“And what are we doing about finding any leads to whoever steered the boat before the explosion?” Surfer asked.
Mollie looked at her watch. “The answer to that question should be here right about now.”
As if on cue, Thurman entered the room leading the way for a woman in her mid-30s carrying a briefcase. Perez followed them into the room.
Mollie approached the woman. “Ms. Hong, I’m Lt. Commander Sanders.” She gestured to each person as she said the name. “Commander Jaiswal, Lt. Commander Witlow, Ensign Perez.”
Ms. Hong nodded, stepped over to the nearest laptop and placed a disk into the drive.
“What Ms. Hong has brought us is now being used by the CIA, the Department of Defense and the Defense Intelligence Agency,” Mollie said.
Mollie gestured for the presentation to begin.
“Imagine,” Ms. Hong said, “police detectives pinning up facts and photos to a wall to study the clues to find a pattern. Our computer application TimeWall is a 3-D virtual wall on a computer screen.”
Mollie strode up next to Ms. Hong and said, “TimeWall stretches into the past and the future to track people, places, relationships and events using e-mail, phone conversations, GPS positioning.”
Ms. Hong nodded. “A super search engine that filters vast amounts of unstructured information from a variety of sources and looks for relationships, patterns and trends.”
Mollie smiled. “And .. it does this in two dozen languages.”
The computer screen came to life with the application. Mollie turned to Perez. “Ms. Hong is going to give us all a tutorial after we load some of our data into the system. Then you’ll be the point person. And you can incorporate your other tracking applications into this project.”
Surfer glared at Mollie. “And how did you know about this brand-new application?”
“We were tracking its development at STORC. Just waiting for the eggs to hatch.”
Perez turned to Mollie. “It will take me time to input the intel we have. If you want to do something else …”
“We’ll wait,” Mollie said.
“You’re going to breathe down her neck, aren’t you?” Surfer said to Mollie.
Surfer looked at Jaiswal, who then said to Mollie, “Commander Sanders, what do you do to relieve stress, to clear your mind?”
“I practice t’ai chi – for maintaining mental and physical balance.”
Jaiswal smiled, glanced at his watch. “I also do t’ai chi, and I know where there’s a ‘push hands’ class about to start.”
Mollie shook her head. “No comfortable clothes with me.”
Jaiswal waved her toward the door. “I have a collection in my car. Always prepared.”
Mollie turned to Perez. “How much time do you need?”
“At least an hour.”
Mollie turned to Ms. Hong. “Do you mind if we leave while the intel is being uploaded?”
Ms. Hong shook her head.
Mollie smiled, then said, “Surfer, are you into spectator sports?”
He glared. “Do you want me to bet on the outcome?”
“You wish,” she said.
CHAPTER V – “PUSHING HANDS”
April 19
1630 hours
Having changed her clothes, Mollie followed Jaiswal into a bare room just as several other students dressed in casual clothes and light-soled shoes took places facing the teacher. Mollie and Jaiswal quickly joined the others, and they all bowed to the teacher. Then the students turned to a wall of pictures of elderly Chinese gentlemen. The class bowed even more deeply, then turned again to the teacher.
At his gesture they paired off, bowed to each other, and began t’ai sho, or “push hands.”
Mollie glanced over at Surfer sitting on a bench. She wondered what he would think of this.
Each person, beginning with a set of close movements, attempted to sense the movement and balance of his or her partner and use that – not strength – to throw or push out the opponent.
Mollie switched her entire focus to the task at hand. Mollie tried twice to push Jaiswal out, but he just bent away from her. On her third try he didn’t bend but took advantage of her being off-balance to throw her out.
She stumbled, regained her footing, and with a big grin, got back into contact with him.
She feinted a few times, always the one initiating. Finally, after Jaiswal was lulled somewhat by her feints, she succeeded in pushing him out, propelled by the slightest of movements on her part. He almost thudded to the mat, but got a hand behind himself to stop his fall.
