VAIL EMERGED FROM THE METRO where she, Uzi, and DeSantos had entered before they split up. She saw Uzi standing near his Tahoe, phone pressed against his ear.
She brought her prisoner to him and said, “Ghazal. Hang onto him. I gotta go look into something. Give me a few minutes.”
Uzi’s brow rose and he shifted his phone to take custody of the handcuffed man. “Hoshi, we’ve got Ghazal. Call you back.”
Vail headed for the police barrier Jonathan had mentioned—and then saw him beside a Metro officer, chatting him up. To his credit, the cop was doing his best to maintain crowd control while keeping Jonathan engaged.
“Sweetie,” she said as she hugged him. “When I got Robby’s text …” She pushed away and held him at arm’s length. “I was so worried.”
“We were just coming into the station when I felt the car shake. It was like an earthquake or something. It kind of jumped off the tracks but we weren’t going very fast. They finally got the doors open and we evacuated.”
She hugged him again.
“What happened? What caused the explosion?”
“Can’t say. But since I’m here with Uzi and Hector DeSantos …” She winked. “Figure it out.”
His jaw went slack. Before he could ask any more questions, she said, “You going back to class?”
“I—I guess so. Unless they cancel it.” Which they’d definitely do once they figure out what’s going on.
An ambulance screamed down F Street and stopped a few feet ahead of a fire engine.
Jonathan turned to her. “Is there—is there anything I should do? Anywhere I should go? Anywhere I should avoid?”
She wished she had something to tell him. But that was the point with these types of terror attacks: there were no safe places. All she could come up with was, “Avoid crowded, popular areas.”
He scrunched his face. “You serious? In DC? How am I supp—”
“I don’t know. I—I’m working on it.”
Vail gave him a peck on the cheek, then headed back toward Uzi while jotting off a quick text to Robby letting him know she saw Jonathan and that he was safe. As safe as one can be with suicide bombers setting off explosives around town.
“Nice work,” Uzi said as she got into the SUV. Ghazal was in the backseat, flexcuffs securing his ankles together and his wrists to the door.
“Where we going?”
Uzi turned over the engine. “To get some answers.”
THEY PULLED INTO THE UNDISCLOSED LOCATION that, according to Uzi, was known only to a handful of operatives—and until sixty minutes ago, that exclusive list did not even include himself.
They had injected Ghazal with a mild sedative supplied by Rodman on the side of the road, just outside the district. They blindfolded their prisoner, then with Rodman seated beside him, they drove an hour into a sparsely populated area of Spotsylvania County. During the ride, Vail had an opportunity to read through a dossier Knox and Tasset had assembled on Ghazal and Aziz. It was incomplete, but she hoped it would be helpful.
From the exterior, the building was a nondescript, cheaply constructed tilt-up warehouse with a loading dock in the rear and a faded black-and-white aluminum sign that read, Newman Industries. Uzi pulled the SUV into the parking lot, which was well shielded by hedges, shrubs, and trees.
Inside, however, after passing through a solid steel door, the structure was a highly secured lockdown facility.
Uzi, Vail, and Rodman led their prisoner along a cinderblock lined corridor. DeSantos was waiting at the end, arms folded across his chest.
“I don’t like the road we’re headed down,” Vail said. “Been there. Done that. Didn’t enjoy it.”
They handed off Ghazal to two stocky men in jeans and sweatshirts, who took him inside an adjacent room.
“What happened in London was extraordinary because of the circumstances,” DeSantos said. “We’re on US soil here. This is going to be an interrogation, but it’s going to be clean.”
Vail knew that “clean” was a relative term; she took it to mean that they would only use standard interrogation methods, nothing that would cross the line. That said, with the known threat of imminent attacks hanging over the country, just how aggressive they got depended on how close DeSantos felt they were to the information—and if he felt Ghazal was holding back. She and Uzi were bound by procedure and law. DeSantos was not.
Vail and Uzi walked into the room, where DeSantos had already gotten started. Rodman remained outside to observe.
Their prisoner was seated at a stainless steel table that was bolted to the cement floor, Ghazal’s wrists secured to a thick ring in the center of the sparse, metal surface. Two rather conspicuous cameras were mounted on the walls.
“There’s no point in denying involvement here,” DeSantos was saying as they entered. “We saw you at the safe house. We’ve got your fingerprints there.”
“You know nothing,” he said in heavily accented English.
DeSantos laughed. “That’s why we’re sitting here in this room. Because there are things we don’t know. Things we want to know.”
“There’s also a lot we do know,” Vail said. “We know about Sahmoud. We’ve talked to him.”
Ghazal’s eyes narrowed. That was apparently news to him. Good; keep him guessing. Throwing him off balance increased his unease, made him less sure of himself.
Uzi stepped in front of the table. “Look, asshole. We’re not interested in wasting time. Tell us where and when the next attack is gonna be.”
Ghazal seemed to consider that for a moment. “I don’t know. That’s the truth. Sahmoud and—we’re given orders two hours in advance. We do what we’re told.”
“We know you’re one of the planners,” DeSantos said. “So cut the bullshit of being out of the loop.”
