by Bob Hamer
Barnes specifically tasked Dwayne and Pete to go straight to the consulate to discuss security measures for tomorrow’s event. They left immediately without ever acknowledging the ASAC.
AS INSTRUCTED BY DWAYNE, Matt returned to the clinic. He finished the afternoon, working closely with Omar and several of the patients, including Shahla. She was progressing well and would soon be fitted with a prosthetic device. She found a friend in Jaana, who visited often.
Matt grew to love his job when it involved the children. He still wasn’t thrilled with the janitorial duties or the heavy lifting, but he tolerated those tasks for the sake of the assignment.
Evening was approaching. He and Omar were putting away the exercise equipment. Omar stopped and stared, captivated by the view. Through the westerly facing window, the setting sun seemed to explode in orange and crimson. Even Matt was awestruck.
“Let me take you to dinner,” said Matt.
“That is not necessary.”
“I know it’s not, but I want to. You’ll be returning to your country soon, and there’s still so much I would like to learn about your culture.”
Omar finally agreed. “Have you ever eaten Middle Eastern food?”
“Yeah.”
“There is a restaurant in Beverly Hills called the Mediterranean Enchantment. Maybe we could try it. I have never eaten there, but I understand the food is good.”
Matt hesitated. “I heard they’re under new management and the food isn’t nearly as good as it used to be. I would hate for you to be disappointed. I know a great little steak place in Santa Monica. Let me take you for an All-American meal.”
DWAYNE AND PETE MET with the Israeli officials and shared the overseas intelligence regarding an attack in Los Angeles and the results of the afternoon search at Wadi’s apartment. Dwayne did not tell them about the undercover operation or of their suspicions about World Angel. Jeopardizing the safety of an undercover agent or the compromise of an undercover operation was not part of any cooperation package with a foreign government. The Israelis knew all they needed to know.
In reality, the information the FBI provided did little to change the security plans. The consulate planned all its affairs as if they were going to be compromised by terrorists. Security was always tight, and virtually every event received at least one threatening call, letter, or piece of overseas intelligence suggesting a terrorist act might take place. The consulate officials were grateful for the information, promised to work closely with U.S. law enforcement regarding security issues, but had no intention of canceling, moving, or postponing the event. The Israeli businessmen were already in town anticipating the meeting with the vice president.
As one official said, “We live our daily lives under the threat of a terrorist attack. We will not yield to their intimidation. Even if no representative from the U.S. government chooses to attend our reception tomorrow, we will not cancel.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
Matt and Omar finished their work at the clinic and headed west on Wilshire Boulevard with Matt driving. Omar was staring out the window, observing the bright lights and Christmas decorations.
“I am anxious to get back to my country and work with my friends at the clinic, but I will also miss many things about your country—the beautiful lights, large grocery stores with the abundance of fresh foods, movie theaters with so many choices. There is so much to do here, almost too much. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed. Even with the war, I love my country and the work I do there.”
A terrorist who likes our country because of fresh fruit—it just doesn’t make sense.
Matt pulled into the canopy-covered entrance to the Steak Brigade, known for its prime rib. The bright lights of the parking lot made it seem like midday; anymore candle power and you would need sunglasses.
The valet parking attendants opened the door for Omar and took the car keys from Matt. Omar continued to be overwhelmed by the opulence of the United States.
“People open the doors for you and park your car. For that you must pay.”
Matt laughed. “Don’t go to the restroom here. Some guy hangs out there, and after you wash your hands, he gives you several paper towels and expects a tip.”
“I should have gone when we were back at the clinic,” said Omar with a smile.
Because of the bright lights of the parking lot, it took a minute or so for their eyes to adjust to the contrasting darkness inside the dining room. A college-age hostess led them to a quiet table in the back. Servers, bringing sizzling steaks to the tables, marched past the two as they were being seated.
Matt had eaten here several times but only once with Caitlin. The other times the government picked up the tab as part of an undercover operation. Linen tablecloths spelled more extravagance than an agent could afford except for truly special occasions. It actually was ideal for romance or an undercover meet. It was a relaxed, quiet atmosphere, perfect for conversation, recorded or not.
Omar looked over the menu and was intimidated by the prices. In his country entire families could eat for weeks on the cost of an entree. He mentioned the cheapest item when Matt asked what he wanted.
“Nonsense,” said Matt, who ordered for both. Prime rib, medium rare, baked potato, butter, sour cream on the side, mixed vegetables and a salad with the house dressing. Matt winked at Omar, who returned a smile.
The restaurant’s reputation was well deserved. The food was delicious, the atmosphere superb. The five-star rating and continued accolades from restaurant critics were most appropriate. Both enjoyed the meal and the pleasant conversation that went with it.
A busboy cleared the plates, and their server asked if they wanted dessert. They both passed on dessert but ordered coffee as the conversation continued.
As a second cup of coffee was being poured, Omar’s question startled Matt. It was as much a statement as a question.
“You lost someone close to you.”
“Why would you say that?”