Then he got back up, moved into contact again.
“Good one!” Jaiswal said.
Mollie grinned as they continued, now having each other’s measure.
An hour later Mollie and Jaiswal, back in uniform, and Surfer walked toward the car when Mollie’s cell rang.
Mollie answered “Sanders.”
Mollie listened to the call, then ended without saying another word.
She spoke to Jaiswal and Surfer. “TimeWall has already come up with some info. One man from the pier meet just received a message on his cell phone that we confiscated. The message was in Arabic, translated by TimeWall. A man asking why the package hadn’t been delivered.”
“The men from the pier expected to meet someone from the boat who would hand the explosives over to them?” Jaiswal said. “And then they would hand over the explosives to the person who called?”
“I think that’s what we’re looking at,” Mollie said.
“Did TimeWall locate these men through the cell call?” Surfer asked.
“They’re kitchen help at a restaurant in The Grove. What’s that?”
Jaiswal said, “Upscale shopping next to Farmers Market in the mid-Wilshire district.”
Mollie thought for a moment. “How far from here?”
“Twenty, thirty minutes.”
Mollie nodded. “We have to pick up the men now before they flee.”
“I’ve got weapons in my car,” Jaiswal said.
“What about local authorities?” Surfer asked.
Mollie shook her head. “No bozos raining on our parade.”
**
1740 hours
Kevin sat in the rear while Jaiswal drove; Gearhead rode shotgun and talked on her cell.
“Perez, how do you say ‘On the ground, hands on your head’ in Spanish?” Gearhead said.
She didn’t know every language, Kevin thought.
“Now transfer me to the security guards at The Grove – it’s a shopping center in mid-Wilshire.”
While Gearhead waited for the connection, Kevin stared at the back of her head. Why was he so hung up about her? Shit, she was his back-seater, which naturally would make him the lead in a flying sortie operation. But this sure wasn’t a flying sortie. Although what the hell it was he didn’t know. Sort of like flying by the seat of your pants with no instruments and no filed flight plan.
He wondered how she had done at the Naval Academy. He’d graduated the June before she started, so their paths hadn’t crossed there. And up until now he hadn’t heard of her. But he wondered what he’d learn if he were to ask about her on the Academy grapevine.
When she finished speaking to The Grove’s security guards, Gearhead turned slightly in her seat to face him.
“You don’t know Spanish?” Kevin asked her.
“I know some Spanish. But I checked with Perez to make sure I said the warning correctly. A wrong word could create more chaos.”
Jaiswal interrupted. “I’m going around the back way and leaving the car at valet parking. That will put us in position for approaching the restaurant.”
“Good,” Gearhead said as Jaiswal turned onto the access road to The Grove.
Leaving the car with the valet, Kevin and Gearhead followed Jaiswal, striding past the trolley with adults and children waving out the open windows. They continued past the artificial fountain where music blared from an outdoor sound system.
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Outside the restaurant The Eaterie they met up with two security guards. Gearhead told the guards to go around to the back door. “Don’t enter the kitchen,” she said. “Just stay prepared at the back door.”
Inside the restaurant Gearhead showed her ID to the maitre d’. Having been already briefed by The Grove security, he motioned them toward the door leading from the dining area to the kitchen.
Mollie, Gearhead and Jaiswal strode through a restaurant filling up with dinner guests.
**
1800 hours
Mollie motioned Surfer and Jaiswal to pause. She peered through the kitchen window.
For only a moment she considered that Jaiswal should be in the lead because of his rank. Then she discarded that idea.
She motioned Surfer and Jaiswal to unholster their weapons as she did and follow her.
She pushed through the kitchen doors and yelled in Spanish: “On the ground, hands on your head.” In the next breath she shouted in computer-phrase Arabic: “Down on the floor, hands on your head.”
Eight Latino men dropped. Two Middle Eastern men darted toward the back door.
