Aman stared out at the silhouette of the Jefferson Memorial as their limousine made its way through the empty, late night streets of Washington D.C. He felt a pang of disgust about how soft he had allowed himself to become over the past thirty years. He never thought he would have the opportunity to return to Cairo permanently, so he just accepted the American lifestyle. Now that a new life was so close at hand, the debauchery of his last thirty years was once again becoming grotesque to him. A bemused smile appeared across his face. Maybe I am not as weak and corrupted as I thought I was.
Zach seemed to read his thoughts, “Aman, the end is almost near. Have you thought about that? We may never see each other again after tomorrow.” Zach stared out the window with a reflective gaze.
“Of course I have. But stick to the plan. Jamal has been in the White House for years. He knows all its secret escape routes. Do not panic, and you may very well survive. Then we can meet again in Cairo and take our rightful places at the forefront of Islam.” Aman’s taciturn face conveyed the seriousness of his remark.
“And Jamal?” Zachariah asked.
“Jamal has to stay. He will die. He will die the most glorious death one could imagine.”
“What about Mr. Gray’s investigation? Anything we should be concerned with?” Zach asked.
“No. The woman is nowhere to be found, but we killed two of her accomplices. They are too late. Besides, Mr. Gray already seemed like a paranoid maniac to the press, and this story only confirms what most of them already believe. There have even been rumors that Gray has started drinking again. Most of the country already thinks he has a vendetta against you, and now he wants to finish the war he started. It’s Nixon on steroids, if you will,” Aman pronounced proudly. He would have to have someone leak that phrase. The Americans loved to coat everything in a sports analogy.
“Back to the main job. Do you have a final list of targets for me?” Zachariah asked.
“Yes, we can discuss those when we get back to the hotel.” Aman pulled a cigar from the interior of his sport coat and lit it. The aroma of tobacco filled his lungs, soothing his nerves. He was anxious to return to Cairo. He was tired of being in D.C., and exhausted with his double life now that he was so close to being able to shred his false identity. Aman looked at his watch and willed the hands of the clock to move faster. They were enticingly close to restoring the world’s proper order.
Chapter 48
Malcolm maneuvered the massive Chevy Suburban through the narrow, graveled path towards the cabin that he could not see, but knew was there. The black SUV handled surprisingly well considering the amount of protective armor it contained. The dense forest around him made him feel slightly claustrophobic; most of the trees in the area were pines and thus never lost their leaves. This kept the private cabin hidden during all times of the year.
The entrance off the main road was concealed flawlessly, and they had very few problems over the years with anyone accidentally finding it. A few kids and one hunter once ventured too close, and they were politely warned off the premises, but nothing else. The drive out to the cabin provided Malcolm with some much-needed time to think. The situation was rapidly deteriorating, but Anna’s request to see him indicated there was a glimmer of hope. That was excellent news since the rest of his world seemed to be falling apart. His testimony before Congress would certainly lead to his dismissal as soon as the new administration took office, and the news that Sean Hill and Colin Archer were both gunned down in broad daylight by a man wielding an Uzi threw a pall over everything.
Bret McMichael had already called to vent his frustration over losing one of his best men. Malcolm felt terrible about Sean, but one of his own men died, as well. Mr. McMichael still seemed determined to find a way to extract his own ass from the fire that was raging all around them. By some miracle the FBI Director was still managing to avoid being targeted by the media, and Malcolm was beginning to have his suspicions why that was the case. It did not matter anyway. There was no longer a middle ground to be staked out. It would either be complete vindication, or he would have to make a dash for a little island he owned that no one knew about. Besides, he trusted Anna’s instincts and was very curious why she had called him out here.
No one knew where he was. It felt good to actually be behind the wheel of the vehicle for once. He couldn’t remember the last time he drove himself anywhere. Only his two bodyguards, who were sitting quietly in the backseat with anxious looks on their faces, knew he left his house. They did not like the idea of their boss driving, but he insisted. His tone told them to tread carefully. When he told them they were headed to a CIA safe house they seemed to feel better, and grudgingly acceded to his wishes.
