Aim True, My Brothers

by William F. Brown

Tomorrow, the attack would commence, he thought. In less than eighteen hours. His long wait for revenge was almost over.

  That would come tomorrow!

  PART FIVE

  YORKTOWN DAY

  OCTOBER 19

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Friday, Old Town Alexandria, October 19, 5:45 am

  The weekend had almost arrived. Normally, that was the only time Eddie Barnett got to sleep and catch up on his own life; but not this week. Coffee. He had to have some coffee before he could think, much less go in to work, so he found himself plodding around the apartment looking for his favorite cup. He paused for a moment. Was the coffee cup one of the things Louise threw at him that night? The physical and emotional carnage was too extensive for him to remember clearly, so he grabbed a substitute cup and made a fresh pot. Ignoring the sink-full of dirty dishes, he opened the refrigerator. Unfortunately, the prospects inside had not improved since he left. Resigned to his fate, he pulled out half of a leftover turkey sandwich in a styrofoam deli box. He opened the top and saw it hadn’t turned green yet, so he put it on the counter. With his other hand, he pulled out a box of Girl Scout cookies, a bottle of Spanish olives, and the remnants of a pint of Ben and Jerry’s pistachio ice cream from the freezer, grabbed the coffee, and padded back to the living room. Not exactly the breakfast buffet at the Willard Hotel, but what the hell, he thought. This living alone stuff wasn’t all that bad.

  He had just flopped on the couch and turned on CNN when his cell phone rang. He looked at the phone and recognized Charlie’s number, answered, then tucked the phone between his shoulder and chin so he could continue eating.

  “Charlie, you’re interrupting my breakfast.”

  “Yeah, I bet. Week-old pizza straight from the refrigerator?”

  “I wish. What’s up?”

  “Exactly. What is up? Hasn’t she called you yet? Her or the Egyptian?”

  “She did last night. Boston was a dry hole, so they headed out to LA.”

  “LA? You gotta be kidding. How come you and I got Jersey?”

  “Luck of the draw, I guess.”

  “I’ll bet they’re shacked up out at the airport.”

  “The Israeli Ice Queen and Mouse? You have a sick sense of humor, Charlie.”

  “Stranger things have happened, you know, like you and Louise. Who’d have figured that one? But the two of them going out to LA? That makes even less sense.”

  “I think I agree,” Barnett replied as he thought about it for a moment and frowned. “Doesn’t feel right to me, either,” he said as he heard a BEEP on his phone. He saw he had a second call coming in, but the caller’s ID was blocked. “Look, I’ve got a call on the other line. If it's Mouse or Ullman, I'll call you right back. Otherwise, I'll be in the office by 8:00 and we can try to figure out where we go from here.”

  Barnett switched to the other line and answered, “Is that you, Mouse? Goddamnit, we were supposed to stay in touch, remember?”

  “ ‘Stay in touch’? What’s that supposed to mean, Eddie?” a woman’s voice asked.

  “Louise?”

  “Who is she?”

  “Who's who?”

  “This Mouse person.”

  “He is an Egyptian spy.”

  “Is that who you were with the last couple of days? I phoned five times.”

  “No, I was in New Jersey hosing down a bunch of Iranians.”

  “Hosing down Iranians? You’ve gotten real kinky since I left.”

  “I was with Charlie.”

  “Charlie? Couldn't have been very kinky then.”

  “No. Look, I’m a little busy right now. What do you want?”

  “You’re always busy. That was half the problem, wasn’t it?”

  “Half?”

  “Well… but you do still love me, don’t you?”

  “Of course I still love you, I just love you a whole lot more when you have nothing hard or sharp in your hands.”

  “I'm going to ignore those nasty innuendoes…”

  “Innuendoes? I have a dent on my…”

  “Stop whining. Don’t you want to hear my good news? Guess where I am?”

  “Louise, I haven't got time for…”

  “Williamsburg! I’m in Williamsburg, down in Virginia.”

  “Williamsburg? Nice. What are you doing down there?”

  “I’m the local-news-girl who gets to tag along with the White House Press Corps all week,” she said, positively giddy. “You know, to give the local angle to the national coverage,” she said in her best network voice. “This is my big shot, Eddie, I’ll get Network face time and I just had to tell someone.”