Damn it! She needed them alive!
Mollie fired over their heads as the two men dashed out the back door.
A moment later Mollie, Surfer and Jaiswal burst through the back door. She saw that the men had gotten past the guards, who were only now unholstering their guns. “Don’t shoot!” Mollie screamed at the guards as she ran after the two men.
Mollie could hear Surfer and Jaiswal right behind her as they ran after the two men towards the parking structure.
Up the escalator the men ran, with Mollie, Surfer, Jaiswal and the security guards in pursuit. Shoppers jumped out of the way of their chase.
On the top floor of the structure the two men dashed away from the escalators and towards the far end of the floor.
Oh no! Mollie had a flash as to what they were going to do. She sprinted even faster, desperately trying to stop the inevitable.
At the moment when Mollie and the others had almost caught up, the two men jumped onto the waist-high wall, shouted “Allah Akbar” and dove over the top.
Mollie and the others raced to the wall and peered down at the two men. They were splattered on the cement in front of the valet parking stop – inches from a fancy Hummer.
Two hours later Mollie, Surfer and the translator Sam stood with an LAPD morgue worker next to the covered bodies of the two jumpers. The LAPD had been very efficient in removing the bodies so that the tourists wouldn’t be spooked. And the LAPD had also been receptive to a possible connection with an ongoing terrorist investigation.
Unfortunately there had been no identification on the men except for small prayer caps tucked in their pockets; it was assumed they were Muslim. Their fingerprints had been run through various databases with no matches.
Could these possibly be the men who might have steered the boat before the harbor explosion? Or just two undocumented workers, albeit not Hispanic, working illegally?
Mollie looked at the two swarthy men and the Latino worker arrested in the oil field. They were also here in the morgue, their hands tied in wristbands, brought by an ATF security detail after Commander Jaiswal applied pressure to get this request granted.
It was interesting that these men were documented – even the Latino. No fingerprints on record, no criminal records, simply men who worked day jobs for a construction company owner now visiting his tribal area in Pakistan. Flight records had been consulted – and the trip had been verified.
The morgue worker pulled back the sheets covering the faces of the two jumpers. Mollie said to Sam, “Please translate.”
Mollie turned to the prisoners. “Do any of you know either of these men?” she asked. Sam repeated the question in Arabic. She then said it in Spanish.
Mollie got the expected denials. Then she tried another tack: “Is this what you want for yourselves? To be in a police morgue instead of buried according to your traditions.”
One swarthy man and the Latino remained silent. The second swarthy man spoke to Sam, who then translated. “He says he will give you information if you give these men proper Muslim burials.”
“Ask him again if he knows these men,” Mollie said.
Sam did so and then told Mollie the man had again said no.
She stared at the man. Either he was a skilled liar or he really didn’t know either one.
“Tell him we agree to give these men proper Muslim burials immediately,” Mollie said, “if he tells us what we want to know.”
Back at Coast Guard San Pedro headquarters Mollie and Perez watched through the interrogation viewing room mirror as Surfer and Sam, flanked by the two ATF agents, interrogated the second swarthy man.
Mollie glanced at the screen of the laptop that had TimeWall on it. “TimeWall doesn’t agree with the translator’s translations. There are enough differences for TimeWall to issue a translation warning.”
“Maybe it is regional differences,” Perez said. “The way Spanish can be so different in different places.”
Mollie looked at the screen. “Is the second translator here?”
Perez nodded.
“Get the second guy. Let’s check him out now.”
“His name is Amir,” Perez said as she went to get him.
Mollie entered the interrogation room to ask Surfer and Sam to step outside with her. Once outside the room, Mollie told Sam that they were taking a break to let the man worry for a while. She would tell Sam when his services were needed again.
“I’ll go get something to eat,” Sam said.
As soon as he walked out of earshot, Mollie leaned close to Surfer and said, “I want to try another translator. Perez is bringing him in now.”
