“That’s pretty close, Mr. Director,” I said. “but before I go back I need to have solid evidence that the attacks were being planned. Right now, we think that air conditioners may have been involved and we think the weapons officers on each of the ships were possible conspirators. But right now it’s still a theory. I can’t go back to the past and say, ‘trust me.’ ”
“Got it, Jack,” Said Carlini, “I believe I speak for both myself and Director Watson, that we’re prepared to help you in any way we can. I look at it this way – at the very least your work will help prevent a future attack.”
“From now on,” Carlini continued, “besides your provisional appointments as FBI agents you are also provisional agents of the Central Intelligence Agency.”
“Bill, are we ready for our guest?” said Watson.
“I think we are, Sarah. Why don’t we show our guest in.”
***
A woman wearing a burqa entered the room, her robe swaying as she walked. She began to take off her wraps, revealing a man’s business suit underneath. When she took of her head garment, she was no woman. A swarthy, handsome man with a full beard stood before us. He stood about six feet tall with a muscular build.
“Folks,” Carlini said, “I would like you to meet CIA agent Gamal Akhbar.”
“You look lovely this morning, Gamal,” said Carlini.
“I don’t get paid enough for this abuse, Mr. Director,” said Agent Akhbar in a distinctly Brooklyn accent.
The room burst into laughter.
“I should mention that Agent Akhbar has a wise-ass sense of humor,” said Carlini, who then introduced Agent Akhbar to each of us. “Agent Akhbar is one of the most valuable operatives in the CIA. He’s discovered countless attack plans both on American soil and in other countries. Agent Akhbar is used to operating under deep cover. His name, and even his appearance, change from time to time. Gamal is a Coptic Christian, born in Lebanon, and speaks fluent Arabic. He graduated from American University and has a law degree from Georgetown. He's also handy with a weapon. Once a year we have shooting competitions at the gun range. Agent Akhbar always comes in first. Please say a few words Gamal.”
“Good morning,” said Gamal Akhbar. “I’m a jihadi’s worst nightmare. I look like them, I sound like them, but I’m not one of them. My job with the Agency, as well as my mission in life, is to stop them in their tracks.”
“Folks,” said Carlini, “part of your assignment will be to travel to various places in the Middle East. Agent Akhbar will be part of your team, although he won’t appear to be. Actually Gamal will be in charge of the operation and you will answer directly to him. Besides Gamal, I will assign a team of agents to be there with you. That said, your mission will be dangerous. I think I know Jack Thurber’s answer, but I’m going to ask each of you right now, are you willing to be part of this mission?”
“Dr. Ben?”
“I’m in.”
“Wally Burton?”
“I told Jack I’m with him. Count on me.”
“Janice Monahan?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” (and I get to hang around Jack).
I walked over to Agent Akhbar and offered my hand.
“Welcome to the Thanksgiving Gang, Gamal.” I said.
Gamal gave me a firm handshake, looked into my eyes and said, “Let’s give the American people something to be thankful for, Jack.”
“Agent Akhbar knew in advance that he may be working on a mission involving the Thanksgiving Attacks,” said Carlini. “What he doesn’t know is the full story of how you came to be here, Jack, or where you came from. Give him the full explanation at your meeting with him after this one. It’s 1 PM. I’ll have lunch served so you folks can get to work in the conference room.”
Great. Yet another round of time travel stories followed by the usual, “are you nuts,” or “you expect me to believe this shit?” But I’m getting good at this. Besides, Agent Akhbar seems like an easy guy to talk to.
***
I decided to wait until we finished lunch before I introduced Gamal to the wonders of time travel. I hate having coleslaw spit at me. As I unfolded my time travel story I thought Gamal was going to bolt for the elevator. I suggested that he call Director Carlini, which he did. The fact that the CIA Director was now a believer seemed to calm him down.
After our plates were cleared we got down to the weird details of what our lives would look like in the near future. We all called our new agent friend by his first name Gamal rather than Agent Akhbar.
“Call me Buster,” Gamal said.
