by Klaus Marre
“Thanks for everything, Hanif,” Hassan said, embracing his host. “Are you not coming with us?”
“Oh no. I'm just a very small piece in a large machine, not important enough to go where you're traveling to. But it has been a privilege to play a part in your journey.”
“Are you ready to go?” Nasir said.
“Yes.”
“Then follow me.”
The group walked to the ground level of the madrasah and out of the front gate. Hassan, hoping that the team was watching, looked around so that they would be able to recognize his face. Nasir opened the back door of an old Land Rover that was idling at the curb. Hassan got in the car and greeted the driver with a Salam Aleikum. The man turned his head and returned the greeting.
One look had told Hassan that Nasir was not the kind of man anybody should mess with unless they were ready to face the repercussions. Still, he seemed like a pansy compared to the driver of the Land Rover. The man was probably going on 50 but he was in excellent shape. The hairy hands that gripped the steering wheel looked as though they could easily crush it, and Hassan could not miss the scars on the man's arms and across his left cheek.
“Fawad has fought countless battles for us, starting with the Soviets when he was just a boy,” Nasir, who had gotten in the passenger seat, said as though he had read Hassan's mind.
“He has killed many more men than you but, I must admit, in less spectacular fashion.”
Nasir said something in a language Hassan didn't recognize, and Fawad put the car in motion.
“It's Pashto,” Nasir explained, again interpreting Hassan's expression correctly. “Fawad grew up in Afghanistan and the constant fighting never left him with much of a chance to go to school and learn other languages. It has his advantages. He won't know what we'll be talking about and we won't distract his driving.”
“Can you tell me where we're going?” Hassan asked.
“Fawad will drive us to the edge of South Waziristan, to a city called Zhob. It's where he lives. His fighting days for the brotherhood are over but he still helps us as a driver and a courier,” Nasir said. “From Zhob, you and I will meet up with somebody else and then move on to our final destination.
“It'll take a while to get there,” he added with a smile that did not reach his eyes. “That will give us some time to talk and get to know each other.”
Then Nasir began bombarding Hassan with questions about the bombing, his escape, and life in America. On the surface, they were similar to the ones Hanif Younis had asked the previous morning but Hassan immediately noticed a subtle but unmistakable difference. While the madrasah teacher had asked out of pure curiosity, Nasir was interrogating him. Hassan vowed to be careful but he was not worried. He had been practicing for this type of thing.
The traffic was light and they soon reached Tarnol, from where Fawad took national highway 80 West toward Bannu.
Almost a kilometer behind them, an old taxi was following the Land Rover, relaying back any information to the safe house in Islamabad and to the beat-up 4x4 following even further behind, ready to take up the pursuit of Hassan at any time.
Sunday, 8:00 am ET
The reason that Art Kempner normally only got to sleep in on Saturdays was that he would wake up early on Sundays to be able to watch the morning talk shows. “Meet the Press” would always remain his favorite, partially for nostalgic reasons and because he was a somewhat frequent guest. He still enjoyed watching the shows on the other networks. Fox, which was always first to be aired in the Washington area, had made great strides with its program and Art also liked ABC's show, which aired next at 10:00 am.
All of the networks this week were obviously focusing their broadcasts on the terrorist attack. The vice president was the exclusive headliner on “Meet the Press” while Fox and ABC each had booked the National Security Adviser and the Senate Minority Leader. CBS had the bipartisan duo of Jim Hearst and Chuck Nelson. While they were veteran Members of Congress, the two Virginia lawmakers were certainly not a high profile combo. Still, the network had let it leak that the show would be worth watching and had promoted it heavily.
The earlier shows were fairly predictable. The administration officials strongly defended the president and the opposition leader stressed that this was a time in which everybody had to work together.
Then the CBS's Face the Nation began and it was clear within minutes that this one would actually deliver some news.
“I understand that you have some misgivings with regard to how the aftermath of the terrorist attack was handled,” the host said as a lead in, directing his question to Chuck Nelson.
“I sure do. The bottom line is that the administration should have closed both Dulles and BWI airports. The failure to do so, in my view, allowed the terrorist to get away,” Nelson said.
Art actually heard himself gasping. Coming from a veteran lawmaker, that kind of rhetoric was a slap in the face of the president, whom Nelson had pretty much just blamed for letting Hassan al-Zaid get away. Just as stunning as this attack on the Sweeney administration was also that it came less than a week after the bombing.
“As the ranking member of the Homeland Security Committee, it is my responsibility to speak out about this,” Nelson continued. “Maybe it will serve as a wakeup call to the Sweeney administration so that they can get their act together and find the terrorist.”
“Wouldn't you say that it is unusual to voice this criticism so soon after the attack?” the host asked.
“That may be true, but there is no time to waste. I'm also comforted by the fact that I have the backing on this from a member of the president's own party, my dear friend and colleague Jim Hearst.”
