“About Rachel Ullman?”
“Yes, about their Mossad Colonel,” he said, shaking his head. “You know, I understand Al-Bari. I understand Arazi, and I understand that worthless IRA trash in Boston. I even understand you, Agent Barnett, but I do not understand her. Why would she kill Moustapha?”
“I’ve been asking myself that question ever since you told me what happened at the airport. You are right; she did it.”
“And she never would have done it without orders or at least permission from Tel Aviv. You know how these things work. They knew, they approved it, or they ordered it.”
“When I spoke to her by phone last night, she said she had talked to Tel Aviv. They told her Al-Bari had been seen in Beirut. At the time I thought that was crazy, but it meant she talked to them — to someone.”
“Clearly, something happened.” He turned to Gamal and said, “Get the Israeli Ambassador on the phone for me. And get us a helicopter in Newport News.”
Gamal disappeared into the Gulfstream’s cockpit for a few minutes, and then returned carrying the phone, with his hand over the mouthpiece. “I have the Israeli Embassy’s Duty Officer on the line. He says his Ambassador has already left for Yorktown for the speech.”
“Oh, this just gets better and better,” Fawzi groaned. “Tell him it is a matter of utmost importance that his Ambassador phone me immediately. Immediately! Tell him it is a matter of war and peace. They know I am not prone to hyperbole, so that should work.”
Seven minutes later, the call came through. “Yuri, this is Fariq Fawzi. I am afraid a major problem has come up, which involves one of your people. Yes, I know this is a bad time, but I’m trying to keep it from becoming infinitely worse. You know that I am not an alarmist, or one who tends to exaggerate. That said, permit me to lay out some facts, and then we shall figure out what we need to do.”
It took Fawzi two minutes to give his Israeli counterpart a concise, unemotional recitation of the facts. “I would not make accusations like that if we did not have incontrovertible evidence that they are true. Time is critical. We believe your Colonel Ullman called her people in Tel Aviv last evening. Can you check your records and find out if that is true, and to whom she spoke? Yes, please call me back.”
Fawzi hung up, turned to Barnett, and shrugged.
Three minutes later, the phone rang. Fawzi picked it up and said, “Allow me to put you on the speaker, Yuri.”
“Speaker? Who else is there, Fariq?” Barnett heard the Israeli ask.
“One of my people and Edward Barnett. He is an FBI Agent who has been helping me. He can be trusted, and we may need their help.”
“I would rather it… ah, never mind, you are right. It is too late to worry about such things. Look, Fariq, I do not claim to understand what is going on, or what she was up to. She was working above my head, directly with Tel Aviv, and was not the type who welcomed questions,” he said as they heard papers being flipped in the background. “Yes, here it is. She came through security at 18:34 yesterday and logged into the communication center a few minutes later. A special, secure line was opened for her to Tel Aviv at 18:41, and she rang off at 19:33.”
“Do you know to whom she spoke?” Barnett asked.
“Yes… But tell me why you need to know?”
“She and Moustapha Khalidi, my Chief of Security, had been in Boston together apparently interrogating an IRA chief whose body was later discovered there. They returned together to Dulles at 5:30. She apparently rushed back to your Embassy to make the call to Tel Aviv. Khalidi had booked a ticket on the next flight to Newport News, which was to leave at 10:25. She told Barnett that she and Khalidi were headed for Los Angeles. Obviously, that was a lie, because she boarded a flight to Tel Aviv at 9:57, and Khalidi’s body was found in a storeroom near his gate at 12:15. Those are facts. Whoever she spoke to either ordered or approved her killing my Chief of Security, Khalidi. Now, whom did she talk to?”
“It was a most unusual call, Fariq. She used our new, specially encrypted teletype machine, and then had several ‘eyes-only’ exchanges with General Gershon.”
“The Director of Mossad,” Ambassador Fawzi sighed. “My God.”
“If it was teletype, is there a paper copy of what was said?” Barnett asked.
“No, no hard copy or recording of any kind. It is used for very secure communications.”
“I worked with Colonel Ullman for the past week, Sir,” Barnett jumped in. “She’s a tough, capable, and short-tempered woman, but she is never out of control. Whatever she did, she was following someone’s orders.”
