by Vince Flynn
Karim had the address as well as the phone number memorized. It had been emblazoned on his subconscious nearly a year earlier. It was part of the original plan orchestrated by al Qaeda’s senior leadership. They were not far from the safe house, but first he needed to get rid of the RV. Karim called for Ahmed to join him up front.
“Two more exits. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
Karim stayed in the right lane, slowing with the merging and exiting cars. At the Fairfax County Parkway exit he looped around and headed north. He took his second right turn at Fair Lakes Parkway and then followed it straight to the big mall. The place was huge, with rows and rows of cars to choose from. Karim pointed out several cameras as well as a mall security vehicle parked close to one of the main entrances.
“Remember,” Karim said, holding up the phone. “Turn yours on and we will use the talk button on the side.”
“I remember.”
Next to a grassy boulevard with a row of trees, Karim brought the big RV to a stop. Ahmed exited the vehicle and crossed the boulevard. Ten seconds later he was wading through a sea of cars, working his way toward the Macy’s entrance just like the thousands of shoppers who would attend the mall on this sunny Saturday afternoon. Karim drove a hundred meters and parked in the area farthest from the mall. The parking lot was about 70 percent full. He glanced down at his digital watch. Every man on his team had been taught how to steal a car. They focused on the most common makes and models and knew exactly what wires to clip and how to disengage the steering lock. Even so, Karim’s heart was racing.
His phone beeped and for an instant Karim thought Ahmed was trying to talk to him. He looked at the screen and saw that the message light was blinking. He stared at the phone, wondering if he could listen to the message and still receive a call from Ahmed. He knew the message was from Hakim, and the pull to find out what he had said was too much. Karim pressed the message button and waited for voice prompts.
Karim’s eyes scanned the parking lot while the quiet voice of Hakim played over the tiny speaker. “It’s too bad you didn’t trust me. I’m already on my way out of the country. I suppose you’re stuck somewhere in the middle of America getting ready to kill another innocent woman. The Lion of al Qaeda . . .” the words were followed by mocking laughter. “It should be the Lamb of al Qaeda.” Karim’s jaw clenched. “It’s too bad you don’t have the genitalia to fight a real man face to face.”
Karim let loose an unbridled scream of anger that echoed through the RV, while he smashed his fist repeatedly down on the dashboard. When he was done he looked around to see if anyone was close enough to hear and then repeated the process. He didn’t think he had ever wanted to kill anyone more in his life. Karim replayed the message one more time and then pressed the button to reply. At the beep, he said, “You are a coward and you have always been a coward. You have proved it once again by running away and leaving me to fight. I will prove to the world that I am the lion and you are the lamb. My only regret is that I will not be able to kill you with my own hands, but do not worry . . . I will make sure that you are marked as a traitor to Islam and hunted to the ends of the earth.”
Moments after he left the message the phone crackled with the voice of Ahmed. “I am pulling up behind you.”
Karim checked his side mirror and saw a dark blue pickup. He pressed the button on the side of the phone and said, “Follow me.”
They left the mall lot and went back down Fair Lakes Parkway. Karim remembered seeing an office park not far away. It would be mostly empty on a Saturday afternoon. He took a right at Fair Lakes Court and pulled into the tree-lined lot a few hundred meters ahead on his left. He was pleased by the absence of security cameras. Karim parked the RV, climbed out of the driver’s seat, and went back to the kitchen area where two bags were packed and waiting by the door. He went out the side door and locked and closed it behind him. Ahmed had already opened the rear-side storage compartment. He took two bags from the compartment and placed them in the back of the pickup before going back for a third.
Ahmed then climbed back behind the wheel of the Ford F-150 while Karim jumped in the passenger seat. Karim pulled the map from his pocket and checked their location one more time before telling Ahmed where to go. He led him back toward the mall and had him take a left on Ox Road. They wound through some plush residential neighborhoods until they found themselves on Stuart Mill Road. The rolling tree-lined street held some of the county’s most expensive homes. Karim, however, was not impressed.
The house was ahead on the right. Karim instantly recognized the gate even though it had been nearly a year since he’d looked at the photos. Before leaving Pakistan they had spent weeks going over every detail of the plan. Originally this place was to serve as the staging area for the attacks. The hilltop estate was shrouded in trees and was big enough to house a battalion of men. Over thirty-thousand square feet of opulence owned by Saudi Aramco. It was used to entertain and house the man who ran the Saudi-owned national oil company’s Washington office. Karim had been assured the executive would be out of the country for the week before the attack and the week after. The staff would also be given time off.
They pulled up to the gate and stopped. Both men looked up the long, paved driveway. From their vantage they could glimpse just a portion of the house. Karim glanced over at the keypad and remembered the code. It was simple enough. “The four corners,” he said to Ahmed. “One, three, nine, seven.”
