Both Kharmai and Kealey considered that for a moment. The previous year, the United States had formed an alliance with France and Italy to limit European oil exploration in Iran, the goal being to curtail the funds working their way into the regime’s weapons program. In response, the Iranians had formed a partnership with al-Qaeda to destroy the nascent alliance. They had started by targeting Senator Daniel Levy, the Senate majority leader and Iran’s most vocal opponent on the Hill. Levy had been a close friend of the president and one of his most ardent supporters. While the Iranian regime was never concretely linked with that attack — or those that followed — it was widely believed that the new hard-line regime had played a decisive role.
“So where do we stand?” Naomi asked. “Am I still doing the briefing?”
Harper opened his mouth to answer the question, but never got the chance. The door to the right of the fireplace swung open, and Director Andrews walked in, followed immediately by President David Brenneman.
The president walked over to Kealey first and extended a hand. “Ryan, it’s good to see you again. I wish it could be under better circumstances.”
“I feel the same way, sir, but we’ll find who was responsible.”
“Yes, I don’t doubt that we will.”
Listening to this strangely familiar exchange, Naomi was stunned. Here was yet another surprise: Ryan had met the president at least once before. But when? Her mind began ticking off the possibilities, but David Brenneman was already crossing the carpet toward her. He looked older in person, she thought, although it might just have been the strain of the past few weeks. He was tall — at least six feet four — and trim, with neat silver-brown hair and strong, handsome features. Despite the anger clouding his face, he looked presidential. She felt her mouth go dry as he offered a hand. She accepted it, painfully aware of how damp her own palms were.
“Naomi, I’m pleased to meet you. It should have happened before now… I know you played an important role in last year’s events. The country owes you a debt of gratitude, young lady.”
“Thank you, sir,” she managed. “It’s nice to be appreciated.”
She instantly wished she’d limited her response to a polite nod, but the president didn’t seem to notice her embarrassment. He gestured to the table and said, “Let’s get started, shall we?” They all took the appropriate seats, Brenneman at the head of the table. “Ms. Kharmai, I understand you’ve stumbled onto… excuse me, discovered, some interesting information regarding today’s attack in Paris.”
“Yes, sir.” She started to rise, but Brenneman waved her back into the seat.
“Unless you need the screen, we can do this in comfort,” he said. “Please proceed.”
“Of course, Mr. President.” Naomi flipped open her briefing folder, took a deep breath, and did her best to steady her jangling nerves. “Sir, let me start from the beginning. You see, the story does not begin with the bombing of the Babylon Hotel, but rather with the shipment of weapons through Anthony Mason to ports in the Middle East, where they were collected by none other than Will Vanderveen. At that time, he was using the name Erich Kohl. Over the next six months…”
She spoke for twenty minutes, detailing the links between Rashid al-Umari, Arshad Kassem, Anthony Mason, and Vanderveen. She also addressed the possible Iranian connection. Watching her from across the table, Kealey could not help but admire her poise and the way she managed to tie everything together. It was strange to listen to her speak to this audience; for the first time, he was acutely aware of her East Midlands accent, which had never seemed more out of place than it did in this room.
Naomi concluded by referencing Thomas Ruhmann. “He’s actually an Austrian national, but accommodations have been made for him by some of his friends in the German federal cabinet. Though he’s listed on the boards of some of Germany’s most reputable companies, we’ve long suspected him of dealing arms to a number of governments and rebel groups. Needless to say, most of his customers are not people we want to see armed. The German government lets him get away with it because he’s done some work for them as well, but he’s also something of an embarrassment. They keep a close eye on him.”
Brenneman nodded and said, “What do you mean by that? They protect him directly?”
