must show yourself prepared to deal with those guilty of apostasy. What were the instructions of Allah’s Apostle?”
Jamal’s eyes were closed, his hands trembling. “To fight and slay the pagans wherever they are found.”
The shaikh nodded, motioning for one of the mujahideen to bring him a long, thin box from a nearby table. With slow, reverent movements, he opened it, revealing the glistening steel of a Japanese katana.
Holding it by blade and hilt, he passed the sword to Jamal. “The cameras are already in place. Do as the Prophet has bidden.”
10:03 P.M.
FBI Las Vegas Field Office
He was at the other end of the country, but from the clarity of the video feed, he might as well have been in the next room.
“Tell me you have some good news, Agent…Powers,” the President of the United States began, appearing to consult the sheet in front of him for the name.
Marika glanced over at the S-A-C. They had nothing. They’d been over the footage again and again, but it was the same every time. Three cameras—one inside the convenience store, one in the parking lot, another in an ATM across the street.
None of them showed the terrorists’ vehicle. Unfortunately, Vegas wasn’t NYC, not yet. Once you got off the Strip, cameras were sparse.
“I’m afraid not, Mr. President,” Powers responded. “It is my opinion that we need to put Vegas on high alert. Ground all flights in and out of McCarran, lock this city down.”
To her surprise, the President shook his head. “That’s out of the question, Agent Powers. Our best intelligence is that we’re dealing with a terrorist who has access to a chemical weapon.”
“Exactly!” Marika spat out, ignoring a warning look from the S-A-C. “We have to use every asset at our disposal, Mr. President, even if it means going public.”
“You’re not following me, Agent, uh…Altmann,” Hancock replied, seeming surprised by her outburst. “If we move openly, publicly, we risk spooking them into launching the attack early. Releasing the weapon on the street.”
The President looked off-screen. “Vegas is a city of nearly 600,000 souls. Never mind that holiday tourists have swelled those numbers. There’s no way to evacuate this city quickly enough. Even if I ordered an evacuation now, we wouldn’t have near enough time.”
As if he sensed her temper about to explode, Russ laid a hand on her arm. “He’s right. I was in the New Orleans field office during Katrina.”
“Do we alert the resorts?” This from Agent Chase.
“No,” the President responded. “Not yet. We have to keep this circle small if we’re going to avoid a panic. I am told that the facial recognition software they employ is state-of -the-art, and that their databases interface with the Bureau and Interpol. Our only option is to find these criminals and shut them down permanently.”
Marika opened her mouth, then closed it again, rethinking her words.
“The CIA’s intelligence indicates that the attack will take place the day after tomorrow—Christmas Day. If we are unable to find Abu Kareem’s cell…”
Powers hesitated, having voiced everyone’s worst fears. “At what point do I have your authorization to shut down McCarran International and move the city to full alert?”
The President once again seemed to consult someone off-screen, a heavy sigh coming through his microphone. “Agent Powers, if you have not apprehended Abu Kareem and his men by 2100 hours tomorrow night—then you have my authorization to take whatever steps you deem necessary. What do we have on your informant’s companions?”
“The other Arab is identified by facial recognition as Jamal al-Khalidi,” Agent Chase began, staring at her screens. “A student at University of Michigan, and former roommate of the missing CI.”
“His brother,” Marika interrupted.
“His alleged brother,” Chase corrected, still reading off her notes. “The African-American is a 75% positive as Keon Washington. Thirty-one years old, he became famous as a rapper under the handle of DD Cool well over a decade ago, before assault charges landed him in federal penitentiary.”
“Assault?”
“A drunken brawl. Washington broke a man’s neck, left him paralyzed and on a feeding tube. Was sent up for fifteen years, but the judge commuted it to eight.”
That was the way the justice system worked. Marika snorted. “Then how did he wind up here?”
“He converted to Islam several years into his sentence and changed his name to Abdul Aziz Omar. He’s been under the wing of Abu Kareem ever since.”
Agent Powers glanced over at the interactive map of Las Vegas thrown up on the plasma—lines radiating outward from the convenience store where Nasir abu Rashid had disappeared. He took a step forward, staring directly at the President. “Teams from Denver and Los Angeles will be here by morning to provide support, Mr. President. We’ll scour this city from one end to the other. We will find them.”
1:27 A.M., December 24th
The convention center
Las Vegas, Nevada
The night was cool and clear, the stars of heaven above shining down upon the two men standing in the parking lot of the convention center, just outside the service entrance.
In the distance, the neon of The Strip flashed on, eternally.
“The city will be swarming with the American police by the time the sun rises, Tarik,” Abu Kareem began, zipping up his jacket against the chill. “Perhaps it is time to reconsider our plans.”
“No,” the shaikh whispered, a light in his eyes as he stared toward the city. The eyes of a mystic.
