Hassan took the SIM card out of the burner phone he’d used for the two calls and put it in a zip lock bag to be tossed down a drain later. Killing the attorney was necessary, but it was the most dangerous part of the plan for him personally. He knew the attorney may have identified him by tracing the license plate on his Porsche; taking his car had been a mistake. But there wasn’t any way he could be tied directly to the youth camp or the actions of Jameel Marcus and Allah’s Sword, so far.
There was one more task to complete before he left the office. Another demand letter from Allah’s Sword needed to be prepared for the president, delivered by courier to the Israeli embassy. It was time to turn up the pressure on the White House, and the Jews were the perfect people to do that. The Jews would clearly see the hand of Iran behind the attacks, because they wanted to. When Iran was a smoldering patch of Persian sand, his ultimate mission would be accomplished.
CHAPTER 46
John Prescott was late in getting to his office Monday, after staying up past midnight reading the secret CIA file on Layla Nebit.
Now Prescott was anxiously waiting for the packet of information on Nebit he purchased from Ryan Walker. The London banker seemed to know a lot about a lot of things no one else knew. If his information supported the unsubstantiated musings of the CIA analysts, and the rumors of the lover she was keeping, he would have what he needed to break the hold she had over him. Correction, he would have what he needed to not only control her, but control to an extent what went on in the White House.
According to the CIA file, Nebit was an Islamist at heart, who hid her true religious beliefs to further her political ambitions. It was known that she was born in Egypt and that her father was a professor suspected of being a member of the Muslim Brotherhood. It was not well known, however, that her movie-star mother had had a long-standing affair with the second-ranking man in the Muslim Brotherhood while she and her husband lived in Egypt. It appeared that few people outside the CIA knew that Nebit’s real father was not the professor.
The lover Nebit entertained frequently in her expensive condo was the real dirt. He was the Muslim Brotherhood’s investment banker, with offices in London and Washington, and an Interpol file. Like the CIA file on Nebit, Interpol couldn’t confirm its suspicions about him, but they were keeping an eye on him. The CIA file, however, was more convincing of the role he played in the war on terror.
According to the CIA, Mohamed Hassan moved Brotherhood money around the world to support its activities and causes. On the surface, his actions appeared to be legal. The Muslim Brotherhood did have enormous financial holdings in a number of countries, and did make a lot of profitable investments that were entirely legal. Below the surface, evidence was piling up that the Muslim Brotherhood was the fountain from which much of the world’s terrorist activities flowed.
Mohamed Hassan was also thought to be one of the jihadi masterminds who orchestrated terrorist activity behind the scenes. He always maintained a distance from these activities, but he was believed to be the mind that created and directed those activities nonetheless.
What wasn’t clear from the CIA file was why there was nothing being done about the president of the United States closest advisor, who happened to be sleeping with the enemy. It was possible that Nebit was working with the CIA to learn what Hassan was up to, but he doubted it. He had friends in the intelligence community, and knew there was no love lost between the White House and the CIA. The president didn’t trust anyone outside the circle of his closest advisors, and rarely listened when he was briefed on matters by the CIA. When he had, the agency’s intelligence estimates had been wrong and he’d been embarrassed.
It was more likely the CIA was building a case against Nebit and her lover, so that it could use it as leverage at some later time. The same way he intended to use the information now.
At ten minutes before noon, as promised, his secretary brought him a thin packet wrapped in brown paper. It was simply addressed to John Prescott, with no return address or other markings of any kind.
Prescott waited for his secretary to leave and used the antique silver Italian stiletto he kept in his desk drawer to open all confidential mail delivered to him. Inside the brown paper was a plain manila folder with three pages copied from a dossier stamped Secret and two small photographs.
The first photograph was of a beautiful young woman, standing beside a smiling older man. The name written on the photograph next to the man identified him as Sayyed Qutb, the Egyptian theorist and philosopher whose writings created and inspired Islamist fundamentalism and inspired bin Laden. The name written next to the young woman identified her as Nebit’s mother.
So Nebit’s roots reached deep into the soil of Islamist terrorism. How in the world did she ever get a top secret clearance that allowed her to sit in on every briefing the president of the United States received?
The second photograph was of a handsome Omar Sharif-look alike in his mid-thirties, in military fatigues with an AK-47, standing next to Ayman al-Zawahiri, the current leader of al-Qaeda. The younger man was identified as Mohamed Hassan, Layla’s lover.
The three pages in the folder detailed Mohamed Hassan’s activities on behalf of the Muslim Brotherhood. They also identified Nebit’s mission in Washington. She directed various Muslim front organizations to achieve cultural jihad and impose sharia law on America.
What the information the CIA file and the packet Ryan Walker provided him didn’t answer was what connection Nebit or her lover had to Sheikh Qasseer and the jetliners that were being shot down.
Prescott left his desk and stood at his office window to think. With the information he now possessed, he could bring down the president, blackmail his closest advisor, or wind up dead, depending on how reckless he wanted to be.
Whatever he did, it would have to be done very carefully.
