The voices of protest were silenced by Abdi’s argument. They all had friends who had never come back from a raid because of the navy ships that patrolled the area. Abdi was right, it was better to be alive.
Chapter 16
New York City
Monday. The worst day of the week. From the time a person is old enough to start school until the day that person retires, Mondays are never good. On most Monday mornings, Casey joined the rest of the American populace in a ritual moan as one more work week in a seemingly endless cycle of work weeks—sixty years-worth most likely, thanks to modern medicine—was about to begin. But this Monday morning was different. This Monday morning, Casey was glad to be going to work.
After Susan left his place Sunday evening, Casey tried to finish watching Raylan Givens handing out some hardcore Kentucky justice, but he couldn’t concentrate. In the end, he turned off the television, dumped out the rest of his unfinished beer, and went to bed.
He had hoped the darkness and relative quiet would allow him to block out the conversation he and Susan had just concluded an hour earlier, and he would stop being angry. Thirty minutes after he closed his eyes, his throbbing headache and the pulsating pain in his nose, both consequences of Susan’s right hook, had finally started to react to the aspirin Susan gave him from her purse. He slept for ten hours.
It was just after eight when Casey arrived at the IWG offices, and he immediately went to Susan’s cubicle. He stopped at the entrance when he saw Jim Shelton sitting in the other chair with his hand on Susan’s shoulder, obviously offering his condolences. “Mornin’, sir,” Casey said, nodding to Susan.
“You look like hell,” Jim said to Casey as he stood up. “I thought you said you only got a scratch.”
Casey held up his arm and examined the bandage. “Well, it was a deep scratch, but the doctor said I’d be okay.”
“I meant your nose, smart ass.”
Casey touched the side of his nostril. Overnight, the pain had all but disappeared, but the physical size of his nose had almost doubled. “Oh, this,” he said. “That was from something else.” His eyes darted briefly to Susan, and Jim shook his head. Jim learned over the past year working with Casey that, sometimes, it was better not to ask.
“If you say so.” Jim turned back to Susan and added, “If you need anything, or if you just want to talk some more, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you,” Susan replied.
Jim had only taken one step into the passageway outside of Susan’s cubicle when he was almost knocked down by a running George Smithfield. Jim grabbed George by the shoulders to prevent the much smaller man from falling down himself. “Easy, George. Why the hell are you running?”
George tried to regain his composure and catch his breath. “Sorry, sir.”
“What is it, George?” Susan asked.
After taking a deep breath, George answered, “We just attacked Yemen.”
“Yemen?” Casey said.
“Where did you hear that?” Susan asked before George could say anything else.
George smiled, ignoring Casey to answer Susan. It was the primary reason he was running to find her. “I saw a report on Channel One. Even understood about ninety percent of it.”
“Channel One?” Jim asked.
“IRIB TV-1,” Susan answered for George. “It’s the biggest channel in Iran. Remember, we just got access to their television feed a couple of months ago so we could stay ahead of the competition?” She smiled at George, sharing in his own pride at how far he was coming along in his Farsi translating abilities.
“What are they reporting?”
George’s smile faded as his boss’ eyes bore in on him, waiting for an answer. “Um, they said...well, they didn’t have any video, I mean, except for some stock footage...but they said the United States launched cruise missiles into western Yemen late last night. They said about one hundred people were killed.” George paused before he added, “They also said most of them were farmers and their families.”
Jim looked down, thinking, and no one said anything while their cell leader processed the information. “You can probably cut the number of dead by two-thirds, given the source,” he finally said. “And if it was a cruise missile attack, that means Navy Tomahawks, probably from the Gulf of Aden. So, first we need to find out what ships or subs we had in the area, and then,” he looked around the cubicle, “we need to find out who the real target was.”
“The report said farmers,” George said.
“Of course it did,” Jim commented. “I don’t doubt some farmers were collateral damage, but I want to know who we were targeting, assuming it was the U.S. in the first place.” He looked at George. “You said western Yemen?”
