“You heard me.”
Fate can be strange. Sometimes you think it's on your side, other times not. A short while ago I was on a road trip with a man who frightened and confused me. Now, I am drop dead, head over heels in love with him, and I think my feelings are reciprocated.
I've noticed something about time travelers, including Frank and me.
We don't like to waste time.
Chapter 36
This morning's headline in The New York Times reads, “Thanksgiving Bomber Joseph Monahan Killed in Prison.”
“Sheik Haddad, have you seen the newspaper, sir?” said Hussein Basara, aide to Sheik Abbas Haddad.
“Yes, and I think it's an infidel lie. The report does not say who the killer was but leaves the impression that it may have been a targeted assassination. As we know, that's impossible because I am the only one who could have ordered such an action. No, I believe the infidels have planted this story to convince us that Monahan is dead, to stop our plans to kill him.”
“But Sheik Haddad, if I may sir, these American newspapers, especially important ones like The New York Times, only go to print when the information has been checked with other sources, usually at least two.”
“Hussein, my brother, are you so naive as to think that someone could not have simply planted the ‘sources’? I think that the Americans are trying to fool us into believing that Monahan is dead. Put out the word to all of our contacts to look and listen for any information about Monahan. I believe he lives. He must be killed.”
“And what about Ayham Abboud, sir? Has there still been no contact with him?”
“No, there has not. This is a mystery to me. If the Americans have captured him they know how valuable he is, and what's more important, they know that we know his value. But there have been no newspaper reports about Sheik Abboud at all. And naturally, without any evidence people begin to speculate, including our own brothers. I even heard a ridiculous rumor yesterday that Ayham Abboud is really an American Navy admiral.”
Basara laughed so hard he spilled his tea.
“It's good to see you laugh, my brother. We must laugh when we hear nonsense. Can you imagine, Sheik Abboud an admiral?”
They both laughed.
“But laughter cannot replace vigilance,” said Haddad. “Until we know the fate of Sheik Abboud, we must assume the worst, that he is in American custody.”
Chapter 37
The good old Thanksgiving Gang has been called to Director Bill Carlini's office at the CIA. Old Thanksgiving Gang? I can't believe I thought that. Old? About three weeks ago I was a quiet HVAC engineer designing an air conditioning system for a bank in New Jersey. I had never heard of The Thanksgiving Gang, because it didn't exist. Three weeks ago.
***
Director Bill Carlini called the meeting to order. Carlini's a good man. In the midst of all this madness, it's comforting having a smart, level-headed guy in charge. The Thanksgiving Gang was there: Jack Thurber, Bennie Weinberg, Wally Burton, myself, and of course, our gang leader, CIA Agent Buster. I had hoped that Jack's wife Ashley, my new friend, would be there, but she has this little detail in her life called running a nuclear aircraft carrier. Non-gang members included my soon-to-be ex-husband Joe Monahan, to whom I no longer refer to as scumbag, and Admiral Frank Thompson, aka Ayham Abboud, aka Frankie of Arabia, aka the-man-I-love. Those last two “aka's” were left out of Carlini's introductions.
Joe Monahan's legs were shackled to the floor, which we all thought was silly, but apparently there's a strict CIA protocol when prisoners attend meetings.
“Folks,” said Carlini, “I'm going to turn this meeting over to Buster. He's not only the best agent in the CIA, he's the best agent I could ever imagine. I don't have a lot of say in the matter, but I've already recommended to the White House that Buster take over my job when I retire.”