Surfer nodded.
“And remember the most important thing is to find out what the meeting on the pier was about. Keep hammering at that point – was it anything beyond the exchange of explosives, which they could have used a drop for.”
Five minutes later Mollie and Perez heard the new translator say to Surfer: “He says that they were to meet the men from the boat to tell the men from the boat what to do next.”
“And that was?” Surfer asked.
Amir spoke to the man, then turned to Surfer. “He was to tell the men to go to the bookstore next to a certain mosque and ask for a book of ‘The Rubiyat of Omar Khayyam.’”
Surfer asked, “What were they to do with the book?”
Amir asked the man, listened to the reply, then said to Surfer: “He has no idea. He assumes the book would have instructions for the men.”
“And then what?” Surfer asked. “What was he supposed to do that he got a call from the restaurant worker he says he doesn’t know.”
Amir asked the question and listened to the answer.
“When he gave the instructions to the men from the boat, they were to give him a package. He was to then take the package to The Grove and wait for this man he didn’t know to leave his job and approach him.”
“Yes, the package would be the explosives,” Mollie said to Perez.
Surfer said to Amir: “Ask him how he got his instructions.”
A moment later Amir had the answer: “Through an email message.”
Perez shook her head. “There are so many different groups of men,” she said.
Mollie nodded. “Cut-outs in the intelligence business. Separating the top guys from lower levels.”
Perez checked the computer running TimeWall. Then she said to Mollie, “TimeWall likes this guy – agrees closely with his translations.”
“I don’t want Sam to know we’re suspicious,” Mollie said. “Find him some harmless documents to translate. He may just be inept – or, as you suggested, his Arabic is from a different country where there are differences in idioms – or he may be working with our enemies.”
Perez nodded.
“Meanwhile Surfer will have to get this guy to tell us the address of the mosque,” Mo
llie said.
**
2000 hours
Back in the temporary workspace Yolanda Perez watched Lt. Commander Sanders stride to a blackboard and draw circles. “Here’s what we know,” the commander said.
“We can assume that one or two of the men on the Semtex boat were to meet the two contacts at the pier.” The commander nodded at Yolanda, giving her the opportunity to describe what happened next.
“Only thanks to us the men from the boat were detained,” Yolanda said. “So we went to the meet – and that’s how we connected with the two contacts and then the guard outside the hut. The guard seems to not know anything – just paid for his guard duties.”
The commander took over again. “And we know the two men from the hut were planning to take the Semtex to the two workers from The Grove restaurant.”
“Which still leaves us nowhere,” Lt. Commander Witlow said.
“And an unsolved tanker explosion,” Commander Jaiswal added.
Lt. Commander Sanders studied her blackboard circles. Yolanda watched the commander, feeling privileged to be working on the commander’s team.
Still, there was something about the commander that seemed … what? A sadness or an uncertainty that the confident exterior masked. Yet the whiff of something else was there, like when the commander had asked about Yolanda living with her mother.
The commander turned from the blackboard. “It does leave us somewhere. We now have taken several men out of action. Whoever is higher up on the food chain of these guys has to be getting nervous that his men are disappearing.”
Commander Jaiswal walked closer to the blackboard and looked at the circles. “Presumably he has heard about the two kitchen help taking a swan dive off The Grove’s parking structure. Even though we didn’t release the names of the men because we don’t know what they are, the leader knows these men worked at The Grove.”
Lt. Commander Witlow nodded in agreement. “Can we use the info we just got from our informant in custody?”
Lt. Commander Sanders said, “They were supposedly not to speak to anyone at the bookstore. Just buy a certain book. Perhaps if we pick up the book, the fears of their leader will be lessened.” The commander nodded as if to herself, then spoke again: “We’ll go to the bookstore early tomorrow morning. We’ll figure out who to send.”
Lt. Commander Mollie Sanders Page 5