by C. A. James
“Good night, Raph. Thanks for keeping an eye on things.” She locked the door and watched him drive off slowly.
“So,” said McCaig a minute later. “Is this the part in the movie where we find out the heroine was talking to the cop like nothing was wrong but sending silent SOS signals with her eyes?”
“Use your head, Mr. McCaig. If I wanted to turn you in, I sure wouldn’t have left my baby behind my desk!”
Christine glared at him.
“OK, sorry. My suspicious nature gets the better of me sometimes. Does this mean you believe us?”
“No. Just that you’ve got my interest. Come on, we need to get away from the windows in case Officer Raphael comes by again. There are some computers in the back you can use.”
Saylor lowered her book and adjusted Marina’s sleeping form a bit. She was reclined on one of the library’s reading-room couches, an acquisition she’d fought hard for at the City Council meetings. A library should be a comfortable, welcoming place. It should feel like your own living room, not like some run-down bus station with hard wooden chairs. She’d won the argument when, the third time it was up for discussion, she’d arrived early at City Hall and replaced the city councilor’s cushy armchairs with library chairs.
She looked over at her three visitors. A reporter, a disgraced FBI agent, and a terrorist, each hunched over a library computer. The computers’ screens lit their faces with an eerie blue glow in the dark rooms. Saylor heard occasional mouse clicks and keyboard clacks from time to time.
If someone had told her this morning that her day would end like this, she’d have laughed. It was beyond incredible. It was just ridiculous.
“I could help if you’d let me,” she said, breaking the silence.
Zarrabian glanced her way briefly. Christine didn’t respond. McCaig leaned back, rubbed his eyes, and turned to her.
“You really don't want to do that, Ms. Dylan,” he said.
“I’m a librarian. Research is what I do. I’m good at it.”
“No way. Right now you’re a small-town librarian who was tricked by three conspirators. You don’t know why we’re here or what we’re looking for. You officially don’t even know this guy is a terrorist. After all, last you heard, the president himself said the guy was dead.”
“So?”
“If we tell you what we’re doing, you lose any vestige of plausible deniability. You’ll be willingly and knowingly aiding the world’s most wanted terrorist. You might get out of prison in time to see your grandchild graduate from college.”
“How can he be the world’s most wanted terrorist if he’s officially dead?”
“You’re missing the point. This isn’t a game.”
“I’m not missing the point, McCaig. I’m already in.”
“And you can still get out.”
“Whatever.”
“You don’t have to stay. I know this is your library, but we’ll be good. I promise we won’t steal any books or put chewing gum under the tables. Why don’t you go home, put Marina to bed, and get some sleep?”
“How long is this going to take? You’ve been at it for over an hour already.”
“Until we find the answer. Maybe all night.”
“And if Officer Raphael knocks on the door, what are you going to tell him?”
“Will he?”
“Hard to say. As long as my car’s outside, he’ll figure any lights in here are me. It’s not like there’s anything else going on in this town.”
“He seems like a nice guy. Good looking, too.”
“And?”
“Just sayin’. That’s all.”
“What, you’re the Rio Vista matchmaker service now?”
“Just sayin’. Forget it.”
“Yeah, well I don’t like old guys in suits telling me how to run my life. I don’t need a man to complete me. Marina and I are doing just fine.”
“Old guy?”
A laugh escaped from Christine.
McCaig looked at her. “What, you think that’s funny?”
“Let me help,” said Saylor.
“She’s a big girl, TJ,” said Christine. “Don’t be so condescending. Quit acting like an old guy or I’ll start calling you one. If Saylor wants to help, read her in.”
There was a distant knock on the library’s door. Saylor stood and laid Marina on the couch gently. “Like I said, Officer Raph could be back any time. I’ll go chase him away.”
McCaig watched her form recede into the main room. There was another knock, this time louder. He heard the click of the door, and then voices. One was Saylor’s, but the other was not Officer Raph’s.
