by Don Brown
One report said the authorities had ruled Lester's death a suicide. A more recent report claimed that the investigation had been reopened by the Metropolitan Police Department and that the bullet that killed Lester had never been found.
He clicked another link. This link claimed that more than fifty-eight people had either died or been found dead in association with Vice President and/or Senator Claxton. Some of the deaths occurred, the links claimed, when the former vice president had been governor of Mississippi, and included even Mississippi state troopers and bodyguards assigned to then Governor Claxton.
Jackson clicked again. The next link listed the dead.
Terry McDonald -- Key witness in Special Prosecutor Bob Moon's investigation of illegal contributions to the former vice president. Died of an apparent heart attack while in solitary confinement.
Sally Felton -- Former intern to the vice president. Murdered in July 2006 at a coffee shop in Alexandria, Virginia. The murder occurred just after Felton was to go public with her story of sexual harassment in the vice president's office.
Samuel Lester -- Former counselor to the vice president and colleague of Eleanor Claxton at Jackson's Randell law firm. Died from a gunshot wound to the head, ruled a suicide.
Jack Blue -- Secretary of Interior and former DNC chairman. Reportedly died in a plane crash. A pathologist close to the investigation reported that there was a hole in the top of Blue's skull resembling a gunshot wound. At the time of his death Blue was being investigated and spoke of his willingness to cut a deal with prosecutors.
W. Douglas Conner II -- Jackson fundraiser and major player in the Claxton fundraising organization. Died in a private plane crash.
Alton Bunn -- Democratic National Committee political director. Found dead in a hotel room in Jackson. Described by Vice President Claxton as a "dear friend and trusted advisor."
Joe Washington -- Claxton fundraiser. Found dead from a gunshot wound to the head deep in the woods in Virginia. Ruled a suicide. Died the same day his wife, Susan Washington, claimed Fred Claxton groped her at the Naval Observatory, the official residence of the vice president.
Jimmy Matthews -- Head of Claxton's gubernatorial security team in Jackson. Gunned down in his car at a deserted intersection outside Jackson. Matthews' son said his father was building a dossier of Claxton. He allegedly threatened to reveal this information. After he died the files were mysteriously removed from his house.
James Jones -- Died from a gunshot wound, ruled a suicide. Jones reportedly had a "black book" containing names of influential people who visited prostitutes in Mississippi and Louisiana.
One associate had been decapitated.
Another jumped from a tall building to his death.
One woman's bruised body was found in her Department of Interior office.
Another slit her wrists. Several died in car accidents. A gunshot wound to the back of the head, later ruled a suicide, was the predominant cause of death. One theme held the reports together: many of the associates were prepared to come forth with information damaging to Claxton.
Jackson closed the search-engine window. He felt as if a bag of crushed ice had been dumped on him.
Could all of this be coincidental -- 107 deaths over the course of less than ten years?
Of course, Jackson tried to reassure himself, most of the dead were allegedly about to come forth with information about the former vice president, not the senator.
But then there was Samuel Lester, who was about to testify about billing practices at the former law firm where he and the senator had worked. Rumor had it that he and the senator had been romantically involved back when then-Governor Claxton was having his own flings.
Maybe Lester killed himself because he loved Eleanor and didn't want to embarrass or humiliate her.
Then the words came back to him...
"Let me put it this way, Mohammed. You aren't the first individual to work for me or my husband and carry out the duties that you do."
The modicum of reassurance vanished.
Had Karen Jacoby been murdered because she opposed Eleanor's plan to co-opt Eckberg's court-martial for political gain? Was Mohammed Eleanor's henchman? What if Eleanor knew or even suspected that someone so close to her had bugged her room?
Fear encompassed him, rolling up into his throat, suffocating him. His chest, arms, and legs felt heavy. His teeth chattered uncontrollably.
Straining with all his might, he pushed the words out of his mouth. "Dear God -- if there is a God in heaven -- "He paused and craned his neck, looking up at the ornate chandelier hanging from the ceiling of his plush suite. "If you're up there, you know I don't do this sort of thing. Pray, I mean." The chattering slowed. "At Yale, they say you aren't real.
"I don't know about all that. But I know this: I'm scared to death, God. If you're there, if you're real, you know that." His nerves calmed slightly.
"As for me, I just don't know what to do. I'm desperate. I entered politics to help people. Not to kill people. Help me, God. If you're there, please help me."
CHAPTER 31
Inmate interrogation room 4
United States Disciplinary Barracks
U.S. Army Base
Fort Leavenworth, Kansas
10:00 p.m. (CST)
So what do you know about Plan 547?" Quasay asked.
The trio was again sitting at the steel table. Shannon leaned forward. "What don't you understand about what I just said, Commander? I told you we know all about Plan 547. But there are certain ground rules you will have to follow if you don't want me to walk right out that door and tell Commander Brewer you weren't cooperative. And the first is that you don't get to ask the questions. I get to ask the questions. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly," he said. "My apologies."
"Now let me ask you -- what do you understand about Plan 547?"