Omar looked Matt in the eye. “I have watched you work with the children, and I sensed your sincere understanding when I lost my brother. You are different. It is difficult for me to explain. At first, I believed it was because you are an American, but it is more. There is a hard edge beneath your compassionate exterior. It is almost like you are two different people.”
“Don’t ruin dinner by playing amateur psychologist,” said Matt.
“I am not playing. Who was it?”
Matt paused, then, took another sip of coffee, maintaining eye contact the entire time. “I lost my younger brother several years ago.”
“You were close to him.”
“He was my hero and my best friend.”
“Was it to disease or by accident?”
“It was no accident. He died in your country on Christmas Day 2005.”
“He was in the military?” asked Omar.
“He was a Marine.”
“That makes your compassion even more remarkable. Thank you for accepting me. It must be difficult to work so closely with people you maybe blame for your brother’s death. But maybe also it explains why you understand my hurt.”
“It hasn’t always been easy.”
“Nor has it been easy for me. We have much in common,” said Omar.
MATT DROPPED OMAR OFF at the motel and headed home. Memories of Scott flooded his thoughts. In January 2001 Matt left the Marines for the FBI. He wasn’t interested in another West Pac deployment giving Caitlin seven months to rethink their engagement. They were married in June just after Matt graduated from the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia. When 9/11 happened, Matt almost quit the Bureau to return to the Corps. Marines were warriors, and Matt wanted to take the fight to the enemy. The SAC talked him out of his decision to quit, promising him all the opportunities he could ever want to be a warrior at home. But the thoughts of be
ing separated from Caitlin provided more than enough incentive to remain with the FBI.
Matt’s younger brother Scott spurned a football scholarship, dropped out of college after two games in his sophomore year, and enlisted the day after the attack. Scott loved the Corps and its mission. He lived the ideals: honor, courage, and commitment. He relished every opportunity to tease Matt, calling him a “former Marine” and a “pogue”—a “person other than a grunt.” Matt took it all in stride until Christmas Day 2005 when his family received the notification. Scott was killed trying to rescue a fallen Marine near the northwest frontier dividing Afghanistan and Pakistan.
On January 10, 2006, the family stood in freezing rain as Scott’s body was laid to rest in Arlington. It was the only time Matt ever saw his father cry. Scott died a hero, fighting for a cause in which he truly believed. Consumed by guilt, Matt knew he let his brother down as well as every Marine who chose to put a nation and a cause before self-interest. It wasn’t Caitlin’s fault, but sometimes he blamed her. He should have been there for Scott, with Scott.
REPRESENTATIVES FROM THE VARIOUS law enforcement agencies met at dawn at the consulate. The discussions centered on the information the task force accumulated and the potential attack believed to be scheduled that evening. There still was no confirmation of the attack.
Security was tightened. Dogs, trained in detecting explosives, paraded throughout the building. Each office was searched, and every visitor was required to provide identification to plainclothes Secret Service agents monitoring the entrance. The measures were inconvenient to say the least, and several building tenants were getting annoyed at the continual need for increased security. No one wanted to see another terrorist attack, but with so many terror alerts and warnings over the past decade, it seemed like a great deal of caution for something that might never happen.
Of course, the general public never knew how many attacks were thwarted because of the protections in place. “Terrorist Acts Prevented” was not a statistic headlining the evening news. Too much knowledge might frighten an already nervous public, but the revelation of such potential acts might also compromise highly sophisticated tools if the terrorists learned the intelligence community knew about their plans. Every precaution was being taken for this evening’s affair. The secret meeting was still a go. Maybe as disturbing as a potential attack was the possibility that somehow the meeting leaked, if in fact the consulate was the target.
Again the agencies reviewed the facts. The date seemed certain. The target made sense. The 9/11 attacks focused on commerce, the World Trade Center; the military, the Pentagon; and potentially the government, the White House, the destination most experts believed the plane that crashed in Pennsylvania was headed. Since that date, officials in L.A. have speculated entertainment such as Disneyland or one of the movie studios might be next, or perhaps a major transportation hub like LAX. But any attack would be significant: a school, a hotel, the convention center, or a sports arena. No one and no institution seemed immune. Targeting the Israeli Consulate inside the United States while the vice president was in attendance would bring more than just embarrassment to both countries. A clear message would be sent.
Tonight Israeli officials had no intention of cowering to the terrorist threat, but an uneasy calm prevailed as the evening’s activities were being prepared. The Israelis insisted they would be in attendance, and if the vice president of the United States chose not to come, the administration could suffer the diplomatic consequences.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Matt looked at his watch. It was past eleven; Omar was uncharacteristically late. Matt walked toward the front of the clinic, debating whether to call Dwayne. A surveillance team was supposed to be on Omar, but trained foreign operatives had a knack for losing even professional surveillance agents. If everyone’s guess was correct, today was D-Day, and Omar’s change in pattern was cause for concern. Matt was cautious. He didn’t want to appear to be watching for Omar, so he slipped into Shahla’s room. Their two-way communication skills were still minimal, but Matt grabbed her wheelchair and made a welcoming motion directed at the chair. She acknowledged the offer with a smile, and Matt helped her into the chair. Shahla provided a great cover as the two wheeled toward the front entrance.
