Human Intelligence

by Klaus Marre

  “Stevenson offers resignation, Sweeney says 'no'“

  A breaking news e-mail alert had been sent to tens of thousands of people and the headline was splashed in bold font across the Post's website.

  It had been a long afternoon for Art. After getting the scoop that Stevenson had offered his resignation in a private meeting with the president that morning, he had been trying to confirm the story. Sure, some of the younger reporters would have just ran with that rumor but that wasn't good journalism and it certainly wasn't Art's style. He wanted two sources for just about every story, no matter how tricky it was to get them. The veteran reporter felt that it was good to be fast in journalism, but it was better to be right. It was a mantra that he shared with fewer and fewer of his colleagues.

  After getting the call from a White House aide about the meeting and the offered resignation, Art had gone to work. It had not taken him long to determine that Stevenson had indeed visited Sweeney at the White House and another source told him that the president had cleared his schedule not long into that meeting.

  Another source, who had seen the FBI director arrive, told Art that Stevenson seemed agitated. While that could serve as circumstantial evidence and would certainly make for an interesting tidbit for the story, it wasn't the confirmation the reporter needed.

  So Art had everybody he could think of who was close to either Stevenson or Sweeney. It was the kind of article that was extremely difficult to nail down because he was reporting on a meeting that involved only two people, neither of whom would talk to him. What he had to do was to find a source who would have talked about the conversation with either of the participants.

  It took him four hours to find that person. In the end, a lawyer who had gone to school with Sweeney and Stevenson had called him back.

  “Listen, I can talk to you about what happened this morning, but it can't be traced back to me,” the lawyer had said. “I don't want any trouble.”

  Art assured the man that any information he received would be “on background,” meaning that the lawyer's name would not be used. Instead, his quotes would be attributed to “a person familiar with the meeting.”

  With that out of the way, they had spoken for 15 minutes, and his source gave Art all the information he needed for his story.

  The article hit Washington like a bombshell.

  People could not agree on what was more fascinating. Some felt that Stevenson's offer to resign, a move always seen as an admission of guilt of some sort, was the bigger story. Others believed that Sweeney's decision to refuse the offer was even bigger news. For whatever reason, possibly out of loyalty to an old friend, the president had let an opportunity pass to deflect the blame for a bungled response to the terrorist attack from himself.

  The story made for great TV and the cable news pundits were all over it.

  “I think many people have felt that this attack rattled the Sweeney administration and that they have not been up to the task,” a commentator on Fox News opined. “And I think this is the clearest evidence so far of this. Basically, what the FBI director said by handing in his resignation is: 'I really screwed this up'.”

  A conservative talk show host who was a guest on the same program was even more candid in his criticism of the administration.

  “Many Americans have felt for a long time that President Sweeney has weakened our country. He cut homeland security funds, he has done very little to go after as-Sirat and other radicals, and he put his frat brother at the helm of the FBI,” the talk show host said, using the kind of language that had made him a staple on AM radio. “It seems to me that the only thing he has not done was to personally invite Hassan al-Zaid to bomb one of our buses and kill Americans.”

  McClintock, who was monitoring the news from his office, caught the remark and laughed out loud.

  ***

  Fariq banged on the door to wake up Hassan in time for Fajr – the morning prayer that was observed before sunrise. In all, Hassan had gotten only a couple hours of uneasy sleep but tried not to let it show when he opened his door.

  “How was your rest?” Fariq inquired, handing him a bundle of clothes.

  “Knowing that I had reached safety put my mind at ease,” Hassan replied. He unwrapped a long white shirt and head gear of the same color.

  “I will wait outside,” Fariq said and closed the door behind him.

  Hassan splashed some cold water in his face and got dressed quickly. Then he joined Fariq in the hallway and the two of them made their way up to the ground level where Hanif Younis was already waiting. With the help of some sheets, a section of the atrium had been closed off.

  “While you are now with friends, we thought it would be good to not let too many eyes see you,” he explained.

  “I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” Hassan said. Any additional conversation was cut off by the call to prayer. The three men turned toward Mecca and began their Fajr.

  When the prayer was finished, they went back into the bowels of the madrasah and to the room of Hanif Younis, where some tea and breakfast awaited them.

  “This is Halwa Puri Cholay, a traditional Pakistani breakfast dish,” Younif explained. “It's made from sweet halwa, chick peas and a bread we call puris. You better get used to our food. There won't be any cheeseburgers where you are going.”

  The large man laughed at his own joke.

  “So I'm to move elsewhere?” Hassan asked, knowing how much was riding on the answer.

  In planning Pathfinder, the consensus was that they would have a fairly high chance of success if Hassan managed to get close to the as-Sirat leaders within a week or at least found out where they were located. Once that first window of opportunity closed, the chance of failure increased rapidly with each day, along with the likelihood that his cover would be blown.

  McClintock, who knew a thing or two about being involved in clandestine activities in enemy territory, had repeatedly tried to drill into Hassan's head that it was alright to walk away from the mission at that point.