“Thank you Mr. Director, and thank you for your kind words,” said Buster. “Folks, you've heard me say it before, but I'll repeat it. This operation, unfortunately, involves a lot of meetings, because there's so much information we need to get our hands on. But the two watchwords we all need to keep in mind are Prepare and Act. Sounds logical enough, I know, but the difference here is that the Prepare and Act details need to be done almost simultaneously because we have so little time. For example, Joe Monahan here has given us excellent information from his computer, information that we didn't see, but information that he interpreted for us. He's given us the names of all of the al Qaeda operatives, including some minor players. We also found the license plate numbers of all the major players. One of the best lists Joe has given us are the locations of al Qaeda safe houses across the country. So that was the Prepare part. Before Joe was done speaking I gave those lists to our people here at the Agency, and they've been working at it all night. That's the Act part. Basic police work, yes. And basic police work is what usually solves crimes.”
“Buster, if I may,” said Jack Thurber, himself a no-slouch investigator. “Besides these lists, and besides what will happen when we work the lists, is there anything we're missing?”
“Jack, it's almost like you and I rehearsed this, because I was just about to get to that point. The only thing we're missing is banking information, cash flow, and stuff like that. Tracing money is often a spy's best way to get to a destination. So to help us with that part of the puzzle, we have a special guest.”
Chapter 38
A guard opened the door and in strode a tall Middle Eastern-looking man carrying a briefcase and dressed in the most expensive Savile Row suit I'd ever seen.
“G'day, Mates,” said the man in an Australian accent.
“Trevor!” the gang shouted in unison.
We all got off our seats and stormed Trevor as if he were a rock star. When you see an old friend, especially a friend you thought was dead, tears flow. I was happy that I wasn't alone, indulging in a “girlie” thing, because I noticed that Jack, Ben and Wally were wiping tears away as well. We all loved Trevor, for reasons that will be obvious shortly.
After we took our seats, and before he was introduced to the others, I asked Trevor, “How the hell did you get here?”
Before Trevor could answer, Buster frowned and gave me one of his “you don't have a need to know” looks.
“For the couple of folks here that don't know him,” Buster said, “Trevor McMartin is a bank examiner, a man who traces down money. He's from Australia in case you hadn't noticed, even though he looks like he could be from either my family or Admiral Frank's. His Lebanese name is Salem Yousef.”
Buster's right. He, Trevor, and Frank all have their familial Middle Eastern appearances, although Frank is by far the best looking by a desert mile. (But I digress.)
“Trevor was enormously helpful to us when we were trying to find the whereabouts of Joe Monahan and his former friends. We've tracked down Trevor's background, which I'm sure comes as no surprise to him.” Buster turned to Trevor, who smiled and nodded. “He's like a one-man IRS and FBI combined. Trevor is to money like a bloodhound is to a scent.”
“Nice way of puttin’ it, Matey.”
“I contacted Trevor last night. By stroke of luck he was in DC on assignment so he was able to come to this meeting. Trevor's worked for the United States Government over the years and holds a Top Secret security clearance, so, with his agreement, we've hired him. We may have to put a special line in the budget because Trevor makes a ton of dough for his work.”
“No worry, Mate. Given the circumstance you described I consider this my patriotic duty as an Aussie and friend of your great country.”
“Just to remind everybody,” said Buster, “in all of this complicated operation we have one objective, and that objective isn't complicated. We’ve got to find the bombs. Trevor, please give us a few words, and please remember the need to know rule about the details.”
“Buster over here (Busta ova heah) gave me a bit of information last night. I know I can't go in depth on details, but I ju
st want you folks to know that I already have some solid leads based on tracking I've been doing even before I got the word from Buster. Believe it or not, even though I just learned about this last night, I have a strong hunch where the bombs may be, based on some active banking transactions. I can't go further into that because Buster's right: Need to know is an important part of security. Even the best-intentioned people can blurt things out. If you don't have the knowledge you've got nothing to blurt. Buster's the boss, and he'll share knowledge when necessary. Now if you blokes will pardon me, I've got a lot of work to do.”
Chapter 39
Buster here.
Today's Monday, October 26, 2015, a month from Thanksgiving Day. I'm trying to drive events as fast as I can. On Jack Thurber's suggestion I've been putting in at least a half-hour of aerobic exercise every day to keep my head clear, and my stomach from yelling at me.