“I’d better go check, see who that is,” said McCaig. He went to the library’s lobby. Saylor and Bashir were arguing. In the dim light coming in from the parking lot, he could see Saylor’s form blocking the doorway. As McCaig approached, he heard Saylor’s strident voice and caught words like “search warrant” and “government property.”
“Ms. Dylan, let him in,” said McCaig. “He’s OK.”
She held her position. “What the hell? This guy is FBI!”
“Yeah, and he was my partner. Let me talk to him, OK?”
She moved back from the door and let Bashir in. “Over there. Behind those stacks, OK? Officer Raph could be by any time.” She locked the front door and walked away.
“Come on, Omar, back here,” said McCaig. Bashir was watching the receding form of Saylor, barely visible in the dim library. McCaig finally elbowed him.
“Oh, sorry boss. She’s pretty tall.”
“And has a Master’s degree and a little baby.”
“Really?”
“Really. Cute kid, too.”
They found a table and sat. An Exit sign over a side door cast a dim light on them.
“You made it,” said McCaig.
“Yeah. It took about three seconds to find Saylor Dylan all over the internet, but that was all about Berkeley. It was like she disappeared from the radar when she graduated. I finally found some city council minutes that had her name as librarian.”
“Why didn’t you email? Isn’t that what Christine put in the Craigslist message? Or what do they call it, the rant?”
“Boss, there’s some weird stuff going on. They might be watching my phone.”
“Listening in on you? Damn, what’s going on in San Francisco?”
“No, boss, not listening in. They’d need a warrant for that. But they don’t need a warrant to find out what numbers I called. I wouldn’t put it past Smith.”
“Smith? Nah. The man’s a pussy. A bureaucrat. Hell, we’ve got bigger fish than that to fry.”
“Yeah, well, don’t be so sure, boss.”
“So what’s the news? Did you find out about Colonel Zarrabian’s family?”
“Seriously boss? You know the rules better than I do. I can’t share anything about an ongoing investigation. You know that.”
“Then why are you here? Why the ad?”
“Because of Smith.”
“Smith again? The man’s a paper pusher.”
“Remember I told you I’d have to report your last phone call?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Smith’s pissed at you. Really pissed. He tried to hide it, but I’m pretty good at reading faces. He took my report and said he’d pass it along, but boss, I know the man was lying. He buried my report. Somehow he deleted it from my computer too. He’s not going to investigate Zarrabian’s family, either. Why is he burying this?”
McCaig looked thoughtful. “I don’t know. That is odd.”
“Well, I don’t know either, boss. And even before that, he was so pissed at you, he’s taking it out on me.” Bashir related how he’d been assigned to the most boring stakeout in history, and how Smith had humiliated him in the hallway in front of a dozen other agents.
“And that’s why you’re here?” asked McCaig.
“No. I mean, that’s part of it. But here’s the real kicker. He slipped up a
nd talked about Zarrabian as though he were still alive. I called him on it and he shrugged it off. 'Just a hypothetical,' he said. But I know better, boss. It was a slip, and he knows.”
“Yeah, I thought so. It’s part of what I tried to warn you about.”
“OK, and that’s not all. I told Smith about your phone call. I’m sorry, but I had to.”
“Of course, Bashir. I planned on it.”
“Really? That’s what Smith said you were doing. So you were playing me?”
“No, I really wasn’t. I really do want to know about Zarrabian’s family.”
“So that’s the other thing. When I mentioned your request, Smith specifically mentioned a wife and daughter, then tried to backpedal again. But he knows about Zarrabian’s family, doesn’t he?”
“You said it, not me.”
“You told me something was wrong with this case. I don’t know about the case, but something’s sure wrong with Smith, and you’re in his sights. What the hell did you do, boss?”
“Smith. Wow. That’s the last thing I expected. He had me fooled. But damn, now it makes sense. A lot of stuff makes sense. Did you know we were both in Texas before this?”
“Yeah, he told me.”