  “If you think your life is in danger at any point, and especially as time passes, nobody will think less of you and what you have done for our country if you abort the mission,” the DNI had said, even though he felt that his warnings would fall on deaf ears. McClintock privately believed that Pathfinder would end either in success or the death of Hassan, possibly both. He hoped that all of the specialists were right who predicted that it would take less than a week for Hassan to complete the main objective.

  Taking into account Omar Bashir's media savvy and his penchant for wanting to make a big splash, the consensus of the intelligence analysts was that he would want to meet Hassan quickly and that it would take less than a week to make contact.

  Sitting across from a lower level as-Sirat member in a madrasah in Islamabad, Hassan was about to find out if they were right.

  “I do not know where exactly you will be taken, but I know it is a place out west in Waziristan,” Younis said. “Today, you will remain here so we can make the necessary preparations to move you there. Tomorrow, you will travel and the day after that, you will be enjoying your Halwa Puri Cholay with Omar Bashir.”

  Hassan could not conceal a wide smile.

  “Allah is great,” he said. “It will be my proudest day.”

  “Before you can leave, I want you to stay out of sight. One can never be too cautious,” Younis said. “Of course you will be able to join me for the daily prayers and Fariq and I will be around should you need anything. We will provide you with new clothing for the trip. Oh, and wash that hair color out. It might have served you on your trip but you'll stick out here with the light color.”

  “I thank you for all of your help,” Hassan responded, unable to speak much more. He was still trying to come to terms with what he just heard and didn't want his voice to give away his feelings. The plan was working. In just three days, it might all be over, and the sacrifices of the past four years would have paid off. If everything w
ent well, he'd be home within a week.

  “Also, we have to take and destroy all of your belongings,” Younis said. “We don't want there to be anything that will link you to your identity as you cross the country. Again, one can never be too cautious.”

  Just like that, Hassan's elation from a second ago turned into a pit that quickly grew in his stomach. If the GPS devices would be destroyed, he was screwed.

  “You mean you want to destroy my fake passport and my clothes?” he asked, thinking of the belt, the shoes and the watch with the GPS devices.

  “Everything,” Younis repeated. “We don't want there to be a trace of you.”

  Hassan's mind was racing. He had to figure out a way to take at least one of the devices with him without arousing suspicion.

  “I hope you will not destroy everything,” he said, forcing a smile. “I brought a present for as-Sirat. There are several thousand dollars hidden in my luggage. It's money I had set aside for bribes during my trip but I never needed it.”

  In fact, the cash had been marked, an idea that McClintock had come up with. It would be widely known that Hassan had escaped with a lot of money, so the thinking was that it would not arouse suspicion. Then, when the money was being spent, it would give them another way of tracking as-Sirat's activities.

  “We have already found it,” Younis said. “I hope you don't mind, but we carefully examined your belongings.”

  “I don't mind,” Hassan replied. He was not worried about the GPS devices being discovered. They were top of the line pieces of equipment that even an electronics specialist would have a tough time finding. “Like you said, one can never be too cautious.”

  With a smile, Hassan added: “At least now you know I'm not keeping anything from you.”

  “I was not worried about that,” Younis said. “But the American devils are very good at tracking electronics. We have taken anything they might use to find you and destroyed it already.”

  There goes the watch, Hassan thought.

  “Thanks, that was smart of you,” he said out loud.

  “So all of my things will be destroyed?” Hassan asked. “I can't keep any memento?”

  “I am afraid not.” Younis said with some regret in his voice. “I have my orders and they are already being carried out. One of the brothers works as a glass blower here and your things have been taken to his shop and thrown into the furnace. It will be hot enough to burn anything that could be used to identify or track you, so don't worry.”

  “That's good to know. Thank you again,” Hassan said. He was screwed. At least a small ray of hope for him was that the guys would figure out that the devices had been destroyed once they went offline. It would have been worse had they just been stored somewhere in the madrasah when he was being moved. Still, that wasn't much of a consolation.

  ***

  “What the fuck just happened?” Electronics expert Craig Byelick shot up from his seat, staring at the screen that had, until a few seconds before, shown the location of Hassan's three GPS devices. There had been some movement to a point not far from the madrasah and then, in quick succession, one by one went dark. The technician checked all of his equipment but everything was working fine.

  “Mike, get over here ASAP,” Byelick yelled into the other room, where team leader Mike Sheahan was finishing up breakfast. “We just lost all three GPS signals.”

  Within moments, Sheahan rushed into the room.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  “We lost the signal all three GPS devices and I don't think the problem is on our end,” Byelick said. “There is either something wrong with the satellite or with Hassan's equipment. There had been some movement but then they just went dead.”

  “It can't be a coincidence if it's Hassan's right?” Sheahan wanted to know.

  “It would be extremely unlikely that all of the devices stop working on their own at the same time,” Byelick said. “If the problem is with Hassan's equipment, then it was something external.”

