Agent of Influence: A Thriller (32 page)

She returned
to her hotel for a few hours, unsure what to do with the information Quasim had provided her when the phone rang and a brusque voice announced that the ambassador insisted on seeing her immediately.  The heels and short business skirt she was currently wearing were a blatant attempt to use her sexuality to soften his mood and buy her two more days. Ten minutes into her pacing, the door burst open, and the ambassador stomped into the room. He slammed the door shut, walked past her without a second glance, and took a seat at his desk. His face was controlled rage, like a red balloon about to explode in a child’s hand. 

“What the fuck are you trying to do? Didn’t I warn you to watch your step?” The words exploded out of his mouth as if he could no longer hold them in.

              “You’re going to have to enlighten me, Mr. Ambassador,” Anna replied in a non-threatening manner.
Great, I get the one prick politician that doesn’t think with his.

“Don’t play dumb with me. I just got a call from one of my friends in the Egyptian government. They received a formal complaint today from a citizen. He claims you were harassing him. He also states you threatened violence.”

Her face was a blank slate, revealing nothing. She could not believe that Quasim would turn her in. He would not want that sort of attention drawn to his activities. “Mr. Ambassador, I’ve done nothing of the sort.  I’ve only met with one person outside the Egyptian government, and I can assure you no harm would come to him. He was just an elderly gentleman who a mutual friend thought may be able to assist me.”

“Ar
e you sure that is all you’ve been up to?” He asked in a sarcastic tone. His manicured hands fumbled with a five-by-seven manila envelope.  Working the seal free, he then ripped it open in false bravado, extracted some photographs, and slammed them onto his desk.              

Anna stared at the photo in disbelief. It was the body of Qu
asim. His head was nearly severed from his neck and he was covered in his own blood. The body was lying on a dirt floor.

             
“I guess you’re insinuating that I had something to do with this man’s death?” Anna asked in a disbelieving tone.

“Considering my source told me that someone saw you leaving the building where thi
s body was discovered, yes, I’m curious. Plus, the fact that you have clearly disobeyed my orders regarding the parameters of your investigation makes me think that you are a diplomatic nightmare for the United States government.”

             
Anna blocked out the insignificant peon sitting at the desk in front of her. She now realized her enemy was the old man. Aziz was setting her up. “I had nothing to do with this man’s death.” She was technically telling the truth.

             
“The Egyptian government has officially asked me to rescind your passport and have you expelled from the country. I’ve already agreed to the request. The paperwork has been signed and you will be escorted back to your hotel before being taken to the airport. I’m filing an official report with the FBI recommending that you be terminated,” the Ambassador said with great pride in his voice.

The plane ride back to
U.S. soil was excruciating. She had some tantalizing information, but nothing that would allow a formal investigation to go any further. The old man clearly had something to hide, but what that was could be anyone’s guess. The key, Anna believed, was his tie to the Brotherhood of the Caliphate. Were there any surviving members besides Aziz? Could Aman, or even Zachariah, be a member of this same organization? There was only one way to find out. One question tortured her the entire flight home. If Aman and his presidential candidate were members of this same group, what were they after?

                                                      Chapter 35

January 2005,
Washington D.C
.

Zach pulled the bathrobe tight around his body, trying to trap in the heat. The coffee sitting on the small end table was still too hot to sip, and he needed to stay warm somehow. He was on the top floor of the Hay-Adams Hotel on 16
th
Street. He gazed out at a majestic early morning view of the sun radiating just behind the Washington monument, throwing its beam of light onto the White House. He silently cursed the biting cold. It would be a typical January day in the nation’s capital; sunny, but below freezing. He was convinced the glass doors that provided him with the magnificent scenery were also allowing the frigid January air to seep into the hotel room. He stared down at the North Lawn of the White House.

Was this how the great conquerors felt when their long
sought after target finally came into view?
From his vantage point he watched a Secret Service man pace up and down the roof of the White House. A tripod sat on the corner nearest to Zach, ready to support the agent’s sniper rifle if some fool decided to bum rush the people’s mansion. Zach soaked in the scenery. He felt like his long hunt was finally coming to a climax.  He was feeling much more relaxed after time away from Aman and all his campaign minions
.
He let out a sigh of relaxation while pouring milk into his black coffee and swirling the mixture together with a spoon.

The voluptuous blonde
had just left the hotel room an hour earlier after an evening of pleasure. Her performance met his expectations.  In fact, it was the best sex he had had in months, so he had kept her around until morning instead of the usual late night send off. She left early enough to be escorted out of the hotel without a problem, but late enough for him to squeeze in a quickie.

He walked back across the thick beige carpet to star
e at the White House once again and think of his young brother in arms, already inside the belly of the beast and waiting for orders. It had been far too long since they embraced.  He was no longer able to keep track of the time they had been apart. Aman strictly forbade any contact between them. No meetings, letters, or phone calls were permitted. Not even the slightest acknowledgement that they knew each other existed was allowed. That would soon change. He smiled to himself, thinking of the cataclysmic change their next encounter would produce. Perhaps the White House could also be transformed into a crater of twisted metal like the Twin Towers had been? I should not get greedy, he told himself. Just stick to the plan. He closed the blinds, blocking the view of the White House. The view of his target was stirring a blood lust that had been buried for years, and he needed to simmer down
.

Chapter 36

              Anna turned to face Alex after finishing the narrative. He sat rigidly at attention on the couch, dissecting the pieces of information before asking his question.

             
“So that is how you ended up in Las Vegas, hunting down Zach? The phone you slipped into my pocket at the airport. What was on it?”