“When he got promoted to San Francisco, I thought I was finally rid of the guy. He’d been riding me for years. I really dislike him. Next thing I know, the moving truck shows up. You’re headed for the Golden State, they say. Some bull about my exemplary career. He’s telling everyone I’m his right-hand man, and he needs me on his team. I just about choked on my coffee when I heard that.”
“So what makes sense now?”
McCaig stood up and paced under the dim light of the Exit sign. He stopped a couple times and turned as if to speak, then resumed pacing.
“Boss?” said Bashir.
McCaig sat down. “OK, listen. I know you’re a sworn FBI agent, bound by law and by honor and all that stuff. And I know you take it seriously. Like I do. I wouldn’t have a partner who didn’t.”
“OK, sure.”
“And I’m not going to ask you to violate your oath or your duty.”
“Um, I hear a big ‘but’ coming.”
“But if we’re going to continue this conversation, I need you to keep an open mind for about an hour. I need you to swear this to me. One hour. Then you can arrest me and anyone else you feel like arresting. Or not, depending on how you see things.”
“You’re getting me interested.”
“Just one more thing, Special Agent Bashir. And this is important.”
“OK.”
“Do you remember the oath you swore when you became an agent?”
“I think so.”
“Yeah. Damned genius kid with a perfect memory. Say it.”
In the dim light, McCaig could see Bashir’s eyes close for a moment while he recalled the event.
“I, Omar Bashir, do solemnly affirm that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will . . .”
“That’s enough,” interrupted McCaig. “Did you swear to support and defend the government?”
“Uh, no. The Constitution.”
“Right. Did you swear to support and defend any person in the government?”
“I see where this is going, boss. No. I swore to defend the Constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic. And you’re about to remind me that some enemies might be part of the government.”
“Exactly.”
“Boss, that’s standard stuff. You don’t need to remind me. Corrupt government is the worst enemy of all. It threatens democracy itself.”
McCaig looked relieved. “I knew there was a reason I liked you. So will you swear you’ll give me one hour before you make any judgment?”
“OK.”
“Say ‘I swear,’ OK? Humor me.”
“I swear, boss.”
Saylor was dozing on the couch cradling Marina, and Christine and Zarrabian were hunched over their computer screens when McCaig came in with Bashir. Zarrabian glanced over his shoulder, then jumped to his feet, knocking his chair over. The crash startled Marina awake, who started squalling loudly. Bashir whipped his gun from its holster and aimed it at Zarrabian. Saylor wrapped her arms around Marina and twisted to shield the baby with her body. Christine, seeing Bashir’s gun, jumped up from her chair and backed away. Zarrabian raised his hands.
“Whoa! Whoa!” said McCaig. “You swore! One hour!”
Bashir didn’t take his eyes off Zarrabian. He held his gun steady. “You didn’t tell me he’d be here. Sir.”
“Oh, cut the ‘sir’ crap and lower your weapon! This isn’t who you think it is.”
“Don’t screw with me. It’s Zarrabian.”
“What, zombie Zarrabian? Arisen from the dead?”
“I don’t know how, boss. You said on TV you thought he was alive. You even got fired for it. But you were right, weren’t you? And Smith too.”
“One hour, Bashir. You promised. You swore.”
“You misled me! An oath made under false pretenses doesn’t hold!”
“No false pretenses, Omar. And if you’ll just put down that damned gun and listen, I can explain. And yeah, OK, this is Zarrabian. But I still say he’s not who you think he is.”
“You’re scaring the baby!” said Saylor. “I don’t know what’s going on, they haven’t told me yet, but I know this man Zarrabian isn’t going to blow anybody up in the next hour. He’s just sitting here using my computers. Put down your gun, OK?”
Zarrabian finally spoke. “Please, Mr. Bashir. I did not expect you here, and I am disappointed that Captain McCaig surprised you this way. Tact is not in Captain McCaig’s toolbox. But here we are. So please keep your weapon handy if it comforts you. I will give you my word. I will not try to escape or harm anyone.”
