“Aaron,” began Sarah, “when you were with your friend earlier, I spent some more time trying to decipher the ledger from Trieste. I tried to find something in the ledger that would validate there is a trail back to an organization in the States, like the man in Barcelona told you.”
“So, what did you find?”
She leaned over and opened a drawer of the heavy wood cocktail table, pulled out the ledger, and turned pages. She placed the open ledger on the couch between them. “Look at this.” She pointed to an entry written in Arabic halfway down the page. “Here. This reads Amriki Abd Al-Rashid.”
Aaron looked at the entry on the ledger. “Amriki means American.”
“Yes. And Abd Al-Rashid translates to ‘servant of the rightly guided,’ whatever that means.”
Aaron rubbed his chin as he looked at the ledger entry.
“If I’m reading this right, it looks like Amriki Abd Al-Rashid was on the payment end of this transaction, not the receiving end.”
“What?”
“Aaron, I think what this transaction tells us is that an American moved $50,000 to the owner of this ledger.”
“So an American is paying the ISIS financier for something? A service or product?”
“That’s what it looks like,” answered Sarah.
“Can you tell if there is an account number?”
“There is, but it’s incomplete. The routing number doesn’t include the bank code.”
“Can you tell where the money was transferred to?” Aaron asked.
“It’s the same. The routing number does not include the bank code. But I had an idea.” Sarah reached for her shoulder bag and found her checkbook. She compared the routing number of her account to the numbers in the ledger. “Aaron, this isn’t a direct match because some of the numbers in the ledger are missing, but I think it could be a Bank of America account.”
“Are there more transactions like this in the ledger?”
“One every month.”
“Son of a bitch,” Aaron replied. “Well then. I think we should assume the money transfer was from a US bank, possibly Bank of America. It’s not much to go on, but it’s something. I’ll bring this up when I meet with Stafford tomorrow.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
WASHINGTON, DC
SATURDAY JUNE 25TH
9:15 A.M.
Stafford was seated on a gray composite park bench on an impeccably manicured lawn at the end of pier six at the Columbia Island Marina. He wore brown cargo shorts and a blue, button-down shirt. He faced the yacht basin bordered by Jefferson Davis Highway on the other side of the lagoon and the Pentagon on the hill beyond the highway.
Aaron approached from behind. “So which one is yours?”
Stafford took a sip of coffee from a Styrofoam cup. “It’s the blue and white Catalina in berth six.”
“Looks pretty big. How many people do you need to sail her?”
“She’s forty-two feet long and displaces twenty thousand pounds. I can pilot her alone if I need to.”
“Never would have figured you for a sailor,” Aaron replied. “In the wars you seemed more comfortable doing HALO jumps and QRFs. Sailing seems pretty serene for a guy like you.”
“I guess there are just some things you can’t figure about a person,” Stafford said. “For example, since you brought up the wars, let’s talk about that. Back then, you were in charge and the whole team trusted you with our lives. We knew if we did what you asked, you had our back. Just like back then, we’re supposed to work as a team. So I never would have figured you would throw me under the bus while I have been trying to lobby in your interest. Never would have figured you would go off the reservation and think you can disregard orders and take justice in your own hands.”
Aaron felt his heart rate increase.
“Dammit, Aaron,” Stafford barked. “What you’ve done has put the Council under a spotlight. I specifically told you not to go after the UAE colonel in Paris.”
“And I didn’t!” Aaron exclaimed.
“Don’t try to bullshit me, Aaron. I’ve had your back on this and you haven’t listened to me!”
“Look, Nigel, I’m telling you the fucking truth. I went back to that bastard’s villa to beat the crap out of him and I probably would have killed him. Nigel, the fucker was dead by the time we got there.”
Stafford’s eyes narrowed and he cocked his head.
“The side door was ajar and I went in, loaded and combat ready. Inside the door, his muscle was already down. Two of them. One-shot kills. They probably never saw it coming. Same goes for the colonel and his two companions we found upstairs. Whoever took them didn’t give them a chance.”
“Who the hell?’
“Damned if I know, but I think we were set up. Sarah told me someone followed her from the colonel’s villa back to our hotel. They were probably watching us the whole time.”
“Did you get a look at who followed you?”
“No.”
“This is out of control,” Stafford said as he rubbed his forehead. “What the hell is happening here?”
“I don’t know, bro. I don’t know. But what I do know is I can’t walk away. Look, Sarah found some stuff in the ledger that might prove there is an American connection and that might help unravel this. There are several large transactions in the ledger that appear to have been transferred from an account at a US bank to Fadi Asadel’s account. In fact, one every month.”
“And how does the ledger show this?” asked Stafford.
“There are partial bank account numbers in the ledger. There’s nothing definitive but Sarah thinks they may be tied to an account with Bank of America. Look, the recruiter in Barcelona told me someone in the United States was supporting their operation and that there was a cell in America planning something big. We need someone to trace these account numbers,” Aaron explained. “Maybe we can make a connection and stop something before it happens.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” replied Stafford. “Give me the ledger.”