  “And what? It’s 6:00 a.m. and I’m the only one who answered?”

  “Well, it’s not quite like that, silly.”

  The hell it isn’t, he thought. “So, the President is in Williamsburg?”

  “Yes! And once I get my foot in that door, it’s going to be goodbye DC Metro Desk, goodbye to that big dork Jeff Wang, and hello Network!”

  “Why’s he in Williamsburg?”

  “Jeff? He isn’t.”

  “No, Wagner. Louise, sometimes you can give me a migraine like…”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s a real talent, isn’t it?”

  “So why’s Wagner in Williamsburg!”

  “You don’t watch the news much, do you? He’s got meetings here this morning, and then he’s giving a big speech at Yorktown this afternoon. And they're letting me interview him! Live! My God, when they told me, I was so excited I almost peed my pants.”

  “That's great, Louise, I'm sure Wolf Blitzer pees his pants too.”

  “Well, I had to share the news with somebody, Eddie; and tonight I suddenly realized that you are the only person I want to share anything with… including me.”

  “Ain’t love wonderful?”

  “Yeah, ain’t it?” he could hear her beaming.

  “Louise, that really is good news. Congratulations, really. I know how hard you’ve worked for it.”

  “You mean how many asses I had to kiss, that’s what you always said.”

  “No more arguments, I’ve really gotta go.”

  “Okay, but what I wanted to ask you, is what's with all the extra security down here?”

  “It’s the Prez, POTUS, Eagle 1 — there's always extra security.”

  “No, not like this. The last couple a’ days, the White House has been a goddamn fortress. And down here, Jeez, you wouldn’t believe what we have to go through.”

  “Maybe they heard you were coming,” he mumbled.

  “Eddie! You're supposed to be helping me.”

  “I don’t know anything,” he lied. “You need to ask the Secret Service. The last time you wheedled something out of me, you used it and I almost got fired.”

  “At the time, you weren't complaining.”

  “At the time, you had me in a position where I couldn't do much of anything.”

  “You did enough, but the front seat of my Miata is a bit… confining, isn’t it?”

  “I still can’t believe we did that.”

  “I’m nothing if not creative.”

  “Yeah, well…”

  “I gotta go!” she said. “But I really do miss you, Eddie. When I get back, you and I are going to have a long, long talk and a much longer make-up. Hugs and kisses.”

  “Yeah, hugs and kisses to you too, Louise,” he said with a smile and hung up. We can always talk, he thought, as long as it’s not here, and as long as you have nothing sharp or hard in your hand, and as long as I’ve got a clear path to run like hell.

  Barnett leaned back on the couch, kicked off his shoes, and stretched his legs out on the coffee table, making room by shoving a tall stack of unread magazines onto the floor with his foot. Headline News was recycling at the top of the hour, giving him a chance to finish the cookies and coffee before he headed to the office. That was when he heard a loud knock on the front door, got up, and went down the long hall to see who it was. Opening it, he saw
a very large, dark-skinned man in a well-tailored suit and brightly polished shoes. He stood there, legs spread and hands clasped in front of him, filling the doorway like the Colossus of Rhodes. Even in the pre-dawn darkness, he recognized Kamal, one of Mouse’s bodyguards. Behind him, facing the street and with his back to the house, stood his ‘twin’, Gamal.

  “Agent Barnett,” the Egyptian began, “My name is Kamal Bashari, from the Embassy. This is my associate, Gamal Massri. I believe we met a few months ago.”

  “Yeah, I know who you guys are. I’ve seen you with Mouse often enough — with Moustapha, I mean,” he said as he looked beyond them and saw a long, black limousine sitting at the curb. Kamal had manufactured a smile, but Gamal had none at all. Barnett glanced at them and then at the car and only got more confused. “So what’s up, guys?”

  “We hate to bother you at this early hour,” Kamal answered politely enough. “But if you have no objections, I would ask you to come with us for a moment.”

  “Why?” Barnett asked warily. He did not need ESP to guess that these two were not the type you wanted to get up close and personal with. “You know, I was just leaving. Why don’t you drop by my office later?” he asked and began to close the door.

