Human Intelligence

by Klaus Marre

  “Remember that luck favors the prepared,” he had told him. “You are as well prepared as you'll ever be and you have a great team backing you up. Trust them and trust yourself. Most of these missions fail because people freak out and make a mistake. And remember, you can always get away if you feel they are on to you.”

  In some ways, McClintock now thought, he had been trying to reassure himself as much as Hassan, who had been calm and collected as always. Maybe Hassan sensed that the DNI himself was worried because he did his best to take the edge off the moment.

  “Are you scared?” McClintock had asked at one point.

  “Bob, to be completely honest, I'm petrified,” Hassan had said. He was the only person on the team who used the DNI's first name, and he never did it in front of anybody else. But the two had developed an undeniable rapport and he felt stupid to call him “sir,” “director” or “Mr. McClintock.”

  “I'm so scared,” Hassan said and then paused. “Here we are, it's the beginning of September and the Yankees are five games out in the East and only lead the wild card race by one. How could I not be scared?”

  The little joke had caused McClintock to laugh and be reassured that Hassan was in the right mindset for the mission.

  In one of their earliest discussions, they had found out that they shared a love for the New York Yankees and they often talked about the team's fortunes. This year, it wasn't looking so good for the Bronx Bombers.

  McClintock had promised that he would get them great tickets to watch a game at Yankee Stadium, to which Hassan had only responded: “You think I need you to get me tickets once all this is over and I'm a hero? Heck, the only reason I agreed to this crazy plan was so that I could throw out the first pitch in a game after I bring down as-Sirat.”

  In that last conversation, after joking around for a little bit longer, Hassan had eventually discussed some of his concerns. He wasn't worried about himself, he just wanted McClintock to promise him again that he would be there when the president delivered the message to his parents if something went wrong.

  “They're gonna want answers to things that the letter doesn't provide. I think you are the best person to give them those answers,” Hassan had said.

  The DNI assured him that he would. They had discussed this before and, in retrospect, McClintock believed that Hassan only brought it up again to help him overcome a sense of helplessness.

  Now, alone in his office after the phone call with the president, he was beginning to feel the same way again. The Pathfinder team was idle in Islamabad and there was not much McClintock could do in Washington other than to redirect all available drones and satellites to the area around Zhob. Of course, this would have to be done in a way that wouldn't let all of the reconnaissance teams know that they were looking in the same place. They couldn't afford to let word leak out about that.

  McClintock just had to trust that Hassan would find a way to let them know where he was. The DNI hoped that his boy would come through.

  ***

  Art Kempner was on the hunt. He was twirling a pencil in his hand as he checked the latest round of responses to his informal bus survey. He had received more than 50 by mid-morning and all of them basically said the same thing. There were no buses that didn't have a healthy percentage of young people and likely immigrants on them. As Steve had asserted during dinner the previous night, the demographics of Metro Bus 2405 were absolutely unique. No other bus with a comparable number of passengers came even close.

  Now Art had to find out if there was a logical explanation for that, if it was a freakish coincidence or if there was an altogether different reason for it – one that he couldn't figure out.

  The reporter had arrived at work before 7:00 am, trying to start checking off things from his to-do list. Since it was still too early to call anybody, he had begun his day by e-mailing psychologists, asking them for their input on final farewells and premonitions. He kept his inquiry vague, hoping that he would be able to explore the topic in greater depth once he got them on the phone.

  Then he called the Pentagon, one of the few places in the federal government where it was possible to reach somebody just about any time and not just from 10ish to “I think I'll head home early today,” as was often the case in other agencies and departments. It often frustrated Art that bureaucrats couldn't even stick around for their nine-to-five schedule. The answer he got from the Pentagon was predictable. The Department of Defense would not release the names of the soldiers from the Humvees. Art hoped that he could find another way to contact them and sent an e-mail to the Post's defense reporter, asking if she had an idea on how he could get in touch with the soldiers.

  At 9:00 am, he was finally able to start making some calls. First on his list was the Washington Metro. He was told by an operator that nobody was in the office yet. Art wasn't surprised. He left a voicemail for the head of public affairs, stressing that he expected to be called back in the morning. There were some advantages to being a Pulitzer Prize winner working for the Washington Post. One of them being that it was easier to get calls returned and he was certain that he would hear from them before noon.

  Art wanted to start calling the families of the terror victims but thought better of it. He didn't want to harass them and would likely be able to ask better questions after he talked to a psychologist. Instead, he called Stacey Harper's parents in Woodbridge. Like many young people, she didn't have a land line and he was unable to find a cellphone number for her, so he wanted to get in touch with the young woman through her parents. He talked briefly to Amanda Harper, explained who he was and politely asked if it would be possible for Stacey to get in touch with him. Amanda Harper said she would pass on the message but noted that her daughter was very flaky about that kind of stuff.

  Now that Art had contacted the people he wanted to get in touch with, it was pretty much a waiting game for him. He spent the time sifting through the documents he had compiled on the story and listened again to the part of the dinner he had recorded.