“Yes, sir. That’s what the report said.”
“My bet is another attack on al Qa’ida,” Jim said. “We’ve done it with Predator drones in the past. What do you think, Casey?”
Casey was still working things out in his own mind, waiting a moment before answering. “No, sir. I don’t think al Qa’ida was the target.”
“No?”
Everyone looked at Casey, waiting for an explanation. “I think the target was al Houthi.”
* * * * *
Casey and the others moved to an open conference room where everyone could sit down. Casey asked Jim if he could invite Andie Jackson to sit in on their discussion, thinking she might be able to add something to the conversation. When Andie came in, she shut the door behind her and took a seat next to Susan.
From the head of the table, Jim said, “Alright, Casey. Let’s hear it.”
“Yes, sir.” He looked at the two women sitting across from him and then focused on Susan for a few seconds before turning to Jim. “I think the Houthi rebels play a role in our war with Iran, and attacking them was just the next step in that campaign.”
Three of the four other people sitting at the table stared blankly at Casey. Andie had heard his proxy war theory on Saturday, and she wasn’t as surprised at the assertion as the others. George was the first person to speak after Casey’s declaration. “So you’re saying we’re at war with Iran right now?”
“A proxy war,” Andie said.
Susan turned slightly to glare at Andie. How did she know what Casey was thinking? Or maybe Ms. Jackson was just being presumptuous.
“Right. A proxy war,” Casey said.
“And how is attacking al Houthi waging war on Iran?” Susan asked. Let’s see if Casey’s new best friend can answer that one, she thought.
Instead, Andie and George both asked the same question simultaneously. “Who is al Houthi?”
“They’re a tribe in northwestern Yemen who are fighting a separatist rebellion against the government there.” Casey saw the confusion on Andie’s face as well as the admiration on Susan’s. “Don’t be too impressed,” he said, directing the comment towards Susan. “I never even heard of ‘em until Friday when Bill Cogburn accused them of bombing New York. And I still didn’t know shit about them until I looked through this.” He pulled Mari’s thumb drive out of his back pocket and set it on the table.
“You have it,” Susan said, almost whispering.
“I saw it on the floor of the diner before...before we went to the hospital.”
“What’s on it?” Jim asked, reminding Casey and Susan there were three other people present.
“There’s a couple of reports about al Houthi from the Congressional Research Service—one published, one not. The first one says the group is your average run-of-the-mill oppressed people fighting a decade-long battle against a tyrannical regime, and the other one, the one that was published, says the Houthi are al Qa’ida stooges.”
“Where did they get that crap from?” Jim asked.
“Well, they didn’t really have any proof besides their proximity to known AQAP operating bases.”
“Did it mention the support they get from Iran?”
“The first one did.”
“Then I suppose you b
ased your conclusion that an attack on al Houthi was an attack on Iran because of that first report,” Jim said with a raised eyebrow.
“Not entirely,” Casey said. He knew his boss didn’t believe that Casey’s mind was so simple to concoct a conspiracy off of one piece of evidence—faulty evidence, at that. “That’s why I said the Houthi are just one part.”
“I still don’t get it,” George said.
One thing about George Smithfield that Jim Shelton admired was the man’s willingness to admit when he didn’t know something. He decided to help Casey—and George. “With the U.S. out of Iraq by the end of the year, Iran is looking to be The Big Boss of the Persian Gulf. Saudi Arabia is the only real challenge to that title, and while the Saudis are no match for Iran’s conventional military strength, they aren’t going to just let Iran have its way with them.
“So what do the Iranians do about it? They let the Houthi do their fighting for them. Just like the protestors in Bahrain or the Shi’a Saudis who live in the oil-rich Eastern Province, the Houthi are a distraction to the Sa’ud clan. The Yemeni border with Saudi Arabia is poorly defined, and often the Shiite Houthi take their troubles up with the Saudis to the north. Any Saudi military or security forces busy dealing with the rebellious Yemenis are forces Iran doesn’t have to worry about—especially if those forces are killed in the process.”
