by Tom Haase
"Yes, please. No sugar or cream," she replied.
As they sat around his small two-person table on stools in the breakfast nook of the apartment, Matt again became smitten by Bridget’s extraordinary beauty. His thought had not gone to his deceased wife, as he’d expected they might even after spending a night with a woman in his apartment with nothing sexual happening. There remained, however, a sticking point if it did happen. How would any sexual involvement influence their working relationship? What impact would it have on the bond with his daughter? How would it affect him? Why the hell was he pondering this now as Bridget stared at him?
"Is something wrong?" she inquired.
"No. No . . . I was just thinking."
"Of how the murders would affect your daughter," Bridget injected.
"Well, yeah. Sort of," he said as he shook his head. "It was that I'm surprised at my reactions in thinking about the future. All in all, I'm glad we’re working together. I am."
"So what’s bothering you? You don’t like what we’re doing?"
"Hell no," Matt said.
"You are something. All I want is for us to be open and honest with each other. You start. What were you thinking just now?" Bridget asked.
“First, I surprised myself that I had no regrets about our renewed relationship. Second, that we’ll successfully manage our work association. We’re not superior to subordinate, we’re equal partners. Lastly, I thought of my daughter. We’ve started something that I hope is a good thing for both of us. I want it. Does that make sense?”
"Thank you,” Bridget said. “That's a lot of honesty. I’ll try to be that way with you always, and that way we’ll make it work."
Bridget came over and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. "That’s for being you. Now it’s time to get our butts in gear and go make some money or we’ll be on welfare."
"I want to look outside before we go. I don’t usually do it here in the States, but last night I had a feeling we were being watched. Just a hunch, but . . .” Matt wiggled on the kitchen stool. "There was no one I could see, so I forgot about it. It might be something to check out, since we are in the security business."
Matt went over to the window and, without moving the blind, peeked around both sides to observe the street. He saw the condensation on the pane and knew the temperature had to be near freezing.
He put on his down overcoat and a wool beanie before heading downstairs. At the bottom of the steps, he looked outside but saw no one, and after a quick check of the cars on the street, he decided that his imagination had run wild. Still, he retained a lingering feeling of being watched.
11
Seven Days Ago — Portland, Oregon
"Nodira, you and I, we’ve been selected to go on a mission for al-Qaeda," said Ahmad, the cell leader and a graduate student studying engineering. "Fatimah has ordered us to kill a man in Washington, D.C. It seems the guy had interfered with a big plan of theirs, and this is to be a reprisal for his actions."
"When do we have to do this?" Nodira asked.
"The one I report to told me there was an attempt on this man in Texas and it failed. We will not let that happen again." He lit a Turkish cigarette and inhaled deeply. "We’re to go tomorrow. On arrival, we'll met a man who'll supply us with the weapons and a picture of the target."
“Not that I don’t think we’ve had the training to carry out the mission, but isn’t this a little out of the ordinary for us to conduct such an operation without a long planning time?”
“Yes, but I understand there’s another plan to attack the Americans with a huge weapon. I don’t know the details. Our mission is our only concern. The tickets and transport are all arranged, and we’re going to a student conference in Washington. That’ll provide us a legitimate cover for being there.”
"Do you know anything about the weapon?" Nodira said.
"No, I don’t. Rumor has it there is a Russian involved. I think the team in Texas knew more about it, but we don’t have any details. They are trying to limit all information about the Russian, if he exists. That cell’s al-Qaeda leaders must’ve told them about an atomic bomb. Their cell was in Texas and got wiped out by our target. So, this won’t be an easy mission, but we will succeed where they failed. We’ll have to rely on Allah to guide us. Let us pray now for our success."
While on his knees, Nodira remembered how all this had come about. He could not engage in the required devotional supplication because a vivid memory overpowered his concentration and he couldn’t help it. It must be part of Allah’s plan for him and it had started a long time ago.
* * *
Uzbekistan, Union of Soviet Socialist Republics - 1990 A.D.
Shahri, situated on the Turanian plain, remained as it had been for the past two thousand years. Now it is part of the Xorazm Viloyati district, slightly east of Urganch in the Republic of Uzbekistan. The electrification of some buildings in the small village and the arrival of farm trucks and a few automobiles in this century didn’t change the fundamental rural lifestyle of the community. Islam is the religion, and the language leans on Turkish as its base.
Many residents also know how to speak Russian. The flags flying over the land differed over the years from the Imperial banner of the Czars to the red of the Soviets, but the people there cared little for the politics of the far-off leaders. The country, in previous years, remained part of the Soviet bloc. The villagers’ world, however, centered around managing their meager assets and ensuring adequate food for everyone.
Muattar and Nodira Karimo, twin brothers, grew up in the village. Their father, Islam Karimo, had worked as a poor wine merchant. Even though alcohol might be less popular than in the West, wines were widely available for a majority Muslim nation like Uzbekistan because, as in Turkey, it is largely a secular state. The twins demonstrated enterprising traits and, on reaching the age of eighteen, concluded that hunting giant lizards for food and eating the noodle-rich cuisine of Uzbekistan, augmented by the rare piece of mutton, wouldn’t suffice as the life for them.
