“Nothing more specific?” asked Rubens.
“He’s promised a diagram or a map. I’ll have a copy sent to you as soon we get it. Assuming he carries through,” added Collins, her voice making it clear that the source didn’t always deliver on such promises. “They’ve been planning this for some time. No target date. Oil or energy is somehow involved. I gather that meshes with what you’ve already heard from Red Lion. I’ll send you a copy of the officer’s report, if you’d like.”
“I would. Do you see a link?”
“Don’t you?”
Rubens saw many; that was the problem. Raw intelligence was a Rorschach test, subject to the preconceived notions of the tester as well as the viewer.
“We’re of course passing this along to the National Security Council. I thought you’d appreciate knowing before they did,” added Collins. In effect, she was telling him that she would have to pass the information on to Bing — and more importantly, that she didn’t want Rubens blindsided by that.
Collins an ally? It hardly seemed believable. But perhaps Bing was moving against her as well.
“Thank you,” said Rubens. “I appreciate it.”
CHAPTER 86
As Asad finished his speech, he turned and looked at each of the men in the room, holding their gaze for a few seconds before turning to the next. Two blinked and looked to the ground when he made eye contact. He decided they couldn’t be trusted and would be removed from the operation. That left him four to choose from for the assignment.
Kenan had to go. Only he or Nathan could work on the bridge, and the charismatic Nathan would be more valuable recruiting more brothers and organizing cells; the man was clearly a leader. Kenan wasn’t, but he would be working under the guidance of another brother who was already in place.
So one from the other three. The short one seemed a good match, bulky where Kenan was thin. But no, there was something weak in his face.
None of them, then. He would send Kenan, and another brother from New Mexico, his next stop.
Yes, that was the way to proceed.
“A message will be sent if you are needed,” he said. “If you are not called today, you will be called tomorrow or the next day, or the next. May Allah guide your steps.”
The men nodded. Asad turned to Kenan, whose round blue eyes locked onto his. “Let’s go.”
“Yes, sheik.”
The youth remained fixed in place, still under the spell of Asad’s speech, possibly even awed by his presence. It struck Asad that such devotion in one so young was dangerous; it meant that his judgment was impaired by emotion. Such a person’s faith, seemingly rock solid, could be shaken by events. Better that one come to believe through a long, difficult process, wrestling with his faith so that his will was tempered and strong.
Finally Kenan snapped out of it.
“This way,” he said. “Come.”
They walked back into the dank basement. To Asad, the route seemed the same, but instead of the mosque they emerged on the first floor of an apartment building. He smelled something frying as they left the building. A sharp pang of hunger followed.
“Could we get something to eat before you take me to the airport?” he asked Kenan.
“Yes. Yes. I know a very good restaurant, owned by an Egyptian. A reliable man. He is not a brother,” added Kenan quickly. “But very religious. Four or five blocks away.”
“Let’s go.”
The day had begun dark and threatening, but the sun had gradually chased all of the clouds away. They turned the corner onto a wider avenue, filled with people. The facades were noticeably brighter, the area more prosperous than the one they had just walked from.
It had always been a mystery to Asad why the Lord had allowed the infidels to become so powerful and prosperous. Asad had been fortunate in his life to meet many devoted brothers, men of devotion and good will. What plan did Allah have for them? Where was the suffering to lead?
The thought occurred to him as he saw the shiny stone facade of a Christian church across the street, its bell tower rising high above the main building. It was a sharp contrast to the dilapidated mosque where he had just been. He was not jealous, and he did not curse or berate God as a sinner might. But he wondered why the Lord allowed the nonbelievers this moment of prosperity.
Perhaps to provide the proper challenge to people like Asad himself, the chosen ones who would establish the new order. The idea was heady and full of conceit, and yet it was only logical.
Asad began to smile. As he did, pain seized his chest, powerful pain that dashed him to the pavement and pinned him against the concrete.
Kenan stared down at him. Asad struggled to get up, but all he could do was ask, “Why?”
CHAPTER 87
Dean saw the commotion a few seconds after the Art Room told him that Asad had collapsed.
“We have an ambulance on the way,” said Rockman. “There’s an emergency trauma center three blocks away.”
“Do you have somebody there?”
“Ambassador Jackson and Dr. Ramil are on their way. Tommy’s coming up behind you on foot.”
Dean stayed on the edge of the crowd, eying the young man kneeling next to Asad. While he’d seen the kid’s face in the video captures plenty of times by now, it was shocking to see how young he looked in person — seventeen or eighteen at most, as young as he’d been when he’d gone into the marines.
“All right, let me see if I can help,” yelled Tommy Karr, pushing through the crowd from the opposite direction. “Back up — let’s give the man some air.”
“You a doctor?” asked the young man with Asad.
“Paramedic.” Karr flashed a quick smile and dropped to his knee. The op wasn’t lying — he’d had to take advanced medical training to join Deep Black’s operations team. Tommy being Tommy, he’d gone beyond the basic requirements and was fully qualified as a paramedic.
“First thing we want to do here,” Karr bellowed, “is everybody move back. Three steps. Anybody got any water?”
“How bad does he look, Mr. Dean?” said Rubens in Dean’s ear.
Dean edged away from the others. “Pretty pale.”
“If there is any way to obtain information about the young man who is accompanying him, that would be most useful.”
“Just what I was thinking.”
Hernes Jackson had set up a liaison office at a building used by the Treasury Department; this happened to be only a few blocks from the emergency trauma center. As soon as the Art Room alerted him to Asad’s “episode,” he went down the hall to fetch Dr. Ramil.
“There’s been an unexpected problem,” said Jackson, quickly explaining the situation. Ramil rose from his seat without saying anything, following Jackson out to the front of the building where a driver had been stationed to wait for him.
In the car, Jackson put on a faux hearing aid, which used a short-distance radio signal to connect to the satellite communications unit in his jacket pocket. The unit would allow him to get updates from the Art Room without attracting suspicion at the trauma center.
“Tommy Karr will be with him,” said Marie Telach. “You’ll have a little time. If it becomes necessary for Dr.