The gravel road finally ended in a small clearing, and the rustic façade of the cabin suddenly appeared in front of them as they emerged from the maze of the forest. Another black Suburban, identical to Malcolm’s, sat next to the cabin. He pulled up behind it, and cautiously stepped out. He stretched his legs, paying careful attention to his right one, which was forever scarred thanks to one of his dalliances with shady characters in the Horn of Africa.
His guards immediately jumped out and surveyed the area, scanning for trouble even though they knew there was nothing to worry about. “Triple-check everything, and then look again” was their modus operandi, regardless of how secure they felt. Malcolm breathed in the frigid air. It felt invigorating after several hours inside the metal cocoon of the SUV.
“Let’s go,” Malcolm ordered, and they made their way towards the cabin. A massive deck encircled the entire structure. As they approached, Anna appeared from the side of the house. She must have been standing on the back deck when they pulled up. The intense look on her face told Malcolm that she was still in full mission mode. It was good to see somebody had not given up yet.
Malcolm followed Anna around to the back of the deck. She strode over to the back door of the cabin and yanked it open. Alex joined them on the deck, clutching a packet in his hands. Malcolm’s hand came up in protest like a traffic cop bringing a vehicle to a halt.
“Malcolm, he assisted with the research. As of matter fact, he discovered the piece of intel that got the investigation jump-started again. I told you I was going to involve him. We had no choice.”
“Okay, Okay. I know. Still hard to get over. My life is in your hands already.” Malcolm grudgingly accepted the logic. There was no one left to trust but Anna, and he would have to let her do it her way. Malcolm waived his bodyguards away, and they headed towards the front of the cabin to stand their lonely vigil.
Five minutes later, Malcolm was cupping the steaming mug of decaf coffee with both hands, and looking out at the rushing river below as he filled them in on the latest happenings in Washington D.C. Zach’s inauguration was now just days away, and his swelling organization had now fully taken over the Capitol with their zeal and excitement. There seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary going on. Malcolm offered to brief the incoming President on the latest intelligence coming in from around the globe, but was patently refused.
He was forced to listen to a five-minute diatribe from Zach about how he was going to fix all the problems that Malcolm had helped cause. The first order of business would be a withdrawal of all U.S. military personnel from the Middle East as quickly as possible. Zach assured Malcolm that he would not back away from his campaign promises as past presidents had so cavalierly done. His reiteration of this commitment when he toured the FBI building a few days earlier was sparking unrest in several countries throughout the Middle East. Malcolm was concerned that the entire region would be sucked into a war within the next few months if they were not careful to protect their allies.
The news of Sean Hill and Colin Archer made the situation worse. The killer’s car was found abandoned in the long-term parking lot of a D.C. airport. They really did not expect to find anything, but they searched it thoroughly and no fingerprints turned up. The car was a rental vehicle that had been stolen. This point
ed to the seriousness of Sean’s assassin. He had gone out of his way to track down someone in a rental vehicle, and then steal it. The police wasted half a day trying to find out who rented it, and later tracked down the unlucky business traveler who was stranded at his hotel after discovering his rental car had been stolen in the middle of the night.
The frightened computer salesman sat nervously for an hour while the police questioned him. He was eventually absolved of any wrongdoing. The fact that he reported the vehicle stolen probably demonstrated his innocence, Malcolm suggested sarcastically as he and Anna paced back and forth across the deck. The little wrinkle of stealing the rental vehicle wasted just enough of the police’s time for the assassin to get a much needed head start. They were now going to need a lucky break if they were going to successfully track down the unknown enemy. Malcolm assumed the killer to already be out of the country.
“How did your little session before Congress go?” Anna knew the answer, but wanted to hear Malcolm’s take on the charade he was forced to sit through.
