Heart Strike

by David Bishop

  “Do you have evidence the weapon, this supposed MANPAD, was delivered to D.C.?”

  “No, but it fits. The French banker, Benoit, said an event in or near D.C. The perpetrator has been described as a young Egyptian student at GU in D.C. It was offloaded at sea near the mouth of the Patapsco River to allow for a quick delivery. It all fits. But we have nothing conclusive.”

  “I think the area there, along the Patapsco River near the Baltimore Harbor is where Francis Scott Key wrote the Star Spangled Banner. Did you know it was originally written as a poem, only later converted to music?”

  “No, sir. I didn’t know. And I’m pleased to see you haven’t lost your knack for doing that.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Diffusing the stress of the moment with a light aside that somehow relates to the discussion.”

  “Do I do that?”

  “Yes, Bobby. You do.”

  “Well, don’t go spreading it around. It’s one of the secrets to my charm.”

  “Yes, sir. It it. And, no, I won’t spread it around.”

  “Well, final comment on all that: let’s hope the area doesn’t become famous a second time with the same description: ‘the bombs bursting in air’.”

  “Amen to that. And on a happier note … oops, we don’t have a happier note.”

  “I see you can do it too?”

  “What, sir?”

  “Toss a light stinker into a heavy discussion.”

  “Well, I had a good teacher.”

  “Ah, but you’re wrong. There is a happier note. The Camp David trip is set for tomorrow. Miss Darby will drive over to join the first lady and me. When we leave, the plan is to have her return with us on Marine One. We’ve got our fingers crossed that by then this current threat will be cleaned up. We’re expecting you’ll join us once we’re back at the White House.”

  “Camp David’s not exactly going into hiding. It’s only what, sixty miles from the White House?”

  “Pretty close. … After the nine-eleven horror, we told Americans to go about the business of their lives. We weren’t about to let these bastards change who we are as a nation or a people. We need to practice what we preach. Full speed ahead.”

  Chapter 45

  The next morning, CNN showed a smiling, waving president and first lady walking across the south lawn of the White House. They approached the Sikorsky VH-3D Sea King helicopter with the call sign, Marine One. The reporter’s voice in the background said America’s first family was on their way to Camp David for a few quiet private days. Back at the station, the news desk played a short clip of the press secretary saying the family would not be entertaining any foreign dignitaries, simply some easy family time.

  * * *

  Faraj hadn’t driven an automobile since he used one owned by a fellow Egyptian about a year after coming to America. The friend, who was then a roommate, returned to Egypt. Soon after, Faraj got his moped for transportation. The friend was called back to Egypt within a day of Faraj being admonished for having a roommate. Since then, he focused on being friendly but not establishing friendships. Socializing too much was not defined, but his instructions were repeated. Be a good Muslim. Avoid the Mosques. Pray in private. Do not have roommates. Be sociable and personable, and do not restrict your socializing to Muslims. Fit in. Don’t stand out.

  He turned onto a side street and pulled into the parking lot of a small, older motel, that wasn’t a member of any chain. The condition of the property suggested its technology would be far less than state of the art. He checked into a room, paid cash, went inside, set the deadbolt, turned on a light, and fell onto the bed. After lying quietly for a while, he began taking stock of the events sweeping him toward his destiny.

  The American authorities are looking for me. For the moment, I’m probably a person of interest. They can’t know what I’ve been ordered to do. Hell, I don’t even know.

  After several minutes, he got up and twisted the venetian blinds as far closed as they would turn. Anyone looking inside would see no more than a sliver of the ceiling.

