by Klaus Marre
“It's the same train?” Art asked one more time.
“Yeah,” Delgado didn't quite understand what she had seen but sensed that it was significant. “Do you need anything else?”
“Just for you not to tell anybody about this,” Art said.
***
In the cab back to the office, Art was trying to put it all together. It seemed clear that, after arriving at National airport, the victims didn't use the Metro to get to Crystal City. But then there was no reason for them to be on this shuttle bus. Yet somehow they all appeared on it as though they had boarded it somewhere else.
If that was the case, how in the world did Hassan al-Zaid get on the same bus? If Stacey didn't get on it, then there was also no way that the terrorist had been on the Blue Line train. Did he just happen to walk around Crystal City with a massive bomb in his backpack and found a bus that didn't even originate at the terminal? That seemed highly unlikely.
Then there were all of the problems with Metro that day, the power outage at the Pentagon, the surveillance cameras that didn't work and the tapes from the bus that had been misplaced.
Everything just seemed so orchestrated, from the travel plans the victims made at the same time, to all of them arriving at National in a 30-minute span, to the way they appeared to have gotten on the bus, to the surveillance problems.
But what would have been the point? There was no doubt that the terrorist was on the bus and that he left his backpack. There were the clips of the surveillance tapes from the bus, and there was the meeting with Stacey.
For a split-second, Art thought that maybe the bombing was staged. Maybe the bus had been unloaded somewhere and nobody was on it when it exploded. But that wasn't possible.
There was no doubt that the bus had blown up and that there were victims. There was a massive crater on Washington Boulevard and Alan had been right there, seeing body parts fall from the sky. In addition, the remains had been positively identified as belonging to the victims. Heck, Alan could have been dead also if he hadn't been slowed down.
“Wait a minute,” the reporter said to himself. He pulled out his cell and called Alan.
“Hey, it's Art. I have a question. Can you please describe to me exactly what happened right before the bus exploded?”
“Sure, I was on Washington Boulevard, listening to the Grateful Dead and then I caught up with a pair of Humvees that were driving kinda slowly. I honked so one would move because they were driving side by side, but they didn't budge. Then, when I was about to honk again, the bus blew up.”
The cab had reached the Washington Post and Art tossed the driver a twenty, not waiting for the change.
“Okay, let me ask you this. In retrospect, would it be fair to say that the two Humvees blocked you?” the reporter asked.
“Dunno, I mean, they were just driving slowly next to each other.”
“Could any car have gotten past them and closer to the bus?” Art inquired.
“No, not the way they were driving.”
“So, whether it was on purpose or inadvertently, they were blocking you?”
“I guess you could say that. What's this all about, Art?”
“I think I'm a converted conspiracy theorist. I have to run and get back to work. Please don't mention this conversation. I'll be able to explain soon.”
Art had reached his desk, sat down and closed his eyes.
In the background, MSNBC was replaying a clip of Hassan's confessional video, distracting the reporter's thought process.
“... time for somebody to give you a taste of your own bitter medicine. I will prove that you can no longer feel safe on your buses. You also should not feel safe in your malls or believe that your children are safe in their schools.”
“He even told us himself,” Art thought. “He never planned to detonate his bomb on a train. A bus had always been the target. But had he targeted this specific bus? If yes, how had he found out about it?”
It also seemed as though somebody else knew that the bombing would take place and tried to prevent people like Stacey from getting on and people like Alan from getting too close. That still left the people on the bus who died.
Too bad that the theory of the bus being unloaded beforehand didn't hold water, because then everything kinda would have made sense. If, for example, somebody knew beforehand what Hassan al-Zaid would do, they could have let him carry out his plan, unload the bus after the terrorist got off and let him believe that the attack was successful. That would also explain the “lost” surveillance tapes. Then, whoever knew about the bombing, could follow Hassan al-Zaid and see if he led them to other terrorists.
It would make sense, but there was irrefutable evidence that there had been people on the bus when it exploded. Art knew he would have to keep looking for a theory in which all pieces fit.
Wednesday, 4:00 am ET
Hassan awoke well-rested with his mind at ease about the plan to kill Omar Bashir. He decided to do it sooner rather than later. He didn't want thoughts about death to start creeping up and get him to chicken out.
It had to be done, Hassan told himself. There was no other way to ensure that Pathfinder was a success. And it had to be done now, before his cover was blown. He needed to stay strong for just a little bit longer.
Hassan went to one of the rooms in which weapons were stored and looked for a gun small enough to hide inside his clothes. The armory was rich in assault rifles and heavier weapons but there were only a few handguns. After looking around for a little bit, Hassan found three Heckler&Kochs. He took one, regretting that there were no American-made handguns. That would have been more fitting. Hassan made sure that it was loaded with a round chambered and flipped the safety off before hiding the weapon inside his kaftan.
He made his way to Omar Bashir's quarters. When he got there, the as-Sirat leader just stepped out of the heavy door, flanked by one of his body guards.