Art straightened up. Certainly Hearst wouldn't criticize the president. When he saw who had been booked for the show, the reporter had figured that Hearst was there to counter anything negative Nelson said about the administration.
“Let's turn to Congressman Hearst then,” the host said. “Do you also feel that the administration bungled the response?”
“I regret saying that I do,” Hearst said. “You know I'm one of President Sweeney's most loyal supporters, but in this case the administration has done an awful job.”
Art could barely believe what he was hearing. Hearst stabbing the president in the back like that was unprecedented.
“I'm a member of President Sweeney's party, but my primary responsibility is to serve my constituents and that is why I feel compelled to speak out along with Chuck.
“Of course, I'm in a unique position because I represent the district in which the terrorist grew up. I think the administration should have done more to keep the people in my district and across the country safe.”
The host could barely conceal his glee when he asked the next question. Nobody would be talking about any of the other morning shows on this day or the next because all the news had been made on CBS.
It kept getting better for him because the two Virginia Congressmen continued their tag team beating of the administration for the entire time they were on. Every now and then they sounded a conciliatory note before continuing their assault on the president and his team.
During a commercial break, Art headed to get his laptop and his blackberry. The Post had people assigned to write about what was said in the Sunday morning talk shows, but the Pulitzer Prize winner knew that he would be called into action on this day. What was taking place here was just too stunning and, at the very least, he would be asked to provide his thoughts on the matter. Now he just had to figure out what exactly his thoughts were.
It didn't make a whole lot of sense. Nelson was a veteran lawmaker with a history of building bridges, not burning them. It seemed even less conceivable that Hearst would go after his own president. The election was more than a year away and there was no way he was getting this much heat from constituents just because a terrorist had lived among them.
For the second time in as many days, Art was stumped, unable to
make sense of a situation. He was wondering if he was slowly losing his edge.
***
The Land Rover had been plowing through Pakistan for almost three hours when they reached Bannu. Nasir had spent about half of that time peppering Hassan with questions. Then, apparently pleased with the answers he received, Nasir thawed considerably and he and Hassan carried on a more normal conversation for the rest of the drive.
From Bannu, they headed north on National Highway 55 to Dera Ismail Khan, which they reached shortly before noon. They stopped for some food before resuming their trip west. This time, they took National Highway 50, which took them toward Zhob.
“We're almost there,” Nasir said when they reached the outskirts of this city of about 50,000. “You have to pay close attention now. Fawad will take us under an overpass. Once I give the signal, we have to get out of this car and jump into the back of a truck that is waiting on our right side. Got it?”
“Sure, when you tell me, I'll get out on the right and follow you to a truck.”
“Exactly. Don't mind the two men who will be standing on the road. They're going to take our places, just in case somebody was following us.”
They drove through Zhob for a few minutes. There was some sort of a large market going on and the city was bustling with activity. Eventually, Fawad turned into a side street and the reached an area that was quieter. When they got to an overpass, the Land Rover stopped and Nasir said “Now.”
He and Hassan hurried out of the car and climbed onto the platform of a pickup that was idling on the other side of the street. To Hassan's surprise, they were not the only people there. The pickup had been modified into a sort of bus with benches on each side and metal bars that kept people from falling out. What appeared to be a family of three was sitting on one of the benches. The man and the woman looked impassively at the two new passengers and a child that could not be older than four paid them no attention at all.
“Lay down under the bench, facing front, and I'll cover you with some blankets,” Nasir said. Hassan complied. “Unfortunately, this part of the trip will be a little bit uncomfortable but it is for your safety and ours. We'll likely come up on a checkpoint or two. They shouldn't be any trouble but you never know.”
“I don't mind,” Hassan said, his voice muffled by the blanket over his head. While Nasir may be speaking the truth about checkpoints, Hassan figured that this method of transporting him had also been chosen to not allow him to recognize where they were going.
“From now on, only speak when I'm talking to you and listen to all of my commands,” Nasir said. “When you hear other voices, just lay still.”
Hassan could feel the truck moving and soon became uncomfortably hot under the blankets. He hated to admit it, but the simple maneuver Nasir pulled off would likely shake anybody following them. As he was stewing underneath the blankets, Hassan forced himself to come to terms with the fact that he was going to be on his own wherever he was headed. He took some comfort in thinking that as-Sirat would not go through so much trouble if he was not going to a place that the military would view as a high value target.
Hassan tried to keep track of how long the trip took and also made mental notes of when the truck seemed to be going uphill for extended periods of time. While he could not see where they were going, he wanted to gather as many clues as possible.
After what he estimated to be thirty minutes, there indeed appeared to be some kind of checkpoint. The truck stopped and he could hear voices. All seemed in order, though, because the vehicle began moving again after a few seconds.
***
McClintock had spent all weekend in his office, monitoring the situation from there once the transmitters had gone dark. His inability to affect the outcome of events added to his nervousness. Most of the time, he was pacing up and down his office, running countless scenarios of “what ifs” through his head.