  He could delay the inevitable no longer. He reread page one to be sure his actions had been exactly as instructed. He held his breath and began reading page two:

  There is an image and address for a hotel provided at the end of these instructions. Go there tomorrow. There is a prepaid reservation for you under the name on your new license and passport. Check in. Ask if they have room service (they do). Tell them you have a cold and will be staying in your room for a few days, taking your meals from room service. Tomorrow night there will be our coded knock on your door. This will be the delivery of a Russian Igla like the one you trained on before you left Egypt. In with the MANPAD will be the tools you need to cut a hole in the hotel window, and a handgun. The next day, sometime in the afternoon, Marine One will return to the White House. Do not cut the hole until you see the helicopter coming in toward the White House. Take the shot when you can line the Igla up toward Marine One with the White House directly in the background. Given your close proximity, we doubt the helicopter’s built-in evasive methods will be able to react quickly enough to cause the missile to miss. However, targeting in this way means that in the unlikely event the missile misses Marine One, it will strike the White House. We want to execute the devil in the helicopter, but either way, your strike will be a glorious success. Escape for you will be nearly impossible. You will be a martyr in our holy war and spend eternity in paradise. You are a chosen one. Allahu Akbar.

  Chapter 46

  The fat man answered his the phone on his desk. The caller offered no identification. “Everything is set. Your rep is checked in. The delivery will be made tomorrow evening to his hotel room. Do we need to meet?”

  “No. Your salesman is on schedule. He has claimed a bit of a cold and plans to hole up in his hotel room recuperating. He’s spending the time preparing for his presentation once he receives our delivery of his power-point program. The exact time of the parties’ arrival will be self-evident.”

  “Assuming no problems arise from your scheduled delivery, your services will be completed and payment forthcoming.”

  * * *

  “Dillinger!”

  Billy Dillinger stopped as he passed Ryan Testler’s office. He leaned into the doorway. “What’s up?”

  “Get Benoit in here—fast. Bring him right in my office. Roundup Blackstone and get him in here, too. Here’s how I wanna play it. Benoit’s a big pimple we’d all like to squeeze. The Frenchman’s scared and may be doubting his decision to pursue asylum. Not that he can reverse his course at this point. In his presence, I’d like you to remain even, maybe a bit compassionate. Tell Blackie to rough him up a little, not too much. I’ll tone it down and play a little friendly.”

  Dillinger nodded. “Blackstone’s over in the main building. You want me to call and get him back here?”

  “Unh un. Just Benoit then, we need to keep this moving. Oh, assuming Blackstone isn’t back, bring along Webb and Bollen.”

  Dillinger walked off down the hall.

  Some minutes later, Testler looked up as Dillinger entered, followed by Henri Benoit, Blackstone’s lead researcher and analyst, Webb, and Dillinger’s second in command, Vanessa Bollen. The four joined Testler at the rectangular conference table near the back wall.

  Testler began with Benoit. “I understand they came by this morning to get your approval on the site for your relocation, and how they plan to set up the money you want. That all going okay?”

  “Mostly. Sure. They proposed a middle initial, I didn’t like that. I had one with my real name and never used it. I told them I wanted my new name to include a full middle name. We worked that out. The location’s fine, good weather. The money plan appears solid. When it came to the banking aspects, surprisingly, they seemed to know what they were doing.”

  “Nobody does it better. Now let’s swing around to our side of it. We’ve got a snag. Bad for us, but good for you. It gives you an opportunity to
establish your bona fides. If you get us out of our hole, what you’re asking for is fully earned.”

  “I’m eager to move on with my new life, meet some of your famous American women. What do you need?”

  “We’ve confirmed the weapon was brought to America. It’s here.”

  “How did you do that?”

  “Our deal doesn’t include our giving you information, only you giving it to us. We share our intelligence with you only when it’s necessary for what we need you to provide. Understood?”

  Benoit’s lips curled slightly inward. He nodded.

  “We have to assume the man running this operation designed it to keep the next cog from knowing either the identity of the prior one, or what the next person downstream would be doing.”

  Benoit scoffed. “That sort of thing is critical. They often employ infidel whores who do their bidding only for money.”

  Blackstone, who joined them a few minutes earlier, stared at Benoit. “You mean like you?”

