Leopole was almost to the door when the Pakistani appeared. As always, he was impeccably dressed, reminding Leopole yet again of the differing emphasis between the two military cultures. They shook hands and sat down; Leopole motioned for Lee to remain.
Khan removed his hat and placed it beside his briefcase but that was the only deference to protocol. Unlike many officers in his army, he preferred substance to form. He got directly to the point.
“Colonel Leopole, I decided to come in person because I should not risk a security breach.” He pulled a map from his valise and spread it on the desk. “Here. We believe that some of the men you seek are in this area.”
Looking over Khan’s shoulder, Lee noted that the coordinates were only about twenty-five miles to the west, along the border.
Leopole’s gaze went from Khan to Lee and back again. “That’s excellent, Major. Ah, may I ask the source of your intel?”
“I cannot be specific because I do not have that information myself. But it comes from a very reliable conduit, one with excellent contacts in the Ministry of Defense. I could not inquire further without drawing suspicion.”
Biting his lip, Leopole scanned the map again. High, rugged terrain. Remote enough to be a likely hideout for people who did not wish to be found. “What
Khan lowered his voice slightly. “I am informed that al Qaeda operatives have used this vicinity fairly recently, smuggling people and material in and out of both countries. It is reported that some of their cargos are sensitive materials. That seemed enough reason to bring it to your attention.”
Lee stood up, obviously unconvinced. “Major Khan, please don’t misunderstand. I have no reason to doubt your sources, but ‘sensitive materials’ could be almost anything. Weapons, drugs, or…”
“Yes, yes. I agree.” Khan’s enthusiasm briefly overcame his usual courtly manners. “But there is something else.” He paused for dramatic effect. “My source says that a doctor is involved.”
Leopole sat upright. “Involved how?”
“I do not know exactly. But no mention of a medical connection has occurred before.”
Steve Lee’s eyebrows took an optimistic arch. “That’s the best lead we’ve had, Colonel.”
Leopole sat back, his fingers drumming on the desk. “Hell, it’s the only lead we’ve had.” He thought for a moment, weighing options. “Just one thing: if this is a false lead or a dead end, we risk tipping our hand. No telling who might be watching.”
“We could send in a recce team, dressed like locals. You know— take a quick look-see, then call in the rest if it’s promising.”
Lee sensed that his boss was inclined toward taking action. Frank Leopole clearly wanted some action.
Several seconds passed. Finally, Leopole said, “Steve, I like the way you think. I’ll call the admiral and recommend we go.”
11
“No photos, man.”
“Why not?”
“Because… when you take them to get developed, the store could get suspicious. That’s why!”
The photographer, Marcus Garvey Jefferson, was a good-looking hustler in his late twenties. “Wow, man. Haven’t you heard? This is, like, the twenty-first century.”
“Say what?”
“Digital, my man.
The driver of the Honda Accord grasped the significance. “Oh. Right. No film.” Hakeem put away his sketch pad.
“Riiight. We’ll plug the disk into the computer when we have the briefing.” The shooter double checked the exposure, framed the brick and glass facade in his viewfinder, and tripped the shutter again. By extending the zoom lens, he brought the shaded window into better view. He could now read the blue and white logo. Strategic Solutions, Inc.
Ali knew that no plan worked to perfection. The Marburg operation was no exception.
Sitting with Kassim and two other al Qaeda operatives, the doctor considered his options. “It is as we expected in the beginning,” Ali began. “The best way to begin our biological attack would have been with several hosts simultaneously. But volunteers are rare, and to wait until we had six or more would have posed security dangers.” He frowned in concentration. “Besides that, most volunteers have limited life expectancy, so we are forced to launch them as they become available.”
The other two men were recruiters, members of Ali’s small cell who looked for potential jihadists burning with the desire to achieve Paradise — often before their own bodies burned themselves out. They had not been successful thus far. The youngest member, who adopted the alias Sted Nisar, worked as a hospital orderly. At nineteen he had found two prospects but one had died prematurely and the other became bedridden.
The second man was Farrukh Awan, who had helped send the vestal virgin on her journey. Ali accepted him because Kassim relied on him. It appeared that there was nothing the twenty-four-year-old carpenter would not do to please the cynical Syrian. Sometimes Ali wondered about that — what hold did Kassim have on the young man?
That made them valuable. Ironically, it also made them expendable.
Ali faced the pair across the rough table. “My brother Kassim has devised a plan to expand our attack against the Americans. But I wish to seek your counsel.”
Ali caught Kassim’s sideways glance. Ali hardly ever sought others’ opinion. In fact, the plan was Ali’s, but Awan would be impressed, and both leaders especially wanted to impress the carpenter.
Kassim took the hint. “I have studied the situation in Islamabad and Quetta. The Crusaders know that we are aware of them, and we cannot expect to strike them in their nest.” He gave a wolfish smile. “So we shall draw them to us.”
Nisar immediately saw the advantage. “Excellent! They will not expect a trap.”
“That is what we hope. Certain information has already been planted with the infidels. Enough of it is accurate to attract them to a site of our choosing. Then it is a simple matter of devotion… and explosives.”
Nisar asked the logical question. “When do we meet the sacrificial warriors?”
Ali’s brown eyes bored into Nisar’s. “My brother, Kassim and I are asking you and Awan to pledge yourselves to that task.”
Nisar’s guts turned to ice. He tried to think of a response.
Awan was more composed but remained silent.
Sensing that the mission lay in the balance, Kassim used his leverage to shove one or both of the young men over the brink.
“Hina bint Ahmed never balked at the chance to serve God. Farrukh, you watched her leave on her mission.”
“But… but, she was already dying!”
“So are we all,” said Ali. “So are we all.”
“There’s Carlito,” Marcus said.
From the parking space, Hakeem Jefferson looked toward SSI’s entrance where a well-built young Hispanic man entered the double doors. He was groomed for the occasion: high and tight haircut, polite, businesslike manner. What you would expect of a former Ranger looking for work with a PMC. At least that was his story. He hoped for a look behind the security door and perhaps a tour of the facility. With a pledge to return with appropriate documentation, he would tell the Jeffersons what he saw and then drop out of sight. No connection could be
