Agent of Influence: A Thriller (44 page)

             
It was unequivocally Jamal. His adoptive son was seated at the bottom right of the photo with the same forced smile he always gave whenever he was upset or frustrated, but did not want to admit what was causing him the anxiety. The photo appeared to have been taken around the time Yohan adopted him. He grabbed his drink and swallowed a large gulp, barely noticing the scorching alcohol as it coated his throat and steadied his nerves.  He looked up at his uninvited guests and found them both watching him carefully, waiting for his reaction.  What was going on? Jamal never mentioned that he knew Aman, yet it seemed clear from this photo they knew each other. Was it coincidence? Were these two CIA nuts trying to blackmail him in some way?

             
“Where was this photo taken?” Yohan asked meekly. He knew the answer.

“At the
Kentucky Derby. May of 1973,” Anna answered as she continued to eye the Senator carefully. The sustained silence and questioning look on his face suggested he was taken by surprise by the photo. If he was feigning fear he could pass any lie detector test ever invented.

             
“In America? That can’t be right. He didn’t come in until November 1973, and he was brought in on a boat with a small group of orphans, not…” Yohan looked down at the photo again, hoping it would change. The serious looks of Aman and Jamal continued to stare at him from the photo, almost as if they were mocking him and his naivety.

             
“This can’t be a real photo. Someone is playing a game with me.” The Senator’s defense was weak and he knew it. “How did you get this photo?” Yohan asked in a more urgent tone. “I have to know.” The Senator’s hands were trembling at the realization that Jamal lied to him from the moment he walked into his house. Why? The unknown reason haunted him. He doubted the answer would alleviate his fears.

“We stumbled across the photo during our investigation. Your son was not a part of the investigation
, I assure you,” Anna said, revealing a piece of the puzzle to keep the Senator talking.

             
“What?” Yohan looked to the CIA Director for confirmation.

“Senator, this photo recently came to light during our investigation into the President-Elect. I was not aware of its existence at the time of my testi
mony to your committee. We weren’t sure that this was your son in the photo until you identified him for us just now. He is a late entry into our investigation. If you will look at the photo closely please,” Malcolm said calmly. Years of experience in the field taught him how to be commanding and quiet at the same time. It was an art form few could master. “Look at the other kid in the photograph. Does he look familiar?” Malcolm asked.

Yohan looked at the kid. He appeared to be about the same age as Jamal, except much skinnier and several inches shorter, although he could not be sure of the height since he was sitting cross legged on the ground.  The boy looked harmless except for his eyes, which conveyed a savage intensity. Yohan studied t
he photo again, “I don’t think so,” he said honestly. The face was familiar, but he could not quite place it.

“It’s Zachariah Hardin, your President-Elect,” Anna spit out the statement in a sharp tone.

                The Senator studied the kid’s face intently. Yes, he had to admit it was possible. He squinted, putting the photo near his face as if it was a treasure map and he was looking for the “x” that marked the spot. Zachariah’s eyes gave him away. He possessed the same stare Aman had in the photo. It was as if it were a learned trait. He looked up at his two late night intruders, and found their two sets of eyes following his every move. His gaze returned to the photo. Yes, he decided, it was almost assuredly Zach. Jamal grew up with the President-Elect? He never mentioned knowing him. For the first time in his life he felt estranged from Jamal. His adoptive son appeared to be hiding a huge portion of his life from him for some unknown reason.

“You said this was taken in May of 1973?” A vile feeling was creeping into Yohan’s stomach, and he was beginning to feel the life he knew slip away. He was petrified to find out any more information, but he knew he must push on for his own sanity.

             
“
Correct
,”
Anna answered. She could see the wheels in motion as the Senator’s thought process showed on his face. She thought it best to let him express his concerns out loud without any prompting. It was like teaching a child. If one can fool a child into thinking he discovered the answer on his own then he will become even more interested in the subject, and the teacher’s job is that much easier.

***

The Senator focused as he thought back to that day at the track. Aman had been despondent over his horse’s sudden death earlier that morning. He remembered the day vividly because it was his first face-to-face meeting with the Egyptian. It was several months later that he met with the frail man who represented the children and arranged the adoption. He was always grateful to Aman for connecting him to Aziz.

His forehead furrowed
as he tried to recall all the important details of that day.  Had Aman already adopted Zach by that time?  No, because he talked about his desire to adopt his own boy from a similar group. Aman supposedly adopted Zach sometime in 1974. The Senator stared at the photo one last time. This photo meant that Zach was in the U.S. a year earlier than anyone knew.

             
“Good Lord. Zach entered this country illegally,” Yohan muttered to himself before downing the last of his coffee.  “But why?” He looked to them for an answer.