He was still hopeful that Pathfinder would succeed, but the loss of all means of electronically tracking Hassan had put a damper on the mission's chances. He was dreading the next phone call he got from Pakistan, and when the phone rang, his fears were confirmed.
“We lost him, sir,” Dan Helbig, the team leader of the second shift said. “We were able to follow him to Zhob but then they got away. We're hoping that the satellites might have picked something up but that's doubtful. Sorry.”
McClintock was already checking out a map of the area.
“Well, that's something. We always felt that the as-Sirat leaders might be located a little more toward the east, but if they took him this far west, maybe that'll give us a clue as to where they might take him,” the DNI said.
“And Zhob isn't too far from the border, so we can probably blanket the area pretty well with satellites and drones and hope to pick up his trail that way,” McClintock added, speaking as much to himself as to the Pathfinder member.
“What do you want us to do now?” Helbig asked.
“Well, you can't hang around in Zhob because you'd attract attention,” McClintock said. “I suggest you fall back to the safe house in Islamabad and hang tight. You guys are the people Hassan will contact if he has the chance, so you should be where he expects you to be. Once you assemble the whole team, let's talk about how else you can contribute.”
***
Hassan estimated that they had driven for a little over an hour when the truck stopped.
“It's safe to come out,” Nasir said. “Sorry for the inconvenience but it was for your safety and for ours.”
“I understand,” Hassan said. He looked around as he climbed off the truck. As far as he could tell, they were in a mid-sized town. There were some different level buildings and he also spotted a supermarket. Based on the position of the sun, he estimated that it was about 5:30 pm, meaning that he was right about how long it had taken to get here. Of course, that information was only partially helpful in determining where he was because he had no idea in which direction they had traveled, how fast they had been driving or whether they had gone in a straight line or not. Besides, before any of the information he was gathering became useful, he would have to find a way to make contact.
“We'll have tea here and then we'll move on,” Nasir said. He led Hassan to a little tea house nearby and they sat at the table in the back.
“We'll be here for a few minutes,” he explained. “The driver is just waiting to see if anybody followed us. You just have one more leg to go and then we're there. I'm sorry to say that we'll be walking the rest of the way.”
“You're so concerned about security, but what about the family in the truck?” Hassan asked. “Aren't you worried about people talking?”
“This isn't Islamabad, where we had to be more careful. You're in our country now, Hassan,” Nasir said. “If these people would figure out who you were, they would shower you with presents and carry you to our final destination on their shoulders. You're a hero here.”
“Maybe we should tell them who I am,” Hassan said and grinned. “That way I wouldn't have to walk.”
Nasir threw back his head and laughed.
Just then, the driver of the truck stuck his head in the door and gave Nasir a nod.
“Time to go,” said Hassan's companion before starting to grin. “By the way, growing up in America, how much experience do you have with leading mules?”
“Are you joking?” Hassan asked, and Nasir laughed again before explaining.
“See, we could drive but we try not to do that so much. Cars attract more attention. Nobody watching from above seems to care about a few people using mules to move goods from one town to another. So today, you'll pretend to be a fabric merchant. The place we're going to is known for its dyes, so we use that as a cover to move people and supplies.
“Oh, and don't worry about the mules, a couple of our people will do all of the work,” Nasir added.
They walked to the outskirts of the town where they met up with a small caravan. It consisted of six men and about a
dozen mules that were carrying large baskets and boxes. Nasir greeted the men and they began walking down a dirt road out of town. The late afternoon sun was in their backs and provided pleasant warmth.
“So, what are these mules actually carrying?” Hassan asked.
“Dyes and fabric,” Nasir responded. “This time, you're our precious cargo. All the men are armed and will protect you with their life if necessary. But it won't come to that. Like I said, this is our country. The Pakistani military does not bother us and the Americans are not allowed to come here anymore. We're perfectly safe.”
***
The Conspiracy Club, as Art Kempner had privately named them, was reconvening at Alan Hausman's favorite Mexican restaurant. The reporter was looking forward to the meal, not only because food and company were good but also because he wanted to hear what Alan's friends had come up with in response to the challenge he had posed. After the first dinner, he had contemplated using the experience to write a story about conspiracy theorists but now that he himself found a couple of things odd that were connected to the bombing, he really wanted to know what they thought.
Art had made the decision not to tell them about the disproportionate number of people associated with the military on the bus. As a reporter, he had always been careful with how much information he would hand out before printing it. After all, he made money because the Post was selling news and not giving it away for free. But there was something else. Art really felt like he was on to something but he had to figure out what it was first.
The group quickly picked up where it had left off, playful insults were flying across the room that was soon filled with laughter.
When the food arrived, conversation ceased shortly as everybody dug in. After taking a few bites, Art used the silence to get a word in.
“So, I hope you guys remembered my challenge,” he said. “Is there something about this attack that you think is odd? And I hope you don't mind that I'm recording this. Like I said, this might come in handy for a story down the road. But no worries, I won't use any of the information unless I specifically get your approval.”