“I plan, yes. But they decide when it’s gonna be. I always plan for a lot of targets but they choose which ones.”
“Who else is working with Sahmoud?” Uzi asked.
“No one.”
“Bullshit. Who is it?”
“If Sahmoud wants you to know, you’ll know. You’re not going to get that from me. I don’t care what you do to me; this is not something I will tell.”
Vail glanced at DeSantos. She could tell by his smirk that he was willing to bet money against Ghazal’s last proclamation.
“We’ve been analyzing the explosives and paraphernalia in your bomb-making factory.” Uzi paused, then said, “We also found sniper rifles. That makes us think this isn’t a one-dimensional attack.”
When did he find out about the sniper rifles? When he was on the phone with Hoshi? Why didn’t he tell me?
Ghazal smiled.
Uzi studied his face a moment. “What do you think you’re going to get from launching these attacks?”
“We’re fighting the enemy. Infidels, nonbelievers. Anyone who is not Muslim. Anyone who does not follow the laws of Allah. Anyone who does not follow Sharia law.”
Vail came up alongside Uzi, gently nudged him aside, and took a seat opposite Ghazal. She had an idea. She twisted in the seat and looked at Uzi and DeSantos. “Would you two mind giving me some time?”
They hesitated, but clearly not wanting to break their unified front—and trusting Vail’s sensibilities—left the room.
When the door thumped shut, she turned back to Ghazal. “Sharia law is all that matters.”
Ghazal nodded.
“Okay,” Vail said, “I get that. See, I’ve studied Islam. There are some wonderful things in the Koran.”
Ghazal looked at Vail, a look that said he was unsure of what to make of her, of where she was going. Trying to determine why she was being nice to him.
Truth is, Vail wanted to ram her fist into his nose, then gut his stomach with the Tanto Uzi had given her. This bastard had killed innocent men, women, a
nd children whose only “crime” was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Well, that and the fact that they did not have the same religious beliefs as him and his ilk.
Vail pushed the animosity from her thoughts. There was no place for it right now. Later, maybe. But not now.
“Was Tahir with you at Metro Center?”
“No. He’s busy with other things.”
“You were only there to observe, right? To make sure the plan you set out went the way it was supposed to go. And if your martyr did not have the courage to set off his vest, you had the failsafe, the switch, to detonate remotely. Right?”
Ghazal nodded.
“Sahmoud told us about the dirty bomb.”
Ghazal’s mouth dropped open.
She made a huge guess—and based on Ghazal’s raw reaction, she hit pay dirt. “I’m concerned about that,” Vail said. “Because we’re not talking about a hundred people dead in a Metro station. We’re talking about thousands of deaths, if not more. And a significant portion of a city left uninhabitable.”
“That is not my concern.”
Vail pursed her lips. “Depends on how you look at it. If you’re nearby when it goes off, you’ll be poisoned too. And your job is to plan the attacks, not be martyred. There are others for that.”
Ghazal did not object.
“Were you involved in planning the release of the dirty bomb?”
Ghazal dropped his gaze to the table.
“Esmail, I’m pragmatic. We can’t stop the attack. You know that. I know that. But I have a son who’s innocent in your jihad—”
“There are no innocents in America.”
Vail shook her head disapprovingly. “I know that’s the line. I know that’s what you’re brainwashed into believing. But my son is a believer. He’s been asking about converting to Islam. That’s why I know about the Koran and the beauty it contains. He and I discuss it almost every night. He’s not an infidel.”
Sell it, Karen, keep steady eye contact.
Ghazal leaned back and nodded approvingly. “Then he can be a martyr. If he dies for our cause, that is a great honor.”
Dammit, you asshole, I need to find a way to reach you. Connect with you.
“You have a daughter,” she said, subtly changing tactics. “I know that as a father you’re just looking for her to have the good things in life.” Truth was, Vail knew that these extremists did not value the lives of their children the same way Americans did. But she was trying to reach Ghazal on a level he was unaccustomed to being talked to. It was bad enough he was being questioned by a woman in power. If she could appeal to him as a mother would appeal to her child, she might, perhaps, be able to access some humane part of him he had buried long ago.
He again looked down at the table. “This has nothing to do with my daughter.”
“I’m asking you to spare the life of my son. I would do the same for your daughter. Just tell me where the dirty bomb is being deployed, what city. I understand you don’t know when it’s going to be set off. But if I know it’s going to be in DC, I’ll send my son to friends of his in New York City.”
Ghazal’s eyes rose from the table and met Vail’s stare. “That would not be a good idea.” He held her gaze.
Vail could not help but swallow deeply.
Holy shit, he just confirmed my suspicions about the dirty bomb and where it’s going to be launched.
She refocused. “Thank you. As a parent. I—” She allowed some tears to flow into her eyes. “I thank you for your decency. Is there anything else you can tell me about the dirty bomb? How powerful is it?”
“I told you enough. That question has nothing to do with the safety of your son.”
Vail licked her bottom lip. “Fair enough. Are you planning any more attacks here in DC?”
“The odds are in your son’s favor. We should leave it at that.”
“So no more suicide bombings are planned for DC.”
Ghazal shrugged.