Ahmed pressed the numbers and the gate slid open. They drove slowly up the driveway, continued past the circle that led to the front door, and went around the right side of the house where the garage doors were located. Karim drew his gun and spun the silencer into place before jumping out of the vehicle. He found the keypad on the first of four doors, punched in the same code they used for the gate, and then hit enter. The door began sliding smoothly up. Karim moved off to his right and looked around the corner of the house to the backyard. It was landscaped in such a way that his view was blocked. He moved back to the edge of the garage and bent to look under the rising door. The space straight ahead was open, but the other three were occupied. Karim was pleased. He ducked under the door and moved across the gray floor. Ahmed put the truck in drive and followed him.
When the vehicle was clear of the door Karim pressed the button and lowered it. Ahmed turned the truck off and jumped out. Before Karim had to tell him, the Moroccan drew his pistol and quickly spun a silencer onto the end of it. Karim placed his hand on the doorknob.
He’d been told it would likely be unlocked, but if it wasn’t there was a key hidden behind the garbage can. He tried the handle and it moved. Both men stepped into a back hallway and turned their attention to the buzzing keypad on the wall. Karim punched in the code, but in reverse this time. The buzzing stopped a split second later and they both breathed a sigh of relief that did not last long.
Footsteps could be heard down the hallway and then the voice of a man called out. Karim leveled his gun and glided down the hall in near silence. Ahmed trailed two steps behind. The wide hallway had doorways on the left and the right. Karim bypassed both of them, leaving them to Ahmed. A modern oil painting hung on the wall straight ahead and there were open archways to the left and the right. Karim moved to the right side and took a quick look into the room on the left before springing back to his left so he could get a better angle on the room where he thought he had heard the voice. There was movement. At least one person. Karim charged ahead, his gun ready to dispatch any threat. A man was seated at the kitchen table in a white robe and a woman was standing in the middle of the kitchen, also in a white robe, frozen like a statue with a coffee cup in one hand and a saucer in the other.
Karim would never know if it was the dropping of the cup and saucer and the way they shattered on the stone floor or the woman’s earsplitting scream that caused him to squeeze the trigger, but he did know that it happened without any forethought. The bullet sailed clear through her open mouth and
blew out a good portion of the back of her head. An instant later she was on the floor twitching among the broken white ceramic shards of her coffee cup and saucer. Karim glanced at her and then his eyes traveled back to the white cupboards that had been behind her. They were covered with brain matter and blood and looked amazingly similar to the modern painting he had just passed in the hall. His eyes traveled next to the silent man at the table. He was in his fifties and was undoubtedly Arab. The woman could have been his daughter.
The man swallowed hard and then with a quivering lip said, “Please don’t kill me.”
Karim nodded and asked, “What is your name?”
“Khalid,” he said. “Khalid al Saeed.”
“You run the Aramco office in Washington.”
“Yes.”
“You are supposed to be out of the country.”
He nodded. “You are the Lion of al Qaeda.”
Karim was caught off guard. “How would you know such a thing?”
“Your photo is on TV. Both of you.” He pointed over Karim’s shoulder to Ahmed.
Karim felt his gut twist. He tried to stay focused and asked, “Why are you here? You were supposed to be gone.”
“I decided to return early.”
“Your family?” Karim asked.
“They are still in the Kingdom.”
Karim looked to the woman on the floor. Her robe had spilled partially open and he could see that she was not wearing any underwear. “Who is she?”
“A friend.”
Karim nodded, ran a few scenarios through his head, and made a quick decision. He looked at the man’s nervous eyes and said, “Allahu Akbar.”
“No,” the man pleaded. “I am a Saudi. I am a believer. I have contacts . . . very well-placed contacts. I . . .”
Karim raised his pistol and shot the man twice in the heart.
CHAPTER 65
NASSAU, BAHAMAS
GEORGE Butler looked across the table and said, “You could have just paid him the million dollars.”
Rapp smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and said, “I suppose.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” Dumond said as he pecked away at his laptop. “The guy was a world-class prick.”
Rapp laughed. It wasn’t like Dumond to offer such a harsh opinion. They were sitting in the Chairman’s Club at Graycliff, the eighteenth-century plantation house turned hotel and restaurant. The place was very private and very British. Rapp had suggested it knowing that Butler had a discreet agreement with the manager. A waiter came into the room with a large tray. He set down three plates and refilled the water and iced tea glasses.
When he was gone, Butler said to Rapp, “You almost lost him. Wouldn’t it have been easier to just pay him?”
Rapp shook his head. “Maybe, but I think a guy like that is just as likely to take your money and lie to you. He’s a thug. He gets his way by threatening people with violence.”