  “Agent Barnett,” Kamal said firmly as he stepped into the doorway, “this is a personal request from Ambassador Fawzi. He is sitting in his limousine down there,” Kamal pointed toward the street. “He would like to have a few words with you, that is all.”

  Barnett paused. He was skeptical, but he could not think of any other reason for these two bananas to be at his front door at this hour. “The Ambassador? Uh, sure, I guess so. Let me get my shoes.”

  He turned to walk back into the apartment and noticed the Egyptian followed him into the hall. “I will wait,” Kamal said with a wooden smile. Barnett slipped on his shoes and picked up his jacket, credentials, and holstered Glock, but Kamal reached out and took the pistol from his hand as effortlessly as if he was taking a toy from a child. Kamal’s other hand quickly squeezed the pockets of Barnett’s jacket to make sure they were empty. He gave him back the jacket, but not the Glock.

  More surprised than angry, Barnett snapped. “What the hell is this?”

  “As I said, this is a personal request from our Ambassador. Unfortunately, we have a security routine we go through, much as your people do. We will not be long, only a few minutes,” he said. “Then you may have it back.”

  “All right, but don’t push your luck,” Barnett told him, fuming.

  Kamal nodded politely, but even his phony smile was gone. Barnett strode confidently out the door, with Gamal ahead of him and Kamal close behind. There was no sense in trying to get away from these two. They had him boxed in, but why try? He had done nothing to aggravate the Egyptian government — at least nothing of which he was aware. If the Ambassador really was downstairs, he would look like an ass if he tried to resist. If the Ambassador wasn’t there, then the street was his best chance anyway. One thing he was sure of, he was not getting into any car unless he saw a face that he knew inside the car.

  Outside, the night air was cool. As they walked the hundred feet to the long, black Mercedes limousine, he saw the unmistakable small flag of the Arab Republic of Egypt on the fender and a diplomatic license plate on the bumper. Well, Barnett thought, if this is a setup, these guys are on one hell of a budget.

  Kamal opened the rear door and stood aside. “The rear seat, please,” he said as Gamal went around and got in the driver’s seat. Barnett stuck his head inside and paused until he saw the familiar face of the Egyptian Ambassador sitting on the far side of the rear seat, staring back at him, so he got in. Kamal got in behind him and took the jump seat across from Barnett.

  “Do not mind Kamal’s rather intimidating manner,” the Ambassador said. “He is only doing his job. After all, he does not know what a good friend you really are.”

  Barnett did not know what to make of that, so he kept quiet. There was the faintest undercurrent of anger in the Ambassador’s voice — faint, but it was there. Worse, he heard the sharp Click! of the electronic door lock next to him. There was no button on the inside of the door, he noticed. It must be controlled by Gamal, the driver, who immediately dropped the big limousine into gear and slowly drove off down the street.

  The Ambassador did not wait long for the inquisition to begin. “Agent Barnett, I hope you will excuse my disturbing you at this early hour, but it was important that we speak without any further delay.” Sitting in the far corner as he was, the Ambassador appeared to be a small man, like Mouse. His voice sounded thoughtful and precise. Barnett remembered that Mouse liked him and said the Ambassador was a serious man with one of the best diplomatic minds in town. He was not someone to take lightly or sling bullshit at, not if you didn’t want to be chopped and diced into very small pieces.

  “Do you mind telling me what is this all about, Ambassador Fawzi?” Barnett asked

  “A little conversation, that is all. Mustapha Khalidi told me that you were a very witty conversationalist, so I thought I would have you amuse me for a while,” he said as he turned back and locked his eyes on Barnett’s. Even across the back seat, the American could feel a wave of anger radiating out at him, like the heat from the door of a slowly opening blast furnace. “From Khalidi’s many comments,” the Ambassador continued. “I assumed the two of you had become good friends.”

  “No question,” Barnett replied, looking directly at him. “Mouse — which is the name I jokingly call him — is really top notch, both personally and professionally. I like him and I respect him, and you should be very proud of the work he is doing for you.”

