The Seventh Message

by William Johnstone

  "Because this request comes from you, Bill, and because we used to work the streets together, I will personally see to it."

  "Thanks, old buddy." Bill went back to sanding his nails.

  At full attention, Ashley said, "I understand the need to keep tight security. Our suspect is not your everyday suicide bomber. He’s brilliant, well trained and ruthless. He makes plans for every eventuality, and so far has stayed a step ahead of us at every turn. If we are to stop him, we need to know what you know when you know it."

  Kent interrupted. "This is Agent Ashley Kohen. She's the Lead Investigator on this case. Very dedicated, sir."

  Delong pulled his cigar out of his mouth and held it next to his face. "I can tell she's dedicated. Nothing wrong with that. Agent Kohen, I'm personally invested in this case. You will know what we know as soon as it’s appropriate."

  "Yes sir. I meant no disrespect. I'm still frustrated. I missed picking up his trail by only a few hours yesterday."

  "A few hours. Tell me about that."

  "The Lone Wolf received a shipment of barrels in Roswell. He unloaded the cargo container while I interviewed Bashir Hashim in El Paso. When I returned the next day, the container was gone. I discovered one barrel missing from the shipment."

  Rashid perked up. "Excuse me. You said shipment. The sixth message referred to a shipment. This may explain that reference. Give us details about what you learned."

  "In Roswell, a city with hundreds of beekeepers serving the pecan groves, the Lone Wolf received a cargo container with 60 barrels of honey. It originated in Dubai. I found only fifty-nine barrels off loaded."

  "That’s important," Admiral Smithy noted. "Dubai is a major port for middle eastern goods. Honey is a popular commodity. A clever choice if you want to smuggle something into our country. Sixty barrels would be almost impossible to inspect at the port of entry. It probably passed through with little or no scrutiny."

  Adornetto, silent until now, asked, "The question is what fits in a receptacle that size and still poses a threat to us?" No one spoke for a few seconds. Delong drew a big question mark on his notes. Admiral Smithy's expression remained grim.

  Youris glanced at Johansson, who gave him a thumbs up gesture. With a hopeful expression, Rashid looked around the room. "Perhaps I'll have an answer to that question come Saturday night."

  AS SOON AS THE Washington briefing ended, Ashley downloaded Director Delong's report, and the seventh decrypted message. Both Kent and Johnson reviewed the information with her. "The background profiles of Kosloff and Suri describe them as men with menacing underworld ties," Ashley said. "Maloof is not in the same league with them,"

  Kent crossed his arms. "Kosloff and Suri will never leave America, at least not alive."

  Johnson agreed. “With our task force primed and ready, you may be sure we'll pounce on them after their meeting Saturday. The Lone Wolf is another matter. We’ll watch his every move until he is disarmed or should I say–defanged."

  Ashley grinned. "You do have a way with words, Bill. And, speaking of words, I must call Jerry Cebeck in El Paso and alert him to the arrival of our special guests tomorrow."

  WHEN CEBECK RECEIVED the call from Ashley, he had finished eating the last piece of stale pizza left over from the night before. It had rained all morning, driving the humidity up. He needed a shower and clean clothes.

  "Good morning, Jerry," Ashley said.

  "What's good about it?"

  "You don't sound happy."

  "Happy? Happy is a one of the seven dwarfs. At least Happy had six friends."

  Ashley heard frustration in Jerry's voice. She'd worked a few solo stakeouts in the past and understood the feeling. "Well cheer up, Snow White will rescue you. There have been some major developments."

  Jerry grunted, "About time."

  "I'm sending you Joe and Fred as backup. You'll need them. Three important bad guys are heading your way starting tomorrow. They’ll arrive at Bashir's doorstep, most likely at different times. Our information says they will leave Bashir's house and go to an unknown meeting location with the Lone Wolf. You need to follow them and keep us informed."

  “Who's the Lone Wolf?"

  "He's the same guy who blows up motor homes. Do you have a secure connection?"

  "Yes. The El Paso Field Office arranged that."

  "Good, I'll send you details."