Butler set down his iced tea. “So you hit him with the only thing he really understands.”
“I suppose. It worked, didn’t it?”
“Yes, but you do know I would never have let you lay a finger on him. At least not while he was here.”
“I know,” Rapp said with a slight grin. “I would never put you in that position.”
“Yes you would,” Butler said with dry sincerity.
“Well . . . at least not intentionally.”
“That has always been your Achilles’ heel.”
“What?”
“Some people have the Midas touch . . . you, on the other hand . . . have all the grace of one of those American footballers who bashes the quarterback into submission.”
“Thank you,” Rapp said with a smile.
Butler’s phone vibrated. He didn’t bother to pick it up. He simply looked down at the screen, read the message, and said, “We have located our banker.”
“Christian?” Rapp said.
“Yes, his last name is Nelson. He has a flat over in the Grove not far from here.”
“Do your boys have eyes on him?” Rapp asked.
“Not yet. A car is on its way, but we have his mobile, work number, and email account all monitored.”
Rapp smiled. When it came to national security and secrecy the Brits could move five times faster than the Americans. “Do we know if he’s on the island?”
“According to customs . . . yes.”
“I’m in,” Dumond announced, raising his hands in the air as if he’d just won an Olympic medal.
“Where?” Butler asked.
“First Caribbean Bank.”
“Impossible.” Butler looked nervously back toward the door. “How did you do that so fast?”
Rapp leaned in and waved off Butler’s question. “If you really want to know, maybe you guys could take a walk on the beach later.”
“But . . .” Butler tried to press the question.
“No,” Rapp said, knowing where it would lead them. Butler was a techie at heart. “You two will start talking about all of your trapdoors and back doors and portals and hashes and injections and my eyes will glaze over and then I’ll get a headache. So you guys can go over all that later. For now,” Rapp said, turning all of his attention back to Dumond, “I want to hear about the financials of Adam Farhat.”
Dumond was the ultimate multitasker and had never stopped typing. “Sweet mother of Jesus!” he announced with his eyes still fixed on his laptop.
“What?” Rapp asked.
“He has over thirteen million dollars in this account. Almost ten of it deposited this week alone.”
“That would make sense,” Butler said. “Payments for the drugs.”
“What else?” Rapp asked.
“Looks like he runs some kind of coffee import company.”
“What about payments? Where has he been sending money?”
“Other than this hundred thousand dollar debit, which was probably to General Scumbag, there’s nothing. Only deposits.” Dumond squinted at the screen and pecked at a few keys. “He also has a safety deposit box.”
Butler’s phone started ringing. He glanced at the caller ID and then answered. “Hello.” He listened ten seconds, his eyes growing a touch more alert by the second. “And we have people in place?” He listened again for a few seconds and nodded enthusiastically. “Good. I’ll be back to you shortly.” Butler set the phone down and said, “Apparently Mr. Nelson just got off the phone with his superior at the bank.”
“And?” Rapp asked.
“One of his more important clients would like to access his safety deposit box this afternoon.”
“Is that normal for a Saturday?” Rapp asked.
Butler shrugged as if to say who knows. “These banks all make exceptions for their better clients.”
“Where’s Nelson right now?”
“Leaving his flat. We assume on his way to the bank.”
Rapp looked at Butler for a long moment and then without saying a word both men stood.
Dumond looked up. “Where are you guys going? Our sandwiches just got here.”
“Bring it with,” Rapp said. “You can eat in the car.”
CHAPTER 66
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
THE match was a blowout. McLean was up 14–1 over their hated rivals the Langley Saxons. The difference this year was Rory Nash and everyone knew it. The thirteen-year-old had eight of his team’s points. Nash watched intently as Rory sliced through the Saxons’ defense. Any other game he’d be on the bench at this point, but McLean’s coach wanted retribution for last year’s blowout. Langley had one big defender whom Nash had been watching all game. He had reminded his son before the game to keep an eye out for him. The kid was a head taller than every other player on the field and was known to lay out at least one opponent per game. As Nash looked out on the field Rory was moving from right to left cradling the ball. He sliced between two defenders and it looked as if the big kid from Langley was finally going to get his shot at Rory. At the last second,
though, Rory slammed on the brakes and pulled off a perfect roll dodge. The big kid sailed past Rory with an angry grunt as he tried to command his large frame to do the impossible. Rory closed on the goal, moving to his left as he went. He faked once and froze the goalie and then again as he closed the gap. His feet were dancing along the edge of the crease. He faked low to get the goalie to bite and then the stick snapped around the back of his head, the ball arching softly through the air to the opposite side of the crease, where one of his teammates snatched it and snapped it into the open net.