“He sent his brother an email yesterday.”
Rapp lifted his eyes from the photograph of Ahmed. He had a you-have-to-be-kidding-me expression on his face. “What did he say?”
“He told his brother not to worry. That he is alive and well and that his mission was a total success.”
“Did you get a fix on it?”
She shook her head. “Only that it originated from a server in America.”
“What about the other two?”
“We have some ideas, but I think George should fill you in on what he has found out first.”
Butler cleared his throat and said, “We think we know how they funded their operation.”
“Saudis.” Rapp had found over the years that nine out of ten times the money trail led back to Saudi Arabia.
“No. Surprisingly enough, we think it was South American drug money.”
This piece of information caught Rapp off guard. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Butler continued. “I’ve been able to piece together a strange string of events which I think will explain how this cell managed to get into your country.”
“South American drug money?” Rapp repeated himself, still not quite buying the idea. They had looked into the possibility years ago due to the opium trade coming out of Afghanistan and Southeast Asia. The rationale was that if the cartels could run drugs and sneak them into the country, they could easily do the same with terrorists. “They’re all Catholic down there,” Rapp said, referring to South and Central
America. “And I mean old-school Catholic. The Church has made it very clear that it’s their continent, and the Muslims aren’t welcome. As strange as it sounds, the cartels are very loyal to the Church on this issue. Plus it would be bad for their business if we found out they aided a terrorist group. The leaders know it’d be a good way to get a two-thousand-pound bomb dropped on their heads.”
“I’ve seen the same reports, and I agree with your assessment,” Butler said, “but this is something different. This third cell,” Butler said in an admiring tone, “they’re smart. They decided to do something none of them have tried before.”
“What’s that?”
“They unplugged.”
“Unplugged?” Rapp asked with a puzzled look. “What in the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“They cut all ties to al Qaeda. Strict operational security.”
CHAPTER 32
BUTLER went on to explain what they’d discovered. The other two cells had stayed in contact with al Qaeda’s senior leadership during their training. They sent back regular reports and received orders from their commanders. Targets were adjusted and modified based on the success of the training and the ability to smuggle explosives and weapons into America. “But this third cell,” Butler said, “they went dark. No one had heard from them in months. That is, until the bombs started going off last week.”
Rapp wasn’t here to punch holes in his colleague’s stories, but on this point he couldn’t resist. “That’s normal operational security.”
“For us, yes, but there is always a failsafe. We always keep in place a way to contact each other in case the mission needs to be modified or scrubbed.”
“We verified,” Cheval said, “that they had such protocols in place. We also verified this past week that they feared the third cell had been intercepted months ago.”
“Why?” Rapp asked.
“Because no one had heard from them,” Butler said. “They went completely dark. No communication whatsoever.”
“What about finances?” Rapp asked.
“We found the account. It hasn’t been touched in five months.”
Rapp shook his head with a bit of skepticism. “We all know how expensive it is to run an operation like this. To move men and materials into position… to bribe people to look the other way… we’re talking a significant amount of cash.”
“I agree,” Butler said as he reached under the table and retrieved a file of his own. Instead of manila this one was brown, but every bit as worn as the one Cheval had on the table. “And I think I know where they got it.”
“South American drug money,” Rapp said, still not buying it.
“Yes.” Butler tapped the file and with a dire expression said, “Mitch, I can’t stress this enough. I trust you. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have boarded a plane this afternoon and flown down here.”
“But?”
“What I have in this file is extremely sensitive. It is information that you need to see, but how it came into my possession is one of my government’s most closely guarded secrets.”
Rapp thought he knew the cause of Butler’s cautiousness and nodded. “You’re worried about exposing your source.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me how you want me to handle it?”
“For starters, nothing gets put in writing. At least nothing truthful.”
Rapp smiled. “Create a false source-Cuban, perhaps?”
Butler hadn’t considered going that far. He was thinking more of a misdirection play, but he instantly liked the idea of creating a ghost. It would unnerve the Cuban intelligence service and force them to dump resources into chasing a mole. “We can talk about that later, but let’s go over the background material first. I’ve checked on this first part. You can confirm this information with your Drug Enforcement Agency. This past week, while the world has been focused on the attacks in Washington, a minor drug war has erupted in South America. It started in a remote jungle region of the Triple Frontier and has spread to a half dozen cities. The estimates of those murdered is in excess of one hundred people and while they can’t seem to agree on who started it, they all agree on the single event that caused the spark.”
Butler retrieved a pair of black-rimmed reading glasses and put them on. He opened the file, withdrew a satellite photograph, and then closed it. He slid the image to the middle of the table so Rapp could see better and pointed at a line of brown in a photo that was filled with green. “Jungle landing strip operated by the Red Command Cartel out of Sao Paulo. It serves as regional distribution center for their cocainemanufacturing operation. Local peasants cultivate the coca crops, make the cocaine, and then they bring it to this strip where it is gathered and shipped out once a week.
“Three days before the attack on Washington, the facility was hit. It hasn’t been easy to get exact numbers, but we think approximately eight of the cartel’s men were killed and the entire week’s shipment was stolen. Again, there’s all kinds of rumors floating around, but the estimated street value of the stolen merchandise is somewhere between ten and twenty million dollars.”
“That’s a lot of cocaine,” Rapp said.
“The Red Command agrees. They have offered massive rewards. They want their drugs back, and they want the guilty party punished. They played nice for a few days last week and then when no useful information turned up they began hitting the rival cartels and all hell broke loose.”
“You don’t think it was a rival cartel?” Rapp asked.
“No. I think it was the third cell.”
Rapp nodded. “I’m listening.”
“This is where it gets tricky. What I’m about to tell you is for your ears and Irene’s only.”
“Understood,” Rapp said. They could figure out the best way to disburse the information later.
“The same day that the distribution center got hit a plane showed up in Cuba, with nine men and two pallets of cocaine. They were met by a colonel in the Cuban army and a small contingent of soldiers who helped them off-load the cocaine and transfer it onto two speedboats. This particular colonel was given 10 percent of the shipment in exchange for his help. Somewhere between one and two million dollars in product.”
