by Jay Deb
“Faizan,” Zarin said from behind him, which almost startled him.
He was on the second or third step of the stairs. He turned and figured that she was sitting at the dining table.
“Yes?” he said. “Don’t you have school today?” The light bulbs in the chandelier were turned off, but the area was well lit with sunlight that penetrated through the large glass windows.
“No, it’s a school holiday. Why don’t we go outside? It’s a beautiful day. Dad asked me to show you around, but you have been sleeping last two days.”
“No,” he said as he turned and walked toward her. “I don’t want to go out. I’m not feeling well.”
“Oh, come on! You will be just sitting in the car,” Zarin said and paused and then asked awkwardly, “Do you they have cars in Egypt?”
“Yes, we do. In fact, we have the same exact cars as you do here. Toyota Camry, Honda…I have a bad headache. Can you get me some medicine?” he lied, hoping that would send her out of the house, giving him some privacy.
“Oh, no problem,” she said and went upstairs and came back within a minute with some pills in her hand. “Here, take these. It will help you.”
Faizan took the two blue gel pills and said, “Thanks.” Then he headed back to his room.
Once in his room, he locked the door, threw the pills outside through the window, looked outside and prayed again.
After he’d been done praying, he started packing his stuff. First he took the AK-74 rifle parts from the duffel bag, and one by one, he put them together and finally clamped the barrel on. He had done it many times during his training. He aimed the rifle through the window, gave it a shake and felt it was assembled correctly. He laid it to rest on the floor by the wall and then proceeded with the second rifle.
Next, he took the two handguns out of the briefcase and loaded them. He checked the cash again and was about to put on clothes when he heard a knock on the door.
It was Zarin. Faizan hurried to the door.
“I came back to check.” She peeped through the door which was only slightly opened by Faizan. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, yes,” he said and paused, still holding the door almost shut, thinking hard of a better idea to get rid of her. “Actually, you know, I’m having a loose bowel problem. I’m not used to this American food. Do you have any medicine for that?”
Zarin smiled and lowered her head. “I think we do. Let me check.” She left.
Faizan closed the door, and his vision fell on the two rifles lying near the wall. He quickly shoved them in the duffel bag; only the tips of the rifles’ barrels could be seen from outside. Within a minute, Zarin was back again, and Faizan opened the door slightly.
“I think we don’t have any Imodium. Mom might keep it somewhere else. I don’t know,” she smilingly said. “But don’t worry, I will go and get some for you. Okay?”
“Okay.” He shut the door again and, a minute later, watched Zarin leave in her red Ford car. He was relieved. She was finally gone. He undressed and stuffed the clothes inside the duffel bag and put on fresh ones. He tried to push the tips of the AK-74s inside the bag, but a few inches of the barrel still hung outside.
He knew he did not have much time. Zarin could be back any minute. He picked up the duffel bag with his right hand and the black briefcase with the left. He knew where the key to the professor’s Dodge Caravan was – hanging from a hook on the hallway. After picking up the key, he laid the little note on the kitchen counter – Dear Mr. Hassan, a friend just called me. He wanted to meet me in Atlanta. Don’t worry, and please don’t call the police. I will be back tomorrow. Your car is safe with me.
None of that was true. But he was happy that the girl was gone and he didn’t need to kill her. Halim’s instruction was clear – kill anyone who stood in the way. Be it the girl, her father, or the entire family. “Of course that would start a manhunt,” Halim had said. “But cops in America are overrated; they won’t be able to get to you within twenty-four hours. I have chosen the Augusta location for a reason. After you leave the professor’s house, you cross into a new state within minutes. Cops in different states don’t talk to one another, let alone cooperate to catch someone.”
Faizan exited through the door. He had his duffel bag and the briefcase. He took two steps and froze. Zarin’s compact car appeared in front of the driveway and took a slow right turn into it.
CIA DIRECTOR STONEWALL was running through all the meetings she was going to attend that day; it was a long list. She took a sip from her large cup of coffee and then placed it back on the table. She had been prepping for her meetings for an hour already, and it was only eight thirty in the morning.
At nine sharp, she started the staff meeting. Lazarus was there, and she introduced three newly hired field officers – two men and one woman, all of them in their mid-twenties.
“Remember,” she continued her speech, “our job is not just to do what your supervisor tells you to do. We are responsible to the American people. Keeping our great country safe is what we do. Our country depends on us. We take risks, and we put our lives on the line. Harbor no regret that you cannot tell your friends about all that you do. Have no sadness that you don’t appear in newspapers or on TV or Internet sites. You are the true hero. I know that. And the president knows that.”
All two hundred people, who had gathered to listen to Stonewall, applauded. Stonewall spoke for another thirty minutes. And then it was time for her next meeting, which was with the French Intelligence. It was going to be a video conference call, and Lazarus was going to be joining her.
Stonewall walked down the hallway, heading for her office, Lazarus sauntering alongside her.
“We have some credible info that there is going to be an attack on a French university,” Stonewall said without looking at Lazarus. “But we don’t know where.”
