to Washington. When the embassy car was ready to depart for Johannesburg International late that afternoon, her hand rested in Ryan’s for a very long time. Gillian was sorry to see him go.
Naomi fell into a deep sleep on the short ride south, leaving Ryan alone with his troubled thoughts. He wasn’t sure how to proceed. As his mind struggled for answers, Naomi’s words came back to him, but with a taunting edge that had been absent in her spoken voice: “What do we really know now that we didn’t know before? His real name? It’s not like that’ll be the one he’s using…”
The name was important to Kealey because it offered some small measure of relief from the feeling of impotence that had plagued him for years. Now that he had the truth, though, he wasn’t sure what to do with it.
It had become clear to Ryan during the ambassador’s recitation that William Vanderveen blamed the West — or more specifically, the United States — for what had happened to his family. It was also clear that Vanderveen had joined the army of a country he hated for only one reason: to learn the skills that he would ultimately twist to use against his unsuspecting benefactors.
With this thought, Ryan found his thoughts drifting back to Vanderveen’s intentions in Washington. Needless to say, it was a huge risk for the man to return to the city, so whatever he had planned would have to be worth that risk. Stephen Gray’s final words echoed in his ears with the steady rhythm of a dripping tap: The shipment has landed in Washington… He already has what he needs. The last shipment to arrive in Washington was an unspecified amount of explosives. Would he be arrogant enough to try the same thing, perhaps sneaking it ahead of the increased security at the ports?
Could it have come in on the same shipment as the first explosives that were used?
In his former life, Vanderveen had been a highly skilled Special Forces engineer. As such, he had the patience and the specialized knowledge to carry off a successful attempt on the president’s life. Ryan thought the man would fall back on what he knew, despite his sniper training at Benning. He decided that he could only trust his instincts, since he had no proof either way.
He tried not to think about what might happen if he was wrong, or if he was right but not fast enough in putting it together.
As he leaned back in the comfortable seat and tried to follow Naomi’s example, Ryan decided that it was time to pay Thomas Elgin another visit.
As the Boeing 747 carrying the two CIA officers lifted into the clear night sky above the lights of Johannesburg, Will Vanderveen emerged from the depths of the Tian Shan mountains, following Ayman al-Zawahiri into the quiet hollows of the surface caves. The ground was littered with cots and sleeping men. The stench from their unwashed bodies filled the air, despite the cold and the open space.
“You will get 45,000 U.S. dollars for expenses, then,” al-Zawahiri said in a low voice. “In five installments of 9,000 dollars each, all to the same account.” A small frown moved over his face. “We will need Mazaheri to move it.”
Vanderveen continued as though he hadn’t heard. “Make sure that the funds are routed through Western Europe, preferably England or France. American banks are required to report lump sum deposits of 10,000 dollars or more to the government. By keeping the deposits under that amount, we remove some of the risk, but there is still some danger in using the one account. Unfortunately, I have very few complete identities. Creating a full legend takes time, which is the one thing we don’t have. In less than a month’s time, the itinerary will be useless.”
They moved out of the caves and into the clearing, walking quickly through the cold night air toward the massive canvas tent and the steady hum of the generators.
“Will he keep to the schedule?”
“He has so far.”
“And you think it can be done?”
“There are no guarantees, but we will never have a better opportunity. I believe it can be done.”
The Egyptian did not respond as they moved gratefully into the stale warmth of the tent. The radio operator pulled back the curtain and waved for his commander’s attention. A moment later, al-Zawahiri was calling for the American.
Vanderveen walked into the cramped room and took the proffered sheet of paper. He scanned it quickly, but one name stood out from the rest. He stared at it in disbelief.
“Kealey.”
“You recognize this name?”
“Yes,” was the strained response. “Where did this come from?”
“The information came out of South Africa. We have somebody in the embassy there.”
“Is he reliable?” Vanderveen asked.
“Completely. He works for money… They are usually the best,” al-Zawahiri said. A brief pause. “Does this present a problem?”
Vanderveen did not respond for a long time. “No… no problem.”
“Perhaps it would be better for us to remain in contact, so that we can inform you of his movements.” This was said with some insistence.
“No, he won’t be staying in Africa. Besides, it’s too dangerous. We can’t risk everything on a phone call — I can’t even begin to guess at the NSA’s capabilities, especially in the D.C. area. You won’t be hearing from me until it’s over.”
Al-Zawahiri did not respond. Instead, he turned to stare at the radio operator, who quickly stood up and stepped outside. Only then did the physician turn his attention back to Vanderveen. “That is unacceptable. We need Mazaheri’s people to move the funds. He will want assurances.”
“There are no assurances.” Vanderveen was growing impatient. “We’ve been over this already-”
The other man held up a placating hand. “You will be given a number to call. The minister has an asset in Washington who will handle the finances. We have few people skilled in that area since Zouaydi was taken in Madrid. It is not a question of the money, you understand. It is a question of trusting you with an operation of this magnitude. Mazaheri will never relinquish total control… The Iranians have a great deal at stake here. Even if you are successful, we will have accomplished nothing if they can be directly linked to the assassinations.”
Al-Zawahiri fell silent for a moment, a thoughtful expression passing over his blunt features. Finally, he said, “You will make contact twice a week from the time you return until the day of the operation itself. You will be told when to call before you leave. I can negotiate nothing less than that. You will not be expected to divulge your specific movements, but they must know of any problems you encounter. This contact will benefit you as well: they will arrange for additional funds and documents should the worst come to pass.”
Vanderveen knew that was a lie. The Iranians would deny everything if his cover was blown. They wouldn’t lift a finger to help him if it all went bad, but he needed their help now, and he needed safe refuge when it was over. He had no choice but to play along.
“Fine. Is Mazaheri’s man in Washington?”
Ayman al-Zawahiri smiled gently. “Who said anything about a man?”
Surprise registered briefly in Vanderveen’s face. It was almost beyond belief that Mazaheri would entrust something as important as operational funds to a woman.
“She is a valuable asset, and she is trusted,” al-Zawahiri continued. “That is all you need to know.” The smile faded. “This is not a request. If you fail to call at the specified times, it will not matter if you succeed. Do you understand?”
Vanderveen nodded once. “I will do as you ask. And I will succeed.”
There was a long, awkward silence. It was difficult for the physician to believe that the American was willing to commit such an act against his own people, especially for nothing more than a secure place in the organization. In the end, though, he had no choice but to support the man. It was the Emir’s wish, and carried no less authority than a command from Allah Himself.
“Good. Tonight, you rest. The helicopter will return in the morning. And then, my friend, it’s up to you.”
Ryan Kealey had been in Washington for only two hours when he was called back to Virginia to the director’s office at Langley. He was sore and tired from the long flight, and his anger was exacerbated by the fact that he wouldn’t be getting back to Katie anytime soon.
Jonathan Harper was already waiting in the spacious room, reclining in one of the chairs scattered around a low table. The DCI was sitting opposite him, and the two men stopped their conversation when Kealey stepped