CHAPTER 46
When the meeting at the restaurant broke up, they each left with assignments to confirm their growing suspicions about the American Muslim Youth Camp Foundation.
Liz returned to her desk in Senator Hazelton’s office in the Dirksen Senate Office Building, five blocks away. She would direct her research staff to find any possible link between Sheikh Qasseer in Bahrain, and either the foundation or the youth camps, hopefully both. Initial filings that created the 501(c)(3) nonprofit could be accessed, as well as any of the public records for the purchase of properties for the camps across the country. She also offered to reach out to her friends at the Department of Homeland Security to see what they had on the youth camps.
Drake and Casey returned to their hotel. Casey called his IT guru, and young master hacker, at his company in Seattle to see what had been uncovered about the London bank and its account holders. He specifically wanted to know if Sheikh Qasseer had an account with the London Bank, and if the foundation received contributions from him.
“Mr. C,” Kevin said when he answered, “I was just getting ready to call you. I got into the system at the bank you mentioned. I have a list of the account holders and the withdrawals from all those accounts, if you want them.”
“Slow down, Kevin. That’s good work, but I don’t need that much right now. I want you to see if a Sheikh Qasseer has an account there. If he does, can you tell if he’s made contributions to the foundation we discussed?”
“I can’t tell where the withdrawal went, but I guess I can match the amount of the withdrawals with the contributions received by the foundation and see if they match up. Would that help?”
“That should help, Kevin, but be careful,” Casey cautioned. “This is becoming a little more complicated than I thought. How long will it take you to make the comparisons?”
“Already working on it.”
“Call me when you’re finished,” Casey said, sitting at the work desk in the hotel room he shared with Drake.
Drake was sitting on the end of his bed talking
with his father-in-law, Senator Hazelton. He wanted to let him know he was returning to Oregon the next day, and needed to ask a favor.
“Have you told your mother-in-law you’re leaving?” Senator Hazelton asked.
“I will as soon as I hang up, I promise.”
“She’ll want to see you before you leave. Are you free for dinner tonight?”
“I’m not, sorry. Liz is having me over for dinner,” Drake said.
“Maybe breakfast then, tomorrow. Did you finish your business here?”
“Yes, we’re rejecting the foundation’s offer.”
“How did that go over?”
“Not very well, actually,” Drake admitted. “Senator, is Liz in your office?”
“She’s working with her staff at the moment, why?”
“Ask her to tell you what we’ve learned about the foundation,” Drake said. “Then, if you’re comfortable helping us, I’d like to ask a favor.”
“Go ahead, I’m listening.”
“The attorney at the Prescott Group I’m dealing with met someone that Interpol believes is an operative for the Muslim Brotherhood. As the chairman of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, do you have access to any file the CIA may have on the man?”
“I can probably get a file like that,” Senator Hazelton said. “Mind telling me a little more about this person?”
“If it’s all right with you, sir, I’ll let Liz do that. There may be a link between this man, the foundation, its youth camps, and a sheikh in Bahrain. Apparently, the sheikh is on the CIA’s list of possible Iranian proxies shooting down our planes.”
“I see,” Senator Hazelton said. “Let me talk with Liz. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you, senator.”
Drake stood and stretched. “Mike, I think I’ll go down and work out before I take off to have dinner with Liz. Want to come?”
“Loosening up for the big event?”
“Don’t start that again. I haven’t had any exercise since our visit to the camp in West Virginia.”
“You could just wait until your date tonight.”
Drake started to reach for something to throw at his friend, when Casey held up his hands in surrender.
“Okay, okay,” he said. “I need to make sure my guys are ready to leave tomorrow, and find a place for dinner. They want to try some good Thai before we leave. Then I’ll come down and join you. What did the senator say?”
“He said he can probably get the CIA file on Hassan, assuming they have one. This could all be a wild-goose chase, Mike.”
“Yeah, but if it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, it probably isn’t a goose. Trust your gut. You’ve been right before.”
“Agreed, but the last couple of times I tried to get someone to act on my suspicions, it didn’t work out so well,” Drake reminded him.
“And each time, you wound up preventing bad things from happening on your own. You’ve got a good nose for things like this. That’s why I want you to take over the legal work for my company. Keep me out of trouble and have the resources to do some good when you get involved in things like this.”
“Create our own little special forces group?”
“More like a special section of one, to handle things for our clients when the government won’t.”
“Let me think about it, Mike. Right now, I just want to see if we can find out what this foundation’s up to and get home.”
“And have dinner with a beautiful woman.”
“Having dinner with a friend, who happens to be a beautiful woman,” Drake said and grinned.
CHAPTER 48
In the hotel’s fitness center, Drake ran through his stretching routine, did a light free-weight workout and hit the treadmill hard for thirty minutes. Dripping wet, he got back to his room just as Casey was leaving.
“Ron and Spencer found a Thai restaurant for dinner,” Casey reported as he tossed Drake a set of keys. “It’s supposed to be the best in D.C., so don’t worry about us not having a good meal.”
“Worrying that you wouldn’t find a place for a good meal is the last thing on my mind. What are the keys for?”