“Do we know who is going to do it?” Lazarus asked, clearing his throat.
“The source said two Algerian men are already in France. But what we don’t know is who sent them. Al-Qaeda and the Iranians are the prime suspects. But either way we have to warn the French.”
“Why don’t we ask them to do something for us before we tell them?” Lazarus said as they both entered Stonewall’s office and sat down.
“I think that’s a good idea,” Stonewall started entering the conference number into the Cisco video phone, “but I don’t know what they can pass on to us that is valuable.”
“I think they can give us a tape of those conversations over land phones from France to Pakistan, to Saudi Arabia, to Syria. And copies of those physical mails sent to mullahs in Paris that the French intel regularly…”
Stonewall shushed Lazarus. The meeting was on. Three decorated French generals and two French plainclothes men appeared on the video display.
“Bonjour,” one of the generals said.
“Bonjour,” replied Stonewall. A few minutes passed in exchanging pleasantries before Stonewall broached the real topic at hand. “We have some info about an attack in your country.”
“Let’s hear it,” the second French general said.
“Not so fast,” said Lazarus.
Stonewall said to Lazarus in a hushed voice, “Let me handle it. You just listen in.”
“We think we should receive something in return from you,” Stonewall said loudly into the phone, “after we give you the information.”
“What do you mean?” the second general said. “You tell us what you know, and we tell you what we know. I thought that’s the deal we have.”
“Frankly speaking,” Stonewall said, grinning. “Lately we have been giving a lot of data, and in return, we don’t receive much.”
The general sat up straight and said, “If you want to keep the information to yourself, then keep it, but we will not be coerced into something that we don’t want to do.”
“Listen, all we are asking for is something in return for what I am about to tell you. This is very valuable information from
a reliable source.”
“We all know,” the first general with a big mustache, who had been seated silently and reading from a folder since the pleasantries, cut in, “how reliable the CIA intelligence data is. You fought in Iraq for almost a decade and spent two trillion dollars based on faulty intelligence. So don’t tell us your information is valuable. Maybe we are better off without whatever it is that you know.”
Stonewall sighed and dropped her shoulders. “We are going to tell you what we know, as I can’t sit and watch innocent people die anywhere in the world. We are also going to send you a list of items we expect you to send. If we don’t receive those within a reasonable timeframe, then we will no longer have these meetings.”
Lazarus gleefully nodded, and the meeting was over fifteen minutes later.
Stonewall’s next meeting was outside the Langley office, in the Hyatt Hotel in DC. It was to be a lunch gathering, hosted by a lobbyist who had the largest office in K Street. Stonewall generally avoided such lavish gatherings, and the only reason she had decided to attend was because she knew that the eight Senate Intelligence Committee members, including the chairman and Senator Brushback, were also going to be present. She hated that she would have to see Senator Brushback face to face, but she still decided to go, since she knew that the best time to get a politician to promise to do some real work was when their belly was full of old wine and fresh caviar.
A LIMO WITH dark-tinted windows picked up Stonewall from the Langley office and dropped her at the Hyatt Hotel.
At the lunch, Stonewall talked to the chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee and avoided eye contact with Brushback. Later, heading back to the lunch room after a trip to the restroom, Stonewall saw Brushback walking toward her. She looked at the dragon decoration on the wall and tried to pass him without making conversation, but the senator stood in front of her. “Hello, Director Stonewall, it’s so nice to see you,” Brushback greeted her insincerely.
Stonewall turned her face and tried to look surprised. “Hi. I didn’t know you were going to be here,” she lied.
After more smooth talking, Brushback asked, “Have you decided who the deputy director will be once Lazarus leaves?”
“I have been thinking about that a lot. But the agency has so many good candidates, and I have not been able to make up my mind.”
“As I was saying the other day,” Brushback clasped his hands together and grinned, “Ross Calpone will make a good deputy director, and I think you should consider him for the job. Even Lazarus thinks so.”
“I think we already settled that. Ross Calpone will not be the deputy director as long as I am sitting on the top spot.”
Brushback took a step back and said, “The FBI director called me and said that Max Doerr has been calling one of his men, asking for undue favors.”
“Undue favors?” Stonewall said angrily. “Max is just doing his job. We government agencies cooperate and coordinate, unlike you politicians, who can’t stop biting each other.”
“Mind your language, Stonewall,” Brushback warned her. “I talked to people in your agency, and many don’t like your style. How come you have a foreigner named Regina Rosania working on the high-profile Dubai operation? I demand that Rosania be taken off the Dubai project immediately.”
Stonewall paid no heed. “First, I don’t think that the FBI director called you. Second, I am the director, and I will run operations my way. Third, Rosania, my agent, will not be taken off the project. Now, if you will excuse me.” Stonewall started walking away from the senator.
“Wait,” the senator said desperately. “What about oversight? I have a constitutional duty.”
“What about it?” Stonewall faced Brushback, all traces of smile gone from her face. “We sent you all the reports. See it over and over.”
“Just sending a report isn’t enough.” Brushback kicked the carpeted floor out of frustration.
