practice on defending thewrongly accused, he will have no career. Surely, he has adopted the mantra ofany defense attorney, the same mode of thinking Allison developed in her fewyears as a public defender. Put the government to its proof. Make it hard forthe government to rob someone of his or her liberty. It’s not about freeingmurderers. It’s about keeping the government in check.
It’s more than that, she realizes, for most defenseattorneys. It’s more of a game. More about winning. It almost has to be thatway.
“We’re not moving the trial,” she says. “And I’d rather notdiscuss it again.”
ONE DAY EARLIER…
Jane McCoy looks at the envelope on the conference table. Itwas removed from a larger package that was addressed to Tashkent, Uzbekistan.The envelope has been scanned for fingerprints and revealed a thumb, index, andring print. The prints have been checked against every fingerprint database inthe federal government, as if they didn’t already know. The prints are a clearmatch for Ramadaran Ali Haroon.
On the back of the envelope Ram Haroon’s signature isscribbled across the sealed fold, so that if anyone were to open it, it wouldbe obvious. The FBI has opened the envelope, of course, and the note inside hasbeen translated. Which means that the FBI has had to purchase the exact kind ofenvelope used-not a difficult chore-and they have their best man practicingHaroon’s signature so that they can seal this back up and send it to itsdestination with an “authentic” signature. Their man will have to sign Haroon’sname adequately and also imitate his handwriting on the front, where the loneword “Mushi” is scribbled.
She looks at the message, translated to English:
“Mushi” refers to Muhsin al-Bakhari, the top lieutenant forthe Liberation Front. One of only four people who speaks to their leader, whomthey call the Great One.
“Haroon’s speaking straight to the shura majlis,” saysSpecial Agent-in-Charge Irv Shiels. Shiels knows these people, having spentmore than a decade in the Middle East with Central Intelligence. That,presumably, is why the Bureau is handling this. The CIA is no fan of theBureau-the feeling is mutual-but Shiels knows the Liberation Front as well asany of them, so the CIA is largely deferring to Shiels and the counterterrorismsquad in the field office here, at least for the part of this operation thatinvolves Ram Haroon. The story goes, Shiels fell in love with a field officerover there and wanted to settle down back in the states, back in this city,where he grew up. So he switched to the Bureau and quickly became specialagent-in-charge.
McCoy understands the nerves in Shiels’s voice. The shuramajlis is the four-person consultative council that advises the LiberationFront’s leader on matters of religion, finance, war operations, and the like.Muhsin al-Bakhari is the head of the council, making him the CEO, so to speak,of the Liberation Front. Haroon is communicating directly with al-Bakhari,meaning the mission is one that the Libbies are taking seriously.
The Liberation Front does not like layers of bureaucracy. Itis not a small, tightly wound group with a firm organizational structure.Rather, it is a series of loosely banded clusters throughout the world, many ofthem lying dormant while they await their instructions. Most disturbingly, theLiberation Front has focused recruitment on youth-rebellious, impressionable,idealistic children and young adults-both because they are the future of anyrebellion and because they escape detection more easily. College kidsprotesting on campuses will not draw as much attention, because they havealways protested. The best estimates are that the average age of suicidebombers and perpetrators of violence is twenty-one. The Libbies’ strategy, asfar as the U.S. government can tell, is to recruit and indoctrinate these youngpeople and then leave them to their own devices until the time comes. Then, inquick succession, they are given their instructions and execute the plan. Theless time between formulation and execution, the less chance for mistakes orsecond thoughts.
For something like what the Liberation Front has in mindhere, the fewer people in the loop, the better. At this point, before they evenhave the formula, the general thinking is that only a handful of people in theLiberation Front even know what is happening. That, McCoy assumes, is whyHaroon signed his name over the seal on the envelope. It is not so much thatthey fear the U.S. government reading the letter; they don’t want whoever willreceive this letter and deliver it to al-Bakhari to read it.
“Sir,” McCoy asks, “how is this going to play out?”
Shiels’s lips sink into his mouth, his eyes narrow. “Wedon’t need to know,” he says, smiling at her as if they have a mutualcomplaint. Beyond the scope of the local FBI office’s job, he means. “My guess?If he’s really delivering this to al-Bakhari, they’ll follow him there. And allbets are off. It’ll be Rangers, I assume. They’ll ambush the lot of them andhope to get al-Bakhari alive.”
“Sure.” If their surveillance of Ram Haroon leads them toMuhsin al-Bakhari, the U.S. government-Army Rangers, Shiels is predicting-willproceed with full force. The United States has been searching for al-Bakharifor years. It wouldn’t be a place for bystanders. “And what if he doesn’tdeliver to al-Bakhari?” she asks.
“Then, we may not catch the big fishes. Haroon will performhis faithful service and the Libbies will probably kill him.”
“They’ll kill him?”
“He’s of no use to them, Agent. Not for intel, at least.He’s been to the States. He’s documented. Maybe not with his real name, butnevertheless.” Shiels gets out of his chair. “However this turns out, RamHaroon’s days as an undercover operative for the Liberation Front are almostover. And I’m sure he knows that.”
ONE DAY EARLIER…
He recalls when life was simpler, or at least when it seemedsimpler. Certainly that was all it was, a mere illusion, the innocence ofchildhood. He prefers to think of his earliest memories, before the move toPeshawar. His family was happy. More accurately, he remembers being happy andeither made the assumption that his parents were, too, or was too engulfed inthe self-centeredness of early childhood to know one way or the other.
That is one thing that bothers Ram Haroon about his mother.He doesn’t know if she was happy. Father said she was. Father said she wasbeautiful and intelligent and forceful and loving.
Ram believes that. But after almost twenty years, heremembers little of his mother and his sister. Memories fade and are replacedwith some combination of reality and fantasy. Probably his mother has grownmore beautiful, his little sister more adorable, with time.
And his memories, such as they are, are grounded far less inthe visual and more in the senses of smell and touch and hearing. He canremember the basics-clothes his mother and sister wore, the color of theirhair-but he cannot recall the intricacies of their faces purely from memory; hecan place them, but what he is remembering, he realizes with pain, are the fewphotographs that remain of them.
He remembers the sand near their home, where Mother wouldmake the bunda pala-stuffed fish that she would bury for hours in the hot sandto let it bake. He remembers the succulent aroma of the sajii, the spiced legof lamb impaled on a branch and cooked near, not over, an open fire, andlicking his fingers with delight when the meal was over. He remembers hismother’s voice, her confidence and the change in inflection when she addressedher
