Sleeping Dogs

by Tony Vanderwarker

  “My Howie—pig-headed?” Sylvie manages to smile for the first time. “You mean the man with lost bombs on the brain?”

  “Sometimes he does have a one-track mind.”

  “So you haven’t been able to talk any sense into him either?”

  “Once in a while—”

  “She’s been a big help,” Howie adds.

  “I want you to know something, Mrs. Collyer. I don’t know if it’s going to make any difference to you but I have to take responsibility for involving Howie in the first place. Had I not made that call to your husband on Thanksgiving, we wouldn’t be facing this.”

  “I appreciate you saying that.”

  “I can imagine this is very hard for you and I regret being the cause of it. But I had no choice. It was a life-or-death situation.”

  “I appreciate that,” Sylvie says.

  Grace nods, seconding her mother’s statement. Now that Sharon has managed to defuse the situation, Howie knows he has to keep his trap shut. They awkwardly look around at each other, no one knowing what to say until Straub interrupts, “Folks, I hate to be the bad guy here but we’re running short of time and we’ve got some unfinished business to take care of, so if you don’t mind I’ll escort you ladies out so Howie and I can get our work done.”

  Howie embraces Sylvie, “It’s going to be all right,” he says into her ear as he gives her a final hug. She separates from him, starting to let go again.

  He throws his arms around his daughter and plants a peck on her cheek.

  “I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you, Daddy,” she says, putting her arm around Sylvie and heading toward the door. Howie tries to smile confidently, acting like everything is going to be all right. Even though he knows he’s not fooling anyone.

  “You be careful,” Sylvie says, wagging her finger at him as she disappears out the door accompanied by Straub and Sharon.

  “I will,” he says.

  “You better,” Howie hears her call over her shoulder just as the door closes behind her.

  “Your Sylvie’s a trooper,” Straub says, coming back into the room. Howie notices an envelope tucked under his arm.

  “Wish you hadn’t told her about the car.”

  “Nothing to be gained by lying. She would have figured it out. Enjoyed meeting Grace. She’s a piece of work.”

  “Broke the mold when she was born. What was that business about my car being blown up?”

  “Vector Eleven booby-trapped it, blew a tow truck operator into the next county.”

  “Damn glad I didn’t go back for it. What’s in the envelope?”

  “We’ve just identified the terrorists, caught them on film outside.”

  “I thought I shook them back in Baltimore.”

  “Hardly. They’re sticking to you like glue. My people got some shots of them and ran them against our databases. They’re as bad as they come.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  Straub opens the envelope and pulls out a sheaf of photographs, spreading them out on the conference table for Howie to inspect.

  “You guys work fast,” Howie says, leaning over to look at the photos—telephoto shots of the cab they took over to Tysons, a man standing surveying the cab, another by an entrance to the mall holding packages as if he’s waiting for his wife, a third handing out fliers at another entrance, innocuous-looking photographs of men engaged in everyday activities.

  “I doubt the names would mean anything to you but they are major players, dedicated mujahideen. Four years ago the three vanished. The feeling around the intelligence community was that they were dead. One killed in a bombing, another was thought to have died in a firefight outside of Kandahar, and Aziz Odeh was supposedly in a group taken out by a Predator in Yemen. I have always maintained that they might have survived, but I was one of the few.”

  “Now you’re proven right.”

  “They went underground. Waiting for you to lead them to a nuke.”

  “When I got that call from Sharon at the hospital, they must have gone into action. Could have masterminded that whole mess in Front Royal and followed us to Baltimore.”

  “That’s why you must spearhead this operation. You obviously have their trust.”

  “Spare me the irony.”

  “Don’t think I haven’t thought about it.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “You’re going to locate the nuke.”

  “What? Cruise around on the Chesapeake Bay until I bump into the damn thing?”

  “We have a top-notch Coast Guard outfit to help you conduct the search, they’ll give you all the cover you need. I think you’ll be impressed. The secretary of Homeland Security is personally supervising the operation. And I’ll be looking over his shoulder.”

