“Sure did.” Aaron placed his fingers under his chin. He made eye contact with Sarah and she leaned closer to him and in a soft voice insisted, “Baby, I really want to do this.”
“I know you do.” He stood and pulled Sarah up with him and put his arms around her waist. Sarah draped her arms over his shoulders. “We’ll, go to Leicester,” Aaron agreed, “but just to observe. Okay?” He dipped his head and looked into her eyes.
Sarah nodded.
“After my last meeting with Stafford, I’m not sure yet how to proceed. So tonight we just watch.” Aaron pulled her close and hugged her tightly and she leaned her head on his shoulder. There was a hint of raspberry in her fragrance and he felt her breathing heavily and contentedly.
They both whispered, “I love you,” simultaneously.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
WASHINGTON, DC
MONDAY, JUNE 27TH
10:10 A.M.
Stafford was seated in an uncomfortable armless chair with a thin seat pad at the witness table adorned with a blue tablecloth. He had his classified notes laid out on the table in front of him next to a clear glass pitcher of water and tumbler. He faced the elevated bench where the three members of the Senate Judiciary Committee on Terrorism had assembled to listen to the quarterly report from the Council for Homeland Defense.
He poured a small amount of water in the tumbler, took a drink, cleared his throat, then began. “Good morning, senators.” He adjusted his eyeglasses on the bridge of his nose. “The only activity that was actionable and authorized since we last met was Operation Orthrus Hawk.” Stafford picked up a remote operating device and brought the briefing screen monitor out of ‘sleep’ mode. Pictures of Fadi Asadel and Kameel Fatin appeared on the screen.
“The elder one on the left is Fadi Asadel, a verified financier, who has coordinated funding for many Al-Qaeda and ISIS operations. The man on the right is Kameel Fatin, a senior ISIS commander who rarely left the desert.” Stafford scanned the faces of the committee. “Based on intelligence we received from a source within the National Security Agency, we had reason to believe there was a strong possibility these two high-value targets were in Trieste, Italy in early June. On June 5, our operative had eyes on the targets so the operation was authorized and the targets were eliminated.”
Stafford pressed another button on the remote and the picture on the monitor changed to an accounting slide that showed the current costs of the Council against the annual budget.
“Sir, before you move on, I have a few questions about Orthrus Hawk,” announced Senator Jonah Walsh in his thick Southern drawl. “I believe, based on news reports of this event, that your operative uncovered a surprise. If you would, please, elaborate on that.” Walsh rolled his hand in a circular motion in front of him.
Shit. I had hoped he wouldn’t press me on this. “Certainly, senator. As you alluded to, the operative came across several dozen children that had apparently been recruited for non-combatant roles with ISIS.”
“You are referring to so-called ISIS brides,” interjected Walsh.
“For the girls, yes, I would say that was their future. There were also several young boys that I assume would have been prepared to be suicide bombers.”
Walsh tapped his pen on the desk. “And now, speaking for the Homeland Defense Council, including the president and vice president, you will tell us the operative uncovered a node in a network of recruiters that are targeting children.”
“That’s correct, senator.”
Walsh placed his elbow on the table and his hand on his cheek, then asked, “Mr. Stafford, has the operative been given the green light, under Operation Orthrus Hawk, or any other code name, to eliminate any other foreign nationals that may be involved in this assumed network?”
Stafford adjusted his eyeglasses again and then scratched his ear lobe. Dammit. Walsh obviously has connected the dots. He knows Aaron is operating without sanction.
“Mr. Stafford. Has Operation Orthrus Hawk been terminated or extended?”
“Senator Walsh, Orthrus Hawk is no longer an active operation.”
The senator turned his gaze to his left, then to his right toward the other members of the committee and they all nodded. Then Walsh continued, “Mr. Stafford, I read the newspapers and I watch the networks. Everyone in this room is aware that since Orthrus Hawk, there have been two more circumstances that involved the killing of some individuals and the discovery of more children that were apparently recruited for ISIS. The most recent of those killed happened to be a diplomat from the United Arab Emirates posted in Paris. Now, sir, I want to know if this is our operative, and if it is, under what authority he has been operating.”
