“We will join together on the deck for evening prayers,” Khan told the men, using his Punjabi-flavored English. “Come.”
The senior engineer seemed reluctant to leave his engines. He took a rag from his back pocket and wiped his hands, even though they were as clean as Kenan’s. Then he threw down the rag and started for the door.
Besides Kenan, Khan, and the two engineers, two African brothers were aboard. The men had been chosen probably as much for their ability with rifles as their experience as seamen; it had been one of them who had shot the Mexican fishing captain. They understood very little English; Khan used Arabic to speak with them, though it was not his native language.
“We have begun well,” said Khan when they reached the bridge. “We will do even better. It will take two days and nights for us to find our destiny.”
Kenan listened carefully as Razaq Khan laid out the plan. There had been some complications — at least one other brother was supposed to be with them — but they would leave immediately, for the plan required them to follow a strict timetable. This presented some difficulties, but Allah would help them overcome them.
Yes, thought Kenan; surely God would allow them to fulfill His plan. No job was too difficult if Allah willed it.
“We will live a glorious life in Paradise,” said Khan. He pointed to the east. “Mecca is that direction. We should all pray and rededicate ourselves to the glory of the one, true God, the God who brings His enemies to justice.”
CHAPTER 123
“You’re consistent, Billy, I’ll give you that.” The president leaned back in the chair behind his Oval Office desk. He’d been twiddling an oversized paperclip in his fingers since the briefing began; the wire was now a perfect circle.
“We don’t know where the target is. If we bug Marid Dabir, we may be able to find out.”
“Been there, done that,” said Bing. “Our best chance of getting information is to grab him as soon as we can.”
“He’s not planning on leaving the country for another three days,” said Rubens. “Why not? The most logical conclusion is that he has to meet with someone else.”
“All the more reason to grab him now, before he can do so,” countered Bing. Rubens knew she was still smarting from the fact that he had called on the president personally, bypassing not only her but the president’s chief of staff. Marcke had called her in, but only after Rubens had already told him what they’d found.
“What information do we have on a target?” Marcke asked.
“Nothing new,” said Rubens.
“Houston remains the best guess,” said Bing. “Despite the question raised about the CIA’s source.”
“Nothing new on that, Billy?” Marcke asked.
“I’m afraid not. We are working on it. I hope to have additional information by the evening phone conference with Homeland Security.”
Marcke got up and walked around the perimeter of his desk, thinking as much as stretching his legs. Word of the thwarted al-Qaeda plot in Saudi Arabia had leaked out over the weekend; the effect was another run up in oil prices. A successful attack on American soil, even one that was only partly successful, would push prices through the roof.
“The CIA has information that the attack may come from the sea,” said Bing.
“Based on what?” said Rubens.
“Humint. It’s being evaluated.” Bing rattled off the slang term for human intelligence — spies — with phony casualness. “There are also tons of Chinese explosives in the mix, remember,” said Bing. “It would be easiest to move those by ship.”
Rubens hadn’t forgotten about the explosives at all, but once again, the information was so vague that it was in effect useless. The Chinese had sold explosives to a company that maybe was helping al-Qaeda, or that al-Qaeda operatives had pretended to represent — of course, it could be true. Until they were able to actually trace the explosives — they’d tried without success, as had the CIA — the information wasn’t worth the status of rumor.
“You’re not positive this is Dabir who’s going to Boston?” said Marcke, returning to a point Rubens had made earlier.
“We’ll know tomorrow in Cleveland,” said Rubens. “We know someone is using those cards other than their legitimate owners, and that the tickets were bought from a small town accessible to Detroit by bus. It may not be Dabir, but the circumstantial evidence is tantalizing.”
“Where would you mount the operation?” asked the president.
“The airport in Cleveland is a little difficult to control,” said Rubens. “I’ve spoken with the FBI people about this extensively, and we think it would be easier to get him when he changes planes at Stewart Airport in Newburgh, N.Y. We could stage an incident that would look entirely natural, and insert the bug there.”
Located about seventy miles north of New York City, the airport was much smaller than Cleveland’s and the layout made grabbing Dabir simpler; he could be isolated when coming off the plane without tipping off any of the other passengers, or even anyone at the airport. Stewart also had Air National Guard and Marine Corps facilities that could be used.
“The old Stewart Air Force Base,” said Marcke. “Ham Fish Jr. used to fly a puddle jumper to D.C. from there. Back when I was knee high to a grasshopper.” Fish had been a prominent Republican congressman when Marcke served one of his two terms in the House. “I wonder what Ham would think of this mess.” He smiled wanly, as if remembering the old congressman.
“We can’t run the risk of losing a second source,” said Bing. “It’s too much. At least if he were in custody, we’d have a chance of getting information. And politically, it would at least be defendable.”
That was the sort of argument that George Hadash had never made — basing a national security issue on how it would benefit or hurt the president. Rubens waited for the president to rebuke her. Instead, Marcke merely frowned.
“Time’s running out here, Billy,” said the president. “Let’s arrest him and interrogate him. Take him in Cleveland, as soon as he shows up for the flight.”
“It’s possible that Dabir’s arrest may move up the timetable for an attack,” said Rubens. “The quieter the operation, the better. The FBI preferred Stewart because it would be easier to control. It’s a little more than an hour away.”
“Very well. Do it there,” said Marcke. “But get it done.”
CHAPTER 124
Lia DeFrancesca pushed the cleaning cart slowly across the floor, eying the line of food shops at the Cleveland Airport Terminal as she continued on her quest to get a good idea of the place before the mission tomorrow evening. There wasn’t all that much different about this terminal than most others in America, or across the world for that matter, but sometimes the subtle things made a difference; knowing to turn left rather than right out of the bookshop to get to the gate, for example.
She stepped over to a waste can that had a view of the concourse and put down the video bug she was using to check positions for the surveillance tomorrow.
“If you could go six inches to the right, that would be perfect,” said Claudell Greenstreet, the runner. Greenstreet was new, which was why he drew the comparatively unimportant task of helping her prep for the mission.
The fly blended perfectly with its surroundings, and rather than move it Lia pushed the waste can itself over.
“Lookin’ good,” said Greenstreet.