Quasay's black eyes shifted back and forth between Shannon and Barry. "Plan 547, I'm ashamed to say, was my plan. I suggested it through back channels to the council even before I was selected to fly the mission. Al-Akhma liked it, and I suppose he still does."
Tell us what the plan is, or I'll kill you myself. "Well, it's fascinating, to say the least. How'd you come up with it?"
"There are two periods of maximum publicity surrounding the capture of a hostage. First, shortly after the capture, the Western press will cover events for a maximum of maybe two months, depending, of course, on the detainee. The more famous, obviously the longer the coverage, which is good for our organization. Groups like the council depend, frankly, on the Western press for survival. Once press coverage dies, so does the organization's ability to raise money and incite fear among the population.
"This being the case, a second event surrounding the detainee can be useful in prolonging press coverage, which produces the same outcome -- fear and money. That second event, of course, is the threat of public execution and then the execution itself, usually a beheading.
"The challenge, if I must say so, is timing. Act too quickly, and the execution blurs into the hoopla surrounding the original abduction. Wait too long, and the public has forgotten who the detainee is."
"Brilliant, if I must say so myself, Commander," Shannon said. "Dastardly but brilliant." Tell me what it means.
"Thank you. As I said, timing is the key. So we decided that the perfect amount of time is eighteen months."
"Eighteen months," Barry said. Shannon gave him a hand signal under the table to leave the talking to her.
"Yes, exactly." Quasay beamed with satisfaction. "Or 547 days."
"I see -- 547 days."
"Yes. Between date of capture and date of execution -- 547 days."
Shannon's mind raced. The eighteen-month anniversary of Diane Colcernian's capture -- if her math was right -- would be coming up in... about two weeks!
"I take it they've already made a public demand?" Quasay asked.
A public demand. He has to be referring to Colcernian.
"As you wish."
"Let me show you something your lawyer gave us." She extracted the list from her briefcase and slid it across the table.
"Ah, yes." His face held a look of recognition. "The list."
"We know all about the list," Shannon lied. "What I want you to tell me" -- she leaned over the table, eyeing him intently -- "is why you didn't have a copy of the list on your person in Syria or on the carrier."
"In the name of Allah the munificent," he said. "Keeping a hard copy of this anywhere" -- he waved the paper in the air -- "would have been most dangerous, potentially compromising our mission."
"Then how did la Trec have a copy in his file?"
"Because as I explained to Mr. la Trec, I received my instructions from the council through a highly secure website. Mr. la Trec had access to the website and obviously printed the list from his files. That's how we communicated. Nothing would be written down until after I had taken my rightful place on the council."
"And how do we access this website?"
"I can give you the address, and then you'll have to key in a series of five different pass codes. But I'm sure the council has shut it down by now."
She pulled a pen and a legal pad from her briefcase and slid them across the table.
"Write it down," she ordered. "Everything."
Quasay brought his chained hands to the table. The chains rattled against the steel surface. He took the pen and complied. He pushed the pad back.
She studied it.
www.plan547.uk
Code 1: 9863829
Code 2: 76304923
Code 3: 53080294
Code 4: 79709039
Code 5: 14965804
"Thank you, Commander," she said. "I just have a few more questions."
"But of course."
"Why Mongolia?"
"Ah," he said, half smiling. "A very good question, Shannon McGill-very. And the answer is simple if you understand the doctrinal basis for what we were trying -- and are still trying -- to accomplish."
"The doctrinal basis?"
"Yes. Al-Akhma wanted to use this attack on the Dome of the Rock, and the great uproar that it would cause, as a catalyst for forming one Islamic superpower in the Middle East, of which he would be the leader.
"For al-Akhma's dream of a new Islamic superpower to come to pass, we would need weapons. Lots of weapons. We knew we couldn't get them from America. America is the great Satan, as you know." He paused, his black eyes gleaming. "Could I please have a drink of water?"
Shannon nodded, then went to the door, knocked, and asked the MP for water for them all. When the MP closed the door, Shannon returned to the interrogation table.
"Go ahead," she ordered Quasay.
"As I was saying, a new Islamic superpower, to hold its own against America, would need weapons. Not just old throwaway hardware like World War II - era tanks and MiG-21s. In other words, the antiquated weapons like Sadaam had would not be acceptable. To stand up to America, we would need nukes. The best possible sources, of course, were Russia and China."
The MP knocked and brought in a pitcher and three Styrofoam cups. Barry poured water for Quasay, who, because of his bound wrists, held his hands together as he took a sip.
"What made you think Russia and China would cooperate?"
"We did not know so much about China. But the Russians have always wanted two things that our new nation would have. First, they are cash-strapped. We would control the oil fields, and thus the cash pipeline to turn Moscow into an economic Shanghai. Second, the Russians have always dreamed of a warm-water port in our region. We felt that after the attack on the Dome, we could consolidate all the nations on the Arabian peninsula, plus Syria, Iraq, Afghanistan, and possibly Egypt. We would offer a naval alliance with the Russians for one- hundred-year leasing rights where they could bring their ships in -- much like the U.S. Navy once had at Subic Bay in the Philippines."