There was a long pause at the other end, until the Israeli Ambassador finally replied, “Fariq, I must call my Prime Minister. I’m sure you understand.”
“I hoped you would, Yuri. We must know the truth. Where are you now?”
“Williamsburg. We came down for some meetings and for Wagner’s speech later.”
“Well, you will have company, my friend. The terrorist whom my people have been hunting — the one your Colonel Ullman has decided to protect for some inexplicable reason — he is there too. Wagner is his target, and he has a weapon that will blow the reviewing stand into a million pieces.”
“Surely you are joking, Fariq.”
“By now, you should know that I have no sense of humor when it comes to terrorists, Yuri. After I ring off, I am calling the Americans. I will try to get Wagner to cancel.”
“I hope you are successful, Fariq.”
“I hope so, too, Yuri, because if I am not, I will be sitting up there on that reviewing stand right next to you.”
As the Gulfstream GV raced south at top speed, it took Ambassador Fawzi fifteen minutes to get the American Chief of Staff on the line and another five to arrange a hurried meeting with President Wagner in Williamsburg.
“I hate to impose on old friendships, Mr. Nevers, but I would not ask if it were not critical. I need five minutes, no more.”
“I know you wouldn’t, Mr. Ambassador, but…”
“And I know it is not necessary for me to bring up the assistance we provided you in the Syrian, Libyan, and recent Cairo difficulties.”
“No, it is not necessary, Mr. Ambassador.”
“Unfortunately, this is another of those times. I will be there in thirty minutes.”
After a long pause, the Chief of Staff said, “In thirty minutes. All right. The Lightfoot House in Williamsburg.”
“We will be arriving in a helicopter. Please clear us to land, Ernie.”
“Will do, Mr. Ambassador. I’ll meet you on the pad myself.”
While he was waiting, he flipped the intercom. “Kamal, re-route us to Newport News. I believe that is the closest airport to Williamsburg where we can land this thing?”
“Yes, Sir. We should be wheels down in… twenty-four minutes. And I have a helicopter arranged.”
That was when the jet’s telephone rang with the Chief of Staff on the line. “All right, Mr. Ambassador, I got you your five minutes. This better be good.”
Twenty minutes later, as they taxied up to the General Aviation Terminal at Patrick Henry Airport in Newport News, a red and white Bell 206A Jet Ranger helicopter sat on the adjacent helipad. It was the upgraded and popular civilian model of the old US Army ‘Huey’. The Ambassador, his two bodyguards, and Eddie Barnett exited the Gulfstream, while Kamal quickly scribbled his name on a clipboard-full of rental forms and handed the attendant a gold American Express Card. The Ambassador and Barnett climbed into the rear of the helicopter, as Gamal pulled a heavy blue canvas bag from the hold of the jet and threw it in the back of the helicopter with them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Yorktown, Friday, October 19, 11:00 a.m.
Few places in the world are lovelier than Williamsburg, Virginia, on an autumn morning when the golds and reds are on full display. That is, unless you are chasing terrorists and are too busy to notice. Eight minutes after taking off from Patrick Henry Airport, their red and white Bell Jet Ranger h
elicopter landed on the Secret Service’s makeshift heliport on the 18th fairway of Colonial Williamsburg’s Golden Horseshoe golf course. Kamal parked it across from four heavily armed US Army Apache attack helicopters and down the line from two white and dark blue VH-3D Sikorsky “Sea King” helicopters with the Presidential Seal on the doors. Security was tight. Over a dozen uniformed MPs and as many more Secret Service agents in civilian clothes surrounded the cordoned-off helipad. For one day at least, golf would be limited to a seventeen-hole round, Barnett thought, and the public was kept well away from the machines.
They were expected. The President’s Chief of Staff, Ernie Nevers, ducked under the revolving blades as soon as the Jet Ranger touched ground. He opened the helicopter’s side door to greet them and lead them away. “The President is waiting, Mr. Ambassador.”
“I truly appreciate it, Mr. Nevers; I do.”