“Hassan, I was just about to look for you. There is something I want you to hear about.”
Hassan felt the weight of the weapon against his body and part of him had the urge to pull it out and get it over with. But the situation wasn't right. The as-Sirat fighters were all highly trained and Hassan could only be assured of getting a single shot off before they would be all over him. That first bullet had to kill Omar Bashir. He certainly didn't want a bodyguard in position to take it for the as-Sirat leader. So, instead of pulling out the gun, he followed Omar Bashir into his room.
Khalid el-Jeffe was already waiting for them. Omar Bashir motioned for everybody to sit down and poured them tea. They were surrounding a table on which documents were piled high. Omar Bashir motioned to his bodyguard who handed him a laptop.
Hassan evaluated the situation and again decided to wait. It would be too difficult to quickly pull the gun from under his kaftan from a sitting position. He would act as soon as everybody got up. Hassan told himself to be patient. He was astonished how calm he was even though he only had a few more moments to live. But Hassan knew that he was doing the right thing.
“I wanted to talk to you about our greatest mission,” Omar Bashir said. “Everything else that has been done before will pale in comparison.”
That statement managed to tear Hassan's thoughts away from thinking about the assassination. The as-Sirat leader paused for effect before continuing.
“On the American Thanksgiving Day, a group of as-Sirat fighters will seize control of a nuclear power plant. We will then cause a meltdown and release as much radioactive material as possible. If all goes as planned and with Allah's will, we will make the Chernobyl disaster look like a picnic.”
“Wow,” Hassan said, “I mean, that's great news. Where is the attack going to take place?”
“Near Chicago,” the terrorist leader said, tapping on a map. “With the strong winds there and seasonal wind patterns, fallout should reach the city quickly. It's tough to estimate how many people will die right away, but over time, it should be tens of tho
usands if we get it right. And it will cripple the economy in the area. We believe that Chicago will be severely contaminated.”
“But how can you force a nuclear meltdown? Don't they have ways to prevent that?”
“My young brother, we have been planning this for a decade,” the as-Sirat leader said with a smile. He saw the concern on Hassan's face, misinterpreting it. “Don't worry, it will work. Three of the men on the mission are nuclear physicists, among them the leader of the team. He has lived and studied in America for many years. He can manufacture a meltdown and override all of the security systems. The team will then blow up something that is called a 'containment building' to release the radioactive material.”
Hassan's mind was reeling. The revelation threw a wrench in his assassination plan. All of a sudden, there was a more important mission than killing Omar Bashir. He had to warn people about the attack because it would certainly be carried out whether the as-Sirat leader was dead or not.
Over the next hour, during which Omar Bashir shared some of the documents with him, Hassan tried to learn as much as possible about the attack. But he never managed to steer the conversation in a direction that would get the as-Sirat leader to give away anything that could be used to identify the people who were to carry out the mission. Hassan hoped that it wouldn't matter. If he escaped and made contact, Andan would be stormed and the plot disrupted. He just had to get away.
Omar Bashir served a second round of tea and his bodyguard removed the documents and the laptop. Hassan made a mental note that he took them to a small room adjacent to the one they were in.
Omar Bashir finished his tea and rose, indicating that the meeting was adjourned. Hassan only remembered that he carried a loaded gun when he got up and it pressed into his stomach. He was eager to get going and to prepare for his escape.
***
“I think you trust him too much,” el-Jeffe said after Hassan left. “Most of the men have no idea of the Chicago attack.”
“You don't trust him?” Omar Bashir asked.
“I don't know. I didn't like his look when you both entered this room earlier. And I think he asks too many questions.”
“He has proven himself sufficiently, don't you think? Reports are that America is in political turmoil because of his actions. He has been everything we could ever have hoped for.”
“Yes he has proven himself,” el-Jeffe said. “And he has been almost too good to be true.”
“My old friend, you sound like a woman.”
“I still don't think you should tell him too much. What if he is captured? We won't know if he'll give up our secrets.”
“Khalid, how could he be captured? We'll never allow him to leave here again. He is too recognizable. He will end up like you and me, living in the bunker without ever venturing past Andan again.”
Wednesday, 9:02 am ET
Art Kempner had long debated whether he should write an article based on the information he had. On the one hand, he didn't have a complete story. There were plenty of unanswered questions. On the other hand, if the people on the bus were supposed to be part of some secret operation, he might never get those answers. In the end, Art spent three hours the previous evening drafting an article because he was too worried that somebody else would beat him to parts of the story. It was the never-ending fear of any journalist sitting on a huge story and there was no doubt in Art's mind that this was what he was dealing with.
He felt he had to write it now or somebody else would figure out some of the same things he had. Art also couldn't rely on people like Delgado or even Alan to keep their mouths shut. The last reason, albeit an important one, of why he wanted to get started on drafting an article was that it would put pressure on whoever had the answers he was looking for. He would go to the White House with some of the information he had and see if that would get him any further.
