We “attended to matters” and met near the rest stop exit. Abboud offered to stand in line to get us a couple of sodas. I noticed that he was wearing dark sunglasses and had a Yankees cap pulled down over his forehead. I stood there observing the travelers coming and going. These people don't know who this guy is. They have no idea that he planned the deaths of a few thousand people and trained five young boys for a life of murder. They don't know this man.
Do I?
We got back into the car and started to leave the parking lot. As we came to a traffic aisle, a car driven by a teenager suddenly shot right in front of us, forcing Abboud to hit the brakes and me to spit my Diet Coke all over the dashboard. The kid turned and flipped us the universal sign of disapproval. I expected Abboud to curse and pound the steering wheel. Instead, he bowed his head slightly and put his hands together in a prayerful gesture, as if to telegraph to the brat “I'm sorry.” This guy has a control over his emotions that you don't often see. I could use some of that myself.
I wiped the soda from the dashboard and myself and glanced at my car buddy. I'm sitting next to a man who is a complete mystery. He's definitely an easy travelling companion, and our pleasant chatting has calmed the knot in my stomach. I decided that it was about time to talk like a couple of friendly acquaintances, and maybe lift the mood a bit.
“We have about 125 miles to go,” I said. “What should I call you? I've been calling you Mr. Abboud – I refuse to call you Sheik. You can call me Janice. I hate the name Mrs. Monahan.”
“Please call me Frank, Janice.”
“Frank? Fucking Frank?” I inquired in my ladylike way.
“No, Janice, just Frank.”
Chapter 7
Even though we were now on a first name basis, (I still can't get that the guy's name is so simple and American) the conversation continued to be stilted because Frankie of Arabia wanted to hold up on his story till we got to Norfolk. So I clicked onto an audio book site on my iPhone. I read through a few titles when Frank requested that we listen to Things that Matter by Charles Krauthammer, a book consisting of the author's writings over the past couple of decades. It's a book I've been meaning to read or listen to so I agreed with his selection.
“But Krauthammer's a conservative writer and pundit, and an American patriot,” I said. “I don't know why but I'm surprised you'd want to listen to him.”
“He's a brilliant intellectual and historian, Janice. He's also an admirable man who's a quadriplegic as a result of a youthful swimming accident. He knows how to overcome adversity. Krauthammer's one of my favorite people.”
I didn't think Sheik Frankie was what the Republican establishment thinks of as part of “the base.” But then as the time and miles go by, I'm not sure what anybody can think of my road trip buddy. I sure as hell don't know what to think of him. But I can't believe I'm actually starting to like him.
I have to admit that my mind kept wandering from the words of Dr. Krauthammer, much as I enjoy him. I kept taking glances at my road companion, Frank. He really is handsome and has a slender athletic build. Okay, stop right there girl. I reminded myself that less than a month ago I was a quiet engineer working on a heating and air conditioning plant for a bank in New Jersey. In the last few weeks I discovered that my husband was a terrorist and potential mass murderer. Now I'm sitting here next to a man named Ayham Abboud who calls himself Frank. I know that he is (was?) a serious terrorist who held a key to the executive men's room at al Qaeda, Inc. I know (I think I know) that he was the prime mover in the attempted destruction of five American warships. And I'm getting to like him. Maybe I should apply for a spot on a reality TV show.
I ponder this fact. Captain Patterson calls her husband Jack a “Time Magnet” because he has a habit of stepping on wormholes. Maybe I'm a “Jihadi Magnet.” I seem to attract them, no? First Joe, now Frank. No matter how good looking this guy is, I'm cooling it until further notice. Also in the last few weeks I thought I was falling in love with Jack Thurber until I found out that his wife Ashley was still alive. I realized that it would never happen between me and Jack. So now Frankie of Arabia is looking good to me. Is he just a rebound from Jack, and was Jack just a rebound from my treasonous husband? I think I mentioned before that I'm confused.
It hasn't gotten any better.