  “And if I find the bomb—what happens then? What’s to keep them from blowing me out of the water?”

  “Hopefully we’ll be able to neutralize the terrorists before that.”

  Howie’s on edge, the words tumble out of his mouth faster than he can make sense of them. “Do you have any idea what their plans are? Are they going to attempt a water recovery? Retrieve enough materials to make a dirty bomb and transport it to DC or New York? Or try to detonate the nuke in the water? We don’t even know how many of them there are. There could be three or thirty. So much is up in the damn air.”

  Straub stays cool and calm. “It’s a developing situation, no question about it. They could be set for a deep recovery with tugs and barges, or a simpler operation in shallow water—whatever that means. We won’t know until you locate the nuke. Either way, if we don’t expose the sleeper cells and deal with them now, who knows what other unrecovered nukes they could go after in the future. So it’s now or never—you know that.”

  “I also know I’m the bait.”

  “Let’s use the term decoy.”

  “Bait, decoy, what’s the difference?”

  “I don’t need to tell you I’ve agonized over this. Christ, I’ve barely slept. But I think we’ve both understood from the minute you took that phone call from the VA hospital that we had a rare opportunity.”

  “What about Vector Eleven? How do you think they figure in?”

  “We won’t know until they play their hand. But I suspect that when they learn that terrorists are involved in an attempt to recover one of their lost nukes, they’ll come over to our side in a second. Even though it means blowing their cover, the last thing they’d want is for one of their bombs to be used against this country.”

  “But again, their involvement makes everything even more chancy.”

  “I’m not denying that. But I have a trump card I can play if we have to.”

  “Don’t keep it a secret.”

  “Abner Dickson is going to be down in Tennessee with the president this weekend checking out some expensive horseflesh.”

  “So if I find the nuke and you can keep the terrorists at bay, you’ve got an open channel to the president. Dickson can lay the whole thing out for him.”

  “The Pentagon will take the heat and you’ll be a damn hero.”

  “Plus the CIA’s stock will go up immediately. Not to mention Winn Straub going out on a high note. You have to admit you’ve thought of that.”

  “Nothing like a little enlightened self-interest. But look at the upside for all of us. If we can turn the situation to our advantage, we can expose Vector Eleven’s out-of-control weapons programs and force the president to take a stand. Cut the Pentagon down to size and recover all these lost nukes—everything you’ve been crusading for all these years.”

  “It’s going to take perfect timing.”

  Straub nods. “No question, much of this is going to have to be handled on the fly. We’re going to have to improvise depending on what al Qaeda does and how Vector Eleven reacts. But I can assure you, the entire resources of the CIA and DHS will be devoted to making this operation work.”

  “And the entire resources of a black program at the Department of Def
ense will be devoted to making sure it doesn’t. Not to mention a bunch of fanatic terrorists.”

  Straub sidesteps Howie’s statement, looking down at his watch and saying, “We really should get going.”

  Howie stands, abruptly ending the conversation, “I don’t need any more time, Winn. I’m in. Let’s go.”

  Straub extends his hand. Howie takes it. They shake hands firmly. Straub claps him on the back. “Back in your football days, what was the term you used for a perfect kick?”

  “You mean nailing it?”

  Winn gives Howie a last pat on the back, “Yes, nailing it. That’s what we’re going to do, we’re going to nail this one, Howie.”

  “Thanks for the pep talk,” Howie responds as he thinks to himself, Easy for you to say, Winn, buddy, easy for you to say.

  “Now let’s get you back outside so our friends don’t decide they’ve lost you. They will think you went out for a little pre-Christmas shopping. In their minds all Americans do is shop anyway. When you pick a cab, make sure the taxi’s number ends in double eights. That way you’ll know the driver’s one of us.” Straub pushes a button on the conference room phone and says, “Please send Ms. Thorsen in if she’s ready.”