             
“What do you think?”

             
“I’m guessing a photo of Zach’s inner thigh. But the key question is; does he have the symbol of the Caliphate tattooed there?”

             
She silently handed him the picture that was in her hand. “Here is a copy.”

              He took it and stared quizzically at it. He saw pale flesh mixed with black hair. Underneath the matted hair of the leg the two strange symbols in green were clearly visible.

             
“They are Arabic for KK. Standing for Caliphate Creation.” She spoke like a professor administering a lecture.

             
“What do you do from here?” He handed the photo back.

             
“Nothing to do but sit tight and do as much investigative work as possible. After I got back from Cairo I filed a full report with the CIA Director, and my contact in the FBI. I’ve been told the FBI man is currently in Cairo trying to track down the old man. I just hope he finds something that we can use to either alleviate our fears or prove once and for all that Zachariah should not be allowed to take the oath of office.  For now, we just have to be patient.”

             
Alex could tell by the tone of her voice that this was going to be difficult for her.

***

Cairo
 

Sean Hill stood with his back flat against the tenement building and listened carefully for any sounds. He gave a hand signal to Colin, who was standing on the other side of the doorway just a few feet away. They were observing a strict policy of silence. Reaching into his pocket, Sean pulled out the silencer and screwed it carefully onto his Model 22 Glock pistol. Sunrise was less than an hour away, and their black outfits made them nearly invisible in the narrow confines of the darkened alley. Colin followed Sean’s lead and prepared his own weapon in case the situation turned hot.

The past
week had frayed both their nerves to the breaking point. The attempt on Sean’s life as soon as he stepped off the plane in Cairo was bad enough. Follow this with Sean informing Colin that he had been under constant surveillance for the past few years by Aziz and they were both on edge. Colin felt like a fool.  He had been played on a string from the beginning, and he knew exactly why he had not noticed the surveillance. He subconsciously believed that Aziz was just an eccentric old man trying to pretend he still had some importance in the world.

It had taken
them a few days to pick up the trail from the information Anna had given them, but they eventually tracked down Aziz’s errand boy, who they found near a mosque. It appeared that whenever Aziz needed to pass along information, it was through one of the thousands of mosques scattered throughout the city.  It was the only tactical mistake in the unknown operation he manipulated. They tracked the boy to the alleyway in which they now stood, just off Al-Muizz li Din Allah Street.  The smell of rotting food permeated the entire enclave. The errand boy had stepped outside a few minutes earlier, and was now lying on the ground at Sean’s feet. He was unconscious, and bound and gagged, just in case he woke up unexpectedly.

             
Sean raised his hand, his fingers counting the seconds down to the assault. He then balled his hand into a fist and sprung forward with agility not typically found in such a large frame.  He crashed into the door shoulder first, his silenced pistol scanning the room to look for any sign of movement.  Colin followed directly behind him, crouching low to cover any potential trapdoors, and staying out of Sean’s way. 

A guard lay prostrate on his prayer rug, an old Russian Kalashnikov rifle lying on the floor in front of him. The bearded head jolted out of its séance at the sound of the cracking door.  The arms stretched out for the rifle, but were cut short by three quick rounds from Colin’s silenced Beretta. The room was barren, and they continued into the next doorway in silence. It led to a hallway that had the musty smell of ancient
Cairo. Sean thought the hallway probably looked exactly the same as the day it was built, other than the photographs of numerous Muslim leaders that lined the dilapidated and crumbling walls.

The hallway was connected on
each end by two more rooms. The first room was empty except for a decrepit couch that sat up against the wall, and the other room was overflowing with rusty rifles, AK-47s, and an assortment of pistols that looked like they had just as much chance of harming the carrier of the weapon as the potential victim. The entire cache of weapons appeared to be from the former Soviet Union.  Sean and Colin looked at each other and exchanged confused glances. They had witnessed the old man enter the building the night before with an entourage of guards. Over the course of the night the guards slowly filed out, until only the boy and the man they just killed remained.  There were no other exits. Their eyes moved to the walls and began scanning for any tiny levers that could open a door to a secret room or hidden staircase. If no such lever could be found, then they had been swindled somehow.

Ten futile minutes later, and his patience
nearly exhausted, Sean was ready to assume the old man had disguised himself as a guard and vanished into the night. Colin suddenly stepped into his line of sight with a sly grin on his face. Sean followed him to the other room. The decrepit couch now sat in the center of the room. The thick layer of filth and grime covering the wall was brushed aside revealing a picture of King Farouk. Colin removed the photo from the wall and pointed at the nail that supported it. He then traced his finger down the wall a few more feet until he came to another tiny nail that was barely protruding from it. He pushed it inward and the wall folded quietly back, revealing a recessed staircase that looked much too luxurious for the dirty room. Sean gazed upwards into the blackness, a queasy feeling enveloping his stomach.

             
They cautiously ascended the stairs. The folding wall automatically slid back into place as soon as they were inside. Sean ascended first, using the point of his weapon to probe the pitch-black air in front of them, like a blind man using his walking stick to find his way.  One arm, then another, then a leg, they crept upward, cautiously probing for the end they could not see. Finally, the tip of Sean’s silenced pistol brushed against wood. He reached out his free hand, and realized the staircase ran straight into the underbelly of the second floor. Sean stopped, listening for any signs of noise from whatever, or whoever, lay on the other side of the floor above them.  After a few seconds of silence he could make out the faint grunts of someone in deep thought or prayer.  If it was not the old man above them, Sean realized there was a strong possibility they could be dead in the next few minutes.