One advantage of commandeering the 18th fairway is that it is only a few boxwood hedges and white picket fences away from the Lightfoot House. Nevers hustled them through the thick security cordon into the colorful flower gardens and crape myrtles to the impeccably restored, two-story brick colonial home now used exclusively for VIP guests. As he opened the rear door, Nevers scowled at Barnett and made a move to prevent him and Kamal from tagging along, but the Ambassador quickly put that to an end. “They are with me,” he said as he motioned for Barnett and Kamal to follow him in.
In the parlor, President Wagner was standing looking out the front window as he talked on the phone. The Secretary of State, the Director of the FBI, and the Director of the Secret Service stood in the opposite corner, face to face, quietly arguing. When the Director saw Barnett, his eyes narrowed as he broke away and crossed the room. His lips formed a thin, plastic smile as he put his hand on Barnett’s shoulder and steered him away from the others. “After that pizza stunt,” he whispered, “if you mess this thing up, Barnett, I swear I will personally bury you, I kid you not!”
Barnett looked at him and smiled as the President ended his call and joined them, his eyes quickly appraising Barnett with amused interest. “Agent Barnett, I’ve heard a few stories about you. I'll bet you drive the Director nuts.”
“Nah, this is the day of the new Bureau, Mr. President. He just loves us 'free thinkers' ”
The President smiled. “Yeah, a real pain in the ass, all right… Well, keep it up.”
Wagner's smile faded as he turned to the Egyptian Ambassador.
“Fariq, I want to thank you again for the help you and your government gave us on the Libya thing, and Syria. Frankly, it bought you a lot of goodwill this morning, at least from me,” he said as he glanced at the others. “And I wanted to tell you personally how truly sorry I am about your man Khalidi. I phoned his father, and I want to reassure you that we will stop at nothing to find whoever is responsible.”
“Thank you, Mr. President, but it isn't the dead that I am worried about at the moment. It is you. You know about this madman and the mortar. Please, you must cancel your speech. You must not give Ibrahim Al-Bari the opportunity.”
“That I cannot do, Fariq.”
“He isn't exaggerating the risk, Sir,” Barnett joined in.
“I know that, Agent Barnett, but I will not cave to a terrorist. I can’t do that. The speech is too important.”
“I understand,” Ambassador Fawzi implored him. “I heard the same thing from Sadat that day. If you will not cancel, then you must at least let us help. If anything does go wrong, my country will be blamed.”
Wagner thought it over for a moment, not liking any of the alternatives he had. “All right, I see the problem and we owe you that much. Barnett here can work with you and be our official liaison. I hear he has already been doing that, and that’s fine. It'll keep it all legal,” Wagner said and turned his eyes on both the FBI and Secret Service Directors. “Make the arrangements, gentlemen. I want them part of it. Full cooperation, understood!”
The others were not happy, but they nodded their agreement.
“We have our own helicopter,” the Ambassador added.
“And it would be useful to have a Secret Service liaison, too,” Barnett added. “I’ve worked with Frank Daniels before.”
“Fine, get it cleared, guys,” he said pointedly to the others as they quietly steamed. “But the gas is on your dime, Fariq. Keep me posted through Ernie Nevers here. You too, Agent Barnett. Now, go catch that bastard!”
“Yes, Sir!” the chorus replied, and they were escorted out the rear door. Waiting on the rear steps with two Secret Service agents was Charlie Wisniewski in an ‘FBI’ emblazoned blue windbreaker.
“How the hell did you get here?” Barnett asked, surprised.
The Ambassador shook Barnett’s hand and said, “You will take Kamal with you. He can fly the helicopter, and you can depend on him. Gamal will stay here with me.” Turning to Kamal, he locked his eyes on the big man and added, “You know what is expected.”
Kamal rendered a crisp bow of the head.
Frank Daniels tried to ignore it, but the telephone on his desk continued to blink with an incoming call, whether he wanted it or not. Finally, he decided he needed a break from the incessant argument swirling around the makeshift office, and picked up the receiver. “Field Operations, Daniels speaking,” he said, with no enthusiasm.
