could double as a weapon.
The bedroom was dominated by a king-size bed covered by black satin sheets. The first thing that looked interesting was a large flat-screen television that was attached to the wall opposite the bed. Under the TV was a DVD player. Dana turned in place looking for the DVDs and found a cabinet near the bed. She did a knee bend. The cabinet door was open. She played the flashlight beam across the area and around the interior. It was empty. Dana stood up. If the DVD of Carson’s sessions with Dorothy Crispin had been in this cabinet, it was gone now. But who had it? She’d searched enough places when she was with D.C. Vice and Narcotics to know that the police would have no compunctions about trashing the home of a low-level dealer. Members of the upper classes were usually treated more diplomatically. She couldn’t discount a police search, but someone else may have gone through the house looking for the incriminating DVD.
As Dana descended the stairs, she noticed a small oil painting in an ornate gold frame. She didn’t know much about art, but she recognized the work as Impressionist. She checked the signature. It was a Cezanne. She looked at the living room walls and picked out a Warhol. A thought occurred to Dana. If these paintings were the real thing, they were very valuable. A woman who owned a ritzy villa was also going to own expensive jewelry. Factor in the woman’s ties to criminal activity, and you didn’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to deduce that she would have a top-of-the-line alarm system.
Dana walked to the front door. The keypad for the alarm was attached to the wall next to the door, but it hadn’t gone off. A green light shone above the numbers on the pad. Koshani would have set the alarm when she flew to D.C. The police would have been able to get the alarm code if they searched at the behest of the D.C. police, but they would have reset the alarm when they left unless the alarm wasn’t on when they arrived. The only conclusion Dana could draw was that the person who had searched the house had the alarm code and the code for the front gate.
How had that person learned the code? The answer that Dana came up with made her queasy. She remembered the torture she’d endured during her kidnapping. If the meth cooks who’d held her had asked for the code to her alarm, she would have given it to them to stop the pain. Jessica Koshani had been tortured methodically. She would have given up her alarm code without much resistance.
Dana left the house empty-handed and drove back to her hotel to pack for her flight to D.C. During the drive, she mulled over what she knew. A few things bothered her, and one of the most troubling questions involved the identity of the person who had taken the DVDs. Did it make sense that Little had them? With every cop in the country looking for him, would he have risked capture to travel to D.C. to get an alarm code from Jessica Koshani? Dana had a hard time believing that Clarence Little was jumping back and forth across the country when he had so much to lose if he was captured. So if Little didn’t break into Koshani’s house, who did?
Part IV
Chapter Twenty-seven
Very few people know the exact moment of their death. When Ali Bashar woke up Sunday morning, he knew precisely when he would give up the life of the body for a new life in paradise with Allah. Ali and the other members of his cell had spent the week before their martyrdom in seclusion and prayer. They had immersed themselves in spiritual contemplation free of the corrupting influence of television and music. Ali welcomed the silence as he purified himself for his holy mission.
The Sunday Night Football game paired the undefeated Washington Redskins with the New York Giants, their undefeated division rivals. It was being telecast nationally and was also being beamed to American troops in the Middle East. During the first quarter, when the game clock at FedEx Field clicked down from 7:01 to 7:00, Ali and the other members of his cell would detonate their trays in four widely spaced areas of the stadium. The stands would be packed and the devastation would be monumental. Ali’s only regret was that his body would be atomized by the explosion before he could see the massive destruction wrought moments later by the remote-controlled detonation of the four explosive-laden ambulances that would be strategically placed at several points below the stadium.
As soon as he was awake, Ali showered and dressed in clean clothes. Then he prayed and reflected on what he was about to accomplish and how joyful he would be when he met Allah. He had heard that some martyrs ingested drugs or alcohol to steel themselves, but he was repulsed by the idea of meeting Allah while drugged or intoxicated. Far from fearing death, Ali had never been happier. He could only imagine the terror he would create. The Americans cursed terrorists as if being one was a bad thing, but the Koran commanded a good Muslim to bring terror to the enemy. “Against them make ready your strength to the utmost of your power, including steeds of war, to strike terror into (the hearts of) the enemies, of Allah and your enemies…” With his last breath, Ali would bring horror and devastation to the enemies of Islam that would be remembered for a thousand years.
At three o’clock, Steve’s van arrived. The other members of the cell joined Ali outside. There was a refreshing chill in the air and the sun was shining. Ali took a deep breath and smiled. God had made his last day a good day.
Steve opened the rear door of the van and they piled in. There was total silence during the trip to FedEx Field. When Steve dropped everyone off in the employee parking lot, there was no pep talk. None was needed.
Steve had picked up the members of the cell early so they would be the first to arrive at the stadium. Ali willed himself to be calm as he approached the vendors’ room. Jose welcomed Ali with a smile, and Ali smiled back. Ali’s tray had been brought to the room the day before by Mr. Cooper, and Ali had no trouble finding it because it had a notch in the lid. By arriving first, he had made sure that no one else would take it. Other hawkers came in. He knew a few, but he did not initiate any conversations. When someone spoke to Ali, he was calm and sounded normal when he responded. Then Ann O’Hearn arrived, and his calm deserted him.
Before Ann’s arrival, the events of the day had the quality of a vivid dream, and Ali felt he was watching someone who looked like him go through the steps that would lead to his death and the death of thousands. The moment he saw Ann, Ali had a vision of her golden hair in flames, her eyes wide with horror, and her mouth filled with screams of pain. The barrier his mind had erected between his deed and reality was stripped away. Ali felt light-headed and his stomach rolled.
“Hi, Ali,” Ann said with a wide, welcoming smile.
“Hi, Ann,” he said. It took all of his will to force his smile. “How was your week?”
Ann rattled on about her classes and a movie she’d seen with a friend, but little of what she said registered. Then, mercifully, Ann was distracted by something one of the other vendors said, and he was able to escape.
G ame time approached and Ali stocked his tray. As he waited to go into the stands, the tension grew, and his cool demeanor began to evaporate. Then it was time to leave. In order to reach his post, Ali had to go in front of Jose’s concession stand. As he passed by Ann, he stopped. She didn’t have any customers at the moment. He knew he should pass her by and say nothing. He knew he should not compromise the mission. But some part of him cared enough for her to make him lean in and say, “I need to speak to you.”
Ann glanced quickly at Jose. He was occupied with a customer. She leaned toward Ali.
“Go home,” he whispered.
“What?” Ann answered, unsure she had heard Ali correctly.
“Say you are sick. Go home.”
Ann laughed. “I can’t go home, Ali. That’s crazy. We’re mobbed. And why should I? I’m not sick.”
Ali didn’t know what to say. There was no way he could explain. Then he was seized by guilt. He was endangering a plan that had taken years to develop. Worse, he was betraying Allah by showing compassion for an infidel, a woman. What was he thinking?
Ali shook his head. “It’s nothing,” he said, forcing a smile. “I’m being foolish.”
Ali turned his back on Ann and left the concession stand. Behind him, Ann shook her head in confusion. Then