It struck Abu Kareem in that moment as never before just how young he looked. His time in American imprisonment had always made him seem older than he really was.
“But the men whom Allah has given you. The weapons that you have obtained.” The imam held up a hand, struggling to know which words to choose. “Do we throw all that away?”
The younger man never even looked at him, gazing on toward the lights of the Strip. “Allah has provided the men. Allah has provided the weapons. And you think that He cannot show us the way…as He has in the past?”
Abu Kareem fell silent, feeling the sting of the rebuke. It was true enough—how many times had the followers of the Prophet faced overwhelming odds?
Faced them, and overcome. He cursed the doubt in his own heart, yet the voice of caution still seemed to speak from within. Please God, how?
The eyes of the shaikh were closed, his lips moving—as if in prayer. His face shadowed in the glow of the lights from the nearby highway.
Even as Abu Kareem watched, Tarik’s visage seemed to clear. “The way…will require a sacrifice.”
“As the path of Allah always does.”
“Of you.”
2:45 A.M.
The motel
Henderson, Nevada
Years at war had left him a light sleeper.
An insomnia that had everything to do with memories.
A sound brought Harry awake, glancing quickly over to the bed where Carol lay.
He could make out her form in the dim ambient light coming through the window from the parking lot outside, sheets twisted and kicked to one side—her body shaking in almost-silent sobs.
The sound he had heard.
And he knew, all too well. The feeling of guilt, the stain it left on the soul. He closed his eyes, murmuring a prayer. That she might be spared.
Moving silently, like a cat, he found himself crossing the motel room to stand by the side of her bed, looking down upon her. Her eyes were closed, still held in the thrall of a dream, tears leaking out from beneath the lids to run down her cheek.
He reached out to her as he sat down on the bed, running a gentle hand down her bare arm. So much he wanted to say, but there were no words. Nothing that could help.
Her hand came up as she awakened, fingers interlacing with his—squeezing gently, as if she took comfort in the touch.
“When does this…end?” came the question, choked out between sobs. The soul-wrenching grief of death—of having caused death. Harry closed his eyes, taking her into his arms. The only answer was a lie, a lie he couldn’t tell her. Beyond that…nothing.
He held her head against his chest, brushing tear-soaked strands of blonde hair back from her face. “I don’t know,” he whispered finally, telling her the truth. “I only know that I’ll still be here when it does.”
Chapter 25
6:32 A.M.
The convention center
Las Vegas, Nevada
Kneeling toward Mecca, Tarik Abdul Muhammad raised his forehead from the prayer mat, hands on his knees as he straightened, performing the taslim. He glanced toward his right where Jamal prayed, his eyes meeting those of the college student. “Assalaamu ‘alaykum wa rahmatu-Allah.”
The peace and blessings of God be upon you.
For a moment, there was something in Jamal’s expression—a hesitation—and then he replied, repeating the ancient words of blessing back upon him.
His face turned to the left, catching the eye of the negro. “Assalaamu ‘alaykum wa rahmatu-Allah.”
He could hear his followers repeat the chant behind him, finishing the fajr, the dawn prayer, even as the first faint glow brightened the horizon toward the east.
Tarik rose to his feet, a rare smile touching his lips as he turned to greet his men. “When next we greet the dawn, we will do so in Paradise. And where is Paradise to be found, my brothers?”
“Neath the shade of swords,” Jamal responded from beside him, and the room erupted, the cries echoing off the empty walls. “Allahu akbar! Allahu akbar!”
6:35 A.M.
The motel
Henderson, Nevada
The bed was empty by the time she woke, the warmth of the covers enfolding her, tucked carefully around her body.
Another side of this man, Carol thought, remembering his words of the previous night as if they had been spoken in a dream. I’ll still be here…
And he had held her close as she cried herself to sleep, his chest a pillow for her head. She could still feel his arms encircling her waist—those rough, deeply calloused hands. Hands that had killed…and wiped away her tears.
Contradictions.
“I have to get out. Leave all of it in the past.” She turned her head, looking across the room to the recliner where he slept, studying his face, his chin shrouded in thick black stubble.
But could he? Leave it all behind…
Despite everything that had gone before, she found herself praying that he could. Before it destroyed him.
Carol pushed back the covers, padding barefoot into the bathroom. A glimpse of herself in the mirror and she shook her head, taking in the dark circles under her eyes.
She thought of the FBI in that moment, picking up her watch from beside the sink. They’d heard nothing from Parker—not since Richards and Han had shadowed him to the Bureau’s Las Vegas Field Office.
And the attack was only twenty-four hours away…
8:03 A.M. Mountain Time
Billings, Montana
“Who knew a uniform could look so good?”
Paula Gonzalez smiled, glancing back to where her husband still lay in bed.
“You’ve said that before,” she retorted, brushing a speck of lint away from the Delta Airlines logo as she buttoned her shirt.