Chapter 8
The strangest road trip in my life was coming to an end. I had just gotten a call from Jack telling me that our meeting location had been changed to CIA headquarters at Langley, Virginia. It's about 25 miles north of Norfolk so it shaved some time off our trip. Jack wouldn't say why we were meeting at the CIA.
We drove up to the gate and gave our names to the guard. I told the guard that I was armed and, as I expected, he asked for my (Frank's) gun and temporarily confiscated it.
It was obvious that they expected us because a Marine guard escorted us from our car to the headquarters building. It's a well-designed structure with a curved entranceway covered by glass skylights. As we walked to the entrance I kept thinking that I was an HVAC engineer and consultant, and here I was going to a meeting at the Central Intelligence Agency. I'd been to the CIA before, about three weeks before, in what now seemed like another lifetime. Back then we were The Thanksgiving Gang, working to stop the attacks on the carriers. Who am I now, and what am I doing here?
Once inside the building our Marine escort passed us off to a guy in a business suit. We took the elevator and were then escorted into the office of William Carlini, Director of the CIA. I didn't expect this. It's clear that some important people are interested in me and my travelling companion.
We were led to a conference room next to Carlini's office. A couple of minutes after Frank and I walked in, Ben and Wally appeared. I introduced Frank as...well, Frank. I told them he would fill us in on his role shortly. I hoped they were looking forward to his explanation as much as I was.
I wondered why Ben and Wally were already there, and Wally explained that they had decided that additional research would slow down the operation, so they hopped a plane from JFK.
Also at the meeting would be Captain Ashley Patterson, Jack Thurber, and CIA Director Carlini.
As soon as Ashley and Jack walked in, Ashley yelled, “Admiral Thompson, so great to see you, Frank.” They hugged as old friends.
“Admiral?” I screamed, embarrassing myself as usual. “You're a fucking admiral?”
“Actually, Janice, I'm a rear admiral,” said Frankie of Arabia with a smile. Director Carlini cracked up at my dainty choice of words.
I wasn't the only one in shock. Jack, Ben, and Wally stood there with their mouths open.
“But Janice told me that she was with Ayham Abboud,” said Jack. “What is it, are you a naval officer or an al Qaeda jihadist?”
“Folks, let me explain,” said Carlini. “Frank Thompson is definitely a naval officer and a good one. They don't make people admirals unless they're qualified. What I'm about to say is Top Secret. As you folks recall, I swore you in as provisional CIA Agents during our hunt for the would-be ship attackers. I'm now officially renewing that status. You are all provisional agents of the CIA and you're expected to follow precise security protocols. Please take your seats while I explain.”
We sat around the long conference table and faced Carlini, who sat at the head in the command position.
“Besides being a Navy Admiral,” Carlini continued, “Frank Thompson has acted for the last 20 years as the deepest mole in American history. Yes, his other name is Ayham Abboud, a leader of al Qaeda and sworn enemy of the United States. He's known in the ranks of terrorists as Sheik Ayham Abboud, a feared and cunning operative. He's also an Oscar caliber actor. I don't know how he does it. I'm going to ask Frank to fill you in on what he's been up to, and most importantly, how we're going to stop the nuclear attacks on five American cities that are scheduled to happen just a few weeks from now.”
“Pardon me, Mr. Director,” I said. “How could you possibly know that? All I told Jack on
the phone was that I had some horrible information to share, information that I learned in 2017. I didn't tell Jack what happened. Has someone else travelled through the wormhole?”
“I think Frank will clear this up for all of you,” said Carlini.
Frank moved to the opposite head of the table. He is definitely one good looking man. He carries himself like an athlete and stands before people like a born leader.
“Except for Janice and Director Carlini, you folks are in the dark, so I'm now going to enlighten you. On Thanksgiving Day, less than six weeks from now, al Qaeda will launch five nuclear attacks on American cities. The Thanksgiving Attacks on American aircraft carriers were stopped, as you all know, and you had a lot to do with preventing the disaster. What will soon replace those attacks will be far worse. But it won't happen. We're going to stop them. The Thanksgiving Gang isn't ready to retire.”
