bifocals, and stared at himself.
Asad Khalil, the Libyan on television, had black, swept -back hair. Hefni Badr, the Egyptian in Jacksonville, Florida, had grayish hair, parted to the side.
Asad Khalil on television had dark eyes. Hefni Badr in Jacksonville wore bifocals, and his eyes looked blurred to an observer.
Asad Khalil on television was clean-shaven. Hefni Badr wore a graying mustache.
Asad Khalil on television was not smiling. Hefni Badr in the mirror was smiling, because he did not look like Asad Khalil.
He said his prayers and went to bed.
CHAPTER 36
I made it to the 8:00 A.M. meeting on the twenty-eighth floor of Federal Plaza, feeling virtuous about not having spent the night with Kate Mayfield. In fact, I was able to look her right in the eye and say, 'Good morning.'
She returned my greeting, and I thought I heard the word 'schmuck,' but maybe I was just feeling like one.
We stood around this long conference table in a windowless room and made chitchat until the meeting was called to order.
The walls of the room were adorned with blown-up photos of Asad Khalil, in various shots taken in Paris. There were also two photos labeled YUSEF HADDAD. One was subtitled MORGUE SHOT, the other PASSPORT PHOTO. The morgue shot actually looked better than the passport photo.
There were also a few photos of the February defector, whose name turned out to be Boutros Dharr, and whose status was dead.
I have this theory that all these guys were mean because they had silly names-like a boy named Sue.
Anyway, I counted ten coffee cups and ten legal pads on the table and deduced that there would be ten people at this meeting. On each legal pad was written a name, and I further deduced that I was supposed to sit in front of the pad with my name. So I sat. There were four carafes of coffee on the table, and I poured myself some coffee, then pushed the carafe across the table to Kate, who was sitting directly opposite me.
She was dressed in a blue pinstripe business suit today, looking a little more severe than she'd looked in her blue blazer and knee-length skirt on Saturday. Her lipstick was a sort of coral pink. She smiled at me.
I smiled at her. Anyway, back to the Anti-Terrorist Task Force meeting.
Everyone was taking their seat now. At one end of the table was Jack Koenig, very recently arrived from D.C. and wearing the same suit he'd worn yesterday.
At the other end of the table was Captain David Stein, NYPD, the co-commander of the New York Anti- Terrorist Task Force. Stein and Koenig could both think they were sitting at the head of the table.
Sitting to my left was Mike O'Leary of the NYPD Intelligence Unit, and I noted that the name on his pad was the same as his name, which made me optimistic about the Police Intelligence Unit.
To my immediate right was Special Agent Alan Parker, FBI, ATTF. Alan is our public relations guy. He's in his mid-twenties, but looks about thirteen. He's a world-class bullshitter, and that's what we needed in this case.
To Parker's right, near Koenig, was Captain Henry Wydrzynski, Deputy Chief of Detectives with the Port Authority police. I'd met this guy a few times when I was an NYPD detective, and he seemed like an okay guy, except for his name, which looked like the third line of an eye chart. I mean, somebody should buy this guy a vowel.
Across from me were Kate and three other people-at the far end, next to Captain Stein, was Robert Moody, NYPD Chief of Detectives. Moody was the NYPD's first black Chief of Detectives, and was, in fact, my former boss, before my near death and resuscitation. I don't have to tell you that being the commanding officer of a few thousand guys like me is not an easy job. I've met Chief Moody on a few occasions, and he seems to not dislike me, which is as good as it gets with me and bosses.
Sitting to Kate's left was Sergeant Gabriel Haytham, NYPD/ATTF, an Arab gent.
Sitting next to Gabriel, to Koenig's right, was an unknown man, but it was only his name that was unknown. I had no doubt that this nattily dressed gentleman was CIA. It's funny how I can spot them; they affect this sort of slightly bored nonchalance, they spend too much money on clothes, and they always look like they have to be someplace more important than where they are.
In any case, I had been feeling a little empty since I didn't have Ted Nash to kick around any longer. I was feeling better now that I might have someone to take his place.
Regarding Mr. Ted Nash, I pictured him packing his silk undies for his trip to Paris. I also pictured him back in my life at some point, as I said. I recalled Koenig's words-It's Ted you should keep an eye on. Jack Koenig did not make statements like that lightly.
Also missing was George Foster, whose job it was to mind the store. He was at the Conquistador Club and would probably stay there for a long time. George's assignment, in the parlance of criminal investigation, was to act as the 'Host,' or the coordinator of the crime scene, he being a witness to, and actual participant in, the events. Better George than me, I guess.
Aside from Nash and Foster, also missing from this group was Nick Monti. Thus, Jack Koenig began the meeting by proposing a moment of silence for Nick, as well as Phil, Peter, the two Federal Marshals on board Flight 175, Andy McGill of the Port Authority Emergency Service unit, Nancy Tate, and the duty officer, Meg Collins, and all the victims of Flight 175.
We did the moment of silence, and Jack called the meeting to order. It was exactly 8:00 A.M.
Jack first introduced the gentleman to his left by saying, 'With us this morning is Edward Harris of the Central Intelligence Agency.'
No shit. I mean, all Jack had to say was, 'This is Edward Harris from you-know-where.'
Jack did add, 'Mr. Harris is with the agency's Counterterrorism section.'
Harris acknowledged the intro by moving his pencil back and forth like a windshield wiper. Tres cool. Also, these guys, unlike the FBI, almost always used their full names. There was no Ed in Edward Harris. Ted Nash seemed to be an exception to this rule. I suddenly had this bright idea to call him Teddy next time I saw him.
I should point out that normally I would not be at a meeting at this level, and neither would Kate. But having been witnesses to, and participants in, the events that had brought us all together, Kate and I were included. How good is that?
Jack Koenig announced, 'As some of you may know, a decision was made in Washington yesterday afternoon to put out a brief statement to the news media, along with photographs of Asad Khalil. The statement says only that he is a suspect in a case involving international terrorism, and is wanted by Federal authorities. No mention was made of Flight One-Seven-Five. The statement and his photographs appeared on most eleven o'clock TV news broadcasts. Some of you may have seen it last night. Today's newspapers will carry the photos and the statement.'
No one commented aloud, but the expressions on everyone's face said, 'It's about fucking time.'
Captain David Stein asserted his co-commandership and stood unbidden by King Jack. Captain Stein announced, 'We will set up an Incident Command Center on the twenty-sixth floor. Everyone who is assigned to this case will move themselves and their pertinent files there. Everything associated with this case will be in, or come through, the ICC-files, photos, maps, charts, leads, evidence, interview transcripts-the whole nine yards. Until further notice, there are only three places that the ATTF people will be-in the ICC, in bed, or out in the field. Don't spend too long in bed.' He looked around the room and added, 'Anybody who needs to go to the funerals can go. Questions?'
No one seemed to have any questions, so he continued, 'The Mideast section will have fifty ATTF agents directly assigned to this case, from all law enforcement agencies who make up our task force. Another hundred or so men and women will be attached to the case in the New York metropolitan area, plus there are hundreds of other agents working this case in the U.S. and abroad.' And so on.
Next up to bat was Lieutenant Mike O'Leary of the NYPD Intelligence Unit. He spoke a few words about Nick