  The phone finally rang. It was a Harvard psychology professor who had written several books on dying, including one on dealing with the loss of a loved one.

  “Let's assume I have a group of 300 people who die in a plane crash,” Art said. “And you spoke to their spouses or next of kin. How many of them would likely say something to the effect that their final farewells had been especially warm and heartfelt, as though the deceased had a hunch that they would not return?”

  “Research would indicate that the number of people would be fairly small,” the Harvard scholar said. “The normal reaction immediately after such a sudden death is a feeling of regret and possibly of guilt. If you love somebody, you often wish it was you who had died and the thing that goes through your head will more likely be that you wished you had told the deceased one last time how much you cared for them.”

  “So a figure of more than 20 percent would be too high?” Art asked.

  “For a random event? Much too high,” the professor responded emphatically. “We're talking about accidents or natural disasters like an earthquake, right? In that case it would be much lower. Maybe a handful people out of 100 would perceive that a farewell was especially warm. The others would regret that it had been a normal goodbye and so much was left unsaid.”

  “So what could be a reason for a greater percentage of people claiming that some sort of premonition made that last goodbye special?” Art followed up.

  “That's not exactly my field of expertise, but I would say the only reason you would have for such a farewell is not premonition, it is that the person leaving knew for a fact that they were heading into danger,” the professor said, going into teaching mode. “For example a firefighter might say goodbye to his wife differently than a school teacher. Somebody who remained in New Orleans for Hurricane Katrina probably had the urge to call up their family and friends and say some nice things because they knew that danger was coming their way. I'd imagine that astron
auts say their goodbyes differently than school bus drivers and that somebody deploying to Afghanistan would want to say something especially nice and reassuring to the loved ones they leave behind. So if you asked those spouses, the percentage would go up.”

  “Thanks for your insight, professor,” Art said, excitement in his voice. “It's been very helpful. I hope I can call you back if I have any follow up questions.”

  “Absolutely, I'm glad I could be of assistance,” the professor replied and hung up.

  Art leaned back, the phone still in his hand. Even as the professor spoke, a theory had begun forming in the reporter's head. Now, he closed his eyes to allow the pieces of a puzzle to fall into place. Art went over the information he already had: There was a group of people, many of them associated with the military. They all happened to be on the same bus, coming to Washington from different parts of the country. Before they left their homes, a disproportionate number of them said the kind of goodbyes that people say who are headed into harm's way.

  The wheels started spinning in Art's head. Maybe they were part of a secret military mission, and a dangerous one at that. It would explain their common backgrounds and the farewells. But what kind of dangerous mission would they be selected for, Art asked himself. After all, most of the people on the bus had been over 40. Maybe they had been selected for a certain type of expertise. But, if they were some sort of analysts, why would they be worried about their lives? Maybe they were about to travel to a place like Iran to do some undercover work for the United States.

  So did Hassan al-Zaid's attack unknowingly derail a covert U.S. operation? Or had he found out about it somehow and the bombing was designed to take out the team?

  Art sighed. He had the beginnings of a theory that answered some questions but raised others. Of course, he could also be on a completely wrong track.

  Monday, 12:52 pm ET

  Hassan sat in the room he shared with three as-Sirat fighters. None of them were there at the moment and Hassan appreciated a brief moment of solitude. His day had been spent with getting to know Andan, the bunker and the as-Sirat members who currently lived there.

  Everybody was eager to talk to him. The men slapped him on the back, congratulated him on the bombing and expressed how happy they were that he was one of them now. Many of them had words of advice for him and some of the older as-Sirat fighters started telling him about the rules of the hideout.

  At the armory, a man named Yezem gave him a quick lesson on weapon safety.

  In the kitchen, he was told that large quantities of food were cooked for breakfast, lunch and dinner but that he could also eat at other times. He was expected to help with the meal preparation one day out of the month.

  “Don't worry, you won't go hungry here,” a Bosnian Muslim named Kemal Zlatan told him.

  Khalid el-Jeffe, Omar Bashir's top lieutenant, spoke to Hassan for some time about some of the rules.

  Fighting among the men was strictly forbidden and any conflict that could not easily be settled was to be taken before Omar Bashir. Leaving Andan alone without telling anybody was also prohibited.

  “We always want to know who is here,” el-Jeffe said. “But it is also for your protection. The sentries might shoot you if they see you wandering around and nobody told them that you have been given permission to leave.

  “I know our rules might seem burdensome at first but they have kept us safe for many years and you will learn to appreciate them,” el-Jeffe added.

  Had he actually aspired to join the group, the warm reception would have been great but Hassan only wanted some peace and quiet so he could think. After the elation of having accomplished his primary target, reality had begun to sink in. The knowledge of the location of as-Sirat's headquarter was useless information unless he managed to relay it back to the team in Islamabad somehow. And that was going to be a problem.