"Well, have you decided what you are going to do?” asked Muattar. They were sitting around the kitchen table in the evening near the wood-burning stove that provided the only heat in the dwelling.
"Yesterday, I talked to the head of our school and he is helping me get the money and paperwork to go to a university in the United States," Nodira replied.
"You can’t go there," Muattar shouted as he got up from the table and stood with his finger pointing at his brother. "It is the home of Satan. You know what the imam has taught us about those infidels."
"I know, but they have a superlative university system, and I can learn about engineering. When I come home, I can help our people here." Nodira signaled his sibling to sit back down. "I know there is a cell of al-Qaeda in Portland, Oregon. I will contact them when I get there. That way, I will keep my faith strong." He took a sip of what was undoubtedly the most popular beverage in the country, tea. "Brother, what are you thinking of doing?"
"I have decided to enlist in the Red Army. They will provide me enough money to send some back to Papa, and I’ll have a better life, as opposed to here, where there is nothing for me. I will also change my name to Ravshan after our grandfather when I join and to sound more Russian and less Muslim in their army."
Muattar had joined as Ravshan, had become a trained sniper in the red army, and served in Chechnya. His kill ratio had exceeded that of all other snipers in his unit. He’d never came back home and had learned from his brother that their father had died recently.
Nodira hadn’t taken the trip to the States that year, staying to help his father instead. He’d then gone to Afghanistan in the summer to receive training at an al-Qaeda camp. This had inspired Nodira and solidified his belief in the justice of the jihadists’ cause. He’d returned home three months later a changed man. By then, the old USSR no longer existed, after it had suffered defeat in Afghanistan, which proved to the world the mighty superpower was not invincible. Now onl
y the mighty USA remained, and the forces of Islam would rise up against it and destroy it. The West must surrender and the inhabitants convert to Islam or perish. He would fulfill the will of Allah as the almighty’s instrument.
He’d returned home and studied the Koran at the local mosque while the other brothers ran the business. Later, he’d received the funding and paperwork to go to America. Last summer he’d reached Portland, Oregon to start his studies.
* * *
Dulles International Airport — Washington, D.C.
Six days ago, early morning
As they walked out into the arrivals hall, Ahmad searched the area for their contact. He spotted him by the Avis rental car counter because the man wore what they expected to find on their contact here, a black windbreaker with the Bendix logo and dark glasses. They approached him, noting his body builder's frame, and when he took off his glasses as they came close, they could see that he possessed brilliant green eyes.
"You must be Ahmad," he said, offering his hand. "My name is al-Banna, but folks around here know me as Ricky. Let’s get out of the terminal as quick as we can. I have transport and a driver who will take you wherever you need to go. He’ll stay with you at all times until he brings you back here to leave. Those are the orders I received."
"As you wish. We’re dependent on you to get us to our objective," Ahmad said. "Interesting name you adopted on your conversion. Al-Banna was the founder of the first modern jihadist organization, the Muslim Brotherhood." Ahmad and Nodira followed Ricky out of the airport terminal to the waiting car.
Ricky introduced them to Claude Moreau, a Frenchman and a devout Muslim. Ricky told them that Claude’s mother came from Algeria and grew up a Muslim. Claude had become active in the religion in Washington, where it enjoyed the status of being the fastest growing sect in America. He explained that the greater metropolitan area contained cells of Hamas, Hezbollah, al-Qaeda, al-Fugra and Islamic Jihad. Claude saw the faith as a way to convert the world to Islam in the name of Allah and to destroy the United States, which became the cell’s single goal. Their jihadist cell, headed by Ricky, would carry out any order they received to achieve that end.
"I’ll take you to attend your conference, and then pick you up at five. You can do your surveillance of the target then," Claude said. "Your flight leaves tomorrow at six. The weapons you asked for are in the trunk—two assault rifles, AK-47, and two Berretta 9mm Px4, type F."
"Do you have the picture of our man?" Nodira asked.
"Yes. His name is Matt Higgins and he has a partner called Bridget." He handed over a piece of paper with the image. "Here is a photo and the address of his office. Don’t worry, I’ve already checked out how to get there, and I can take you anywhere you want to go."
After they attended the student conference, Claude picked them up and headed towards Leesburg. Ahmad asked, "I suppose you are along to report on all we do?"
Claude didn’t answer.
They arrived at the SPAT, Inc. office as Matt and Bridget were getting into Matt’s BMW. Claude pulled into an empty space and waited to see which way they were going when they drove off.
"Don’t worry, I’ll keep up with them."
He followed and watched as Matt searched for a parking place, but eventually had to park near a building almost a block away. The subjects walked to the bar on the corner.
"What are you guys planning on doing? I just want to know to plan our route of escape."
Ahmad responded, "We will wait till he is away from the girl, and then we will kill him. Is it always this cold here? I’m freezing."
Claude turned on the heater. He moved the car down the street to keep Matt’s car under observation. After about an hour, his two passengers began to get out to go on foot to explore inside the bar. At that moment, Matt and Bridget appeared and started to walk towards his car. Ahmad expected that Matt would take the young woman home, and they would kill him when he got back.