  Ten seconds later, the door opens and Sharon sashays in, beaming and proudly showing off her stylish new suit. “Not only am I relaxed for the first time in a week,” she says, turning and pirouetting in front of them, gushing over her new clothes, “but I feel like I’m starring in some fashion show. Don’t you love my suit? And how about these heels?” Sharon admires her new shoes over her shoulder. “Thank you so much, Winn.”

  “My pleasure,” he says. “Compliments of the American taxpayers. They owe you a new outfit at least.”

  Sharon stops. Her attention pivots from Straub’s face to Howie’s. “Wait a minute, why are you both looking so stonyfaced? Is there something you need to tell me?”

  Straub turns to her, “You’ve done a great job helping Howie, Sharon. We all appreciate it.”

  “This is a brushoff?”

  “No reason to take it that way.”

  “You’re trying to buy me off with a makeover and a new suit?”

  Howie shoots a look at Winn and lifts an eyebrow.

  “This is a male thing, huh? No women allowed?”

  “We’ll take care of you until this is over,” Winn says.

  “What? Park me down at The Farm while Howie does your dirty work?”

  Howie looks at Winn and shrugs, smiling at him as if to say, I tried to tell you. I knew she wouldn’t stand for this.

  “It’s just too dangerous, Sharon,” Straub says.

  She whirls around and leans down so she’s right in Straub’s face. “And what do you think this past week has been—a picnic? I’ve been playing nursemaid to an eighty-year-old while dodging people who are trying to blow us up. Then we find the damn bomb’s in the Chesapeake and it’s threatening the entire Eastern Seaboard and you have the gall to try and buy me off and ship me home!”

  Sharon boils over, pulling off her heels and slamming them down on the table in front of Straub. “You can have your damn shoes back! I’ll go change back into my clothes and you can have the frigging suit too!”

  “I hope you realize this means putting yourself in even more jeopardy,” Straub says quietly.

  Sharon glares at him. “You’re going to use Howie to bait the trap and you expect me to sit on the damn sidelines wringing my hands like some nervous Nellie? C’mon, Mr. Straub, this is the twenty-first century we’re living in. I may be a woman, but I’m not a little girl!”

  “I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into,” Straub says, knowing it’s time to back down.

  “You’re not going to take me out of the game while Howie puts his life on the line.”

  Howie stands, a smug smile breaking across his face. “I guess that settles that. Unless you have something else to add, Winn.”

  “I’d say Ms. Thorsen has made her case pretty clear,” he says, getting up and opening the door. Still steamed, Sharon snatches her shoes off the table and storms out.

  “Before you go,” Straub says to Howie. “Let me give you a few things you’ll need.”

  Hustled out the employee entrance of the mall by one of Straub’s men, Howie’s carrying packages to make it look like they’ve been on a shopping spree. He checks the number on the cab waiting at the curb. The last two digits are eights so they pile in for the ride back to Baltimore. Howie scans the surrounding area for the three men he saw in the photos. Just before ducking into the backseat of the cab, he isn’t certain but he thinks he sees one hovering behind a car in the parking lot. Or is it just my rampant paranoia?

  “Except for trying to sideline me, Winn seems like a nice guy,” Sharon says.

  “You sure gave him a piece of your mind,” Howie says, pulling the door shut.

  “This isn’t the way I imagined spending the holidays, but I wasn’t going to leave you and the major in the lurch.”

  “I tried to tell Winn you wouldn’t stand for it.”

  “Probably would have made it neater if there were fewer people involved, a woman in particular. But I wasn’t going to back down. Plus I want to see how you get yourself out of this one.”

  “You’re not the only one who’s interested in finding out how I pull that off, I’d like to know myself,” Howie says.

  He picks up the new cell phone that Straub gave him to replace their email communication. Straub explained that it works on a secure radio frequency proprietary to the CIA. “Even our best people can’t hack into it, and believe me, during shakedown we tried,” Winn told him. “It’s a failsafe way for us to communicate.”