  Andan had no phones and no Internet, so calling or e-mailing were out of the question. Hassan had contemplated just taking off and following the road, but that also seemed futile. There was no car here, so he would have to leave on foot, and it seemed like a long shot that such an escape could succeed. First of all, the sentries might see him and even if they didn't, he really had no idea where he was going. On the way here, they had not always stayed on the road and there had been some intersections, so he might not find his way back to Zhob. Even if he did, Nasir was probably right about this being as-Sirat country. If he just disappeared, they would hunt him down and the rest of the local population would probably merrily join in.

  Earlier in the day, when Hassan had toured Andan, he had come up with a sliver of an idea, but he would have to improve on it. As it stood, it was more likely suicide than a way to communicate his position, so he would just have to think of some other way to make contact.

  Nasir stuck his head in the room.

  “Hassan, Omar wants to get started on the video in half an hour.”

  “I'll be there,” Hassan said. He smiled to himself because inspiration had just struck.

  ***

  Nicole Delgado, the Washington Metropolitan Area Transit Authority's press secretary, finally returned Art's phone call. The reporter was tempted to ask if the press office operated on the same schedule as the notoriously delay-plagued Red Line but he thought better of it. He needed some answers so there was no point in pissing off the woman who could give them to him.

  “Thanks for getting back to me.”

  “No problem. What can we do for you Mr. Kempner?”

  “I'm just trying to get a better understanding of what happened last week. At some point, the power went out in the Pentagon Station, correct?”

  “Yes, that's right. We lost power for about 30 minutes,” Delgado said. “At the time it happened we were already on our non-rush hour schedule so there weren't as many trains on the track. Still, when we couldn't figure out right away what the problem was and didn't know how long it would take to fix it, we followed protocol and unloaded the inbound trains in Crystal City and the outbound trains in L'Enfant Plaza and Rosslyn respectively.”

  “So the problem was fixed after 30 minutes? Did you ever figure out what happened?” Art asked. “How many trains were affected going into the city during the outage?”

  “We first unloaded a Blue Line train going into DC, then two Yellow Line trains and then another Blue Line train. But we found out about the attack right after unloading that one and stopped service altogether for a while.”

  “And in this type of situation, you put people on buses?” Art asked.

  “Sure,” the press officer replied. “One of our main bus depots is nearby on Jefferson Davis Highway, so it didn't take long for them to arrive.”

  “It seems like all of these events were kind of random, would it have been possible for somebody to anticipate everything that happened and target Bus 2405 or one of its passengers specifically?” Art asked.

  “I don't think anybody could target a shuttle bus because we only use those as needed,” Delgado explained. “Now, with regard to targeting a person, I guess that is possible. I mean, all someone would have to do is follow them onto a train or a bus.”

  On a whim, Art asked another question.

  “Okay, one more. With the kind of explosive power that this bomb had, would it have caused more damage had it gone off in the train?”

  “Absolutely. If it goes off in the train, you not only have the victims from the blast but you're also dealing with derailment. So in that regard, we caught a break.”

  “Thanks,” Art said. “Oh, wait, did you ever figure out what caused the problem at the Pentagon?”

  “I'm not sure. I'll get back to you.”

  “Great, thanks. I may also call you again with follow up questions.”

  Art tried to reconcile the new information with his theory. So it might be possible that the terrorist had followed the victims from National Airport to the Metro. But they might not all have been in the same car on the train. An
d, it seemed that Hassan al-Zaid wanted to get away, so maybe using a bus was the better way to accomplish that. But how did he know that there was going to be a shuttle bus in the first place, Art thought. He couldn't have. So maybe he wanted to explode the bomb at Pentagon station and then was forced to change plans when the power went out.

  Again, for every one of his questions that was answered, a couple new ones popped up but Art still felt that he was making progress.

  ***

  Hassan and Omar Bashir were huddled together in the quarters of the as-Sirat leader. They sat next to each other in front of a small table that had nothing on it apart from several blank sheets of paper and a pencil.

  “Do you think you will feel more comfortable writing an entire script and just reading it on camera or do you want to prepare some notes and work with those?” Omar Bashir asked. The as-Sirat leader had summoned Hassan so that they could discuss what they wanted to say in the video. Omar Bashir was clearly giddy about the impact it would have.

  “I always find your messages very effective, so which do you prefer?” Hassan asked.

  “I rarely script an entire speech. I think reading from a piece of paper makes it more difficult to speak with passion. I also prefer to finish the video in one take to preserve the authenticity of what I am saying.”

  “Then I'll follow your example and try using some notes. Do you want me to speak English or Arabic?”

  “I usually speak Arabic because I'm addressing our brothers,” Omar Bashir said. “You, however, should speak English because we are sending a message to America.”

  The as-Sirat leader gave Hassan an outline of what he wanted him to say.

  “I want you to taunt America because they were not able to catch you,” Omar Bashir said. “And you have to inspire others to follow your example. You are not appealing to the masses, you are appealing to a select few who might have aspirations of striking against the United States but have not acted on them.”

  Both of them spent the next few minutes working on what they wanted to say with Hassan only occasionally interrupting to ask questions.