'Were they Americans?' Jones asked.
'No,' she said. 'They were Arabs.'
She gave them a basic description of the guards and explained how Omar ordered her to leave the tunnel until the hajj was over. He said the Arabs would protect the site while she explored the city or stayed in the safety of her hotel room, which was a few miles away.
'Yet we found you in the tunnel,' Payne commented.
'What can I say? I'm stubborn. I stopped by to get some work done late Sunday night, and the place was empty. No guards in sight. They didn't show up until Monday morning. And when they arrived, they were carrying tools.'
'And that's when they attacked you?'
She nodded. 'After that, everything's fuzzy.'
Harrington watched the interview from an adjacent room. Much like Payne, he believed everything that Shari said. Her answers were straightforward. She never stammered or avoided a topic. She constantly looked her questioners in the eyes.
In some ways, he was disappointed. Things would have been much simpler if she had partnered with Abdul- Khaliq. In that case he could have put the screws to her, getting as much information as possible before he sent her to military intelligence, who would have treated her even worse. Before they were done, she would have confessed to everything, including Abraham Lincoln's assassination.
Unfortunately, as things currently stood, it was his ass on the line. Not hers.
From the moment he notified the Pentagon about a possible attack, he knew his career was going to be put under a microscope. Committees were currently forming, all of them designed to look into his recent operations- including the black ops run by Trevor Schmidt. All things considered, Payne and Jones had done a remarkable job cleaning up his mess in Mecca. However, they didn't have the time or the resources to be perfect. By now, the Saudis were sorting through all the evidence at the towers and had recovered the bodies, which meant they were one step closer to figuring out their true identities: non-Muslim American soldiers.
No matter how Harrington tried to spin it, he knew that he was screwed. American troops plus explosives plus the Great Mosque meant an international crisis. Not nearly as bad as if the attack had succeeded, but bad enough that he would be relieved of his duties.
At this point, the only thing that could save him was a miracle.
Or help from an unexpected source.
After the interview with Shari, Payne and Jones were summoned to the conference room, where Harrington was waiting for them. A day before, photos of the Great Mosque filled the large video screen while an expert lectured on the events of the hajj. Today there was a single image-a freeze-frame of a Middle Eastern man sitting in a dilapidated warehouse.
'Gentlemen,' Harrington said, 'Christmas just came early.'
'Crap!' Jones joked as he took a seat. 'I didn't get you anything.'
'Actually, you did. You got me the best gift in the world. You brought me the disk.'
'The disk?' Payne asked.
'The SD card from the take-out menu. My tech boys finally cracked the encryption. It took all night, but it was worth their effort. That thing was filled with all kinds of information. Building designs for the towers. Escape routes from Mecca. American contacts in Riyadh and Taif. The type of intel that would've been hard to explain if the Saudis had recovered it.'
Payne rubbed his eyes. 'I don't get it. Why would someone send that to the tunnel?'
Harrington grinned. 'If you'd like, I can sit here and explain it to you. Or if you'd prefer, you can hear it straight from the Arab's mouth.'
'Which Arab is that?'
He pointed toward the screen. 'Earlier today, I mentioned there was a large video file on the SD card that we were trying to crack. Turns out it was a video message. One I think you'll enjoy.'
Harrington hit
Filmed with a webcam in poor lighting, the man's face dominated the screen. He had dark skin and five- o'clock shadow. His lips were dried and cracked. When he spoke, he whispered in serious tones, like everything he said was a matter of life and death. His English was fluent, yet tinged with a slight Arabic accent.
'My name is Raheem Al-Jahani, and I am twenty-six years old. I was born in Medina, not far from the final resting place of the Prophet Muhammad,
During the next few minutes, Al-Jahani explained how he was recruited out of college, where he'd earned a computer degree, and slowly proved his worth to the Soldiers by running a terrorist cell in London that was responsible for several bombings. Eventually he moved higher and higher in the network until he was contacted by one of Hakeem Salaam's top advisers, who asked him if he'd be interested in working on a mission that would utilize his technical expertise. Al-Jahani was honored, especially when he discovered the project had been planned by Salaam, a man who rarely showed his face and trusted no one.
To protect the sanctity of the mission, Al-Jahani was transported to a secret location, where he was housed in seclusion for months. No phone. No Internet. No access to the outside world. He was given a brand-new computer, pre-installed with some of the best encryption software available, and several pieces of hardware. Every few days a guard would drop off food and an envelope filled with the materials for his next assignment.
In the beginning, the information was mostly American. Names of soldiers. Locations of contacts. Ways to manipulate them. To Al-Jahani, the prospects were thrilling because he longed to launch an assault against the country he hated the most. Unfortunately, as his work continued, the focus of the mission began to shift. Before long he started to see Arab documents. Maps of Mecca. Permits for digging. Diagrams of the towers complex.
None of it seemed to fit.
Several weeks passed before Al-Jahani pieced everything together. Hakeem Salaam, a hero to all Soldiers, wasn't attacking the United States. Instead, he was helping them stage an attack of their own-one that threatened the Kaaba, the most sacred landmark in all of Islam, and the millions of pilgrims who honored it-by providing them with information through his vast network of Arab contacts, some of whom had worked with the Americans for years but, in actuality, were supporters of Salaam. The ultimate goal was to unite Islam against a common enemy, but millions of martyrs would die in the process.
The realization made Al-Jahani nauseous.
At that point he realized he had two options. He could stop working for Salaam, which would result in his swift execution, or he could try to sabotage the mission. Obviously, the latter seemed the more promising of the two. The only question was, how?
He had no connection to the outside world. No way to communicate the threat to anyone.
All he could do was sit and wait, praying that an opportunity would present itself.
His big break finally arrived in late December, when he was ordered to take all the data he had been working on- the blueprint for the terrorist attack-and store it on a SD card that would be delivered to a team of Americans who were working in the tunnel. To Salaam, they were the perfect people to frame. Non-Muslims. Fake paperwork. Access to the towers. Once Saudi officials were tipped, they would find the SD card filled with all the damning evidence, and accuse the Americans of aiding the terrorists.
On the surface, it seemed like a good plan-another way to link the United States to the attack, thereby demonizing them as the butchers of Islam.
However, Al-Jahani viewed it differently. This was his chance to reveal the truth.
'As you have figured out,' he explained, 'my computer is equipped with a webcam. No one thought to remove it, since I have no connection to transmit a video feed. Yet this camera has many functions. I am using it to record this message. Earlier today, when the guards came in to give me my final assignment-to encrypt all the data for delivery- 1 filmed die entire conversation. It will be included on the disk.'
He glanced over his shoulder, afraid that someone might be listening.
'As the guards left, I heard them talking about a pickup they would be making at a tunnel in Mecca and a
