who managed to look reasonably innocent. “What time are you heading out?”
“Less than an hour. Our plane leaves at nine.”
“Well, we had you for one night, at least. You won’t leave it so long next time, will you? I don’t want to wait a year to hear from you again.”
“Not a chance. You’ll be sick of me before you know it.”
“Not a chance,” she said, smiling to show she’d intentionally borrowed his words.
Harper walked in from the living room a few minutes later. He accepted a cup from his wife and glanced at his watch, taking in Naomi’s disheveled appearance. “Kharmai, you’d better get moving, or that plane will be leaving without you.”
She nodded and pushed back from her chair, shooting Kealey one last look before she left the room. Harper pushed a scrap of paper across the table.
“According to Special Forces Command, Colonel Owen is currently based at Camp Diamondback at Mosul Airport. He’s been running search-and-destroy missions out of the garrison with a select group of men from ‘B’ Squadron. They’ve been tracking a mortar team that’s attacked the airport on four separate occasions since June. They think it’s the same team that hit the Green Zone this morning. That number will put you in touch with him.”
“Good.”
“If you get hold of him before you hit the airport, give him my name and tell him to expect my call,” Harper continued. “If he can affirm that Ruhmann got the BLU-82 from Al Qaqaa, it’ll go a long way in convincing the president to bulk up security around the UN. It’s already tight, of course, but I won’t be happy until all the surrounding roads are blocked off.”
“What time does the meeting begin?”
“The General Assembly convenes at five PM. They’re holding it off as some of the Iraqi delegates won’t arrive until later this afternoon.”
“So if Vanderveen wants to get them all in the same place, we have until five.”
“That seems to be a reasonable assumption.”
Julie Harper had gone upstairs while they were talking. Kealey stood and went to the counter, where he poured himself a second cup of coffee. As he returned to the table, he said, “I’ve been thinking about something you said last night, John. If Vanderveen already has the daisy cutter here in the States — and I think we have to assume he does — how did he get it over the border?”
“A truck.”
“Right, but that’s risky. What if he got stopped? He couldn’t risk a customs inspection.”
“If the weapon was disguised he could.”
“It’s kind of hard to disguise a fifteen-thousand-pound bomb.”
“But not impossible,” Harper pointed out. “Besides, there are other ways to circumvent customs. Like I said before, just having the right paperwork makes a huge difference.”
“Exactly,” Kealey agreed. “But how do you get the right paperwork?”
The older man frowned. “I don’t know as much about this as I probably should. I know there are systems in place to facilitate companies that do a lot of cross-border trade.”
“I think that’s where we need to look. A company based in the New York area that spends a lot of time going in and out of Canada.”
“That’s a lot of companies.”
“Yeah, but who files the paperwork with U.S. Customs? The owner, right?” Kealey fell silent for a moment, thinking it through. “The question is, who would risk everything to help Vanderveen with this, and why? What’s the motivation?”
“Money.”
“Money is one possibility,” Kealey said absently. “Let’s get this to the New York FO, John. Ask them to start looking at businesses in the five boroughs listed with the CBP. Have them focus on companies owned by people of Middle Eastern descent.”
“That’s the worst kind of racial profiling, Ryan.”
“I’m aware of that,” the younger man said, unable to hide his irritation, “but we’re not asking them to break down any doors, are we? If they check discreetly, no one will be the wiser. We have to look at all the angles, and I don’t care if we hurt a few feelings along the way. We don’t have time to fuck around anymore.”
By 6:45 they were ready to leave. They had opted to leave their luggage behind, so they were traveling light. Naomi had changed into a snug cashmere sweater, along with a pair of stretch chinos and suede flats. She was unarmed, owing to the fact that she would be spending most of the trip at the Bureau’s FO, but Kealey had his Beretta, which he’d left with Harper before departing for Berlin. He planned to check the weapon at the airport, knowing that whatever happened in New York, he would almost certainly need it. If, by some miracle, he did manage to get his hands on Hakim Rudaki, the man would not be quick to volunteer the truth.
Julie Harper walked them to the door. She hugged Ryan briefly and urged him to come back soon. As Jonathan pulled him aside to deliver some last-minute instructions, Kharmai found herself alone with the other woman. To her surprise, she found herself being drawn in for a warm embrace.
“Take care of him, Naomi,” Julie murmured. “He deserves to be happy again.”
Naomi nodded when the other woman released her, touched by the gesture. She was also a little embarrassed; she wasn’t aware they had made it so obvious. “I’ll do my best. It was great meeting you.”
“You too, dear. Take care.”
The Suburban was already waiting at the curb. Naomi walked down the stairs, followed by Kealey and Harper. She got in first. Kealey moved to follow, but Harper pulled him back for a second. There were equal amounts of hesitation and steadfast determination on the older man’s face.
“Ryan, I asked my driver to bring along a couple of cell phones. I have the numbers, and you have mine. If there’s anything I can do from here, don’t hesitate to let me know.”
Kealey nodded. “Thanks, John. I’ll remember that.”
“And good luck,” the older man said. He looked up at the overcast sky and frowned, as if the weather could foretell the day’s events. “I think you’re going to need it.”
CHAPTER 47
NEW YORK CITY
In the parking area outside the warehouse on West Thirty-seventh Street in Midtown Manhattan, Will Vanderveen lifted the rolling door of an Isuzu truck, placed his hands on the cold metal floor at the back, and stared in at the contents. Thomas Ruhmann’s men had done their work well; to look inside, one would never guess that, concealed beneath the thin metal walls of a Parker commercial boiler, was an elaborate, delicate wooden framework, and beneath that, a device capable of unleashing incredible destruction, a device capable of destroying the heart of the Iraqi Parliament, the United Iraqi Alliance. As he gazed upon the sight, he was aware of Raseen at his side. He looked at her and saw she was equally rapt, her dark eyes shining. Behind her, standing off to the side, was Amir Nazeri. He looked calm and assured, his glasses reflecting the pale morning sun, but there was an undercurrent of tension there that had not escaped the other two. Vanderveen, in particular, was still trying to figure out how steadfast Nazeri was. It was the last — but most important — thing he had to consider. Nearly everything else was done.
The previous day, they had used a forklift from the Montreal terminal to load the device at the Lake Forest storage facility, after which they returned the forklift and started west to the border crossing at Buffalo. After passing through customs on the Peace Bridge, Vanderveen had followed I-95 to Syracuse. From there, it was a short drive to Ithaca. The Bridgeline warehouse was located just north of the city, in a commercial sector that had seen better days. Yasmin Raseen and Amir Nazeri had entered the United States hours earlier in a passenger vehicle owned by Nazeri’s company. Vanderveen met them in Ithaca just after 5:00 a.m., where they transferred the bomb to an Isuzu H-Series box truck with a GVWR of 33,000 pounds. The rear axle was capable of withstanding loads up to 19,000 pounds, which was more than adequate for their purposes.