  Jerry’s voice sounded a bit brighter. "This explains it."

  "Explains what?"

  "Yesterday Bashir showed up with a new car from Hertz Rental. A Chevy Suburban equipped with two cargo carriers mounted on top. He must be planning a trip."

  "It sounds like your special skills are needed. Is the Bug Man alive and well?"

  "He will be...tonight."

  FORTY-FIVE

  FROM HIS SECOND STORY vantage point, Jerry Cebeck watched Bashir's house as the Thursday morning sun cast its first rays of light. Like a well-trained sniper, he positioned himself at a 45 degree angle to the window and remained several feet back from the opening. No one directly across or on the street below could see him through the window. His digital camera mounted with a 600 mm telephoto lens allowed him sharp close up views, even in lowlight conditions.

  The rented Chevy Suburban, parked in front of the purple house, had been violated last night by the Bug Man. Two tracking devices, one behind the grill and one under the right rear fender were attached and operational.

  Earlier, that same morning at 3:00 a.m., a phone call from Joe and Fred promised their arrival within minutes. Cebeck had arranged parking behind the building and told them to enter at the rear. Right on time they knocked on his door and walked in. It was comforting to see familiar faces.

  Cebeck briefed them on the layout of the surveillance. He explained the arrival possibilities. "There are three men coming to El Paso to meet Bashir today. Their arrivals will be random. Anytime Bashir leaves his house he must be followed." Joe and Fred checked their tracking equipment and declared themselves ready.

  As promised, Ashley had sent details of the infiltration plans to the El Paso Field Office. A runner delivered hard copies to Cebeck before sunrise with three fast-food breakfasts and coffees.

  At 10:05, Bashir exited his house and drove off in the Suburban. His usual grubby denims were replaced with a white shirt and gray dress pants. He wore shiny black shoes: a sign that this day would be different from other days. Joe tailed him at a discrete distance. With the two big cargo carriers on top, he was easy to follow.

  A drive to the airport took thirty minutes in light traffic. The morning rush hour had peaked. Cebeck estimated Bashir would arrive back home about 11:35. His estimate was only a few minutes off. The Suburban parked on the corner at 11:40. Bashir and one man got out and walked up the front steps. Cebeck fired off a series of photos and made a few notes.

  At 2:30 Cebeck watched Bashir descend the porch for the second time and head to his car. A dark blue tie complemented the white shirt. Since Bashir drove off alone, it was reasonable to assume he would return, as before, with one man. If he had two men, the surveillance would rise to the next level. This time Fred followed the Suburban.

  Every few hours Cebeck checked with Ashley in Albuquerque. "Have you heard anything from Washington?" he asked.

  "Kent's been on the phone with them all-day. He says the JTTF, the task force, is on its way and will need minute by minute info once the Suburban is on the move with everyone on board. I guess these Washington shadow operations work independent of standard procedures." Cebeck noticed Ashley sounded a bit peeved. "For all we know members of the task force could be across the street from you right now,” she added.

  He shared her frustration. "If they’re across the street, I bet they're eating better than me."

  "Hang in there Jerry. You're on the front line of the action now."

  "I’m not impressed. This is trench warfare.”

  At 4:10 Bashir arrived back and parked in his usual spot. This time he ran around to the other s
ide of the Suburban and opened the back door like a trained chauffeur. A big man, dressed in a black suit and fedora style hat, emerged carrying a large briefcase. He walked with a regal step as he entered the house. Cebeck's camera clacked like a fully automatic Uzi. Two down and one more man to go.

  Jerry, Fred and Joe huddled together. They agreed that if Bashir left with his two current guests, he would get the third member of the team and probably head for the meeting location, without returning to Estrella Street. They also agreed tailing the Suburban in the dark would be tricky. Fred tapped his phone to learn what time the sun would set: 8:02.

  Cebeck switched out the memory card in his camera. After uploading the card to his computer, he forwarded the images to Albuquerque and then called Ashley and brought her up-to-date on their progress.