  “Mouse?” the Ambassador paused to reflect on the name for a moment, before he pulled a leather cigar case from his inside jacket pocket. Choosing a slim panatela, he offered one to Barnett. “Cuban. Care for one?”

  “No, thanks,” Barnett smiled.

  “I won’t report you, you know,” the Ambassador said as he bit off the tip. Kamal lit a wooden match and the Ambassador leaned forward to light the cigar. Above the flame, Barnett saw that Kamal’s dark eyes never left him as Fawzi spoke. “To begin, Agent Barnett, would you kindly tell me what you and Khalidi have been working on for the past few days, particularly yesterday, and what you have learned so far.”

  “I assumed he had been keeping you up to date on this Al-Bari thing,” Barnett said, surprised.

  “Oh, bits and pieces every now and then, but I would very much like to hear the entire sordid affair from you,” the Ambassador said as he sat back in the corner, opened his window an inch or so to let the smoke out, and laid his arm across the rear of the seat, waiting.

  Barnett shrugged and began. For five minutes, the Ambassador listened intently to every word. When Barnett finished, the Ambassador turned his eyes away and looked out through the side window. “So, correct me if I am wrong,” he said calmly, “but as of right now you have learned very little. You and your partner raided a so-called mosque in New Jersey that belonged to the Black Muslims, as I believe they call themselves, but that apparently yielded nothing useful. You also say that this Israeli Mossad Agent Ullman told you last night that she and Khalidi had similarly learned nothing from the IRA contact in Boston. She said they flew back here last night, that Khalidi was immediately flying on to LA, and that she would follow.”

  “I wasn’t all that happy about what they were doing, but…”

  “I want to be certain I have this correct. You are saying that she said Khalidi had already left for LA, without first contacting me, you, or asking for any local or FBI backup.”

  “Yeah, that’s what she said. Why? What’s wrong?”

  “We will get back to that,” Fawzi brushed the point aside. “But it would appear she had sufficient time to stop at her Embassy and contact her people in Tel Aviv. To everyone’s surprise, they now say our master terrorist Ibrahim Al-Bari was reportedly seen in Beirut. He may have given up and simply gone home. In any event, the trail ha
s grown quite cold and you have no idea where Al-Bari, Khalidi, or the Israeli woman are at the moment,” the Ambassador said as he turned back toward Barnett, his eyes now flashing. “Is that a fair summary so far, Agent Barnett?”

  “Uh, yes,” Barnett answered, realizing an expert was grilling him.

  “Good. So, perhaps you can shed some light on several of the finer points for me,” the Ambassador asked, slowly boring in. “It was this Israeli Colonel Ullman who told you all these things; is that correct?” He watched as Barnett nodded in agreement. “And you have not actually seen or spoken to Khalidi since they left for Boston?”

  “That’s right, not since the day before yesterday,” Barnett nodded again.

  “He hasn’t phoned or returned any of your calls since then?”

  “No, and I’ve left a bunch of voicemails.”

  “I’m sure you have. But isn’t it unusual for Khalidi to keep you so uninformed?”

  “Oh, very much so, and I’m getting worried. Hasn’t he called you or anyone else at the Embassy?”

  “No.”

  “All right, Mr. Ambassador, what’s the point of all this?”

  “Ah, the point,” the Ambassador answered as he inhaled deeply on his cigar. In its orange glow, Barnett could see the man’s dark eyes boring into him. “You see, Moustapha Khalidi was a very cautious, a very frugal man, a by-the-book man, as you Americans would call him. Why would he waste the time and money to fly here from Boston and then turn around and fly out to Los Angeles? It is a little thing, but it is most unlike him. If the trail was red hot and he flew direct, I would understand. But if he was wasting time and money sitting around Dulles Airport last night, why didn’t he waste a bit more and contact you or me?”

  “I don’t understand it either.”

  “Frankly, neither do I, Agent Barnett. And that is one of the many things that makes your story utterly preposterous. If you were a detective of any stature, you would have seen right through it.”

  “All right, what’s going on? Obviously, you know something I don’t.”

  “Obviously. But it is really quite simple,” the Ambassador said gravely. “The story you told is accurate enough, right up to the point that they spoke to that IRA chap in Boston yesterday. From that point on, it is a tissue of lies.”