“Buster?” we all blurted out.
“Yeah, Buster, like Buster Keaton or Buster Brown.”
“How’d you get a nickname like Buster?” I asked.
“Piss me off and you’ll find out.”
We showed Buster the list of names of the suspected engineering officers, along with their Arabic names. Buster went to a computer terminal and accessed the hard drive in his office two floors below us. He pounded on the keyboard and jotted down notes, punctuated by “holy shit,” “fuckin A,” and various other colloquialisms.
“To the casual observer,” Bennie said to Buster, “it appears that you’re connecting a few dots.”
“A few dots?” Buster said. “I have each of these names and their possible locations.”
“Possible locations?” said Janice. “Where do you place Joseph Monahan, aka Abu Hussein?”
“Yemen,” said Buster. “From your reaction, Janice you seem to have guessed that.”
“He loves the place,” said Janice.
“I guess it’s nice if you like dirt, dust, and gunfire,” said Buster.
“Buster, you said something about possible locations of the others,” I said. “The only indication of a possible survivor is from Janice when she told us that Monahan got sick and left the ship before it sailed. Are you saying they may have all survived?”
“It’s possible,” said Buster. “I got all this data from our operatives across the Middle East. These are leads. We’ll know if they’re hot leads once we hit the road. By the way, you reporter types aren’t the only ones who know how to sift through data.”
“Today’s Tuesday. I’d like to fly to our first stop this Friday. We’ll travel in three groups. I’m a group of one, and the rest of you will fly in pairs. I’ll get our travel people to book us. Our first destination will be Sanaa, Yemen. Janice’s husband is the warmest lead we’ve got so that will be our first stop. Janice, you need to get a black wig. I’ll set you up with our clandestine operations office downstairs. If you don’t mind me saying so, Janice, you’re a very attractive woman. The clan-ops people will fix that. By the time they’re done with you, you’ll be ready to pose for the centerfold of Jihad Monthly. Also, if Joseph Monahan really is there I don’t want him spotting you on the street.”
“Seamus Riordan, my friend, you good to go?” Buster asked Bennie.
“Seamus Riordan?” the three of us shouted.
“Ah sure, I’ve got me Irish passport ready to go,” said Bennie with a passable Irish brogue. “Long ago the FBI guys realized that Benjamin Weinberg is not a name of choice for Middle East assignments. Fortunately, my mother was born in Ireland, so getting an Emerald Isle passport was easy.”
“Okay,” said Buster, “a few things I want you guys to drill into your heads in the next few days. First, each of you will have a secure cell phone. We’ll communicate with each other using codes, which I’ll give you in a few minutes. You need to memorize the codes, not write them down on the back of your hand, but memorize them. Two, if you see me, you don’t know me. We are never to be seen together.”
“Will you be wearing your burqa?” Wally asked.
“Very funny, wise-ass. You haven’t seen the half of my disguises.”
“Three, and this is important,” said Buster, “all of you will hit the firing range tomorrow morning at 8 AM. You’ll be given your weapons when we arrive in Yemen, but I want you
to be up to speed on how to use them.”
“Is that really necessary?” asked Janice.
“I hope not,” said Buster, “but if you have to use your pistol I want you to hit more than sand.”
“What do we want to accomplish in Yemen, Buster?” I asked.
“If possible we want to ID Monahan. Once we do, our operatives will find out everything they can about him. They’ll place a GPS device on him and one where he lives.”
“How the hell can you plant a GPS on a guy without his knowledge?” asked Wally.
“That’s beyond Top Secret and beyond your need to know, my friend. Don’t worry about it. We’re gonna leash this dog and he won’t even know it.”
“Okay, it’s 5:45. Go back to your hotel, work on your codes, have some dinner, and get a good night’s sleep. See you all tomorrow on the firing range.”
Chapter 21
My name is George Quentin but my Muslim brothers call me Jazeer Mohammed. I’m an American naval officer and the weapons officer of the USS Harry S. Truman, a ship that I will destroy in a few weeks, along with about 5,000 heathens.