  Joe arrived back with an assortment of sandwiches and several big cups of strong brew. He served Cebeck first, then took the food down to Fred. It was after six o'clock when they finished eating. The sun settled near the horizon.

  Fred took over the vigil so Cebeck could get some rest. Cebeck didn't know how long he slept before he felt Fred shaking him. “Jerry, wake up. They're getting in the car: both men, Bashir and a big black dog."

  The Suburban eased away from the curb at 6:55. Joe backed out of his parking place behind the building and began following Bashir. Fred scrambled down the backstairs and joined the slow speed pursuit across town. Cebeck hurried to pack his equipment and lugged it to the white van. He knew Joe would keep Bashir within tracking distance, even in congested traffic, but he wanted to join the chase as fast as he possible.

  Joe kept up a running description of locations and landmarks. After several turns, the Suburban drove east on Montana Avenue, heading toward El Paso International Airport. It turned on Airport Boulevard and entered the one-way circulation pattern serving passengers arriving and departing scheduled flights. Joe found a place to park, near the intersection of Airport Road and Airport Boulevard, and suggested Fred do the same on Continental and Airport Boulevard. Anyone leaving the airport would have to pass one of those two points. Cebeck caught up a few minutes later and drove into the airport watching for the Suburban. He circled the east and west terminals several times. On his third drive-by, he spotted a man getting into the backseat, but when he made one more pass, the Suburban had disappeared. At 7:30 Joe squawked, "Got 'em! They're heading south on Airport Road." He pulled out of the Guesthouse Suites parking lot and followed close behind. A few minutes later he announced Bashir had merged with Montana Avenue heading eastbound–the opposite direction from his house.

  Cebeck, tangled in airport traffic, cursed at his predicament. As he maneuvered out of the airport and made his way to Montana Avenue, the Suburban neared the city limits of El Paso, entering State Highway 180. Joe and Fred traded trailing positions so different cars would be seen in Bashir's rearview mirror. Cebeck began to relax. The Team of Deliverance would not be meeting in El Paso; Highway 180 led into the flat, dry deserts of west Texas. The sun set at 8:02.

  ASHLEY PACED ABOUT her cubicle. It had been three hours since Cebeck last contacted her. She knew she was doing what the Lead Investigator should do at this point in the case, but that inner drive to be actively engaged nagged at her. Operation Full Moon could break the case wide open. If successful, it would allow the Bureau to capture two international criminals, find out the nature of the threat to national security, disarm the Lone Wolf and arrest that slimy bastard.

  Her last contact with Cebeck had been 7:15. He reported three men had left the house, but didn't yet know where they were heading. He reported they had a big dog with them. Ashley remembered the menacing Doberman Pinscher sitting next to Bashir in his living room.

  She called upstairs to Dorothy, "Any news on the JTTF?"

  Dorothy sounded as frustrated as Ashley felt. "Nothing new. Not a clue."

  "What is this with Washington? Don't they know we’re all on the same side?”

  "Mr. Kent says they are like the Navy Seals. Covert, independent and decisive." She lowered her voice. "I think he's as perturbed as we are, but doesn't want to show it."

  Ashley started for the break room for coffee when her cell phone sounded. Before she spoke, Cebeck blurted, "We're on Texas Highway 180 heading east. We have left El Paso. Bashir picked up the third man at the airport. It's dark now."

  "I'll check our software." Ashley went to her computer, clicked on the Bureau's mapping service and entered location data. "Has it become a two-lane highway yet?"

  "Yes, a few miles back."

  She studied the map. "There are only small towns on 180. There’s Salt Flats and Pine Springs, and then the New Mexico border. The meeting place could be anywhere. I’ll relay this information to Walter who’s in touch with the task force. Call me with updates, okay?"

  "Roger that."

  The surveillance team tailed the Suburban using all the tricks of the trade. Using three cars they rotated their headlight patterns, and varied the distance behind Bashir. This game went on for five hours. After two hundred and fifty one miles, it ended at Maljamar, New Mexico at 11:45 p.m.

