“I know a guy like that,” Mullins said. “Except if he’s coming to my granddaughter’s party, he’ll want to show up the other parents. Was he tall with light brown hair?”
“No. Dark black hair.” She pursed her lips. “I can’t be certain, but he looked like he was Egyptian or from one of those other Mideast countries.”
“Then I guess we’re good,” Mullins said. “I’ll take it.”
A few minutes later, he set the bag with the castle in the backseat of Sidney’s car and got in the passenger’s seat.
“Where to?” Sidney asked.
“Arlington police station. I’ll get my car.”
“What should I do?”
Mullins thought a moment. “If someone’s hacked into your computer, then we should turn that into an advantage. Write your blog that you’ve concluded Luguire committed suicide. You’ve found no connection between Luguire and Archer, and then rant on some other issue. I’m sure it won’t take much prompting to turn your followers onto a new conspiracy.”
“What about you?”
Mullins glanced at the Toys “R” Us bag behind him. “I’m going to find Asu. There’s a little princess that needs rescuing.”
Chapter Forty
“I’m going to run an errand.” Asu slipped on his pale blue linen sport coat, more to hide his shoulder holster than to be fashionable.
Chuchi looked up from the floor where he sat with Jamila. Pieces of cardboard lay around them.
The girl picked up one of the colorful squares. “It’s Cinderella.” She showed the drawing of the princess to her mother.
Zaina sat on the small love seat near the window. She forced a smile. “I see. She’s beautiful.”
Jamila handed the cardboard to Chuchi. “Make her free.”
Asu headed for the door. “Play nice, Chuchi. I’ll be back.” He looked at Zaina. “Soon this will be over. What do they say? And everyone lived happily ever after.” He turned to Chuchi. “Both of you have my word on that.”
Zaina glared at Asu but said nothing.
“Thank you,” Chuchi said, and for the first time since Zaina spoke Asu’s name, he relaxed. He carefully punched out the perforated outline of the cartoon character while Jamila searched through the cards for Prince Charming.
Asu walked out of the Harpers Ferry Comfort Inn into the bright sunshine of July Third. Even the hilly, wooded terrain of West Virginia didn’t escape the brutal heat.
Asu needed a place to work, but he didn’t want to bring the materials into his room. Chuchi would ask questions, and at this point, Chuchi knew only that they were supposed to meet Fares Khoury the next day.
The new rental van was a dark blue Honda Odyssey. The police might have found the Windstar by now, but Asu was sure it would take them a while to sort through rental company records. He’d picked up the Honda at Reagan International where cars are turning over constantly. He had to use the last of his false identities for the paperwork, the name that would get him out of the country, the only identity important to him now.
He drove the van a short distance from Union Street down Highway 340 to the Harpers Ferry National Historic Park and paid the six dollar entrance fee in cash. The parking lot was fairly crowded for the start of the July Fourth weekend, and he found a spot farthest from the information station. He wasn’t interested in taking a tour or hiking to a vantage point where he could see the scenic confluence of the Shenandoah and Potomac Rivers. He wasn’t aware of John Brown’s raid over a hundred and fifty years ago that led to the abolitionist’s execution and the immortalization of Harpers Ferry.
Asu wanted a place where he would be lost among a crowd of cars, vans, and buses. He needed an uninterrupted half-hour in the passenger’s seat with the motor running and the air conditioning circulating cool air. That would be enough time to pack the three bricks of C-4 plastic explosive into a box about the size of Cinderella’s Castle. The weight should be comparable. Approximately five pounds including the modified keyless remote receiver.
Asu had to admit his clients had thoroughly thought through the operation, and, as circumstances changed, quickly and effectively altered plans to take advantage of evolving situations. He was impressed with the detonator, an enhanced keyless remote transmitter with a two-hundred-foot range. Asu’s experience with bombs had been limited to detonation by cellphone, a scary prospect once the bomb was armed. Even though the odds were long, the possibility of a misdialed phone number made the final stages extremely nerve-wracking. The odds of a keyless remote code accidentally triggering the C-4 were approximately one in a trillion, better odds even if every man, woman, and child on the planet unlocked their cars at the same time.