Quasay took another sip.
"Russia was a bit of a gamble, because clearly, there are now pro-Western elements there, even in the government. But there are also many old-time hard-liners in the military and the Kremlin who hate Gorbachev and Yeltsin and who want to return to the glory days of the old Soviet Union. Cash from Middle Eastern oil reserves would allow Russia to modernize its military and get its warm-water port to boot."
"Fascinating," Barry said.
"Fascinating, indeed, Mr. MacGregor," Quasay replied.
"Which leads back to my original question," Shannon said. "Why Mongolia?"
"First, Mongolia is landlocked. The council recognizes that the United States Navy is America's greatest weapon in the world. United States Marines cannot reach Mongolia, at least not by amphibious assault. It has no shoreline. It cannot be invaded by amphibious ships like the shores of Lebanon or Iraq or most other nations around the world with coastlines. Second, the government of Mongolia is weak, easily manipulated, and influenced by Russia and China. It has little means to prevent most of the activities that occur there, even if it were aware of them. The Mongolian government does not know about our camp in the Gobi. Third, any attempt to invade Mongolia by air or land would mean crossing Russian and Chinese airspace.
"We assumed that after we attacked the Dome, the Russians and the Chinese would ally with the moderate Islamic states against America. Especially after al-Akhma approached the Russians with his proposed exchange of a warm-water port and cash for diplomatic recognition and nuclear weapons.
"I felt -- and the council agreed -- that the U.S. would not risk a war against either of these superpowers by invading their territorial airspace. That's why."
How perceptive. This guy has been incarcerated, out of touch with international events, and he's reading the Russian and Chinese positions as if he were sitting in the White House. Plus, the CIA has reported that secret talks have gone on between al-Akhma and the Russian president.
All of this, Shannon knew, had been a huge concern for the Williams administration, which had been criticized by the Democrats for returning the United States to a cold war status.
"Can you tell me where in Mongolia this camp is located?"
"No, except somewhere in the Gobi. You see, that is also part of Council of Ishmael doctrine. The camp, just like field headquarters for the Council of Ishmael, was to be mobile. The use of tents, barbed wire, and armed guards would allow it to be located in various places. And the plan was to move it from time to time to make it more difficult for U.S. satellites to find it."
"Under Plan 547, can we expect an announcement prior to Colcernian's execution?"
"I can't say."
"Why?"
"First, I don't know if they got her there. I was captured by the Israelis while she was being transported. Second, there was an ongoing argument about whether to announce the execution before or after it actually happened. Some in the council felt that announcing it beforehand would give us more publicity. The problem with that was that the U.S. would immediately launch an all-out search for the camp. Then there was the school of thought that we simply videotape the execution and present the tape to Al Jazeer and other television networks -- after we had pulled up stakes and relocated the camp. Al-Akhma hadn't decided which route to take. The mission was in the planning stages.
"Thank you, Commander," Shannon said. "I'm inclined to plead for leniency in your case in light of your cooperation tonight. But there's one other thing I need."
He nodded as she pulled a tape recorder from her briefcase.
"I want you to repeat everything you just told me as I roll the tape."
"Of course."
CHAPTER 32
Russian-Kazakhstan border checkpoint
Between Krasny Yar, Russia, and Ganyushkino, Kazakhstan
Tuesday, 11:30 a.m. (local time)
Traveling east through the lowlands of the Caspian Depression, they crossed the great Volga River. Soon after, Fadil fell asleep
in the passenger's seat of the panel truck.
He wasn't sure how long he had been dozing when the bumping and slowing of the truck wakened him. He rubbed his eyes and saw a checkpoint in the middle of the road. A flagpole stood on each side. The flag on the left had white, blue, and red stripes, just like the flag that had flown on the Alexander Popovich. The flag of the Russian Republic.
The flagpole on the right bore a flag that Fadil was not familiar with. It was light blue with the image of a golden sun in the middle and a golden eagle below.
Under each flagpole, to the left and the right of the road, stood guard shacks. Soldiers wore camouflage uniforms, black combat boots, and AK-47 assault rifles slung over their necks. They milled about under the flags, stopping traffic in both directions.
"Where are we?" he asked Sergey, his driver.
"Kazakhstan border," Sergey said in English, their bridge language.
A stone-faced, cigarette-smoking border guard held out his hand, motioning for them to halt.
Fadil reached down for the Uzi as the olive-drab windowless panel truck slowly approached the border checkpoint.
"You not need that," Sergey said.
"What about our passengers in the back? Will they not look inside?" "Relax," Sergey said. "I cross border many times. Usually no problems. Sometimes find guard with... uh... attitude. With hope, we be fine."
Fadil lit his cigarette. He slid the Uzi under the seat. "Just get us across the border and get us to the plane," he said.
"Zdratsvoitsyeh. Gde vwee preyearhit, moi droog?" the guard asked in Russian.
"Ganyushkino," Sergey said." Ya magu dat vam pyet sto dollaryes yeslee mwee mozhetzyeh piedyume seachess."
A grin crossed the guard's face. "Pravda?"