When he came into the bridge, the navy corpsman who’d accompanied the team onto the boat was just getting up from Kenan’s body. He shook his head, but Dean already knew the boy was dead.
“This guy was going to blow himself and the ship up?” asked the corpsman.
“Yeah,” said Dean.
“Why? Why the hell would he do that?”
Dean glanced at the deck, splattered with Kenan’s blood. “You really think an answer would make a difference?” he said, more to himself than the sailor.
“Maybe.”
“Yeah,” said Dean, knowing nothing he could say really would. “Too bad there isn’t one.”
CHAPTER 143
Someone had gotten Rubens a sandwich while he waited for the president to come to the phone. Without thinking — and famished — he took a bite, and so his mouth was full of bacon and tomato when Marcke’s voice boomed into his ear.
“Billy, what’s the situation?”
“We’ve diverted the ship,” Rubens told him, swallowing his food. “LOOP is safe. Marines are searching the vessel now.”
“LOOP?” said Bing.
“The deep-water port south of New Orleans,” said Rubens.
“I know what you’re talking about,” said the national security advisor.
“Have you arrested Dabir?” asked Marcke.
“He should be arriving at Cleveland airport any moment now,” said Rubens. “I’d like to change the mission, given the circumstances.”
CHAPTER 144
“Oh yeah, oh yeah,” said Rockman. “It’s Dabir. Coming through the front door like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Alone.”
Lia checked her watch, then went to the counter of the Great American Bagel to order a coffee. The flight was in an hour. So far, neither she, nor the FBI agents working with her, nor Rockman, monitoring the video bugs from the Art Room, had seen anyone who might be backing up Dabir. They must be somewhere, though; she doubted he’d be traveling alone.
“Comin’ at you, Lia,” said Rockman. “We have a positive match. That is our man.”
She dug into her jeans to find the right change for the coffee, then dawdled to give Dabir time to pass her.
“He’s passing C-11,” said Rockman, referring to the gate just beyond the bagel place. Lia took her coffee and walked down the hall, heading toward the cluster of gates at the far end of the concourse, a beehive where passengers waited for their aircraft to board. Lia drifted toward the Burger King, turning back in the direction she’d come as she tried to spot anyone who might be trailing Dabir to see if he was being followed.
A middle-aged man in a worn leather jacket, the kind its owner thinks screams “I’m cool,” smiled at her. Lia frowned back.
Jerk.
“How we doing?” asked Rockman.
“Fine,” said Lia into her coffee cup. “See anyone?”
“Negative. Keep looking.”
She found a seat near the fast food restaurant where she could see Dabir and sat down. Dabir was standing in front of Gate 20 near the comer of the terminal — a problem, Lia thought, since his flight was to take off at Gate 27.
If he didn’t take the plane here — if he was simply meeting someone — the FBI agents in the terminal would nab him as he left; more than two dozen men were waiting in case something went wrong. More complicated was the contingency if he took another plane; the aircraft would be ordered back to the gate, with the pilot feigning a mechanical problem necessitating a plane change. Dabir would then be arrested as he came off.
The problem with either scenario was that there’d be people around, and while he didn’t have a weapon — he’d already passed through one detection system — Lia worried that he might figure out what was going on and try something desperate. Small kids were all over the place; he might try and grab one as a hostage.
She’d kick his head off his shoulders if he tried it.
“They’re about to announce boarding,” said Rockman.
Lia turned and looked at the gate. A boarding agent had just stepped to the podium.
“First-class passengers are encouraged to board at this time,” said the woman, launching into her spiel.
Dabir’s ticket was in coach; Lia’s was two rows behind his.
“Here we go,” said Rockman, his relief evident. “He’s coming over.”
Lia waited until Dabir was nearly to the boarding area before getting up. She removed the ticket from her purse and pulled it out, walking to the end of the line. The ticket agents checked each stub, then shooed the people through quickly; within thirty seconds of arriving, Dabir was the third in line.
Then he abruptly turned and walked away.
“What is he doing?” demanded Rockman.
“Relax,” Telach told him. “Lia, stay in line. He may be trying to flush you out.”
Only Lia could have sighed in a way that seemed obscene.
Telach heard her ask the boarding agent if the flight was overbooked. Dabir, meanwhile, had walked toward the long hallway that led back to the terminal.
“Should I bring the FBI people in?” asked Rockman.
Telach turned to Rubens, standing next to her.
“Do we grab him?”
Rubens pointed at the screen at the front of the room, which was split into five panels, each covering the concourse area near the gate. Dabir had circled around the Burger King and gone into the men’s restroom.
“Think he’s lost?”
“Doubtful,” said Rubens. “Watch for anyone who may be meeting him in there. Have Lia get on the plane.”
“But what if he doesn’t board?” asked Rockman.
“He will,” said Rubens. “But if he doesn’t, tell her Boston is very nice this time of year.”
CHAPTER 145
Dabir stared at his face in the mirror. His cheeks looked very pale, paler than he had noticed this morning at the hotel.
The people at the gate bothered him, asking questions as they double-checked tickets. And one of the passengers — a tall man, well built, with a ruddy complexion — had eyed him surreptitiously as he joined the line. Were they FBI agents? CIA? Did they suspect something?
There was nothing tangible to indicate something was amiss, just his apprehensions. But Dabir had survived many years thanks to his instincts, and he would rather rearrange his plans than run the risk of being caught.
He stared again at the mirror, then slowly ran his forefinger over his left cheekbone.
