unimpressed with what she saw. For a man in charge of the largest FO in the country, Best didn’t seem to have a great deal of space to himself. Then again, she reflected, that might be intentional. It was rare, but sometimes men in Best’s position actually preferred to play down their authority. Normally, Naomi would have considered Jonathan Harper such a man and meant it as a compliment, but she still wasn’t feeling very charitable toward him, given the current situation.
The ADIC looked to Foster and said, “Thanks, Matt. That’ll be all for now. How are we doing on those carriers?”
“We just got the list back from customs, sir. Apparently, use of the Pre-Arrival Processing System became mandatory for land-based carriers back in 2002. In order to qualify, a U.S. carrier needs a Standard Carrier Alpha Code.”
Best gestured for the younger man to explain.
“It’s a two-to-four letter code that customs uses to identify individual carriers. We’re cross-checking all the carriers in the state against the information Langley sent us this morning.”
“Good. Keep me up to date,” Best said. Foster shot Naomi a little grin and left the room, closing the door behind him.
“As you can see,” Best continued, “we’re taking the information you people sent us very seriously. Even though you don’t seem to have any hard evidence that this… What do you call it?”
“A BLU-82, sir.” She was annoyed by his show of ignorance; she knew he’d spent half the morning on the phone with Harper, who would have sent pictures and specifications. “Also known as a daisy cutter.”
“Yes. Despite the fact that you can’t prove this ‘daisy cutter’ is even in the country.”
Naomi straightened in her seat. “Sir, the evidence may be sketchy, but it’s there.”
“By which you mean this storage facility in Canada, right?”
“That’s right, sir. The unit was leased by Thomas Ruhmann. He was in Al Qaqaa when the explosives went missing in 2003. He was killed two nights ago in Berlin, almost certainly by William Vanderveen. I’m sure you’re familiar with the name.”
Best nodded to show that he was. He picked up a ballpoint pen and began to twirl it clumsily in his fingers. “Is there any proof that BLU-82s were being stored at Al Qaqaa? That Ruhmann would even have access to one?”
“Actually, there is. This morning we managed to get in touch with a man named Paul Owen, a lieutenant colonel in the U.S. Army. He was involved with the unit responsible for investigating the theft. Colonel Owen told us that in addition to three hundred and eighty tons of convention explosives, four BLU-82s were taken from the facility at Al Qaqaa. That fact was never admitted by the U.S. government.”
“Four? I thought we were looking for one.”
“Two of the bombs were located at a warehouse outside Karbala a month after they were taken, and the third was picked up a month after that. It was discovered in the back of a dump truck at the Iranian border. The fourth was never recovered.”
Best leaned back in his seat, dropped the pen, and studied her plaintively. “So again the Iranians come into it. The information you’ve given us so far is shot full of holes, Ms. Kharmai, but Vanderveen’s part in this seems to be the biggest leap of all. I don’t appreciate your trying to confuse the issue by bringing his name into it.”
“Sir, we know that he was involved with Ruhmann, and we know he took part in the bombing of the Babylon Hotel in Baghdad.”
“But you can’t prove he was in Berlin, and you can’t prove he’s here in New York.”
Naomi lifted her hands in exasperation, then instantly regretted the gesture. This man was just a couple steps below the FBI director himself, and he wouldn’t appreciate a show of insubordination. “Sir… okay, I’ll give you that. But even if we assume that he doesn’t have a part in this, it doesn’t change the fact that this bomb is almost certainly here in the U.S., as evidenced by the documentation found in Ruhmann’s car and the statement given by the owner of the storage facility in Montreal. Given everything that’s happened in Iraq over the past few weeks, and the fact that half the Iraqi Parliament is scheduled to be at the UN this afternoon, I think we have ample cause for concern.”
“‘Half the Iraqi Parliament’ is quite an exaggeration,” Best pointed out. “But security couldn’t be tighter, and frankly, I don’t know what else we can do. Fifty of my agents are there, along with the entire Manhattan Traffic Task Force and a good part of the Manhattan South Patrol Borough. Everything east of Second Avenue is completely closed off to traffic, along with the through streets between Forty-first and Fifty-first. It’s easy to stop vehicles, though. The pedestrians are where it gets tricky.”
Naomi nodded. She’d caught part of the news that morning, and she knew that a massive antiwar demonstration was scheduled to take place at the corner of Fifty-first and First. The protesters had requested a permit to march past the UN complex. Predictably, the request was denied by city officials, but that hadn’t deterred the organizers of the event. By the time she and Kealey had left for Dulles, 20,000 people had already arrived at the police barricades on Fifty-first Street, the crowd stretching up to Fifty-fourth. Unfortunately, that was just the beginning. More than 100,000 people were expected to show up by the time the General Assembly convened, and Naomi knew that the NYPD would have its hands full with crowd control. Nearly every street surrounding the UN enclave would be completely packed by day’s end.
She hadn’t considered it before, but now she realized that the huge crowds would be just as good a target as the UN itself. The thought brought on a fresh wave of nausea, but she managed to push it down before Best noticed anything wrong.
“So,” he said, jolting her out of her reverie. “How exactly do you think Hakim Rudaki fits into this, ah, rather cryptic scenario?”
“Sir, we haven’t been able to link Rudaki to any of this, but the fact remains that there is a huge discrepancy between what he’s been telling you and what we’ve dug up on our own. Most of what we have is pointing toward an Iraqi mastermind, probably someone associated with the insurgency. Rudaki, however, has insisted all along that the Iranians were behind the bombing of the Babylon Hotel and the assassination of Nasir Tabrizi.”
Best nodded slowly, but instead of addressing her point, he made one of his own. “As far as I’m concerned, Ms. Kharmai, the question is not the veracity of what Rudaki’s been telling us, but how you even know who he is. His identity was tightly held within this office.”
Naomi knew that this was not a time to step back. “Sir, this is a big place, and people talk. To be honest, I’m not privy to that information, but either way, it doesn’t really matter how we know. What matters is whether or not he’s telling the truth.”
“Why would he lie?”
“That’s exactly what I plan to ask him.” They looked at each steadily, neither giving an inch.
Finally, Best leaned forward in his seat and rested his arms on top of his desk. “Ms. Kharmai, do you know why you’re here?”
The question caught her off-guard. “What do you mean?”
“You’re here because the director of Central Intelligence called my boss in Washington and asked for a favor. To be honest, we don’t want anything to do with you people after what happened with Anthony Mason in Alexandria, but the director does not want to bring the president into another interagency spat. We’re taking this information seriously — we can’t afford not to — but we don’t appreciate your interference, particularly when it comes to our confidential informants.”
Naomi couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Sir, this isn’t about credit or some stupid rivalry. This is about stopping a major terrorist attack on U.S. soil.”
Best clenched his jaw, his face turning purple. “I’m aware of that, Ms. Kharmai, and I don’t appreciate being lectured in my own office. I don’t know how they do things at the Agency, but-”
His tirade was cut short by a firm knock at the door. Easing back into his chair, Best shot her a menacing glare and spoke in a loud voice aimed at the door. “What is it?”
Matt Foster poked his head in. “Sir, Crane just called in. She’s held up at the minute, but she said she’ll be back by two.”
Best looked annoyed. “What’s the holdup? She’s with Rudaki, right?”
Foster shot a curious look at Naomi, obviously wondering why Best would use the informant’s name in her presence. “That’s right, sir. By the way, I’m out of here.”
“Why, what’s happening?”