I suppose that sounds harsh, but it’s really a statement of my love and devotion to Allah. It isn’t so much that I hate the infidels, as much as it is my desire to do justice for their sinful ways, ways that I know so well. When I was a teenager I would best be described as a juvenile delinquent. I was always in trouble. My grades were terrible, I took drugs and enjoyed sex with the heathen girls. It looked like I was heading toward a failed life.
That all changed in 1994 when I took a school trip that reinvented my life. The trip was to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia and was sponsored by an organization called The Center for Open-Minded Youth. Well, open minds it did. I became good friends with four other guys from different parts of the country, Joe Monahan, Ralph Martin, Phil Murphy, and Fred Peyton. The man in charge of us during our stay was Sheik Ayham Abboud, the most important man in my life, my father included, even though the Sheik was just a few years older than me. The old phrase, “a whack upside the head,” doesn’t do justice to Sheik Abboud’s impact on us, especially me. He taught us discipline, dedication, courage, and especially love for Allah and devotion to him and the holy words of the Prophet Muhammad. I was never a religious kid (few delinquents are), but the Sheik opened up a new world to me, a new reality, a new way of processing things. After a month, Sheik Abboud’s teachings enveloped us. We all converted to Islam, and swore allegiance to its truth. Transformation is an overused word, but that’s exactly what we American teenagers went through. We were new people.
I know it sounds crazy that a troubled youth can straighten himself out overnight, but that’s exactly what I did. My parents were amazed. My grades improved, I stopped smoking and sneaking drinks, and I did chores around the house. I also studied and began to memorize the Quran, but never in front of my parents. My sudden upswing in grades got me accepted to Penn State, and also into the NROTC program for training to be a naval officer, as Sheik Abboud counseled.
But Sheik Abboud taught us more than the true faith and how to follow it. He taught us that we were exceptional, that we had a special mission in life, a mission that wouldn’t begin for many years. We would meet with him regularly over the years, always focusing on and preparing for our great jihad.
Together, we became the fist of Allah, the vehicles of his justice. Together we will bring America to its knees.
Chapter 22
We all had a light breakfast at the hotel and reported to the firing range at Langley at 8 AM as planned. Buster was waiting for us.
“I know you guys have been through this before,” said Buster, “but let’s review a few procedures. Your weapons are waiting for you in your assigned spaces. Make sure you insert your earplugs and put your ear mufflers over them. You’ll each have 100 rounds and we’ll practice until 11:30, then we’ll break for lunch and head back to headquarters for our afternoon meeting. If you run out of bullets just wave your paddle and I’ll bring you more. I’ll be your friendly range safety officer. Any questions?”
We were each assigned a Glock G42, a common law enforcement pistol. Our target was the typical drawing of a human torso and head, hanging from a frame. The picture was attached to an overhead wire so that it could be dragged to a shooter so he could see how his shots landed. Our directions were to aim for the torso.
“We’ll start with a visual review with only one of you firing,” said Buster. “The rest of you look at the target. Janice, how would you like to go first?” Buster would later tell us that he always went with the person he assumed was the least talented with a gun. That way he could use his criticism to instruct the others.
Janice opened fire. She squeezed off 12 rounds like she was shooting a squirt gun. Buster had the target pulled to us along the overhead line so we could get a better look. All 12 of her bullets hit within a tight circle no more than six inches in diameter. We all just stared.
“I think I’ll go to the movies,” said Buster. “If you guys have any questions just ask Madam James Bond over here.”
We blasted away until 11:30 and then got into the bus for our trip back to the CIA headquarters building for lunch and our afternoon meeting.
Oliver Blake, Deputy to CIA Director Bill Carlini was waiting for us in the conference room.
“Agent Akhbar tells me that you all did well on the firing range this morning,” said Blake, “especially Mrs. Monahan. I don’t expect that you’ll be unholstering your weapons at all, but you’re not going to Disney World so we don’t want to take any chances with your safety. This afternoon we’re going to review the mission and your cover.”