***

“We’re not sure. The fact that he appears to know your son, combined with them now reuniting at the White House of all places tells me that something is amiss. It seems that Aman has been orchestrating this from the beginning. As to why, we don’t know. But the facts point to nothing good,” Anna said.  She stopped for a few seconds to let Yohan continue to soak in the newfound information.  “Senator, do you know if your son is a member of an organization known as the Brotherhood of the Caliphate?” Anna asked.

             
“I’ve never heard of it.”

Malcolm entered
the conversation, providing a quick rundown on the organization. Eventually they discussed Zach’s tattoo, which Malcolm explained was the way members identified each other after years of separation.

“Do you know if Jamal has a tattoo?  On his inner thigh?” Malcolm asked. “It would be two green Arabic symbols, with a slash through them. It stands for Caliphate Creation.”

              “Yes, yes. I remember a few times accidentally seeing him getting ready in the morning for school. He told me that it was something he got when he was on the streets of Cairo. It was a way for the young orphans to form a kind of family for themselves. If this brotherhood was as benign as you say it was what then is your concern?” He stopped momentarily before realizing what this meant.. “Zach is a Muslim,” Yohan said it as a statement and not a question.  A Muslim who lied about his true beliefs, and was now literally days away from taking the oath of office to be the president, Yohan thought. 

             
“Senator, what is your son’s specific position with the Secret Service? I know he’s on the President’s personal security detail, but what is his exact job?” Malcolm asked.

“He guards the man in control of the nuclear codes.” The Senator’s face was
now ashen. The military man who controlled the nuclear football was never more than a few feet away from the president. The man’s job was to always be prepared with the nuclear codes so the president could launch a strike if it ever became necessary.

Three sets of eyes now flicked back and forth in the room, all of them afraid to acknowledge out lou
d the danger. Two illegal immigrants, both Muslim, who lied to those closest to them for years were now about to gain control of the most extensive arsenal of nuclear weapons the world has ever known.

“I think we have a problem.” Malcolm’s baritone voice shattered the silence.

Alex stared at the luminescent digital clock in the dashboard for the fifth time in a minute. It finally rolled over to twelve a.m. His first stakeout started off with an air of excitement, but after nearly two hours of waiting for Malcolm and Anna he had become bored and tired. He stifled a yawn, sipped a Diet Coke, and forced himself into an alert state of mind.  He knew this was a part of his eventual job and something he would have to learn to do. He feared the moment his concentration would lapse would be the time when something serious happened. He could not afford any mistakes. The lights were still on in the Senator’s house, and every once in a while he could see shadows moving about through the closed shades.  A few snowflakes started to flutter through the lights that lined the street.

             
Glancing at the passenger side mirror, Alex saw a hint of motion on the sidewalk. It was approaching from the backside of the vehicle, along the south end of the street. He squinted, trying to see what it was. A few seconds later he could make out the silhouette of a tall man, jogging down the sidewalk. Alex involuntarily tensed. He grasped his weapon in preparation. It was a little late and extremely cold for a jogger, but there were all types of hard-core fanatics when it came to exercise. He knew because he was often one of them. The man grew larger and larger in the mirror. He was at least six foot two, maybe taller. His physique suggested this was not his first midnight run. A large Washington Redskins hoodie hung over his head, obscuring the man’s face except for a pair of lips that were pursed in concentration. His pace slowed as he jogged closer to the truck, but he continued on his way, throwing a furtive glance at the Senator’s home before continuing down the street. 

Alex exhaled loudly. He cursed himself as he realized he
had spent the last twenty seconds holding his breath in anticipation. The jogger made a right hand turn at the next cross street, and disappeared from Alex’s line of sight. Five uneventful minutes later the front door opened and Malcolm and Anna stepped out of the house with solemn looks on their faces. Alex watched intently for any sort of inkling to how the meeting went. He was surprised to see the Senator himself appear in the doorway behind them. The three exchanged some unknown words, and each shook Yohan’s hand with what looked like true feeling. The Senator shut the door, and Malcolm and Anna both walked quickly towards Alex. He turned the key and the SUV’s engine roared to life. 

***

              Jamal’s mind raced in lockstep with his feet as they pounded the concrete sidewalk. He decided to circle the neighborhood one more circuit to see if the Chevrolet Suburban was still parked in front of his father’s house.  The Suburban’s presence could only mean something bad. He had scanned the license plate, committing it to memory. He would run it through the database at work tomorrow to find out to whom it belonged.  He gave a silent prayer to Allah that their plan had not been compromised. He knew that kind of vehicle all too well. It was the favorite vehicle of the Secret Service, as well as numerous other government officials.

When he ran by it earlier he studied it careful
ly. Jamal noticed many of the tiny characteristics that only a trained agent like himself could recognize. He knew it possessed more safety features and accessories than anything someone can buy at a car dealership. The government tags and extra safety features suggested it was either FBI or CIA. Neither one was good for him.  He slowed down for a brief moment as he completed his circle, and came back around to his parent’s street. His hand reached inside the extra-large hooded sweatshirt and maneuvered the safety of his silenced Mark 23 pistol, preparing for action.