"What are they doing?" Claude said.
"Looks like they’re going into the building. I thought you had his address in Arlington, Virginia," Nodira said.
"We do. That’s what is in the phone book. Maybe he moved," Claude surmised.
"Now what? It seems like this is a badly planned operation," Nodira said. “You don’t even know if this could be the girl’s place.”
Ahmad said, "Now we wait to see."
12
Five Days Ago — Arlington, Virginia
The temperature hovered around freezing. The three terrorists in the car fogged the windows of the vehicle with their exhales onto the frozen glass. They scrunched and wiggled in a vain attempt to keep warm, assuming they would be moving at any moment when the target appeared. Time passed as silence reigned in the car. Claude fell asleep and snored. Ahmad clucked his tongue from time to time. Nodira stayed focused on the apartment building, hoping their prey would emerge.
“They’ve got to come out,” Nodira said. “We could accomplish our mission before daybreak and be on the next plane.” They waited in vain for Matt to reappear, not wanting to try and take him in his own dwelling after they learned what had happened to the team in Dallas. At seven in the morning, the door opened and Matt and Bridget appeared. The men decided to follow until Matt was alone.
Matt emerged from the apartment building bundled in a heavy anorak and a navy beanie. Bridget came into view in only a windbreaker and ran for Matt’s car. The men followed Matt’s car to what they now took as the woman’s place and then on to the offices of SPAT, Inc. No opportunity presented itself for them to carry out the hit at her place. At the office location, they took up a position across the street to keep the office under surveillance. They took turns walking to the local McDonalds for food and to use the facilities.
* * *
"Good morning, you two," Julia chirped when they entered the office. She continued to feed something to Gandalf.
"Stop cat, stop fucking cat, squawk," was their greeting from the bird.
"Let me take care of Rambo," Bridget said and went off to check on the litter box and his food.
"Julia, I have a favor to ask," Matt said.
"What can I do?" replied Julia.
“I need you to go pick up my daughter and bring her here. General Bergermeyer stopped by last night. Her niece is coming to visit, and she asked if Laura could come over and play. I think it’s to get her some relief from her non maternal disposition," Matt said with a smile.
"No problem. When?"
"She’ll be here after five. You know how the Friday afternoon traffic is. She may decide to come early to pick her up, so I guess you should get her after school. I’d go, but we have a meeting with a prospective client at four, and we’re waiting on some information on our new assignment from the president."
"Okay. I’ll leave about two. Please be sure to be back here in time," Julia said.
"Here are the keys to my car. Use my gas, not yours. Here’s a fifty to fill it. Please remember to do so, as it’s nearly empty." He handed her the money.
The phone rang, and Julia moved to answer it. The office day began.
At two o’clock, Julia prepared to leave. "Matt, it’s very cold outside and I don’t have my down coat. Could I borrow yours?"
"Of course, go ahead," Matt responded without looking up from the computer screen.
"Okay, see you later." Julia put on Matt’s heavy coat and his hat, went out, and left in the BMW to pick up Laura. She drove straight to where Matt’s daughter lived with his deceased wife’s sister and her husband. She knew the neighborhood and enjoyed seeing the full-grown trees instead of the shrubs prevalent in the new subdivisions going in all over the area. Their house dated from the days when Herndon was out in the country—a long way from the District of Columbia—but today it functioned as a bedroom community. Julia couldn't believe the elevated prices of property in the area. After ten years the homeowners found the current value of their dwellings mind-boggling.
Julia pulled up in the d
rive of an average red brick ranch house as the car’s engine sputtered and died. "Shit, I forgot to stop and get gas. The damn traffic. Damnit," she said aloud.
Going up to the house, she pondered what to say and how to get fuel for Matt’s car. Susan’s sister, Sherry, greeted her friend at the door.
"Matt called to tell us you were coming. Take your things off and have a cup for coffee. Jim just flew in this morning, and is asleep in the bedroom, so we’ll go into the kitchen."
"That would be a delight. It’s as cold as a well digger’s ass out there," Julia said.
They went into the kitchen and after small talk and a few sips from her cup, Julia asked, "May I borrow your car? I must admit that I ran out of gas when I got here. Matt told me to fill it, but in the traffic, I forgot."
"Sure. Take our car. It’s in the garage and it’s warm since I recently used it to go to the store. There’s a gas can you can take on the far side by the door."
Laura ran into the room. "Julia, Julia." She threw her arms around her and gave her a kiss.
"Hi, Pumpkin. Your dad’ll be glad to see you. You’re going to stay with the general for the weekend."
"He told me. It should be fun," Laura said.
"I have to go and get some gas for the car. I’ll be back in a few."
"Let me go with you, please, please."
"All right, get your coat."
Laura came back holding a lightweight red jacket.
"Here, Julia, you take Sherry’s coat. You won’t need Dad’s heavy coat in the car since we just got back. Come on, let’s go. I want to see Daddy before the general gets there." Julia put on the red windbreaker.
Julia took Laura by the hand and walked to the garage. They drove off a minute later, heading for the local gas station.