Matt spotted Ibrahim in the hallway. “I’m going to order out for sandwiches from the deli across the street. Can I get you one?”
Ibrahim was preoccupied and continued walking, then said over his shoulder, “No, I have to go to the hotel and set up our booth for the banquet. I promised David and Kim I would help.”
“Okay, I’ll see you tonight at the banquet.”
THE NOON SUN WARMED the air as Ismad arrived at the towering Wilshire structure housing the consulate. Allah provided a perfect day to bring America to its knees again. Ismad was dressed in a maintenance uniform and was looking for a parking place on the street. He quickly noticed the heightened activity around the building and realized the attack was anticipated. Could he get all that was needed to succeed this day past the increased security? He wanted to blame Wadi’s incompetence, but maybe his actions alerted the infidels.
He appreciated the challenge this presented. What a message he would send if law enforcement officials, even with advance suspicions of his plans, failed to protect their vice president and Israeli capitalists. He would gladly martyr himself if directed, but before proceeding, he made a phone call.
AS MATT AND SHAHLA were returning from the deli, Omar arrived. Matt kidded him about partying too late on rich American food. Omar was embarrassed by the inquiry and claimed he overslept for the first time since coming to America.
As quickly as Matt was able to return Shahla to her room, he called Dwayne. Dwayne confirmed Omar had apparently overslept. The van riding point saw no activity in the motel room until a few minutes ago, and the agent swore Omar hadn’t been out since Matt deposited him at the motel late last night. Dwayne repeated his orders and instructed Matt to monitor Omar closely the rest of the day.
Matt and Omar worked with the children throughout the afternoon. Omar was never out of Matt’s sight for more than a few minutes. Nothing appeared unusual. It was a typical workday with the anticipation of the Children First fund-raising banquet that evening. They still had a great deal of work to do in preparation for next week’s scheduled arrival of new patients, replacing two children who returned home the day before. Matt and Omar kept busy.
Omar had never been to a formal affair and was looking forward to the pomp surrounding such an event. If he were the terrorist, he said or did nothing identifying the consulate as his target.
THE FOUNDATION FUND-RAISING EVENT was billed as a “formal affair.” Even the word formal made Matt uncomfortable. Tonight was beyond his discount clothing wardrobe. Matt joked if Costco didn’t sell it, he didn’t wear it. Caitlin helped him pick out a nice suit and tie for the occasion. Matt balked at buying the silk tie because it cost more than his entire outfit for a typical workday. Caitlin convinced him “just once to spring for class.” He vowed not to spill anything on the tie, and maybe he could take it back for a full refund.
He changed at the clinic and drove Omar back to the motel so he could get ready. Dwayne’s instructions were clear—“Keep a close eye on him during the scheduled hours of the Israeli consulate affair”—so Matt volunteered to play chauffeur for the evening.
At the motel Matt excused himself to go to the bathroom. The screen to the bathroom window was missing, and the opening was large enough for Omar to have escaped earlier in the morning. Matt climbed up on to the toilet and peered out the window. A wooden pallet was leaning against the wall beneath the window, a handy makeshift ladder to climb back into the room.
“Are you okay?” said Omar.
The inquiry startled Matt, who braced himself before he slipped off the toilet bowl. Matt flushed the john and ran the water. He quickly called Dwayne and in a hushed voice reported
his findings, suggesting Omar might have eluded SOG.
Matt turned off the faucet and walked out of the bathroom.
“You ready?” asked Matt.
“I am ready. I thought maybe you decided to set up residence in the bathroom.”
“The sauerkraut on my Reuben at lunch decided it was time to move on.”
THEY ARRIVED AT THE Century City Renaissance Hotel as many of the other guests were arriving. Matt approached the circular driveway and headed toward the valet parking. He could have chosen the “self-park,” but the Bureau was reimbursing all his expenses this evening so why not play this to the hilt. He pulled up to the front door and was quickly greeted by the parking attendant. The young Hispanic, dressed in black pants and a spotless white shirt, took Matt’s keys and handed him one of those receipts a lawyer wrote absolving the hotel of everything from theft to nuclear holocaust. Just as Matt and Omar were exiting the car, Ibrahim arrived, walking up the driveway.
“Good evening, doctor,” said Omar greeting Ibrahim.
Ibrahim grunted “hello” but joined the two as they entered the hotel.
“You didn’t walk, did you?” inquired Matt.
“No,” said Ibrahim. “I found a spot on the street and thought I’d save a few American dollars.”
“Just hope you don’t get a ticket. Then it will cost you many American dollars,” replied Matt.
“I checked the sign. I am okay.”
Matt said, “You get the booth set up this afternoon?”
“Everything went fine.”
The three entered the hotel through the automatic doors. A large “Welcome Children First Foundation” banner greeted them. The lobby was breathtaking. It rivaled a modern museum in its design and was large enough to house a par-three golf course. A thirty-eight-foot cascading waterfall with a dancing water-laser light show welcomed the visitors.