  “Okay. Okay. I deserve that, but fuck you anyway.”

  Blackstone came back with, “Like submarines, eh, flood one chamber and drown the guys, but save the ship.”

  Testler spoke sharply. “Okay, can it both of you. I’m going to lay out a scenario and then look to you,” he pointed at Benoit, “to fill in the blanks. The weapon was set adrift on the coast, nearby. It was picked up by a small craft and brought ashore. Someone had to pick it up and secret it somewhere. As we’ve moved closer to the bottom of the funnel, the number of their operatives involved, by necessity, need to be fewer, with each knowing more particulars. By now, a local attack coordinator must be running the process. That person has to know the location of the weapon so he can order it moved. Also the identity and whereabouts of the sleeper cell. This’ll allow him to inform the sleeper when and where the weapon will be positioned to complete his jihadist mission. We lack anything that’ll lead us to the weapon. And, frankly, our search for the sleeper is stalled. That’s how you get to earn your money.”

  Benoit began speaking. Testler held up his hand. When Benoit stopped, Testler continued.

  “We have to find the person who will give the orders to put the weapon into the hands of the sleeper. I figure the attack coordinator must be here in D.C. The delivery will need to be timed for the event, and from the beginning you have characterized the event as fluid. To know the when, the coordinator must be tracking the itinerary of the person or event that’s the target of the mission. It seems to me the target is a person, not an event. Logically, the time of events are more fixed. Conversely, a human target of importance would have a more fluid schedule. You’ve provided us a long list of people who’ve engaged in, supported, or directed the movements of money and/or operatives to carry out these jihadist missions all over the world. I need you to use the criteria I’ve just laid out, and look at your list.” Testler leaned back to his desk, picked up the list, and dropped it on the conference table. “Your job is to give us the coordinator’s name, or the names of a few among whom we’ll find the coordinator.” Testler pushed the list toward Henri Benoit.”

  Benoit inhaled as he pulled the three-page list close.

  Dillinger got up and left the room. A few minutes later, he returned with a cup of coffee for Benoit, prepared the way he preferred it. He brought a bottles of water for himself and the others. Bollen added several scratch pads and pencils to the table.

  After an agonizing twenty minutes, Benoit stopped and leaned back. He repeated the movement often enough to give the appearance of rocking.

  Testler watched the Frenchman’s facial expressions alternate between raising his eyebrows and shaking his head. Several times, his hand absentmindedly went to his face or the back of his neck.

  “I gotta take a piss.” Benoit stood and left.

  Testler pulled Benoit’s scratch pad close enough to see three handwritten names.

  Benoit came back, sat down, ran his hand over his mouth, and looked up. Not at Testler. At the ceiling. When his gaze came down, he picked up his pencil and circled one of the three names, twice around, while asking, “Have you established if the prospective sleeper cell you’ve identified is Shiite or Sunni, or aligned with either ISIS or Al-Qaeda, or maybe the Muslim Brotherhood which is a Sunni group.”

  “He’s Egyptian which is predominantly Sunni, and the Muslim Brotherhood is Egyptian.”

  Benoit stared. “Be careful, Agent Dillinger, you should not label the Muslim Brotherhood as Egyptian. It is true the brotherhood began in Ismailia, Egypt, in the 1920s, but since then it has become transnational with autonomous units in several countries. It’s the most intellectual and least violent of the Islamic groups, but it clearly wants a Sharia Law driven world built upon the ruins of western liberalism. To gain that end, the Brotherhood will not shy from violence. Yet violence is not its focus to the extent it is with Al-Qaeda and ISIL—or ISIS as America tends to prefer. Currently, the group prefers the name IS, for Islamic State. They see it as a borderless entity encompassing Muslims everywhere. Understanding this name thing takes time, and perhaps this is not the best time to go into it, but don’t just go dumb and connect the Muslim Brotherhood with only Egypt.”