“Frank, this is Eddie Barnett…”
“Oh, Jeez,” Daniels groaned. “Look, I’m already up to my ass in alligators down here, and the last thing I need…”
“I know, Frank, I know. Look, I’m sorry, but it’s…”
“Sorry! Christ, Eddie, POTUS is here, the Director, and all the goddamned DC Protection people came down with him. That’s a major pain in my ass, and everybody’s on high alert.”
“I know. I just met with him, Frank.”
“Him?... Who ‘him?’… Barnett?”
“POTUS — the Prez, Wagner, plus your boss, my boss, and the Chief of Staff. I came with the Egyptian Ambassador. It was a small room, and I don’t think they could have fit anyone else in there. Anyway, Wagner assigned you to be our liaison. Your boss should be calling you any minute now.”
“My boss? Barnett! I haven’t got time for your stupid jokes right now,” Daniels growled, as the next incoming line on his phone suddenly lit up, and then the next light, and then the one after that. Daniels could only stare at them. “Wait one,” he said as he punched the next line. “Field Operations, Daniels… Yes, Sir… Yes, Sir… Barnett, FBI? Yeah, I know him, but… Yes, Sir, the second I know anything… Sir?” but Daniels found himself talking into a dead line. Finally, he punched the light for Barnett’s line. “What the hell did you…?”
“Frank, I needed someone with Secret Service clout to open doors.”
“What? Wagner isn’t big enough, so you decided to pick on me, again?”
“Al-Bari’s going for Wagner, today, here in Yorktown,” Barnett said, figuring the direct approach was the best way to get Daniels’s attention.
“If this is the guy from Dulles, we’ve got his description. He’ll never get anywhere near Wagner, believe me!”
“He doesn’t have to. He’s got a mortar, one of those big four-point-two-inch ones.”
“A Four-Deuce? God! I fired one of those monsters down at Benning once.”
“And he’s got a dozen rounds of ammunition to go with it. We land in Yorktown in five minutes. One other thing though, we think he’s driving an old car with Massachusetts plates pulling a U-Haul trailer. That is where we think the mortar and stuff are. Now, can you get us in to see your site protection people.”
“Okay, okay… but Eddie?”
“What?”
“You damn well better be right about this. If you aren’t, you can help me look for another job. ”
“Agent Barnett, on behalf of the Secret Service, we really do appreciate your efforts,” Special Events Detachment Chief Martin Marchetti said with a plastic smile. “And we do want to thank the Bureau for keeping us updated
about this plot against the President. The tip you passed on to Daniels about a car and a U-Haul trailer with Massachusetts plates could be big, very big. We have an APB out on it and if it moves anywhere on the East Coast, we’ll know. However, your coming all the way down here from Washington just wasn’t necessary.” As he turned toward Daniels, Kamal, and Charlie, his stare changed to a well-calculated blend of hostility and arrogance. “Naturally we will appreciate whatever thoughts the Bureau can offer, but I assure you we have this situation well under control.”
Despite the White House phone calls, Barnett was not surprised by the less than warm reception. Like every other agency, the Secret Service guarded their prerogatives jealously, and it was what Daniels had warned him to expect. The Secret Service established their Yorktown command post in the historic Moore House on the edge of the battlefield near a large field they used for their own helicopters. It had not been hard to find. As they flew in, Barnett could see the huge crowds pouring in from all directions. Beginning six or seven miles away, they saw the large fringe parking lots, traffic jams, and the roadblocks. The last five miles were clear of everything but buses and official vehicles. Even Barnett began to wonder why they came.
Barnett smiled and tried again with the Secret Service agent. “If you check with your Director…”
“Oh, I’ve done that, Agent Barnett. I’m sure half the people in the building have been told to make nice with you.”
“Look, Mr. Marchetti, we’re all professionals here. You guys are first class and I wouldn’t presume to suggest how you should do your job.” He noticed Marchetti shift a little and roll his eyes. “We’re not here to get in your way, but Agent Wisniewski and I have been tracking Ibrahim Al-Bari for most of the past week. He’s a major player — smart, experienced, and determined. We thought it might be useful if we were here in case some question came up. ”
Aim True, My Brothers Page 24