He would take the chance and activate the bomb today. And he would wrap the package as smartly as he could. Jamila would be careful with it, excited to learn she was bringing a present she already enjoyed. Excited to see her father.
***
An hour and a half away, Sidney Levine went down the back steps to his basement apartment in Georgetown. As he entered the hallway, he remembered he was supposed to call Colleen. Mullins had been worried about those closest to Sullivan and him, although Sidney found it doubtful that any danger extended to his friends. He’d reach Colleen while he was thinking of it and before he made his blog posting. Maybe he’d invite himself to her place on the off chance that Mullins’ concerns were valid.
He inserted the key in the lock. Strains of Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries sounded from the other side of the door.
The apartment was dimly lit by the lamp next to the stereo, exactly the way he’d left it that morning. He stepped inside and felt his shoes sticking to the floor, the first sign that something was amiss. He turned on the overhead light and saw the second sign. A brown grocery bag lay split open at the base of the kitchen counter. Broken glass from a bottle trailed from the bag to the third sign. Colleen, sprawled halfway into the kitchen, her head propped against the base of the refrigerator, and her white blouse soaked in a hideous Rorschach blot of wine and blood.
Chapter Forty-one
Mullins knew trouble had struck as soon as he saw Detective Sullivan’s cellphone number on his caller ID.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Where are you?” Sullivan barked the question like Mullins was an AWOL private.
“In my apartment. I decided to hell with the cloak and dagger bit. I’m keeping this pre-paid a secret but using my landline to call motels. I think Asu’s still in the area.”
“Well, there’s a new development. Sidney just called. The guy was nearly hysterical. He found his girlfriend shot in his apartment.
“Oh, Christ. Dead?”
“He said she had a pulse. He called an ambulance and the police. Then he called me. I’m on my way. I don’t have any jurisdiction, but I’ll be on the scene.”
“I’ll be there too.” Mullins hung up before Sullivan could argue.
***
“What have you got for me?” D.C. Detective Steve Leonard asked. He stood at the top of the basement steps on the other side of yellow crime scene tape, his dark eyes tired from seeing too many shooting victims.
Mullins looked past him to the bottom of the steps where Sullivan stood in the doorway, wearing paper shoe covers and latex gloves. Obviously, the Arlington detective had been extended the courtesy of entering the apartment. But, in a city crawling with federal and ex-federal law enforcement, Mullins knew his credentials as a former Secret Service agent wouldn’t even get him a free cup of coffee in a D.C. squad room. Leonard had no reason to accommodate Mullins, unless he had something to trade.
Sullivan shook his head, signaling Mullins not to bother.
“I was with Sidney Levine earlier,” Mullins said. “Detective Sullivan called me after he heard. If you’re establishing a timeline, I can vouch for Levine’s
whereabouts for most of the day.”
“Fine,” Leonard replied. “Give Davidson your statement and your contact information.” He glared at the young uniformed officer who had relayed Mullins’ request to see the detective in charge. “And don’t disturb me again.” With that parting rebuke of Davidson, Leonard descended the stairs and brushed past Sullivan.
The Arlington detective smiled. “Impressive, huh? The guy should have his own TV show. I’ll be up in a few minutes. See if you can find Sidney.” Sullivan disappeared into the apartment building.
Mullins turned to the uniform. Officer Davidson had taken a notepad from his pocket.
“The timeline?” he asked.
Mullins looked past him to one of the patrol cars angled up on the curb. He thought he saw Sidney in the backseat.
“Sir? You said you had a timeline?”