“Not gonna happen, my friend. I’m keeping the ledger.” Aaron handed Stafford a slip of paper where Sarah had transcribed the account numbers and noted the dates of the transactions.
“Fine. We’ll do it your way,” answered Stafford as he placed the paper in his pocket. Then he touched Aaron’s forearm. “But dude, you have to lay low. You’ve left a trail of dead bodies and the Council has been getting a lot of heat. They haven’t sanctioned what you’re doing. Look, I took a butt-load of shit from the VP for calling in a cleaning crew for you in Paris. The Council has made it very clear I cannot intercede on your behalf if anything goes south. Add to that, I’m on the docket to brief the Judicial Committee on Monday. They’re going to drill down on this and I’ll be under oath. Shit man, if they open an investigation, that could lock down all of the Council’s operations until the investigation is completed.”
“I don’t understand that,” Aaron said. “This is exactly the kind of operation the Council has authorized in the past and should authorize now. What has changed?”
“I don’t really know very much. All I can say is the president and vice president have had to answer a lot of questions from the Senate Judiciary Committee on Terrorism.”
“So what?” Aaron replied.
“Fuck, Aaron, it’s politics!”
“Just what the hell does that mean?”
“Look,” answered Stafford, “the next election is three years away. The president will not be able to run again and Vice President Patterson wants to be the party’s nominee for president and he believes Senator Walsh, who is the chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee, is a key endorsement he needs to win the nomination.”
“And Walsh is the one on the Judiciary that’s pushing back,” Aaron finished the sentence. “Fuck! This is a righteous mission and I’ve been hung out because of politics.”
Aaron gazed at the large American flag gently flapping in front of the north entrance of the Pentagon. �
��I gotta go.” He stood.
“Where to?” asked Stafford.
Aaron turned toward him. “London.”
“What’s in London?”
“Buckingham Palace,” Aaron replied sarcastically.
“Aaron,” cautioned Stafford, “lay low. For your own sake.”
“Yeah,” Aaron answered. “See you around.” He walked away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
LONDON, GREAT BRITAIN
SUNDAY, JUNE 26TH
11:20 A.M.
Alight rain fell as Aaron and Sarah exited the iconic black taxi in front of the flat Sarah owned in the Kensington area. Aaron stood with his backpack slung over one shoulder and roller bag in hand and looked left then right along the immaculate Harcourt Terrace. Upscale buildings that dated to the 1860s lined both sides of the street. The street was cobblestone and the sidewalk was comprised of perfectly cut slate. Small Eurocars were parked bumper-to-bumper on the street but the rows also included an impressive array of Bentleys, Jaguars, Porsches, and even a few Ferraris.
Aaron’s gaze wandered between the three-story façades of the Victorian-style mews houses with bright-colored doors and small, second story balconies, each with a window box that sat atop the thirty covered entrances. Each balcony was adorned with similar potted ficus trees and leafy climbing plants. This is like a scene from Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens.
“You own this?” Aaron asked.
Sarah stood with her stylish leather Beau Backpack slung over one shoulder and one hand on her hip. She turned toward Aaron with a wide, open-mouth smile and glittering eyes. “Yes. I own the two bedroom flat on the first floor.” She pulled her bag off her shoulder and while she reached in for the keys exclaimed, “Aaron, I love this place!”
Sarah leapt up the six-step stairway two at a time and unlocked the front door. Inside the foyer was a stairway leading to the second and third levels and a short hallway with polished hardwood floors that led to Sarah’s flat. Aaron followed as she quickly walked over to the couch in the living area, threw her bag on the dining table, and fell into the couch and kicked off her sandals.
Sarah’s eyes were closed as she let her head sink into the large couch pillow. “This is home for me. This is where I grew up.” She opened her eyes and propped herself on her elbows as she turned her head toward Aaron. “Grandma slept in the suite at the end of the hall and my room was across the hall from the bath.” Sarah let her head fall back into the pillow. “I’m so happy we came here.”
“I’m going to look around.”
The flat was situated on a raised ground floor. Throughout the flat were hardwood floors, high ceilings, and large windows that provided excellent light during the day, but Aaron was concerned the large windows could be an approach for intruders.
He started his walk-around in the master suite at the end of the hall. The ground floor was situated about four feet above the sidewalk. The large windows that faced the sidewalk also had heavy wood inside shutters that, when secured, would be a strong deterrent to anyone trying to break in. The second bedroom off the hallway was internal and had no windows.
The recently refurbished kitchen and living area were in the same room. The back of this area was separated from a large outside deck by a glass wall with sliding patio doors on either side. Aaron stood in the center of the room and studied the glass wall. There’s the vulnerability. And it’s bad. That is the only way a team could ingress and if they get inside, we’re trapped. No way out.
Aaron opened the patio door on the left and stepped outside onto the deck. The deck stepped down to a small brick courtyard area separated from the patios of the adjacent apartments on the left and right by a substantial and tall, red brick wall. The back side of the courtyard was a garage with one black metal door. He felt the ledge above the door and found a plastic key box that contained the key to the garage door. This won’t be allowed anymore. He smirked as he unlocked and opened the door, then stepped in.