“The Tahoe we’ve been driving is low on gas, so take the other one. The Thai place is only a couple of blocks from here, so we’ll walk.”
“Where are you going?” Drake asked.
“Downstairs to the bar. Spencer’s buying beer and promising to teach me the finer points of professional hockey. I’ve never understood the game. I made the mistake of admitting it to him, after he told me he played hockey in college.”
“I don’t think I’ll be late, but don’t wait up for me.”
“Just be back before sunrise,” Casey told him with a grin. “We’re leaving for the airport right after an early breakfast.”
“You won’t let it go, will you?”
Before he stepped out the door, Casey put an arm around Drake’s shoulder and said, “Heh, you like her and she likes you. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Half an hour later, he took the stairs down to the hotel’s restaurant and selected a bottle of Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon he knew Liz liked. He left for her condo in Camden Potomac Yard, driving the second of the two rented Chevy Tahoes.
After crossing the Potomac River on the Jefferson Davis Bridge, Drake turned south on Hwy. 1 and drove on to the high-rise condominiums Liz called home. A short walk from visitor parking and a quick elevator ride to the fourth floor brought him to Unit 421, where he stood ringing her doorbell.
“Hi Adam,” she said brightly, as she opened the door and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.
She wore a white scoop-necked cashmere sweater, a pair of fitted jeans and plain leather thong sandals, and looked casually elegant.
Drake held out the wine gift bag to her. “I didn’t know what we were having for dinner, but I know you like your Napa Valley cabernets.”
“We might try it later,” she said, as she led him toward the kitchen. “I thought you might like my Maryland crab cakes with a chardonnay I picked out to go with it. Would you like a drink first?”
“Wine is fine. This is a great place, Liz,” Drake said, looking around.
Indeed it was. Twelve foot high ceilings with crown moldings, a large balcony patio at the end of the living area, and a kitchen any chef would enjoy. A soft white leather sofa faced a modern gas fireplace and the wall art featured abstract water color paintings in bright spring colors.
“It’s not as nice as the old stone farmhouse on your vineyard, but I like it. Want to pour us some wine?” she said and pointed to a stone wine cooler on the kitchen counter.
Drake poured them each a glass of chilled chardonnay and joined her on the leather sofa. A platter of smoked salmon, cucumber slices, and fresh dill on thinly-sliced rye bread sat on the glass-topped coffee table in front of them.
He took a bite of the crunchy cucumber and salmon appetizer and smiled. “I think I’m in for a treat tonight if this is any indication of how good a cook you are.”
“Thanks. I hope you like Maryland crab cakes.”
“One of my favorites.”
“Good,” she said, and then added with a slight pout, “Are you really going home tomorrow?”
“I have to get back, Liz. There’s nothing more I can do here. Congressman Rodecker’s out of the hospital and he’s safe, staying with my in-laws.”
“I know, I know. I was just hoping I could see more of you,” she said, and leaned her head over on his shoulder.
Drake smelled her light floral perfume and leaned his head down and kissed the top of her head. Her hair still carried the fresh fragrant scent of her shampoo.
When she laid her hand softly on his thigh, he felt a stirring that jolted him. He was both surprised and excited by the rush of emotion he was feeling.
“
Liz, I,” he started to say, when she reached up and put her finger on his lips.
“Let me do this,” as she slowly stood before him and then sat in his lap, straddling his legs. With her hands pressing him back in the sofa, she leaned down and kissed him gently. Her lips were soft and cool from the chilled chardonnay.
Their tongues touched lightly and then tentatively explored each other.
Drake put his hands on her waist and set her further back on his legs. Her hazel green eyes were searching his for a signal, and he knew what she was asking. Moving slowly, he slid his hands under her soft cashmere sweater and then up to her bare breasts.
Without a word, she stood and slowly took off her sweater.
“Would you like to see the view from my bedroom?” she asked.
CHAPTER 49
After a late dinner of crab cakes and a second bottle of chardonnay, Drake said goodnight and promised to call Liz before he flew home the next morning. Plans were made for her to join him there in a month for some spring skiing at Mt. Bachelor.
It was nearly midnight when he parked next to the other rented Tahoe, and walked under the blue awning into the lobby of the Savoy Suites Hotel in Georgetown. One young woman was still working at the reception desk and two of Casey’s men were sitting at the bar in the lounge.
“How was the Thai food?” he asked, when he reached them.
“Best I’ve ever had,” Spencer Reynolds, the former Recon Marine said.
“You two ever settle the argument about who’s tougher, Recon Marines or Airborne Rangers?” Drake asked, knowing the two never stopped arguing the point, whenever they had the time and a few beers.
“No argument about it, sir,” Ron Larson, the former Ranger said. “Recon can find the enemy, but then they call the Rangers in to fight them.”
Before the argument he provoked escalated, Drake left and took the stairs up to his room on the sixth floor. Casey was lying on his bed watching his favorite movie, Shooter, featuring Mark Wahlberg.
Call It Treason (The Adam Drake series Book 4) Page 16