“Yeah.” Mullins took a deep breath. “Sidney Levine was with me from nine this morning until about an hour ago. Say, approximately three o’clock. He dropped me off in Arlington. I returned to my apartment in Shirlington and got the call from Detective Sullivan shortly thereafter.”
“Anything else?”
Mullins knew the patrolman wasn’t a trained interrogator. Leonard had given him the task to get Mullins out of his hair. If whatever Mullins offered contradicted Sidney’s story or reinforced something Sidney said that forensics cast into doubt, Detective Leonard would be all over him.
“No. Other than this is a terrible shock. Can I speak to my friend?”
“If Detective Carlton is finished with him. We put Levine in a car, but won’t take him downtown unless circumstances warrant.”
Like he becomes the chief suspect, Mullins thought. He headed for the patrol car.
“Hold up,” Davidson ordered. “Can I have an address and phone number?”
Mullins gave him his residence and home phone.
“Cell phone?”
“I lost it,” he lied.
“Wait here. I’ll check on Levine’s status.”
Five minutes later, Sidney and a man in plainclothes emerged from the vehicle. Mullins assumed the second man was Detective Carlton, Leonard’s investigative partner. Carlton glanced at Mullins but made no effort to speak with him.
Sidney took small wobbly steps, like a child learning to walk. As he came closer, Mullins saw the reporter’s skin had turned to chalk and the knees of his jeans were smeared with blood. Sidney probably had covered crime scenes before, but that’s not the same thing as finding your girlfriend shot in your own home. Mullins doubted if Sidney would be considered a suspect. Such obvious signs of shock are impossible to fake. At least, Mullins had never encountered someone able to drain the blood from his face at will.
“Oh God, Mullins. They shot her right in the kitchen. She didn’t take more than four steps into the apartment. What have we done?”
Mullins grabbed Sidney’s arm and steadied him. “Let’s sit in my car. I parked in front of the dumpster.” Mullins kept a gentle hold on Sidney’s elbow and steered him to the Prius. When he had Sidney safely in the passenger’s seat, he slid behind the wheel and rolled down all the windows for ventilation.
“You told me to warn her.” Sidney choked on the words and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “You told me and I didn’t do it. I’m the reason she’s fighting for her life.”
“No. It’s because some son of a bitch shot her. Your warning might have prevented nothing.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I don’t,” Mullins agreed. “But what would you have told her to do?”
Sidney thought a moment. “Go to her apartment and not let anyone in till I got there.”
“Then these people would have tracked you there through your phone. I’m the one who screwed up. I should have considered that the information I had you post would bring them after the source.”
“My laptop’s gone,” Sidney whispered. “And three external hard drives.”
“Tell me what happened. Take it as slowly as you need.”
“Okay.” Sidney swallowed and then moistened his lips with his tongue. “I came straight here from Arlington.” He glanced at the stairs to the basement. “When I stepped into the hall, I remembered that I needed to call Colleen. Maybe a premonition, because I was suddenly afraid for her. Then I relaxed when I heard classical music coming from my apartment. I leave an FM station on so people will think I’m home. When Colleen’s here, she changes it to rock. I let myself in and planned to call her immediately. The floor was sticky. I turned on the overhead light and saw a bag of groceries split open. A bottle of wine had shattered. The apartment floor isn’t level and the liquid had pooled by the threshold. Then I saw her leg.”
Sidney’s breath caught in his throat.
“So, she’d just come in,” Mullins said. “Didn’t put away the food, didn’t switch stations.”
Sidney nodded. “There was no sign of a break-in.”
“Means they were professionals. I easily picked your lock the other day. She must have surprised them.”
Sidney shook his head. “The blood on her shirt. I’ll never get that image out of my mind. The paramedic said he thinks the wine bottle might have saved her life. Deflected the bullet just enough to miss her heart.”
“I’m going to find whoever did this,” Mullins promised. “You want me to take you to the hospital?”