  “Let's get McClintock on the phone.”

  ***

  Art Kempner liked to have some water by his bedside, so he grabbed an Evian bottle from the fridge and was ready to call it a night. Breaking news was fun and rewarding but it was also tiring. The exhausting part wasn't really chasing information. What was much more draining was having to constantly worry if the competition would beat him to the punch.

  It had been another good day for him and for the Post, Art thought as he was getting ready to shut down his laptop. The reporter checked his e-mail one last time and saw that the intern he worked with over the summer had written him.

  Art took pride in tutoring promising journalists that went through the Post's internship program. He never felt that, as the newspaper's top reporter, he was above helping the next generation. After all, he had been given much help and many breaks on his way to the top.

  He decided to see what she had written before turning in.

  “Dear Mr. Kempner,

  Sorry that I have been out of touch. Things have been crazy since I moved back to

  Oregon and I didn't want to bother you with all of the stuff going on in Washington.

  Nice scoop on the FBI director's resignation offer, by the way.

  I'm just writing to let you know that I got a job!!! I'm working for the Cottage Grove

  Sentinel, a small paper in my home town. There are only three reporters, so I get to

  cover everything from high school sports to city politics, at least that's what they

  promised me.

  Since you have been working so much on the bombing, I thought I'd send you one of

  my first stories. It's on the funeral from one of the victims, a former Special Forces

  soldier who lived here.

  I hope everything is going well and thank you again for all of your help this summer. I

  hope I can make you proud.

  Sincerely, Meghan”

  “Good for you, kiddo,” he thought to himself. It was nice to see people still being able to get jobs in print journalism, an industry that was slowly dying.

  He checked the clock on the bottom right corner of the screen. It was still a few minutes until “Entourage” started, one of his guilty pleasures, so he decided to check out the story Meghan had sent.

  Cottage Grove Bids Farewell to Terror Victim

  In what Mayor Joey Srnka called “the clearest sign of what he meant to our community,”

  hundreds showed up Friday to pay their last respects to Cottage Grove resident Tom

  Gorsula, 52, a victim of Wednesday's terrorist attack in the nation's capital.

  Some businesses had closed for the funeral and Sheriff Lenny Baxter estimated that

  about 10 percent of the town's population had taken the time to bid farewell to Gorsula,

  the owner of Cottage Grove Grill on Main Street.

  “To my generation, Tom will always be the guy who took our football team to the state

  championship as a standout linebacker and running back. Instead of playing college ball,

  he joined the military and became a highly decorated member of our Special Forces,”

  Srnka said. “A younger generation will miss Tom as the man who offered everybody with

  a 4.0 grade point average a free ice cream sundae. And to our youngest, he is just Coach

  Tom. We will all miss him.”

  Gorsula is leaving behind wife Holly and twin girls Molly and Libby.

  To those who knew him, it is not surprising that it was an act of compassion that led him

  to Washington on Wednesday. On short notice, he had decided to make the trip to the

  the nation's capital after hearing that one of the men he served with was being treated for

  a serious illness at Walter Reed Medical Center. Gorsula never made it there. He got on

  Metro Bus 2405 shortly after arriving in Washington.

  “It j
ust showed what Tom was all about,” Srnka, a longtime friend, said after the

  ceremony.

  It was his kindness and compassion that had initially drawn Holly Gorsula to her future

  husband. The two began dating in high school.

  “I never cared about his football records,” she said. “What I loved about him was that

  he cared so deeply about everything he was engaged in, whether it was sports or

  protecting the country or taking care of his family.

  “Before Tom left, it was almost like he gave me one last present,” she added. “On the

  way out of the door, he said some of the nicest things, it was almost as though he had a premonition that something was about to happen. I'll never forget that moment, along with so many other happy memories he gave me.”

  The quote stopped Art cold. He was pretty sure that the story he had read earlier about one of the victims was not about the same man despite both articles sounding very much alike. It was late and he was ready for bed, but somewhere in the back of his head an alarm bell was beginning to ring.

  Holly Gorsula voiced dismay that the military had not made it possible to allow her

  nephew Ken Gorsula, who followed his uncle's example and is currently serving in Afghanistan, to attend the funeral.

  “Apparently they don't allow them to take leave right now, but it seems there could have

  been an exception, seeing how my husband was a decorated combat veteran,” she said.

  Art quickly responded to Meghan, telling her that he liked the story and encouraging her to keep up the good work. Then he wrote a post-it note and pasted it to the screen of his laptop before closing it.

  “Check funeral stories from local papers,” he reminded himself.

  Saturday, 1:18 am ET

  The loss of the GPS signals had caused a flurry of activity in Islamabad and Washington. The equipment in the safe house was switched with one of the backup machines, and satellites were checked and double-checked. It quickly became clear that the technician's initial assessment had been correct – there was a problem with the transmitters.

  In the end it was the Director of National Intelligence who prevented the team from panicking. They all respected him as a veteran who had seen it all and lived to tell about it.