“In a way, sir. Let me give you an example. Three years ago, the State Department discovered that Ruhmann was involved in the sale of two hundred Starburst man-portable missiles to Adnan al-Ghoul, a senior Hamas official. Incidentally, al-Ghoul has since been killed. Shortly after the sale came to light, State requested a formal audience through the appropriate channels. They expected full cooperation from the Germans, but the door was slammed shut in their faces. And that was then. Apparently, Ruhmann has since enlarged his circle of influential friends, which makes getting access to him even more difficult.”
“Why the wall? Why would they go to that length to protect him, and what did you mean about him being an embarrassment?”
Kealey straightened in his seat and fielded the president’s questions. “Sir, do you remember the incident at Al Qaqaa in 2003?”
Brenneman considered for a moment. “Vaguely. Refresh my memory.”
“Al Qaqaa is a weapons storage facility located about twenty miles south of Baghdad. In 2003, it was reported that more than three hundred eighty tons of explosives, including HMX and RDX, had gone missing from the stockpile. That amounts to about forty truckloads. The New York Times was the first to break the story. Predictably, everyone started pointing fingers. The IAEA said that the material was accounted for in January of that year, and that U.S. troops were responsible for safeguarding the facility. The Pentagon turned the accusation around, but no one ever really took the blame. Some of the explosives later turned up, used in attacks on our troops, but most of it simply vanished. There was a lot of dispute afterward about what else might have been stored at Al Qaqaa.”
“How does Ruhmann fit in?”
“Thomas Ruhmann was in Iraq at the time, sir,” Naomi said. “In fact, he was the UN representative in charge of the last inspection at Al Qaqaa. That is, the last inspection before the explosives disappeared. Questions were asked, of course, but he resigned his post with the UN before his name came up, and his connections have since kept him out of the spotlight. Frankly, the Germans just want to forget the whole thing.”
“Okay,” the president said. “So to summarize, Ruhmann can be linked, at least indirectly, to al-Umari and Vanderveen, both of whom were responsible for the attempted assassination of the Iraqi prime minister.”
“That’s correct,” Naomi confirmed.
“But none of this can be tied to the assassination of Nasir Tabrizi in Paris, right?”
“Not yet,” she agreed reluctantly. “We’re still looking at that angle, sir.”
“And this is the only lead we have? Apart from the Iranian connection?”
“Unfortunately, that’s all we have at this time.”
“I could call Chancellor Merkel directly,” Brenneman pointed out. “She can hardly refuse the request if I make it myself.”
“Actually, sir, she might very well do just that,” Andrews put in. “At best, she’ll stall, and time is a factor here. The meeting at the UN is scheduled to take place on September sixteenth, coinciding with the opening of the General Assembly’s annual session. As you know, Prime Minister al-Maliki was the only member of the core Shiite group not scheduled to attend, the core being thirty-five key members of the United Iraqi Alliance. Nasir Tabrizi was on the other side, of course, but a moderating factor, nonetheless. From the Agency’s point of view, the fact that these men were specifically targeted is very troubling, and perhaps indicative of a larger attack here on U.S. soil. If the alliance is being targeted, we may be looking at more to come.”
Kealey instantly shot Harper a questioning look that said, What meeting? He didn’t notice that Kharmai had done the same thing, but Harper ignored both of them and turned to the president. “Sir, here is what it comes down to. I understand the Bureau has told you otherwise, but the Iranians have only been loosely implicated in the information we’ve gathered. Everything from our end points to an Iraqi mastermind. We need to talk to Ruhmann, but we have no idea where he is. Nor do we know what name he’s using, and we’ve already checked the obvious.”
“So you need to find him without going through diplomatic channels. I assume you’ve come up with a way to do that,” Brenneman said. He did not need to voice his displeasure that two of the country’s key agencies were at odds over who was responsible for Baghdad and Paris; the look on his face said that much and more.
Naomi cleared her throat gently. “Sir, we know that Ruhmann was stationed here in Washington for two years, beginning in ’98. He worked out of the German Embassy, commuting to the UN when necessary. It’s likely they have a record on him at the embassy, including a point of contact. It would be classified, of course, but we have a way around that little problem.”