“Senators, it does appear our agent has acted somewhat unilaterally, but in his defense, gentlemen, he has disrupted a very evil network.”
“Of that, Mr. Stafford, I have little doubt. But that is not what concerns me at this moment. What concerns me, sir, is that we have an agent operating without sanction and leaving a trail of dead bodies across Europe.”
Stafford felt his face flush and rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. “Yes, senator.”
Walsh continued. “And who is this rogue agent?”
“Senator, you know that I cannot divulge the identity of any agent.” Stafford poured some more water in the tumbler.
“Very well, Mr. Stafford.” Walsh leaned forward and adjusted his eyeglasses. “Then let me ask this. If this operative is not sanctioned, then would he not be considered a rogue agent and therefore an enemy of the state?”
“Senator,” Stafford protested.
Walsh held up his hand and said, “Let me finish. We cannot have an agent of ours running across Europe creating havoc within our allied nations.” Walsh turned his gaze toward the other two senators on his left, then his right again, then continued. “This man needs to be reined in. And you can tell the president that I said that.”
“Senators, there are some indicators that imply there may be a connection between this European network and at least one contact here in the States.”
Walsh folded his arms and leaned his elbows on the table. He huddled with the other two senators for a few minutes. After the senators broke their huddle, Walsh placed his elbows on the table with his head resting on his hand again.
“If there is a threat to the United States, then clearly we need to prosecute that threat. If this agent has uncovered a lead to that effect we agree it needs to be investigated. That said, this committee needs to be kept abreast of any actions the Council wants to pursue, and if the collective wisdom of the Council is to sanction another operation for this agent, the committee would like to be consulted.”
“I will carry that message, senator,” Stafford replied.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
TALBOT COUNTY, MARYLAND
MONDAY, JUNE 27TH
4:30 P.M.
Clear Water Ranch where Senator Jonah Walsh lived sat on eleven acres directly on the Miles River with the waterfront side of the home facing due south to capture gentle breezes all summer. His fifteen thousand-square-foot home featured exquisite craftsmanship, intricate moldings, mahogany floors, and imported limestone.
Walsh was shirtless and wore a pair of vertical-striped board shorts with an elastic waistband that was pulled up high over his sizable girth. He sat half-inclined in a chair on the pool deck with a refreshing gin and tonic on the table next to him. He watched under dark sunglasses as a few of his curvy and fun loving staffers and interns played volleyball in the pool.
He sensed someone approaching and looked over his shoulder as David Singer from Coleman-Brown approached him. “David, I’m so happy you could make it. What would you like to drink?” Walsh raised his hand to get the attention of his personal staff assistant, who nodded and strode over to take the order.
“Scotch on the rocks, please,” said Singer as he pulled a wrought iron chair closer to Walsh. He removed his sport coat and hung it over the chair, and as he sat
, he removed his tie and undid the top button on his shirt.
Walsh motioned his head toward the pool and said, “What do you think of the blonde that’s almost falling out of her yellow bikini?” Walsh winked at Singer. “She just turned twenty-one and she’s between her junior and senior year at Yale,” continued Walsh. “She told me she’s a political junkie and would do almost anything to get a full-time staff position.”
“Senator, you’re unscrupulous.”
The staff assistant stepped up behind Singer and placed a glass of scotch on the table next to him, then walked back to a position near the house about one hundred yards away.
Singer picked up the glass and raised it in the manner of a toast, then took a sip. “Senator, I’m sure you didn’t ask me to come all this way just to show off your next planned subjugation. What’s on your mind?” he asked.
Walsh straightened the back of his lounge chair and sat facing Singer with one leg on the deck. He placed a hand on his thigh and leaned toward Singer and said, “Yes, David, you are correct. I didn’t ask you here just to show you the talent. I want to talk to you regarding the nuisance in Europe. We need to talk but not here. Let’s go to my office.”