“No. I’ve got my car.” Sidney looked at Mullins with a hard resolute glint in his eyes. “But then I need something to do, god damn it. When she’s out of danger. I’m going to do something to make this right.”
“Okay. I want you in the game. We don’t know who to trust. The attack on Colleen proves I can trust you.”
Sidney’s mouth dropped open. “You still thought I was part of the conspiracy?”
Mullins smiled. “Ninety-five percent sure you weren’t. But five percent’s nothing to ignore when lives are on the line. What did you tell the police about the stolen computer and drives?”
“That I was doing an investigative story on bank fraud. It’s such a broad topic that I don’t think they were particularly interested. They’re working on the hypothesis that Colleen interrupted a burglary. There have been several in the neighborhood.”
“Don’t say anything to lead them elsewhere. Tomorrow federal law enforcement’s anti-terrorism sweep will bring everything out into the open. Then we can give them the whole package. And, I hope Khoury’s wife and daughter will be alive to testify.”
“But Asu gave us the slip.”
“For now. But he has a destination, and I plan to be there when he arrives.”
“Where?”
Mullins shrugged. “I don’t know. But I will. Your job is to monitor what happens. I need you covering the story as a reporter and I need Sullivan ready to make an arrest for Paul Luguire’s murder. There’s a briefcase in the seat behind you. Take it with you but don’t open it in the hospital. After you get an update on Colleen’s condition, you should check into a motel tonight. The briefcase has instructions and the equipment you need. No more contact with me until this goes down. Understood?”
“Honestly? No.” Sidney took a deep breath. “But if you’re trusting me, then I have to trust you.”
“I’ll cover Sullivan and he’ll be in touch.” Mullins reached in the backseat, grabbed the briefcase, and held it out to Sidney.
The reporter hesitated, suddenly aware of the dry blood coating his palms.
“Take it,” Mullins urged.
Sidney clutched it to his chest. “The story of a lifetime. Every reporter’s dream. God, look at the price being paid.”
Mullins said nothing. He knew the price was a long way from being totaled.
Chapter Forty-two
With the Fourth of July falling on a Saturda
y, the business holiday would be celebrated on Monday. Most of Washington took that as clearance to bolt out of town Friday afternoon, getting a jump on the traffic and thereby guaranteeing traffic gridlocked several hours earlier than usual.
Amanda Church remained in her office until five-thirty. Then she locked her door and exited through the lobby of the Federal Reserve building. The photography exhibit of one hundred fifty years of July Fourth celebrations lined the walls. Extra security screening stations were being set up inside the main entrance. In short, the Federal Reserve was becoming an airport terminal, complete with body scanners and random pat downs. She felt confident no hand-carried bombs could make it through that perimeter of defense, and she’d recommended that vans and trucks be rerouted or screened before coming down the adjacent blocks of 20th and 21st Streets. Whatever happened, she wanted her ass covered. Now she just needed the final briefing with Mullins.
The plan was to meet him at her apartment at six-thirty. She could give assurances that the threat had been defused across the nation without a word leaking to the press. Eleven of the twelve terrorist cells had been identified. Federal agents were set to move in at the first sign that the attacks were being executed.
But she’d admit two remained undetected—the Richmond branch and Washington, D.C. Amanda would tell Mullins that Richmond might have been thwarted by the death of Fares Khoury, and his co-conspirators scattered to the four winds. Washington, if it was the thirteenth target, was being protected the best way possible. The next day, she and Mullins would monitor that operation together.
At five after six, she arrived at her co-op on Connecticut Avenue NW. Mullins would be prompt. The wine would need to breathe and the appetizers warmed. They would toast to breaking up the greatest terrorist plot since 9-11.
Curtis Jordan watched his wife’s BMW turn into the alley for their underground garage. He sat in a rented black Chevy Tahoe on Appleton, the side street next to their building. The SUV’s tinted windows concealed his identity, and no one gave the vehicle a second glance. There were only a million of them in the city.
The 13th Target Page 21