I'm at Director Carlini's office with our Australian friend, Trevor McMartin. Trevor's one of the smartest and smoothest operators I've ever seen in action. I'd love to recruit him to the Agency but we couldn't come close to matching the money he makes.
This meeting will consist of me, Director Carlini, and Trevor. As any spook knows, it's essential to limit the amount of people who have knowledge of the details of any operation. My Thanksgiving Gang friends are the most trustworthy people I've ever met and I'd put my life in their hands. But, the fewer the people who know of a secret, the more chance the secret has of remaining just that, a secret.
Director Carlini walked in.
“Mr. McMartin, a pleasure to meet you, sir. Your reputation is way out in front of you. Buster tells me that you're already focusing in on the question of the century – where are the bombs?”
“Mr. Director, yes, I am starting to focus on something, but don't get too excited yet. I don't have to tell you folks that a promising lead often goes nowhere. I'm in the business of chasing money. To me, money is like an animal. To chase it you have to know what it wants. If you want to find monkeys, look for the banana trees. So I look first to where the money is going and then try to answer the question why.”
“Trevor, if you don't mind me asking,” said Carlini, “do you work from intuition based on experience, or do you have a more objective way of analysis.”
“It's all in the numbers, Mr. Director. To answer your question, yes I try to be completely objective. Intuition from years of experience plays a part, but only a part. I've designed a computer algorithm that knows how to chase money. Without boring you with the details, my algorithm looks at flows of assets and then tracks the assets. It also has built in a long string of possible reasons why the assets are going where they're going. For example, if a car manufacturer is setting up a new plant in a new city, the algorithm takes this into account, because the program expects to see a lot of money coming and going to various subcontractors. The result is a bunch of patterns, sometimes not clear, but often they jump off the page at you. I may have found a page jumper. Look here.”
Trevor then laid out for us three sheets of paper with both bar and line graphs. On three other pieces of paper were odd-looking cluster graphs. I couldn't tell exactly what these graphs meant, but right away I saw some concentrated patterns. I pointed them out to the Director and he saw the same thing. Carlini, with a math degree from Stamford, is no amateur when it comes to technical matters.
“Trevor,” I said. “I think the Director and I both see some definite patterns. Can you summarize it for us?”
“Denver, Colorado, mates.”
Carlini and I looked at one another.
“Please explain, Trevor.”
“There's been a lot of money going in and out of Denver banks in the last few months. I even checked to see if a new casino had been built. Actually, that kind of data is programmed into my algorithm. Some of the money has been spent on real estate, and a lot on construction. But there's also been a lot of dollars spent on technical equipment and security devices.”
“Can you tell where the money comes from?” I asked.
“Various parts of the Middle East, a lot from Saudi Arabia, and a good bit from Yemen.”
“I find it hard to believe that you possess this information, if you don't mind me saying, Trevor,” said Carlini. “Frankly I wasn't aware that it was legal.”
“Mate, if some other bloke with a good head for math tried to do what I do he'd be in prison. I'm well known to governments around the world and I do a lot of business with them. Just ask your State Department. Those fellas know me well.”
Carlini looked at me.
“I did, and they do,” I said. “Trevor, you amaze me.”
I called my assistant Phil Lopez. Trevor had given us a location, a possible location to focus on. We also had Joe Monahan's drawing of the site to work with. Monahan didn't know where it was, but now we had another dot to connect. The sketch had already been plugged into a computer digitally so now it's a question of satellite scanning to find something that matches the sketch, narrowed to Denver, Colorado.
***
Just before noon my assistant called and screamed, yes screamed, “Buster, you have got to fucking see this!'
A minute later Phil came running into the room, apologizing to Carlini for the intrusion. Carlini didn't mind; he wanted results. A quick glance at what Phil Lopez put on the table showed us photographs, amazing photographs.