Malcolm gave her a quick summary. The session had started with him taking his seat. He acknowledged his name, and then proceeded to sit quietly while senators peppered him with every imaginable question regarding the leaks that were slowly dripping out to the press over the past few weeks. After each question he quietly declined to answer. His silence allowed each senator on the committee to provide his or her own little soliloquy to fill the void, each one trying to out do the others with their patriotism and incredible respect for minorities.
They all acted shocked and dismayed that the first minority to run the CIA could launch such a shameful investigation against an immigrant Christian from the Middle East. The hand-wringing and grandstanding lasted several hours. It finally came to an end as Yohan Rosenbaum, the senior Senator from New York, gave an impassioned speech about how proud he was of his own adoptive son, who was Muslim, served in the military, and was currently a member of the Secret Service.
Malcolm took his arms off the railing of the deck, “Enough with what I’ve been doing. I have been wasting my time as you can see. I know you didn’t drag me out here unless you have discovered something very useful.”
Anna motioned for Alex to step forward. She quickly and methodically began outlining their discovery and their excursion to Louisville. Every so often she allowed Alex to fill in gaps she left out, or show one of the photos that Mr. Lauren provided to them.
The different possibilities danced around in Malcolm’s head. One question begged an answer. Why did they feel the need to sneak him into the country illegally? The logical answer at first seemed to be that there must be something in his past that would have prevented him from being granted a visa the legal way. But he was still a teenager when they snuck him in. He made a mental note to find out if the U.S. was even accepting visas from Egypt at that time. Maybe they would have had to have waited too long for the acceptance? That made sense. God knows the U.S. government dragged its feet on stuff like that. He suddenly realized Anna and Alex had finished talking, and were waiting for a response.
“So Mr. Hardin is technically in this country illegally,” Malcolm said. “It makes for an interesting story, but he could fight that as a smear campaign against him. The country would not want to be put through a fight like that, and frankly neither would I. It could severely weaken the power of the president. The question is why? The membership in the Brotherhood of the Caliphate is what is disturbing. As you said, it appeared to be a very small and benign group, but if he is a member he must be a Muslim. I could care less about his religion, except for the fact that he has always claimed to be a Christian. Why lie?” The cold air Malcolm exhaled gave his ponderings a physical quality.
Anna cut in. “I agree. There are a lot of little lies and discrepancies that, if they stood alone, would be nothing of significance. But there are so many of them that I know there must be something there. Maybe he felt like his religion would be an impediment to success, but I just feel something else is not right. I got an email that Sean sent on the plane ride back, detailing their interview with the old man. The way he killed himself….” The chill in the air gave her cheeks a reddish hue that belied her serious tone, “I’m just afraid that we won’t know until it’s too late.”
“Oh shit,” Alex muttered under his breath as he stared at the bundle of papers in his hand. He quickly flipped through the stack until he found the name he was looking for. His finger traced the unknown path he was chasing down the page.
“What is it?” Anna asked. She watched Alex as he rushed inside the cabin. He motioned hurriedly for them to follow. Whatever it was, he was still staring intently, trying to confirm his initial surprise.
“I’m fucking freezing anyway. Why we didn’t have this discussion inside, I don’t know,” Malcolm said as he gently pushed Anna toward the cabin so they could find out what caught the newbie’s attention.
Ten minutes later Anna and Malcolm passed the pieces of information back and forth between them. Alex sat quietly and waited for a response. It was yet another coincidence to pile on top of the previous ones.
Alex had listened closely to Malcolm’s recollections of his last few days even though most of it was useless information for him. His questioning before the Senate Intelligence clowns was just another example of how out of touch politicians were with the world of intelligence. When Malcolm first mentioned Yohan’s comments Alex did not pay close attention. Senator Rosenbaum was simply doing his best to pander to the masses with his speech. However, when Malcolm mentioned the first name of the Senator’s adoptive son Alex went tearing through the stack of information that Mr. Lauren had provided to them. The old photo the reporter had of Aman, Aziz, and his stable hands had a few of the names written on the back of it. Scribbled in messy cursive was the name Jamal, and right beside it was written, “stable boy,” seeming to confirm that one of the stable boys was named Jamal. It was the same first name as the Senator’s adoptive son.