“It is enough. And one more thing. You will not talk to anyone in my agency but me. And if you don’t oblige, I will take it up with the president.” She started walking away from the senator. She was done with Brushback.
Stonewall wondered how Senator Brushback knew so much about the Dubai operation. Was it possible that Lazarus was feeding him all the data? Then she brushed the thought aside. Lazarus had been working for the agency for a really long time, and she had nothing but confidence in him.
DOERR FELT RELIEVED that the three APBs had been issued for the three men whose first name was Faizan. Their photos and other details had been distributed to every law enforcement agencies across America. If any of the men were caught by police for a minor traffic infraction or any other incident, the man in question would be detained, and the Counter Terrorism Department of the FBI would be notified. With some luck, the FBI and the CIA would work together and elicit all the information they needed, or so Doerr hoped.
But for that to happen, Doerr knew, a lot of things had to go right. The best way to solve the problem was to somehow catch Halim. But he was not having much success with that either. The CIA’s ‘Eyes in the Skies’ program, which was basically a worldwide listening system implemented with satellites, intercepted communications from Halim that supported the theory that someone named Faizan was in America already and was planning a major attack. But the source of that communication was not clearly identified, and some within the CIA doubted whether that intercept was even credible. It may be just some renegade terrorist group trying to spread rumors that were not backed by fact.
Doerr did everything he could to locate Halim. He and Rosania interviewed close to a hundred people who were said to be associated with terrorist groups. In the process, Doerr hired about twenty of them to be CIA informants. The information they provided was vital, but Halim seemed to have just vanished from the face of the Earth.
Doerr called his wife, Gayle, one day. “How is your job?”
“It’s hectic right now,” Gayle said. “We are releasing new a version of software in March.”
“So you’re working late pretty much every day?”
“Yes. More or less. And I will be working this weekend.”
“So it looks like you are better off without me at the moment,” Doerr said and laughed.
“Max, please don’t joke.” Gayle’s voice turned serious. “As it is, I’m already tense, and I wonder all the time whether you will come back in one piece or not.”
“I’m sorry.” Doerr paused.
A few seconds later, Gayle asked, “How is your work?”
“Well…we have been trying to catch this guy. I cannot say his name over phone. But he is like the father of all terrorists. No one knows where he is. But it looks like he has either already sent a man to America or is about to send him there. And my gut is telling me that this man is already on American soil.”
“Oh, really? He is in America already? About to plant a bomb or something? Where in America?”
“My guess is he is heading for either New York or DC. But then, as some of my co-workers at Langley suggested, this whole thing may be conjecture, completely fictitious. There is no man and no attack plan, according to them. But a voice inside me says they are planning to attack us, and we aren’t doing enough to stop it.”
“When is this operation going to end? Wasn’t catching Samuel your real job?”
“I guess this operation will end when we find these men. But yes, Samuel is on my mind all the time. The only reason I came to Dubai is because Lazarus made it a condition that I do this job before I could pursue Samuel. I agree with what he said. First this man, then Samuel. But I still feel like Samuel is sitting on my chest, always mocking me. I can almost hear Billy saying, ‘Daddy, go and catch Samuel.’ I go through this cycle every day!”
“I don’t know what to say, Max. I only hope that you do the right thing, live with me the rest of your life and walk every day with your head high.”
ZARIN’S CAR STOPPED just a foot away from Faizan. He dropped his bag and the brief
case on the ground, his mouth agape. He had expected her to be back soon but not that soon.
Zarin got out of her car, holding up a small yellow plastic pouch, probably with medicine inside. “See, I got it. But where are you going, Faizan?”
He quickly positioned himself so that Zarin wouldn’t be able to see the tips of his rifles popping out of his bag. He now regretted that he had assembled the rifles; it could have been done later. “I was going out to get the medicine myself. After I saw you were taking a long time.” He knew it sounded lame, but that was the best he could come up with.
“I was gone,” Zarin glanced at her watch, “not even ten minutes. And why are you carrying those bags? Come inside and take these meds.” She jerked her hand, motioning for him to reenter the house.
Faizan turned, ready to go back in the house. He gave a wry smile and said, “In America, time seems to pass slowly.”
That is a little better, he thought. Faizan felt good, and then he remembered the note he had left for the professor. He went straight to the kitchen, crumpled the paper and put it in his pocket, and helped himself to a glass of water. Faizan felt better; one problem was gone, but now a bigger problem stood before him.
How would Faizan leave with the professor’s car without rattling Zarin?
He took the pills from Zarin. “I am going upstairs for some rest. I hope this medicine works.” Faizan stepped on the stairs. It was also a lie. He was going to hatch another plan. Throw away the pills, pray again, and then utilize his bright brain to come out of this situation with minimal damage – that was Faizan’s new plan.
After the prayers, Faizan thought option one was just take the key and run. The problem with that would be if they called the cops, then they would chase Faizan.
Option two would be to convince Zarin to come with him, and Faizan knew the chance of that happening was very low.
Option three was the one Halim had said he should take. Kill whoever stands in the way.