* * *
Senator Walsh’s home office was old school. Thick black leather chairs, a large polished wood desk and bookshelves filled with hardcover volumes. No computers or television. The only yield to technology was a charger for his iPhone. Singer sat in a black leather couch and placed his arm on the chair back.
Walsh sat in a black leather chair behind his desk. He leaned forward. “Have your employees uncovered any information about our side business?”
“So far, they’re clueless.” Singer stood and paced toward the bookcase and said, “C’mon, senator. I don’t have time for games. There is an agent running around Europe and it appears he knows enough about our little mail order bride service that he might be able to put us all in federal prison. I don’t want to go there, so what do you know that you’re not saying?”
“Well, let’s start with what the hell happened in Paris?” Walsh asked.
Singer replied, “That didn’t go well.”
“No shit! Care to elaborate?”
“Look, we sent our asset there to eliminate the colonel because he was getting greedy. We weren’t going to pay what he was asking so there was a risk he would talk, especially if this agent found him and knocked him around a bit. The plan was to wait until this shipment was safely moved to the surgical phase, then eliminate the colonel.” Singer walked back to the couch and sat. “And we did that. I have to assume this agent had the colonel’s house staked out and he followed the van to the warehouse where, by the way, he did a hell of a lot of damage to our operation.”
“Your man was close to the agent? Why didn’t he take him down, too?” asked Walsh.
“Shit, Jonah! This is complicated. The asset was just told to hit the colonel and when that was done, notify the Paris cops. This prick that seems to be getting in our hair showed up, and he was almost picked up but bolted before the cops arrived. Our asset wasn’t aware this guy was a problem.”
“Great. Well, I think we can still turn this in our favor. So far, the Council for Homeland Defense has only tried to get him to come in. Which apparently, he did a few days ago. Now we need to make the Council believe he also killed the colonel and this agent is off the reservation and has to be dealt with.”
“How are we going to do that?” asked Singer.
“You leave that to me.” He took another gulp of his scotch. “But one thing is for certain. This problem needs to be eliminated.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
LONDON, GREAT BRITAIN
MONDAY, JUNE 27TH
8:20 P.M.
Before they left Sarah’s flat in Kensington, Aaron loaded a nine-round clip in his Sig Sauer and pocketed a second clip. He placed this handgun in a shoulder holster and wore a loose-fitted, sand-colored blazer over a blue shirt to conceal the weapon. Sarah wore a conservative, button-down, black silk blouse and high-rise flared jeans.
“You look very proper,” Aaron commented.
They boarded the underground at Earl’s Court station and arrived at Leicester Square as a few dozen women wearing burkas and hijabs marched down Cranbourn Street on the pedestrian walkway toward the Burger King.
Aaron and Sarah sat on the wide concrete bench on the perimeter of the square that served a dual purpose as a bench for sitting and a barrier for an evergreen garden. As the women approached, Aaron noticed some were handing out leaflets. He turned toward Sarah. “We need to get our hands on one of those before we leave.”
“That won’t be too hard. Most people are tossing them in the trash.”
The group of women reached the corner of Leicester Square where the Burger King was located and a woman in a black burka stopped, set down a wood crate, and then stood on it. In a heavy British accent, the woman delivered an oration on the conflict in the Middle East.
She spoke in a calm manner that contradicted her message. “Muslim men, women, and children are slaughtered every day. Many of the women are in the hands of the filthy infidels: the Americans, the French, and the British army. They are cowards. They kill from the sky. They won’t fight our brave soldiers on the ground. And the biggest cowards are the American soldiers. They encourage the killing of Muslim women and children,” shouted the middle-aged ISIS apologist. “But in Syria, they are being defeated by the Islamic State.”