“Shit,” Malcolm uttered as he stared at the evidence. There were thousands of Muslim men with the same first name. Normally Malcolm would have guessed the chances of the boy in this old photo being the same person adopted by Yohan as slim at best. He realized for the first time that they may have been looking at the investigation through a prism that was too narrow.
“Could they both have been snuck into the country illegally?” Anna asked the same question that was going through Malcolm’s mind.
“We never even considered a second accomplice. Does the Senator have any connections with Zach or Aman?” Malcolm looked at Anna for an answer. She was the field agent involved in the investigation from the beginning, and he knew she possessed the most knowledge about Zachariah Hardin.
“Yes.” She kicked the kitchen chair in frustration. “Of course! He co-sponsored the bill with Zach in the mid-nineties that led to the constitutional amendment.”
“Do we know how, or when the Senator first adopted Jamal?” Alex chimed in. He was continuing to wait patiently and choose his moments. They both had a much better view of the big picture, and he wanted to make sure they both hashed out their thoughts before he jumped into the conversation.
“No. But I’m sure as hell going to find out. I need to make a few discreet calls around town.” The cell phone appeared out of Malcolm’s jacket before he even finished his sentence. He grabbed a cinnamon apple energy bar out of the bowl on the table, and stepped outside for some privacy.
“Let’s see what information we can pull up about his adoptive son.” Anna gestured towards the upstairs that held the computer that provided remote access to the CIA’s database. “We should have intelligence stored on all Secret Service personnel.”
Ten minutes later the file was pulled up on the flat screen monitors. Alex peered over her shoulder. On the left hand side of the monitor was a recent photo of Jamal in the typical garb of a Secret Service agent; dark suit, sunglasses, small earpiece with the mini-phone cord just visible sna
king around his right ear. The biography to the right of the photo said he was born on March 5, 1958 in Egypt. His mother abandoned him on the streets at the age of five, and from there he was taken to an orphanage where he spent several years in anonymity before heading to the States.
He was part of a group of children that was taken to the U.S. for adoption. The rich philanthropist who helped the children remains anonymous. The wealthy man from Cairo apparently spent years as an orphan on the streets himself, and liked to arrange for the orphans to live with good families in the U.S. who could not have children of their own.
“The rich philanthropist could easily be Aman. The timing dove tails perfectly.” Anna voiced her thoughts out loud before continuing to scroll the cursor down the page. They sat in silence as they scanned the information together.
The Senator adopted the boy in 1974 at the age of fifteen. He spent three years in high school in D.C. before joining the Marines only a few years after the end of the Vietnam War. Jamal spent ten years in the military, traveling to some of the most dangerous locales in the world including Beirut, Saudi Arabia, and the demilitarized zone between North and South Korea.
His service in the military put him on the fast track to becoming a Secret Service agent, where he has remained for the last twelve years. He was finally awarded for his service and joined the presidential detail four years earlier. Last year he moved even further up the ladder and became one of the few agents on the president’s personal protection team. One of the other agents in the protection detail was forced to retire early, and Jamal was first in line for the promotion. Normal procedure was for the president’s personal guards to be switched out once a new occupant enters the White House. However, because Jamal was just promoted, he had been allowed to stay on. The biography highlighted a small article that appeared in one of the Washington newspapers discussing the unusual event. Other than the article, the prolonged extension did not seem to be creating any stir within the Secret Service. Jamal’s service records were impeccable, and the dossier included nothing but glowing reports about his career in both the military and Secret Service.
Agent of Influence: A Thriller Page 33