  FORTY-SIX

  CEBECK CHECKED IN WITH Ashley as the surveillance caravan moved eastward through the night. He reported their progress when they passed Pine Springs about 8:30, and a half hour later when they crossed the Texas border into New Mexico. Ashley figured they drove by Carlsbad Caverns about 9:30 but didn't see the national park sign in the dark.

  They continued north on Highway 285, passed through the City of Carlsbad and arrived in Artesia a little after eleven o’clock. The Suburban turned east on Highway 82, passing a brightly lit oil refinery. As Ashley traced their progress she recognized they were south of the general area of Bitty Smith's burial site. Could there be a connection?

  A little before midnight, Cebeck announced the Suburban had pulled off the highway at mile marker 35, and parked in front of a house set back off the road about a hundred feet. He saw lights in the house on two levels as he drove by. Fred, who followed Cebeck, noted the exact distance from the Highway 82 turn off at 35.6 miles.

  Using Google Earth online, Ashley found the intersection of Highways 285 and 82. She measured the distance from that point, and found an image of a sun bleached house on the south side of the road with a small building in the backyard. She also found a clump of junipers across the highway set back a 100 yards from the house–a perfect place to watch the meeting location. Cebeck agreed the trees would give him cover.

  After passing by the house he drove out of sight, then turned around and headed back. As he approached the house he switched off his headlights and navigated by moonlight. He left the highway surface and worked his way to the evergreen trees in the semi-darkness. Once in place, he called Ashley and told her he could see the house and the Suburban parked in front. Minutes after the call, he nodded off to sleep.

  ASHLEY TOLD WALTER the highway pursuit ended in Maljamar. He in turn called Mike Johansson in Washington, who directed the JTTF's undercover operation. Kent reported the details of the pursuit and where it ended. “I believe the meeting will take place tomorrow in this old house.” Johansson mumbled good work and cut the conversation short. Elements of the task force would control the area from places of concealment. Kent ordered Fred and Joe to return to the field office.

  Based on Ashley's inspection of the daylight images online, Maljamar was less like a real town and more like a transfer point for oil field operations. She identified few structures that might be occupied dwellings. A short distance east of the faded old house she noted a fenced industrial yard that contained a row of fuel trucks and three rusty crude-oil storage tanks with a capacity of about 100,000 gallons each.

  Her suspicions of the treachery about to take place in this ugly, remote outpost colored her assessment of the danger inherent in this operation. A shudder rippled through her body like a seismic tremor, a forerunner to a disastrous event.

  EARLY FRIDAY MORNING, Mike Johansson con
tinued work at the Command Center in the FBI building on Pennsylvania Avenue. He paced back and forth, his arms moving in animated gestures as he barked out orders over his wireless headset. Acting under emergency authority, he commandeered National Guard property needed to carry out this mission. The requisition included a reconnaissance drone, one helicopter, and an assortment of armored vehicles designed for desert deployment. He may not need all of these assets, but if he did, he owned them for the next forty eight-hours.

  Overnight he flew his task force members and equipment to the Roswell airport, the nearest runway able to handling high-speed jets. They quickly assembled and began briefings.

  Johansson divided the task force into two units led by experienced assault leaders. Alpha Unit flew to Lovington east of Maljamar in a Black Hawk helicopter, and Red Dog Unit drove west to a position outside Artesia, causing a dozen scrawny cows to scatter in a state of panic. When Mike learned of Special Agent Cebeck's close observational position in Maljamar, he ordered a voice link to him though the Albuquerque Field Office.

  With his forces deployed in a flanking formation, the enemy's escape routes were sealed off. He planned to arrest Alexander Kasloff and Kassar Suri long before they tried to leave the country. He would hold off on Bashir Hashim until he could figure out his role in all of this. Based on what he hoped to learn from Rashid's participation in this secret meeting, he would deal with the Lone Wolf in a decisive manner.

  Johansson closed his eyes. Had he overlooked anything? Would his friend Rashid be safe? Yes, he felt confident he had covered all the bases.

  He didn’t know tomorrow would be a day of ominous consequences.

  FORTY-SEVEN