“That makes sense,” George said.
“But it still doesn’t justify concluding the U.S. launched an attack on al Houthi rebels just to make trouble for Iran. If that was the case, and we were killing everyone Iran gave guns and money to, we’d be at war with ten percent of the world’s population,” Jim said.
“It does if you use the War on Terror as your excuse,” Casey said.
“The other report.”
Casey looked at Susan. She hadn’t taken her eyes off the thumb drive since Casey put it on the table, but she had obviously been listening. “Right,” Casey said softly. He looked over to Jim who was watching Susan with concern. Casey felt he needed to explain where the thumb drive came from, even if it upset Susan. “Sir, your initial assessment of the second report was right. It is a bunch of crap. In fact, it’s a doctored version of the first report that Susan’s friend, Mariam Fahda, wrote. And when she found out about the changes, they tried to kill her for it—to keep her quiet. And now men like Senator Cogburn are basing their accusations of who committed Friday’s bombings on that report.”
Susan looked up finally. Mari came to her for help, though she never found out what her friend needed. Listening to Jim and Casey explain how Mari’s work could be manipulated to falsely justify a war made her angry, and Susan decided that clearing her friend’s name was the least she could do. She owed Mari that much. She didn’t want sympathy anymore, she wanted answers. Susan picked up the thumb drive and asked, “So what else is on here?”
Casey was glad to see Susan engaged again. He didn’t know how long it would last, but he hoped she was done mourning—at least for a while. “Besides the reports and some miscellaneous research documents, there are three folders. One has graphs and pictures used in the reports, one is empty, and the third one is password protected, so I couldn’t even see what’s inside.”
“I know someone who can get through that,” Andie said.
“So do we,” Jim said. “George, go see if Javier’s available.”
George stood up and started for the door until Andie stopped him. “My friend can have it done by tomorrow.”
George looked at Jim for direction.
“Here,” Susan said, handing Andie the thumb drive. “Javier’s good, but with his work ethic, he’ll take a week to do the job.”
“Thanks,” Andie said. She looked at Casey and asked, “So that’s all that’s on here?”
“Yes,” Casey said. “No, wait. There was this, too.” He pulled the list of names from his pocket and held it out for Andie. Susan grabbed it from Casey’s hand and unfolded it.
“It’s just a list of names,” she said.
“Do you recognize any of them?” Casey asked. “Because I sure don’t.”
Susan looked at the names again. “No,” she said and handed the list to Jim Shelton.
When Jim finished, he handed the paper back to Casey. “I’ve never heard of these names either, but see if you can match any of them to the FBI wanted list to start. And look for an al Houthi connection. Al Jensen over in Security should be able to help you out.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Even if you come up with something that ties these reports to the Tomahawk strike, you still haven’t sold me on your proxy war theory.”
“Here, sir.” Andie flipped over four pages and handed her notepad to Jim. “This is just a first draft, but I think it says what you’re looking for.”
While Jim read through the handwritten pages, Casey leaned across the table and whispered, “What is that?”
“My story,” Andie answered.
“That was fast,” Casey smiled.
“I still have some real work to do to back it up, though.”
Susan watched the exchange and said, “What are you guys talking about?”
Andie spoke up before Casey could answer. “We think Congress is trying to pressure the State Department to take Mujahideen e-Khalq off of the list of Foreign Terrorist Organizations to help fund Jondallah operations against the Iranian government.”
Susan alternated quizzical looks at Casey and then Andie. “And you two just came up with this stuff, when, Saturday?”
“It makes sense,” Andie said. “Even more so after listening to the Houthi discussion we just had.”
Susan smiled. “I agree. And nice job on pronouncing Mujahideen e-Khalq, by the way.”