  Sharon turns to look out the cab window at the expanse of expressway zipping by. She’s surprised at how strongly she reacted to Straub’s suggestion that she pull out. What’s infuriating was that Straub thought he could buy me off with a makeover while he and Howie made all the important decisions. Hell, if he’d included me in the discussion and asked me point-blank if I wanted to be let off the hook, I might just have said yes.

  “I enjoyed meeting your wife and daughter,” Sharon says. “This can’t be easy on them.”

  “I appreciated what you said to them. I think it helped.”

  “Frankly, I’m surprised Winn brought them up here. It had to be hell to see you for such a short time.”

  “I think Sylvie wanted to size you up.”

  “Wives don’t like their husbands staying in motels with strange women.”

  “What did she think you were going to do, seduce me?” Howie says with a wink.

  “You know, Collyer, I hate to let you down but that’s the last thing that has occurred to me.”

  “I must admit, Nurse Thorsen, I’m kind of disappointed.”

  “Don’t take it personally. In another place and time, I could fall for you, Collyer. You’re smart, you’re kind of sexy and you’re a sweetheart.”

  “I’m too old for you.”

  “Not necessarily,” she says, smiling at him cagily. “But don’t go getting any ideas. It’s not in the cards, okay?”

  “Whatever you say, boss.”

  “I haven’t permanently damaged your male ego?”

  “Nothing that a few years of therapy won’t fix.”

  “So what’s Straub got in mind for us?”

  “Sit tight. I expect we’ll hear from him soon. In the meantime, Winn wants me to run the calculations on the course Risstup’s plane took and see if I can pin down precisely where the bomb was jettisoned.”

  “Then what are we going to do—rent a boat and go sailing around looking for it?”

  “No way. Winn’s setting up a substantial Coast Guard operation. Low profile but I bet it will be full bore.”

  “Do you have any idea of what the Chesapeake Bay’s like in December?”

  “Is it December already?”

  Sharon glances at the face of her watch. “Sure is. Time flies when you�
�re having fun. By the way, I like my new outfit and I appreciated the makeover. Thanks for setting that up for me.”

  “No problem. You look great.”

  “That’s sweet of you.”

  A few minutes pass, both of them gazing out the windows at the I-95 roadscape whipping by, and then apropos of nothing Sharon turns to him and says, “Collyer, can I tell you something?”

  “Go right ahead.”

  He’s seen the look before, he knows a zinger’s coming. She doesn’t disappoint.

  “I’m scared shitless.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, so am I.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “What?”

  “Say—I’m scared shitless.”

  “Okay, I’m scared shitless.”

  “Good.”

  “Feel better?”

  “A lot.”

  Howie smiles as they make the turnoff toward Baltimore. In a flash, Sharon’s head has lolled back against the seat, her eyes are closed, mouth open slightly, she’s snoring lightly, the girl’s totally zonked out.

  As Howie looks over at her he can’t help thinking, Funny what some people find comforting.

  34

  Solo, Indonesia, early Saturday morning, EST +12

  He hasn’t slept in days, only allowing himself a half hour catnap on the cot in his office every eight hours. He eats little for fear of falling asleep. His beard itches. He would like to clean up but he cannot afford to be away from his computer. El-Khadr sits at his desk, his eyes fixed on the screen. The last stage of any operation is always demanding. The Arabic phrase to describe it translates to the time tension has to be welcomed with open arms.

  He remembers back when they launched the planes operation—the endless waiting for the teams to be trained, the thousands of details, hundreds of forged passports, the shipments of money painstakingly disguised to pass through customs undetected. And then after years of work and interminable months of delays, after setting all the players in place, the last twenty days slowly ticked by with no communication from the field until the incredible morning that made all their effort worthwhile.

  Three years of meticulous planning have gone into the Flowers project. Dahlia for shallow-water situations, Chrysanthemum for deep water—both are on schedule. The salvage tug and crew are on alert and his cells are scrambling to put the finishing touches on the installations along the Chesapeake. If Allah smiles on his operation and they are fortunate to locate a bomb in shallow water, Mehran Zarif will be set to strike.