“Excuse me,” I said, “but I need to get something clear in my head, something about you. Are you not the Ayham Abboud who masterminded the Thanksgiving Attacks on the ships? If it wasn't for us and the CIA and FBI those attacks would have happened. I personally saw drone surveillance videos of you, or somebody who looked like you, going into that bomb factory in Detroit. We stopped you didn't we? Well, didn't we?”
“I was going to get to that,” said Frank, “but I think it's a good idea to clear this up for all of you now. While I admire the excellent work that everyone did, how do you think a drone surveillance project could have uncovered the plot so quickly? The answer is that I, as well as Director Carlini, knew exactly what was happening. Hell, Abboud, that's me, was the guy who was making it happen. Who do you think leaked the Arabic names of the Atomic Five to the newspapers? Also, did you see the reports from the SEALs that mentioned that the men guarding the bombs appeared sluggish? That's because I drugged them on my last visit.”
“Frank,” Ashley said. “I've known you for as long as I've been in the Navy. We once served together on the Independence when you were her commanding officer. You also commanded a Carrier Strike Group in the Persian Gulf. Where did you find the time to play James Bond?”
“Yes, Ashley,” said Frank, “I’m definitely a blue water sailor like yourself. But a large part of my life has been under deep cover.”
“How long in advance did you start this operation?” asked Jack.
“About 20 years ago,” said Frank.
“What?” we all said simultaneously.
“I was a 23-year-old Navy lieutenant in 1993, just two years out of Annapolis. While I was stationed on a destroyer, we discovered a bomb plot. The captain contacted the Office of Naval Intelligence and they jumped in. I helped them every step of the way because I was the ship's weapons officer and they suspected the plot may have hatched inside my department. We found the man who planned the bombing, a disgruntled chief petty officer. He's still in prison. The officer who handled the operation for the Office of Naval Intelligence took a liking to me, and gave the captain a glowing report, which said they couldn't have done it without me. Over beers, the guy told me I should consider a career in naval intelligence, given my flair for investigation. I didn't want to give up my career as a sea-going officer, but he did convince me that naval intelligence could be part of my portfolio. About a year later I learned that the Navy had some big plans for me. Working closely with the head of the CIA at the time, the Navy hatched a long term plan to test our vulnerability to a suitcase nuclear attack. I'd like to think they picked me for my brilliance, but a lot of the decision-making had to do with my looks. I appear Middle Eastern, as you can see, a trait inherited from my Lebanese mother.”
“Frank,” said Carlini, “please tell them about your training and how you wound up in Saudi Arabia.”
“As part of my training I was sent for intensive study of Arabic. I was always pretty good at languages so I picked it up fast. The CIA – by the way these guys are brilliant – came up with a plan for me to “defect,” and volunteer to help al Qaeda to find susceptible young Americans to act as operatives, a nice word for “home grown terrorists.” With the help of a few select CIA moles I was soon contacted by a man known as Sheik Abdul Allheimi. He told me that he had heard (from the moles of course) that I was interested in the cause of Islam. This man ran a program in Riyadh known as The Center for Open-Minded Youth, which was a recruiting tool funded by Saudi Arabia. Each summer they would host groups of American and European teenagers on a trip to Riyadh. Their overall objective was to nurture home grown jihadis. Allheimi wanted me to act as mentor to a group of selected American kids, to gain their trust to convert them to Islam. He wanted me for the job because I was a native American, and, because I was in my early-20s, I could relate to high school seniors.”
“Was one of these boys a kid known as Joseph Monahan?” I asked.
“Yes, Janice, one of them was your future husband.”
“Who is now rotting in prison,” I said. “I'm sorry, I know that's totally irrelevant. I just enjoy hearing myself say it.” ( I really have to work on my anger issues about Joseph Monahan.)