“Interesting,” Jim said, breaking up the side conversation. He handed Andie back her notepad. “You make a good argument. But then, most conspiracy theories gain traction because of the strengths of their arguments—whether they’re true or not.”
“Sir, just think about it,” Casey said. “Jondallah and TTP work together on the IRGC hit, why not MeK? And the resolutions in both the House and the Senate? Add the attack in Yemen after a presidential candidate accuses al Houthi of bombing the U.S., and it all makes sense.”
“On paper, yes. But you need proof, Casey. Without any real evidence to link these things together, all you have is a theory,” Jim said. “What Andie wrote—I assume you helped her with it—it’s plausible. It even makes sense, as you said. But think about it from a politico-military perspective. Authorizing the launch of an offensive cruise missile, no matter who the target is, means this thing goes a bit higher than an outspoken member of Congress influenced by an altered CRS report. We’re talking NSC-level decision-making based on official assessments from the Director of National Intelligence.”
Casey lowered his head, already working through the problem.
“Look, I’m not saying you’re wrong, I’m just saying we have to be careful of the conclusions we make when we’re potentially implicating our entire government, or a large part of it, in something as serious as this,” Jim said. “If the U.S. is really carrying out a clandestine proxy war of the scope you’re talking about, it’s clandestine for a reason.”
“So, even if we find evidence to support the theory, you want us to bury the truth because it’s our own country we’re exposing here,” Andie said. “Is that what you’re telling us?”
“Absolutely not. I’m telling you to find the truth. But that truth better be the kind you could defend in a courtroom,” Jim said. “Look, Ms. Jackson, I know you’re new here, so I’ll say this to remind the others more than anything else.”
Jim made sure he had everyone’s attention before he continued. “In our little world here at IWG, we’re comfortable making assessments about what the president of Iran, or the prime minister of India might be up to behind the scenes. We make predictions of what the outcomes may be if those leaders follow through with their own political or military shenanig
ans. We do this, and we feel safe. Because we are.”
Susan and Casey exchanged looks, both remembering how not safe they felt after implicating Israel in the hijacking of a Finnish merchant ship.
“We’re safe because we are thousands of miles away from the countries we monitor,” Jim continued. “We have the United States military, intelligence, police, and security apparatus—the Government—to keep it that way. But this is different. This time you are making accusations from the inside. Accusations against that very government that keeps you safe and allows you to do your job without fear of reprisal.”
Everyone remained quiet, unmoving. Only George nodded his head, letting Jim know they were taking in everything he said. “So, I’ll say it again. I think there is some merit to the theory you’ve presented, but you have to have evidence—damn good evidence. My advice is to start small, and don’t try to make mountains out of mole hills. Identify the pieces that hold your theory together and go after those.” Jim looked directly at Casey. “Don’t look for a smoking gun, because you probably won’t find it.”
Chapter 17
Paul Giordano raised an eyebrow. “You’re serious?” he asked, lowering the piece of paper to his lap.
“I’m still working on hard evidence, but yes, I’m very serious.”
Giordano agreed to meet Casey Shenk after the analyst said he had some information that might be related to the Friday morning bombings. Sitting on one of the green serpentine benches in Javits Plaza, the last thing the newly promoted detective expected to hear was an elaborate theory of a secret war with Iran. “I thought you figured out the ink on that hillbilly’s neck. Instead, you hand me a piece of paper with a bunch of names on it and tell me we smoked some Arabs in Yemen. How the fuck’s that gonna help me find who killed my son?”
Casey hadn’t given the man with the satchel much thought since Saturday night. Hearing Giordano, he was reminded of the personal tragedies endured that day. Perhaps because he had no direct relationships with anyone that died as a result of the bombings, it was easy for him to move past the horror and focus on things outside of his own backyard—a reasonable, though somewhat calloused self-preservation mechanism. Unlike the saints of his Catholic upbringing, Casey thought there was too much violence in the world for him to lose sleep over every lost soul. The problem with this approach was that Casey tended not to lose sleep over any lost soul.
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