She had proudly defended Ali Rahman al Sallifi, his Warriors of God organization, and its rural New Jersey Kurmastan settlement precisely because they held the same outlook that she did when it came to these lost souls of society.
Hailey had never actually examined the group’s specific religious teachings. As an agnostic, she personally wasn’t interested — although she did recognize and respect that any religion was a form of philosophy that could be very helpful in turning around certain troubled men and women.
For her, it was enough to know that the group was a religious-based organization that gave the state’s ex- cons direction, focus, and a halfway home after they left their prison lives. Montel always assured her of that. In fact, Montel had been very pleasant to meet with from the start.
That was another reason she was a bit taken aback to find a different sort of man greeting her today.
His manner was very cold. And his skin was so very pale. The whiteness of it looked almost unnatural to Hailey, quite off-putting, but she hid her reaction and extended her hand.
The Albino ignored it. Instead, he simply dropped his large briefcase down on the edge of her desk and opened it. There was computer inside. He tapped a few keys, and the screen came to life. The Congresswoman noted that the satellite system quickly located a remote wireless connection and locked on to it.
“Ibrahim Noor sent me,” the man began, speaking in a thin, raspy voice.
“Noor?” Hailey Williams said, frowning. “Not Ali Rahman al Sallifi?”
A tight-lipped smile of regret spread across the man’s ghost-pale features. “I’m afraid the Imam is quite busy with his clerical duties. Ibrahim Noor is handling political matters these days.”
“I see.”
Hailey sank back into her chair, waiting while the albino man stooped over the portable computer, long fingers drumming the miniature keyboard. Finally, he straightened up, turned the computer so it faced the Congresswoman.
“The site for the Palm Bank of the Cayman Islands is displayed,” he said. “Please punch in the password to your account.”
The woman’s jaw dropped. “How do you know about that account?” she demanded, half rising from her chair again.
“Just enter the password, please,” he repeated.
With a frown, the Congresswoman punched in the numbers. Her balance and a list of transactions came up immediately.
“Don’t go messing with my account,” she warned.
The man smiled again. “Ibrahim Noor has a proposal for you. He wants you to cancel your appearance with Reverend Ahern this afternoon.”
“But… I don’t understand… my meeting with the Reverend was precisely to smooth things over for the Warriors of God. It’s been members of Reverend Ahern’s congregation who’ve been complaining about activities at Kurmastan—”
“Ibrahim Noor desires to meet with the neighboring group
“But publicity is the point!” Hailey argued. “My meeting was supposed to be covered by the local press. I was hoping to use it as the kickoff for my reelection campaign.
To show my support for diversity. Tolerance. Why should I give up on it?”
“For money,” the Albino said flatly. “A quite substantial amount of money, wired anonymously to your account.
Money no one will ever have to know about. Not the Federal Elections Commission, not the Treasury Department nor the IRS.”
Hailey frowned, considering this. “Why would Mr. Noor make such an offer? Surely there are strings attached.”
The Albino shook his head. “It is a gift, truly. We only ask that you stay away from Reverend Ahern, and not join him on his visit to Kurmastan. Send your sincere regrets instead. In return, we offer you this token of our friendship—
one million euros.”
“Euros!” The Congresswoman shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I’d rather be paid in U.S. currency.”
The man tossed his blond mane in an almost effeminate gesture of disdain. “In time you will thank Ibrahim Noor for his generosity and foresight.”
Hailey narrowed her eyes. “Now why would I do that?”
The Albino offered her a thin smile. “Because in two weeks, Madam Congresswoman, a sheet of toilet paper will be far more valuable than United States currency.”
“Sorry, our satellite bandwidth is all tied up right now.
Have a nice day.”
Morris hung up the phone.
“Was that the FBI?” Jack asked.
“The Drug Enforcement Agency. Something about a cocaine shipment coming ashore on Fire Island. They wanted us to track it for them.”
“Then the local DEA has lost satellite capabilities, too.”
“Apparently.” Morris touched his finger to his chin.
“You know, Jack-o. None of these agencies are really thinking. If the situation was critical, they could always appropriate bandwidth from the civilian broadcast stations in the area. Practically all of them use the most powerful microwave tower in the city.”
Jack sat up, alarmed. “Where?”
“Top of the World Trade Center, Jack.”
“Can you tap into the WTC security system from this console?”
Morris shrugged. “Sure.”
“Get to work.”
While Morris keyed in the protocols, Jack summoned Layla Abernathy.
“Contact the Operations Control Center of the World Trade Center. Ask them if they’ve authorized any maintenance work near the microwave tower — specifically workers from Consolidated Edison.”
Five minutes later they were scanning the streets around the twin towers for Con Edison trucks and men in blue uniforms.
“I’ve got nothing, Jack. Nobody on the streets. Nobody on the roof of the North Tower, where the antenna is located.”
“Try the security cameras inside the maintenance shafts and freight elevators,” Jack commanded.
Layla returned, and Jack faced her.
“The OC center at the World Trade Center has authorized no work on or near the microwave tower,” she told him. “No one from Con Edison has passed through their security checkpoints today, either.”
“Then who are these guys?” Morris replied, jerking his head at the monitor.
On screen, two men in Con Ed blue entered a freight elevator, accompanied by a man in a Port Authority policeman’s uniform.
“The enemy,” Bauer said grimly.
6. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 12:00 P.M. AND 1:00 P.M. EASTERN DAYLIGHT TIME