“Ollie,” said Buster, “may I suggest a brief quiz on phone codes.”
“Good idea, Buster. As you’ve been instructed you will text each other using codes, and you’ve also been told to memorize them. Dr. Weinberg, what’s Mr. Burton’s code?”
“That’s Riordan, Seamus Riordan, my friend, and Wally’s code is Bravo 929.”
“Excellent,” said Blake, “and thank you for correcting me about your newly adopted name.”
Blake went back and forth quizzing us on our name codes and a few of our message codes, such as “Delta 911 – Need Assistance” or “Foxtrot 335 – I’m under fire,” and especially “Zulu 566 – I have identified our suspect.”
“First we’ll review your cover,” said Blake. “You’re Canadian journalists working on a story about expatriated North Americans living in the Middle East. You’ll each receive a briefing book about your fictional home city in case anybody asks you. The journalism angle should be easy for Mr. Burton and Mr. Thurber, who are both professional reporters. You’ll be split into two groups, each led by one of our “real reporter.” Mr. Thurber will team up with Mrs. Monahan and Mr. Burton will be with Dr. Wein... I mean Mr. Riordan.”
Janice looked at me, smiled and winked.
“Each team will be tailed by two of our deep cover agents. If trouble starts, these guys know how to handle it. Here are their photos. Drill them into your heads so you don’t think you’re being tailed by a bad guy. Agent Akhbar – Buster, will be in overall charge of the mission.”
“It can be hot as hell in Yemen, so we’ve picked out your clothing to account for that. You’ll wear light khaki outfits. Ms. Monahan will wear a different outfit, one selected for extreme modesty. You don’t need a full face covering, but your hair must be covered by a scarf at all times. Oh, and yes, Mrs. Monahan will be known as Mrs. Thurber, to avoid any problem with the religious cops fretting about a woman hanging around with a man who’s not her husband.”
“Great idea,” said Janice as she slapped her hand on the table.
I just rubbed my face and thought about last night’s Yankee game. At least she won’t be dressed to accentuate her gorgeous body.
“Okay, so that’s your cover,” said Blake. “Now let’s talk about the mission and its objective. It’s really quite simple. We suspect that Joseph Monahan may be alive and li
ving in Yemen. Our objective is to locate him, identify him, photograph him, and then call in your assigned agents to plant GPS devices. Your objective is not, I repeat NOT, to engage him. You folks may have been deputized, but you’re not trained CIA agents. Mrs. Monahan, especially, I’m sorry I mean Mrs. Thurber, should be very cautious if you’ve located the suspect. Obviously, you don’t want him to notice you. We want to gather information on this guy, evidence if you will, and eventually give it all to Mr. Thurber, for reasons that haven’t been explained to me. We’ve got to consider Monahan dangerous. If he’s who we think he is, he’s a man who wants to kill an aircraft carrier full of people in cold blood. Again, our objective is not to bring him to justice. That will come later, and I don’t doubt that a Seal Team is already getting set for that mission. Any questions?”
“As a reporter,” I said, “I already have a few ideas, but have you folks thought about where we should start?”
“Great question,” said Blake. “You’ll be staying at the Hotel Al Saeed in downtown Sanaa. It’s about as upscale a place you’ll find in the country. Running water, flush toilets, top shelf booze, the whole bit. It’s crawling with western types, business people, lawyers, and probably a few journalists. Your job will be to chat, tell them about your newspaper assignment, and let the conversation take you places.”
“Does the hotel have a gym?” I asked.
“Yes, a good one, with all the equipment you can think of.”
“Great,” said Janice.
“But it’s strictly segregated. Men behind one wall, women behind the other. The Hotel Al Saeed may be sort of Western but only sort of.”
“You will report to Langley once a day at 8 PM local time. That job will be for Mr. Riordan over here. Ben has worked with us many times and he knows the drill. He’ll report via encrypted email from a computer we’ll place in his room. I recommend that he confer with all of you before sending his nightly message. Okay with you Mr. Riordan?” Bennie nodded.
Box Set - The Time Magnet Series Page 33