“And I’m supposed to believe a terrorist.”
“Oh, hell,” said McCaig.
“Omar,” said Christine. “Haven’t you noticed that everyone else here believes him?”
An hour later, Bashir picked up his weapon from his lap where it had been resting and carefully reholstered it. He shook his head. They were sitting in chairs in a semicircle around Saylor’s couch, with Marina soundly asleep again after her brief outburst.
“This is incredible,” said Bashir.
“It’s your government at its best,” said Saylor. “I was beginning to think I should abandon my radical roots—maybe abandon the Libertarians and register as a Democrat. To hell with that.”
“Governments always have corruption,” said McCaig. “It’s like a perpetual cancer. The question isn’t whether the patient is sick, it’s whether you can catch the cancer and cut it out before the patient dies. And keep doing that, forever.”
“There’s one more piece, boss,” said Bashir, “Remember I told you that Smith buried my report about your phone call? You said that finally made sense. What’s that about? What’s Smith got to do with this?”
“No, it wasn’t the phone call and your report that made sense. It was everything before your report. Smith is the one who put me on this case. In advance. He knew the Golden Gate attack was going down.”
“You mean . . . how can that be?”
“We know this goes straight to Washington, right? The director probably got a call suggesting he ought to use Special Agent McCaig. The director would think a call like that was inappropriate, but he wouldn’t ignore it.”
“So why you?”
“They wanted a loser on the case. After the Cordo disaster, Smith made it plain he thought I was a loser. And he was right; my heart wasn’t in it any more. I did my job, but Smith knew I was just marking time until retirement. Just the guy to do a half-assed investigation of their conspiracy.”
“You were a good agent. You taught me a lot.”
“Thanks, Omar, but I really was slacking. I was in a funk. Anyway, think about the timing. They had to start planning this a year ago, maybe more. I
have no idea how they managed to kidnap Colonel Zarrabian and fifteen other professional soldiers out of Iran. That had to be a lot of work. A lot of planning. And brainwashed them or something, too.”
“That kidnapping?” interrupted Zarrabian. “It would not have been as hard as you imagine.”
“How is that?” asked McCaig.
“You Americans believe that international borders are like big lines drawn on the ground, with nice fences and border guards. It is nothing like that between Iran and Iraq. We fought a bitter, useless war with Iraq for eight years with no success. Then in just a few days, America destroyed Saddam Hussein’s government and army as if it were just a joke. The Iran-Iraq border was completely unguarded. Now my country has taken control of almost a third of Iraq’s oil, and Iraq is now our largest trading partner.”
“What?” said McCaig. “Iran controls a third of Iraq? No way. That’s ridiculous.”
“He’s right,” said Saylor. “And the Kurds control another third of Iraq. The official government that we installed after the war only controls a fraction of the country.”
“Crossing the border is common,” said Zarrabian. “We don’t send soldiers to Iraq—the United States did that for us. We send imams, bankers, food, industrialists, bribes, and customers. Iranians can cross the border and travel freely in Iraq so long as they dress as civilians.”
Christine shook her head. “Wow. I’ve investigated a lot of stories in my time, but . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“Huh,” said McCaig. “I didn’t know that.”
“Most Americans don’t,” said Zarrabian. “In fact, I traveled to Iraq many times to shop with my family as tourists, and several times to make military observations. It would not be difficult for Americans to kidnap an Iranian who was visiting Iraq.”
McCaig continued. “Anyway, Bashir, to answer your question, the reason they moved me to San Francisco was to have an incompetent senior investigator available. They kidnapped the colonel and his fellow soldiers and planned these so-called attacks. They had to plan for the aftermath too. They had to make sure the investigation went their way. So Smith got promoted and transferred to San Francisco so that their man would be on the scene when Golden Gate attack went down. And then Smith made sure I got dragged out here to California with him.”