UM AL-QURA MOSQUE
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA
“Of course I’m angry,” said Abdul Waleed as he paced. “We agreed it would look like a murder/suicide. But Nura Khalifa is dead and Andrew Salam is still alive!”
Sheik Mahmood Omar stood from behind his ornate desk crafted of Damascus steel and gestured toward a carpet in the center of the room with large silk pillows. A tea tray had been set upon a cloth known as a
“Maybe you don’t understand,” responded FAIR’s chairman as he took a seat across from him. “Salam is going to tell the police everything, if he hasn’t already. The FBI is probably already involved. Either way, somebody is going to come and question me.”
Sheik Omar raised a polished serving pot and poured Arabic coffee into two, small handleless cups. The heady aroma of coffee mixed with cardamom and saffron filled the office.
“And what will they learn?” asked Omar.
Waleed wondered if the imam was losing it. “
Handing his guest the traditionally half-filled cup, the sheik stated, “While the words are yet unspoken, you are master of them; when once they are spoken, they are master of you.”
“Enough Bedouin proverbs, Mahmood. We need to have a plan.”
Omar took a sip of his coffee. “The evidence planted at their homes and at your offices is still there?”
Waleed nodded.
“The security cameras were not functioning at the memorial?”
“Correct,” said Waleed.
“Then we don’t need to do anything. We have left enough to convince the authorities that Nura was meeting with Salam to tell him that their affair was over. She was ashamed at having debased herself before marriage and was going to beg her family for forgiveness. Salam decided that if he couldn’t have her, then no one would.”
“You underestimate the FBI.”
“Do I?” asked Omar. “A woman is tragically murdered; a
“And what about Salam? What about his story? What about the training he received? What about my personal connections to him?” demanded Waleed.
“When the FBI asks you about those, you admit to them. You met Salam when he started attending this mosque. He was bright, charming, and extremely creative. That’s why you hired his P.R. firm to work on FAIR’s public and media relations. He worked closely with Nura and you suspected something more than just business might be going on between them, but you never knew for sure. She was very discreet about her private life-”
Waleed interjected, “But what about the man Salam believed to be his handler? And what about the evidence on us Salam was amassing?”
“His handler made sure Salam turned over everything each time they met. He was taught never to keep any information that could compromise him.”
Waleed shook his head.
Omar set down his coffee cup. “Would you rather that the real FBI had gotten to Nura and turned her? Or any of the others we have working for us?”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“Operation Glass Canyon was a brilliant idea, and our benefactors in Saudi Arabia are quite pleased. By infiltrating ourselves, we’re better equipped at discovering outside attempts from Zionist groups or agencies like the FBI or DHS trying to penetrate our organizations. We also often receive better information from our spies than our most loyal people. McAllister amp; Associates has paid for itself several times over and is a profitable venture in more ways than one.”
“But Salam is in jail. Do our benefactors know that?”
The imam shrugged his shoulders. “For every glance behind us, we have to look twice to the future. We’ll find someone to replace him. Life will go on.”
Waleed wished he shared the sheik’s confidence. “I still think Salam knows too much and is a danger to us. He has been well trained. His story will sound too real.”
“How well trained is he, really? All of the tradecraft he learned could have come from books.”
“He’ll lead them to Islamaburg,” countered Waleed.
“Where he and other young Muslims learned how to shoot and defend themselves. So what? No laws were broken there. Trust me, Abdul, the trail is going to go cold very fast.”
Waleed plucked up a bite-sized sweet from the tray and shoved it in his mouth. He always seemed to eat more when he was under stress. “What have you heard from Paris?”
Mahmood Omar chose his words carefully. There was no need to upset Waleed any further. “Things are progressing.”
“So our problem still hasn’t been taken care of?”
The sheik smiled reassuringly. “I have every confidence it will. Every delay has its blessings. Al-Din will be successful in Paris and then we can put all of this behind us.”
When his audience with Omar was over, Abdul Waleed exited the mosque and headed for his car. As he crossed the street, he reminded himself to remain calm. Both the FBI and the D.C. Metro police would most likely want to ask him questions. He had thought about having some of FAIR’s attorneys present, but Omar had cautioned him against it. He felt it would look too suspicious.
He needed to contact the office to see if any law enforcement agencies had called yet, or maybe had even dropped by unannounced. Omar had warned him to expect them to show up without warning to examine Nura’s desk, computer, and other belongings.
Waleed climbed in his car and fished his ear bud from one of the cup holders. As he turned the ignition, he slid his cell phone from the plastic holster at his hip and turned it on. Omar had a thing about cell phones ringing in the mosque. He saw it as a personal affront to Allah. In fact, the only thing he disliked more than cell phones was dogs.
On that point, he and Waleed were in complete agreement. Cell phones were a necessary evil in modern life, but he had always agreed with the Islamic injunctions against dogs. They were impure, absolutely filthy animals and Mohammed had rightly forbade Muslims from keeping them as pets.
After plugging in his headset, Waleed pulled away from the curb and dialed his office.
The man had no idea that Steve Rasmussen had remotely accessed Andrew Salam’s phone in the evidence room at the D.C. Metro Police Headquarters and had downloaded its contents.
Once Rasmussen had retrieved Waleed’s mobile number, Ozbek had been able to “hot-mike” his phone-a novel form of electronic surveillance which allowed him to remotely power up the phone and activate its microphone. He and Rasmussen had heard the entire conversation with Sheik Omar.
It was the first solid lead the CIA operatives had. The covert forays into Dr. Khalifa’s home and office at Georgetown had been absolute busts.
Ozbek was now on his phone issuing orders to the rest of the DPS. “That’s right,” he said. “I want the entire team focused on Paris. Everybody. Right now. We’ll meet in the conference room for an update in an hour.”
As he hung up the phone, Rasmussen looked at him and said, “None of the intelligence we just gathered will ever be admissible in court.”
Ozbek knew his colleague was right.
“We’ve probably also just screwed the FBI on a major part of their investigation too.”
That thought had crossed Ozbek’s mind, but he didn’t want to think about it. Instead, he turned his anger on Rasmussen. “This is twice now that you’ve informed me that I’ve stepped over the line. I get it and I don’t want to hear it again, okay? The more I hear his name come up, the more my gut tells me this al-Din was an Agency