What the hell did that mean? Asked and answered? Or, “You said that, not me.”
“Because we’ve captured your cache of explosives?”
He snorted, a contemptuous outburst. “That will not stop us. I think you are smart enough to figure out why.”
Yeah, I guess I am. They’ve got other stashes. Or ways of getting more without us knowing.
“Where are your smuggling tunnels located?”
He kinked his head to the side, a look that said, “Did you really think I’d answer that?”
A knock at the door nearly made her jump.
Vail got up from her seat and walked into the corridor. Uzi was there alongside one of the large men she had seen when they first arrived. Uzi led her into a room across the hall.
As the door clicked closed, DeSantos turned away from the wall of monitors, which showed high resolution color images of Ghazal’s face and body from multiple angles. She had only seen two cameras, but apparently there were more embedded in the walls and table. Another screen, where Rodman sat, showed the man’s blood pressure and heart rate. Impressive.
“Nice work in there,” DeSantos said.
“Have you notified the JTTF in Manhattan?”
“I called my contact at the National Counterterrorism Center,” Uzi said. “But there’s not much to go on.”
DeSantos glanced back at the monitors. “We’re not really sure what we’ve got. They weren’t direct admissions.”
Vail felt blood rushing to her face. “What are you talking about? He has no motivation to feed us bullshit. He’s not giving us locations. He’s not telling us when. He was responding to indirect questions, on a level jihadists aren’t used to—his defenses are lower. He’s talking to a woman in a position of power—which he probably isn’t used to, either. I took him out of his element, which, again, is going to lower his defenses. I think on the scale of reliable intel, what he told us is pretty damn good.”
Uzi scratched at his temple. “I can’t disagree.”
“In terms of his body language,” DeSantos said, “I think you’re right.”
Rodman touched the monitor in front of him. “Same here with BP and heart rate.”
“But,” Uzi said, “is that enough? How actionable is the intel?”
Vail rubbed her forehead. “I need some air.” She walked outside, finding her way through the maze, and out the front door. The cold air prickled her cheeks and she took a deep breath, filling her lungs.
They’re planning to set off a dirty bomb in New York City. Jesus Christ.
Vail pulled out her Samsung and stared at it. Don’t do this, Karen. Let JTTF do its thing. But without actual proof or verification, will the task force act on it? What if Ghazal was bullshitting me?
No. It felt legit. Go with your instincts.
She dialed and waited for it to connect.
Carmine Russo answered on the second ring. “You know, when I told you not to be a stranger, I didn’t mean you should call me so soon.”
“This isn’t a social call.” Her tone was serious—but then again, this was a serious matter. Russo had been Vail’s mentor going back to her early days in law enforcement. Now a captain with the NYPD, she thought he needed to be plugged in.
“Uh oh. What’s up? And if you tell me we’ve got another serial killer in New Yor—”
“We’ve got a situation. This isn’t really in your wheelhouse, but I want to make sure the information makes it to the department ASAP, without delay.”
“What information?”
“Did you hear about the gas main explosion in DC last night?”
“No. Why would I hear about that? Any casualties?”
“None you would’ve heard about.”
“Huh?”
“The explosion you didn’t hear about was a terrorist cell of al Humat that had set up a b
omb-making factory in downtown DC. We stumbled on one of the bomb makers, I shot him and inadvertently set off his vest. An undercover FBI agent was killed before I got there. We ascertained the location of their safe house, arrested one and at least two got away. Today they set off a suicide bomb in Metro Center.”
“I got a text about that,” Russo said. “Maybe half an hour ago. No known cause yet.”
“Bullshit. It was a terrorist attack. We grabbed up one of the planners, who’s got a history of other bombings overseas.”
“Fuck.”
“Haven’t gotten to the good part yet.”
“There’s a good part?”
“We have reason to believe they’re going to set off a dirty bomb in Manhattan.”
There was silence, then Russo said, “Still waiting for the good part.”
“The good part is that we’ve got some advance notice. And also that I’m giving you a heads-up instead of waiting for the FBI to run it through their National Joint Terrorism Task Force at the National Counterterrorism Center, who’ll send it on to their New York JTTF, who’ll then run it up the ladder to 1PP,” she said, referring to the brass at One Police Plaza—NYPD headquarters.
“Where’s the attack going to be?”
“No idea.”
“When?”
“No idea.”
“And this is the good news?”
“No, Russo, it’s awful news. Whisper in your buddy’s ear at the Counterterrorism Unit. Tell him to turn up those sensors you’ve got, that domain awareness system.” A comprehensive security apparatus, the domain awareness system consisted of security cameras deployed around the city in coordination with radiological sensors, nuclear detectors, license plate readers—all processing information in real time and reporting to a central location in Lower Manhattan.
“I’ll talk with the commissioner, make sure he’s up to speed.”
Vail glanced around the countryside—at least, what she could see over the tops of the tall hedges. “Probably best to leave my name out of it.”
Russo snorted. “No shit, Karen.”
“Gotta go. We’re questioning the asshole we caught at the Metro.”
“Hey, thanks for the heads-up.”
The Lost Codex (OPSIG Team Black Series Book 3) Page 9