The remaining Muslim women spread out and attempted to hand leaflets to the many passersby, the majority of whom tried to ignore them. Only a few stopped to listen or to read the leaflet. Aaron assumed, if for no other reason, simple curiosity.
Sarah leaned toward Aaron and said, “That’s bullshit.” Her angry gaze shifted toward the speaker. “That bitch is lying!”
Aaron put his hand on Sarah’s thigh and turned toward her. “Free speech allows people to do that.”
The speaker had ranted for about ten minutes when Sarah stood. Aaron looked up at her, and she said, “I’m going to get one of those leaflets.”
Aaron stayed on the bench and watched as Sarah walked toward the group.
The ISIS proponent turned her vexation toward two young, scantily clad British girls. Sarah watched the two girls pass, then bent over and picked up a leaflet that had been discarded on the sidewalk. A young woman Sarah estimated in her early twenties and wearing a hijab approached her and asked in a soft voice, “Are you Muslim?”
Sarah turned her gaze toward the woman and nodded.
“I thought so,” said the woman.
Sarah nodded again but remained silent.
“Salamu alakum,” said the woman.
“Alaykumu salam,” Sarah replied.
“Are you interested in what our teacher has said?”
“She seems very angry,” Sarah replied.
“Are you not also angry?” the woman asked. “Our brothers and sisters and the children of the Islamic State are butchered every day. Do you not feel rage inside of you?”
Sarah felt her heart pound. This is an opportunity. Sarah turned her gaze toward Aaron and saw him standing at the edge of the square watching her. She quickly turned back toward the woman. Aaron just wanted to observe tonight but this is my chance to make a connection. “Yes,” Sarah replied, “I think I do feel a rage inside of me. I am not comfortable with the values and the lifestyle here in London. I admire you for wearing the hijab in public. When I have done that, I have felt isolated and avoided.”
“Do you pray at a mosque?” the woman asked.
“My British husband will not allow me to,” Sarah replied. “I am a Muslim woman and I feel out of place here. I was born here in London, but yet I feel out of place.”
“My name is Aafa,” the woman revealed, “and I am a career advisor for people who want to learn more about the Islamic State. Maybe I can help you?”
Sarah could feel her pulse pounding in her carotid artery and her hands felt
clammy. Stay calm, she told herself. Don’t be afraid and don’t be too eager. “I don’t know that anybody can help me. I feel stuck. My husband would not be pleased if he found out I talked to you.”
“You are not here to please your husband. You are here to please Allah,” the woman answered.
Sarah slowly nodded.
“Do you have a cell phone?” asked Aafa. “If you have a phone we can talk about ways that I can help you.”
Sarah wanted to appear cautious. “Yes, but I don’t think I should give you my number.”
“It’s the first step so that I can help you.”
Sarah placed her hand on her cheek to give the appearance that she was thinking about the offer. Finally, she said, “Yes. Yes. I will give you my number.” Sarah pulled a pen out of her tote and wrote her number on the leaflet and handed it to Aafa, who folded it and placed it in the pocket of her loose slacks.
“Someone will contact you soon,” she said as she turned to walk back and join her group. They soon left en masse in the same direction they had arrived. She stopped and turned back toward Sarah after a few feet and said, “Peace be with you.”
* * *
As Sarah rejoined Aaron, she wore a broad smile.
“What was that about?” Aaron asked.
“Oh my god, Aaron,” she beamed. “If this group is associated with the recruiters here in London, I think I might have found a way to get inside their organization.”
“What happened?”
As they walked through Leicester Square in the opposite direction of the group of Muslim women, Sarah relayed the conversation she had with Aafa and added, “Shit, Aaron, my heart was pounding so hard as I talked to this woman that I thought it was going to explode. I really think she can lead us to the recruiter.”
“Well, I sure wasn’t expecting that to happen tonight.”
“She said someone will contact me soon. Aaron, we need to have a plan ready when someone does.”
Aaron stopped walking and asked, “What do you mean, someone will contact you soon?”
The Monroe Decision Page 15