With the decision made, Art had hammered away on a draft article until 1:00 am. He had to find a delicate balance between giving his readers newsworthy information without delving into areas of analysis and speculation. So he focused on what he knew to be true. It was enough to debunk the theory that both Hassan al-Zaid and his victims arrived on the first Blue Line train.
He also mentioned that the demographics didn't make sense, pointing out that Hassan al-Zaid was the only person under 30 on the bus. He wrote about the security cameras from National Airport Metro stop and pointed to the terrorist's own video statement.
Bus Bombing Deserves a Closer Look
A Washington Post investigation into last week's Pentagon bus bombing raises serious
questions about the official version of the chain of events that culminated in an attack
claiming 37 American lives.
It has been widely accepted that U.S.-born as-Sirat follower Hassan al-Zaid, who has
confessed to carrying out the strike, and his victims were forced to leave a Metro train
because of a power failure at Pentagon station. It has also been assumed that the original
target of the attack was a train and not the shuttle bus.
But al-Zaid's own words and evidence gathered in the process of the Post's probe indicate that neither of these theories is possible and that our view of the events will have to change, in some cases drastically.
The investigation also uncovered some oddities related to the bombing and raises
questions about them that have so far not been asked or answered but deserve to be
publicly aired as the nation is trying to return to normalcy.
Art read over the rest of his draft and was pleased with it. He'd have to run it by the managing editor and then take it over to the White House. Art sent a quick e-mail to President Sweeney's press secretary, asking him for a few minutes of his time in the morning. He was sure the request would be granted. Getting face time with top officials was another perk that winning the Pulitzer carried with it.
***
Hassan laid down for a nap, his head resting on a heavy jacket. He felt something hard pressing against his skull. It could be any number of things. Hassan had loaded the jacket with items that could prove useful during his escape. There was, of course the Heckler&Koch and some additional ammunition. He had also taken a couple of knives, some matches, scrap paper that would help him start a fire and a few other knickknacks.
Sadly, Hassan had been unable to find a compass. It would have been especially useful since he expected to have to avoid the few roads in this part of the world because that's where as-Sirat would come looking first. While Hassan had sometimes cursed the rigorous weekends he had spent training with the Pathfinder team, the lessons were about to pay off big time. He figured that he would be able to generally figure out where he was going by the position of the stars if the night sky was cloudless.
The jacket itself was also a new acquisition. He had told one of the older fighters that he had been very cold at night and would like something to cover up with. The man returned shortly with the jacket and another blanket. Hassan gladly accepted both.
He spent the day making several trips to the kitchen, swiping bits and pieces of food each time. Now he had a stock of dried fruit, meat and bread that should last him for several days and also a couple of large canteens of water. Hassan hoped it wouldn't take that long but he wanted to be prepared. It certainly wouldn't be a cakewalk back to territory that could widely be described as friendly. A bag with his food was hidden in the storage room.
Hassan planned to leave Andan around 2:00 am. That way, he would make sure that everybody else was asleep when he got up while also allowing him a couple of hours to put some distance between himself and as-Sirat. The last step in his preparation was to get some rest. He shifted the jacket so that he was more comfortable and quickly fell asleep.
***
Just as Hassan was laying down, DNI McClintock started his first conference call of the morning. The news he received from the heads of the different surveillance
agencies was not good. They had found nothing unusual in the area they were searching.
“We need to keep looking,” he ordered, “Even some of the areas where we don't think as-Sirat would be, such as on the plains or in towns.
“I want you to look at everything,” the DNI said, stressing the last word.
“We're working around the clock, Bob,” the head of the National Reconnaissance Office said. “And we have only so many satellites and so many people.
“Can we bring in some additional staff, like recent retirees, contractors with the necessary clearance?” McClintock asked.
“I'll look into it. When are you going to tell us what all this is about?”
“You'll know soon enough,” the DNI said, his tone indicating that he did not wish to talk about the subject. He was very frustrated with the lack of progress but at least he felt they still had some time. They were nearing the end of the window during which they felt Hassan should be able to operate, but there had really been no signs that anybody was onto them. At least that part of Pathfinder had gone off without a hitch.
“How about the drones?”
McClintock's question was directed at the CIA and the Air Force, both of which operated unmanned aerial vehicles.
“All the capabilities we can spare are covering the area,” the CIA director said.
“Do the teams know that everybody is looking in the same area?” McClintock asked.
“No, we haven't told them and also asked all of the drone operators not to discuss their current target with anybody, including others with the same clearance.”
“Good. Let's do another call at 2:30 pm.”
After the conference call, McClintock called President Sweeney to let him know that the surveillance teams had not had any luck. Then he contacted the Pathfinder team in Islamabad. The DNI wanted them to prepare to go to Zhob the next day. Maybe having his men in the area would stir the hornets’ nest a little.
***
It didn't take Art Kempner long to convince his managing editor that he was on to something really big. He had started the meeting by asking her what she thought the chain of events was that led to the bombing upon which Emily Strauss had recited the widely accepted story.