It was damp and musty inside. Aaron noticed an electronic garage door opener push button on the wall next to the door and pressed it. He was pleasantly surprised when it opened quietly and an overhead light illuminated. Someone must be maintaining this when she’s not here.
Tightly fit in the garage was a vehicle with a canvass car cover over it. Aaron walked over and pulled back the cover and found a highly polished, new model silver Jaguar F-Coupe. Son of a bitch! He smiled. Beautiful. Like the ad says, unyielding power meets undeniable sophistication.
He pulled the cover back over the Jaguar and returned to the living area. Sarah stood in front of a granite kitchen island with her back toward him preparing a cappuccino with a Nespresso coffee maker.
“I love the Jaguar,” Aaron said as he closed the patio door.
Sarah turned sideways and spoke over her shoulder, “Would you like a cappuccino?”
“Yeah, that’d be great. We lost a few hours’ sleep on the flight over. I can use the jolt.” Aaron walked over and stood next to Sarah and asked, “When was the last time you were here? Everything looks clean and well-maintained.”
“It’s hard to believe I have been so busy in New York that it’s been almost two years since I was last here. Luckily, I have a man that comes here twice a week to take care of everything. He’s very reliable.”
“Does he take care of maintenance of the Jag?” Aaron asked.
The Nespresso machine screamed and sputtered as the cappuccinos poured into the two cups and the aroma of fresh coffee permeated the area.
“Yes,” replied Sarah as she handed Aaron his cup. She smiled broadly, then said, “Aaron, this is the happiest I’ve been since we were in Vienna.”
Aaron set his cup down on the counter and put his arms around her. “I’m happy too.”
They stood and embraced with Sarah’s head on Aaron’s chest for a full three minutes, then Aaron gently pushed her back and with his hands on her shoulders and said, “I have some concerns about the security of this unit. But we can talk about that later.”
They spent the rest of the day shopping for groceries at the small market a few blocks from the flat. As they walked there and back, Sarah pointed out the small park where she played when she was growing up. She stopped and talked to a few people she knew, mostly older folks who were parents of her childhood friends, all of whom had moved away as they developed careers and families of their own.
Back in the flat they prepared beef stew and a blueberry walnut salad for dinner that they paired with an eighteen-year-old Chateauneuf. They sat across from each other at the dining table.
“I can’t stop thinking about my meeting with Stafford a few days ago,” Aaron said as he poured Sarah a second glass of wine. “I still can’t understand why the Council won’t sanction this. These people are evil!” He poured more wine in his glass. “I’m used to working outside of what is normally considered legal, but I always knew the Council and, by extension, the president, had my back. Now I don’t know who I can trust. The president has never let politics dictate his actions when it comes to protecting America and I know these people are planning to do something very bad that will shock the world.”
Sarah reached over the table and put her hand over his. “Then let’s stop them. Let’s find the link in London.”
* * *
Aaron woke early on Monday morning and walked to an electronics store near the Earl’s Court Underground station. He purchased four inexpensive motion sensors that could be paired with his iPhone. He then returned to Sarah’s flat and spent most of the day positioning and connecting the sensors in hidden locations around the small patio between the garage and the sliding glass doors at the back of the flat.
Sarah stayed occupied with laundry and a little housekeeping and spent some time on the phone with her financial manager. She stepped out on the deck as Aaron kneeled over a sensor he had placed at the foot of the steps up to the deck. “What have you been working on all day?” she asked.
He looked over his
shoulder. Sarah wore black yoga shorts that emphasized her long legs and a loosely fit beige camisole. Her hair was in a ponytail. Aaron gazed at her quietly and smiled.
“Well?” she asked as she took a few steps closer. “What are you doing?”
“I’m just setting up a few motion sensors. If anyone tries to break in through the back doors, these will give us a little more reaction time.”
Sarah scrunched up her forehead and raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. “Whatever,” she said. “I thought I would log on the computer and see if I can dig up anything on ISIS recruiting in London. I have no doubt I’ll find something.”
“You’re sure about this?” Aaron asked as he stood and turned to face her.
Sarah bit her upper lip and tilted her head. She placed the palms of her hands on her thighs and replied, “Yes, Aaron. I do want to do this.”
“Okay.” He set down a screwdriver he had used to install the sensor. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. I just need to finish up here.”
The MacBook was on the kitchen island counter so Aaron sat in a high-top chair next to Sarah. She had already sent a few tweets and used the name @confusedandconflicted. She made up a cover story that implied she was a young woman struggling to balance her Egyptian heritage with her British life. One tweet she wrote read #embarrassed that father will not let me wear hijab. Another tweet read #feeling hurt because friend joined the British army and is happy to go to Syria to fight against ISIS.
After only a few hours, she received a tweet from someone named Agreen. The tweet from Agreen referenced a planned leafleting rally for the London Muslim Sisters scheduled for eight thirty in front of the Burger King at Leicester Square. A second tweet from Agreen suggested this rally could be the beginning of a journey to leave London and travel to Syria “for it is the best land of Allah’s people.”
Sarah read the tweets from Agreen and she turned her gaze toward Aaron. “Have you read these?”
The Monroe Decision Page 14