  Dillinger looked at Benoit. “You’ve apparently made a real study of this stuff.”

  “A man cannot be too familiar with things that dictate the bulk of his income and control his future right to breathe.”

  Testler brought them back on point. “We have nothing that suggests the nationality or ideology of the coordinator. With respect to the sleeper, we know he’s an Egyptian national. As for his ideology, the sleeper is definitely Sunni.”

  “Most Egyptians are Sunni, but there are some Egyptians who are not.”

  “Sure. No country is all Sunni or all Shia.”

  “Again, Agent Dillinger, be careful. Yes, according to one authoritative source, rounded off eighty-six percent of Egyptians are Sunni, with only approximately four percent Shia. To the surprise of most people, the second largest religious group in Egypt is Christian at just over ten percent.”

  Testler interrupted. “You’re correct. This is not the time. The relevant known point is our sleeper is Sunni.”

  Dillinger turned toward Testler. “How can you be certain enough to declare that he is?”

  “The Shia believe that Islam allows the joining of four of their daily prayers into two for a total of three, while the Sunni believe the five prayers must be separate and distinct. During Sujood they prostrate themselves. The Shiites place their forehead on a plank of wood or tablet, the Sunnis place their foreheads directly on the floor. In his place of prayer, our sleeper has no suitable wood and his prayer rug has a depression indicative of a forehead.”

  “Ah, you understand your Islam.” Benoit bowed his head slightly. “This I did not even know.”

  Testler smiled. “I see you’ve jotted down three names from the list. Let’s get on with it. Tell us about them.”

  “I believe this is your man.” Benoit used his pencil to stab the name Joseph Khouri. “Yes,” he jabbed again, “I am quite confident the man you want is Khouri. I’ve spoken to you about him before when I explained he was Presidential Advisor Henrietta Sullivan’s conduit to pass on information she was selling. The other two on the list are mere possibles.” He pointed the pencil at the second name. “This one, a Sunni, is often here, but comes and goes from New York.” Benoit moved his pencil to the third name. “I included him because he was born in Egypt, but the past twenty years, when not in the U.S., he travels mostly to Iran. With what you’ve explained about the Egyptian sleeper cell being Sunni, this man becomes less likely. More than the other two, he is driven by ideology. He’s a Shiite.”

  “What else?”

  “Nothing. That’s all I can provide.”

  “Dillinger, escort Benoit back to his quarters and then get back here.” The two men got up from the table.

  Testler put his hand on Benoit’s forearm as he passed by. “Stay on this. If yo
u think of anything further, have the agent outside your room send for us. Anything. Favorite haunts for the man here in D.C., the school his children attend here, his wife’s hairdresser, the name or location of any lovers. Whatever. I wanna know if he wears boxers or briefs.”

  Benoit nodded. “You should have no trouble locating Khouri given the public position of his Council. I don’t know the man well enough to be familiar with his family or private persuasions. If he has any.”

  Testler released his grip and Dillinger led Benoit out.

  Testler turned to Bruce Webb and Vanessa Bollen. “I want to know everything that can be known about Khouri and I want it five minutes ago. Divide the work between you as you see fit. Use anyone who might be of value. If you need to break through any barriers, I’m your man. Bruce, when Blackstone comes back don’t stop to fill him in. Send Clyde to me and I’ll do that. Break the rules where it’ll save you time or improve the quality of the data. If we’re going to stop this attack we need to nail the coordinator and the smart money is on Khouri. This guy’s the one who’ll bring together the sleeper and the weapon. If you get hungry, stay on it and have someone else bring the food.”

  Testler moved his eyes from the face of one to the other. “Balls to the wall, both of you. Oh, one more thing. Have someone other than you two do the same thing with the other two names Benoit put down. With all three, find out where they are today and, to the extent possible, where they’ll be each day for the next week. If either are confirmed as out of D.C., move them to the bottom of the stack.”