“So?” He arched an eyebrow. “Just means it’s still true.”
She laughed, making a face at him in the mirror. After forty years on earth and two pregnancies, she wasn’t the girl he had married. Not any longer. But he hadn’t seemed to mind.
“You’re just feeling guilty that you get to lay in bed while I go to work.”
A shrug. “I never said you had to take an extra flight.”
“I know,” Paula replied, reaching for her pilot’s hat. Delta was one of the few airlines that still required their pilots to wear the hat as part of their full uniform. It was a nice touch…even if it did bad things to her hair. “But we can use the extra money.”
An understatement. He hadn’t had an hour of overtime in months. “Remember what I told you, baby,” she continued. “The kids only get one present tonight. The rest…have to wait till tomorrow morning when I get home. Remember?
“Yeah, yeah. What time does your flight get in to Vegas?”
She leaned down to kiss him on the lips. “We’ve got a brief layover in Salt Lake City—should touch down at McCarran a few minutes before eight…”
9:27 A.M. Pacific Time
FBI Field Office
Las Vegas, Nevada
“We’re coming up empty, boss,” a voice announced from the computer. Marika reached for her cup of coffee, listening to the reports come in from the FBI agents that were now fanning out across Vegas. Watching screens wasn’t the same as being out there. In the field.
They had gone to the mosques first, three of them just within a few miles of downtown Vegas. Call it profiling—it was reality. They knew who they were dealing with.
“We just left the Masjid Ibrahim. The imam, Edward Fayed, said that he was familiar with Abu Kareem,” the agent’s voice continued. “Didn’t know him personally, didn’t know he was in the Vegas area.”
“Do you believe him?” Powers asked. Marika glanced over at him—the S-A-C had come to work in a suit, but the jacket had been discarded hours before, revealing the Glock in his shoulder holster.
“Yes. Remember two years ago, when Fayed alerted us to that wannabe jihadi in his congregation?”
A nod from Powers. “Carry on, then. Initial reports from Masjid al-Noor are also negative.”
The door opened just then and Agent Chase burst in, seemingly out of breath. “We just got a flash from the LA Field Office. They’ve had a sighting of Abu Kareem. Just a few miles from LAX.”
A curse erupted from Powers’ lips. “Is it a positive ID?”
“Assistant Director Dietz seems to think so. He’s already given the callback orders to his teams here in the city.”
There were no words. Marika closed her eyes, forcing herself to take a deep breath. “He can’t do this—has it occurred to Dietz that Abu Kareem’s presence in LA could be a diversion?”
The S-A-C shook his head. “He can and he has. We’re grasping at straws here—and if they have a lead on Abu Kareem, that’s our best shot.”
A pause before Powers went on. “You realize…we could have been played. LA could be the target and Nasir abu Rashid’s presence here the distraction. If they suspected him, they could have fed him false intel, knowing it would get back to us.”
“But the CIA’s intel—”
“Has been wrong before,” he retorted, cutting her off. “Agent Chase, get me a direct line to LA. I want to talk with Dietz—have him patch us in to everything that goes down there.”
10:48 A.M.
The convention center
“I have n
ot spoken of this till now,” Tarik began, looking around at his men, “for I feared that we had been betrayed…but Allah has not left us alone in this struggle.”
He gestured to the map of Las Vegas spread-out on the table before them. “There has been a cell of mujahideen in this city for years, led by a lawyer named Samir. Simply waiting—going about their lives as they were bidden. They will join us in the attack.”
“How many?” Omar asked, moving closer to the map.
“A dozen men, all of them veterans of our fight against the imperialists in the mountains of Afghanistan. Half their number will aid you, the other half join us in the main attack.”
“Insh’allah,” the negro murmured, his eyes closing as if in prayer.
“It is time that you left for your appointed post,” Tarik advised, turning toward him. “Yours it is to strike the first blow.”
He reached out, embracing the black man and kissing him on both cheeks. “Go with Allah’s blessing, my brother. We will meet in Paradise.”
The emotion of the moment…it felt as if it might overcome him. All those years in prison. The years of his youth.
Vengeance.
11:04 A.M.
The motel
Henderson, Nevada
“I don’t like staying here,” Carol exclaimed suddenly, looking up from her computer. She was hooked into the motel’s wi-fi network, monitoring the news coming out of the city. None of it relevant. “Not being able to know what is happening.”
Harry moved away from the window, letting the shades fall back in place. “Thomas will contact us when it is necessary to do so. He’s a professional, none better.”
“Welcome to field work,” Tex observed, looking up from the small desk at one end of the motel room. The big man had his Glock field-stripped and laid out on the newspaper in front of him for cleaning.
It was true, Harry thought, taking the case containing his UMP-45 and opening it on the bed. For all the glamor that the movies showed, most of a spy’s life was spent in motel rooms like this one.
Day of Reckoning (Shadow Warriors) Page 49