“So I took these impressionable boys under my wing. The Navy wanted me to use these kids in the plot to attack the American ships. When the time was appropriate, I would discuss the plans with my al Qaeda contacts. I encouraged the kids, as they grew into adulthood, to become naval officers, an essential part of the plot. The rest, as we know, is history. The Atomic Five, as you call them, were arrested and are now in prison as a result of operation Tango Delta, thanks in no small part to you folks.”
So did my road trip pal, this charming admiral, destroy the lives of five kids? I'm having a hard time with the ethics of this operation. If he never met them, none of them would be a part of the Atomic Five, because there never would have been a Thanksgiving Attack operation. I've got to clear this up, I decided, if only in my own head.
“Frank,” I said, “does your conscience give you any problems knowing the path you set these kids on? I mean, if they never knew you they wouldn't be in prison right now.”
“Janice, that's not only a key question, it's the most important question of my life. The answer is 'no,' but it's not a simple no. The Center for Open-Minded Youth is an ongoing operation aimed at turning American youth to jihad. The Navy used me to create this complicated operation to check on our vulnerabilities, and to use the kids to do so. These five kids would have become faceless suicide bombers somewhere in the world. I simply focused them in a direction that would help the United States.”
I felt much better. He was right. If not him it would have been another American, and the path these kids took would have been much worse, and they probably would have all died. I also couldn't help but notice how straight-forward, intelligent, and handsome the guy was. He has a commanding voice, lots of brains, and a solid character. From what he said about school and his age, he's in his early to mid-forties. I decided it was time to do a little investigation myself.
“You must have driven your wife crazy with the double life you've led for twenty years,” I said. I saw Bennie start to laugh and then put his face into his hands. Bennie knows me better than I know myself sometimes.
“I lost my wife, Alice, to cancer ten years ago. Since then I've been married to my work.”
“I'm sorry for your loss, Frank.” I said.
Interesting. Frank's in his mid-forties, handsome, brilliant, and single.
I'm feeling much better.
Chapter 9
“I'll take it from here, Frank,” said Carlini. “When your Australian friend, the bank examiner Trevor McMartin, was kidnapped and presumably assassinated in 2017 we knew we had a problem, that al Qaeda was on to us. McMartin gave you folks some great leads and information, and we weren't the only ones who knew that. Somehow his cover got blown.”
“Excuse me,” said Jack, “as you said, that was in 2017 – on the other side of the wormhole. How can you possibly know about the murder of Trevor McMartin?”
“Frank?” said Carlini, n
odding to the admiral.
“You folks aren't the only ones who travelled through the wormhole. Why did you think I was waiting there for you, Janice?”
Maybe you just wanted to meet a nice looking lady, I thought. Oh stop this crap now.
“So we realized that we had a problem, a big one,” continued Carlini. “I immediately took Frank out of circulation. Al Qaeda doesn't know what happened to him. His job has been replaced by a man known as Sheik Abbas Haddad. He's the one who tried to pull the trigger on the Thanksgiving Attacks. As we know, Haddad escaped.”
“Are we sure al Qaeda doesn't know anything about Frank other than that he's missing?” I asked, suddenly concerned about the safety of my road-trip buddy.
“Frank is in the shadows, Janice,” said Carlini, “except for his car ride with you.”
“I guess that explains the hat and sunglasses every time we stopped,” I said.
Frank just looked at me and winked. I was about to wink back when he turned his head toward Carlini.
“Here's our problem,” said Carlini, “and yes, I've alerted the White House. We had absolutely no knowledge of their Plan B, the attacks on the American cities. Not only that, but we had no knowledge of the existence of the other five bombs. Frank didn't know about them, and if Frank didn't know, nobody else in our government knew. This is the most secretive operation al Qaeda has ever launched. Even 9/11, in retrospect, had some warning signs. The signs were ignored, as we all know, but they were there. Now, we've had no hints about this plot at all. If it weren't for that wonderful wormhole, we'd all be drifting ignorantly toward disaster.”
Box Set - The Time Magnet Series Page 41