I called the lockup unit and told the guard to bring Joe Monahan to the Director's office.
In a few minutes, Monahan came clattering in to the office dragging his leg irons and being led by two guards. Trevor, who had once photographed Monahan in Yemen going into a bank, regarded him through squinted eye lids.
“Joe, what do you think?” I said, gesturing to the printout that Lopez had put on the table. “Show us your photographic memory talents.”
“That's it, Buster, that's it! You're looking at the exact location I've seen before from aerial photos. Where is it?”
“Sorry, Mr. Monahan,” said Carlini, “but you don't need to know that.”
“Buster, let's get the group here now.”
I speed dialed Jack Thurber, Wally Burton, Bennie, Janice, and Admiral Frank. Everyone knew to expect a call at any moment during this operation, so they all showed up within 10 minutes.
Chapter 40
Janice here.
Another meeting, but it's to be expected. I'm still thinking about my meeting last night with Frank. I doubt this one will be as interesting. Frank and I arrived five minutes apart. Nothing wrong with a little discretion.
We all took our seats around the table in a pecking order that seemed to have evolved. I sat next to Frank. Why not?
“Okay, everybody,” said Carlini, “we are now halfway there, more than halfway. We've found the bomb plant.”
He let that sink in. My God, we've found the bombs.
“Buster?” Carlini gestured to his favorite spook.
“As the Director has just pointed out,” said Buster, “we're halfway there. Thanks to Joe Monahan's photographic memory and Janice's engineering drawing skills, we've located the bomb plant. So, my friends, the next question is on the table – now what? We already know that we can't go in guns blazing around nuclear weapons. We need to find an answer, now.”
“Gas,” I said.
Everyone looked at me with confusion on their faces, like I just requested some Tums.
“Yes, gas. I don't know what kind of weapons the military stockpiles, but I'm thinking either a lethal or non-lethal gas. All we have to figure out is how to get it into the building. I'm guessing
some kind of robotic tunneling device. I can design the piping. I know how to deliver air conditioning to large buildings. I'm sure I can deliver gas in the same way.”
Buster jumped up, ran around the table and kissed me on the forehead, then ran out of the room, to make a string of phone calls I'm sure.
“Janice, you've obviously nailed it on the head,” said Carlini. “I expect Buste
r back in a few minutes to let us know that the plans are on the way.”
“Mr. Director,” said Wally Burton, “I wrote an article a couple of years ago about the chemical weapons the United States stockpiles. Everyone I interviewed said that the chemicals are for studying defensive procedures, to get to know an enemy's capabilities in case the weapons are used against us. Among the nasty stuff we stockpile is nerve gas. A dose of that could knock out a building full of people.”
“Hold on folks,” said Frank. “I think Director Carlini will agree that the use of a lethal chemical weapon is against national policy. Yes, we're faced with an emergency, and the ultimate decision will come from the White House, but my thinking is that we should use a non-lethal debilitating agent. Janice, your thoughts?”
With that Frank put his hand under the table and squeezed my knee. Interesting way to get information out of me I thought, but I didn't complain.
“I'm not an expert on gasses,” I said, “but I do know a bit about delivery of air, both cold and hot. From my general reading, I've learned that CS gas, also known as common tear gas, is a powerful debilitating agent. As we all know from just watching TV, it's usually delivered by a type of hand grenade or artillery shell. The thing explodes just enough to release the gas and the intended recipients scatter, choking and teary eyed. The gas constricts breathing and can immobilize a person in seconds. Correct me if I'm wrong, but tear gas is normally used outdoors. If we have a large enough pipe, I'm thinking two to three inches in diameter, and a strong enough mechanical blower, we could secure a building full of people in moments. The building that we just saw in the satellite photographs is only one story tall, a perfect target. We just need to figure out how to tunnel under the building and then tunnel up through the floor. Buster's probably got that figured out already.”
Chapter 41
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