             
His breathing slowed when he noticed the vehicle was gone. He picked up the pace until he was almost sprinting down the lighted street. He slowed to a walk as he strode up the walkway and used his key to let himself inside the spacious two-and-a-half story home in which he grew up.  The silence of the antique living room yawned at him. The house was quiet.

A clatter came from the kitchen where he found his father
’s servant stacking some plates in the sink. The servant looked up and gestured at Jamal’s familiar face, indicating that his father was in his study. Jamal extracted the weapon and thanked him with a silent whistle of death. The bullet lodged in the butler’s heart, killing him instantly. Jamal stepped forward to catch the limp body. He dropped it gently on the cold, white tile of the kitchen floor. He had nothing against the servant, but there could be no going back now. No witnesses. It was the only way. No one would cut him any deals for only killing his target. Anyone in the home would have to suffer the same fate.

He walked purposefully up the winding staircase to the second floor. He yanked the door open and fired two more bullets in quick succession, instantly killing the sleeping form of his mother. She uttered one quick grunt of protest before falling silent.

He quickly descended the staircase. He assumed his father would probably be drunk at this late hour. Only alcohol could keep him up past ten anymore. Jamal stopped at the end of the hallway and pushed the door of the study open without knocking. Yohan sat slumped in his favorite reading chair, a spilled drink staining the Oriental rug in front of him. He appeared oblivious to it. They both stared at each other in silence. 

Jamal lo
oked at the dejected old man who raised him with surprise. There was a look on his adoptive father’s face that he had never seen before. It was the look of a disappointed parent. His father had always been extremely proud of him. He knew the look because he vividly remembered seeing it on the parents of some of his friends when he was growing up. In that instant he realized that Yohan knew something. Jamal reached down to hug his father before sitting on the leather couch.  Yohan ignored the embrace, and stared at his son with a blank stare.

             
“Why?” The slurred word came out in an accusatory manner.

Jamal decided it would be best to play dumb for at least a few minut
es. “What are you talking about father? I just stopped in to say hello. I was out for my nightly jog.” He tried to keep his voice as normal as possible.

             
The Senator’s hand fumbled for the end table beside him, searching furtively for his drink before he remembered that he had dropped it on the floor in front of him. “You lied to me. All these years. What are you up to?” Yohan’s voice was raised as high as it could go without actually yelling.

             
“Don’t bother trying to get James’ attention father. You’re wasting your breath. I killed him,” Jamal said with no empathy. He felt liberated. The façade of pretending to like this place was now completely dropped. For at least what he assumed would be the final days of his life, he could show his true nature.

The Senator stared at h
im, studying every feature of Jamal as if he were looking at him for the first time. In a sense, he was, Yohan thought to himself. He was gazing at the real Jamal, a cold-blooded murderer. There was no longer any kindness in his face, only malice and hatred. The Senator sensed his son was reveling in the freedom, as if an invisible weight had been lifted off of his broad shoulders. He looked like some of the senators or presidents who passed through Washington before, and when they finally realized their time was done, began speaking their minds without thought of repercussions or elections. It was liberation of the mind and soul.

Yohan’s eyes now focused on the silenced pistol in Jamal’s hand for the first time.

Sensing the thought, Jamal tucked the weapon back inside his sweatshirt, and stepped forward. He originally planned to spend some time bragging about what he was on the verge of accomplishing, but the sight of the SUV parked outside changed his plans. He would have to be satisfied with a death and not a taunting.

             
“Where is Helen?” Yohan blurted out the question as the bulky figure of his adoptive son stood over him.

“She’s dead
. I have waited a long time for this. I was hoping to tell you more, but circumstances have changed. Who was here a few minutes ago?” His log of an arm reached out and grabbed Yohan by the throat.

             
The Senator choked, spitting out his words with venom that matched Jamal’s. “You bastard! She loved you as if you were her true son. Why?” He implored again since he had still not received his answer. “You know Zach. You have known him since he was a child, but have kept it a secret from everyone. What are you up to?” Yohan hissed in an accusatory manner.

Jamal ignored the decrepit old drunk and continued his interrogation, “Ans
wer my question! Who just left? You are about to die, that I can assure you, but it can be quick and painless or it can be excruciating.’’ He tightened his grip around his father’s neck. Yohan wheezed, fighting to breathe as his arms and legs flailed helplessly about. He tried in vain to get up from the chair and free himself from the large man’s grip.

             
“Go to hell,” the Senator’s voice was already weak from the pressure being applied.

“You can precede me.” Jamal lightened his grip ever so slightly, allowing more oxygen to flow to the Senator’s brain. He decided to partially answer the man’s question.

“Yes, you are correct. I have known Zach for years. We are soldiers. Soldiers in the same war that will soon reach its climax. And when the dust settles from the new holocaust that we are about to unleash a new leader will arise from the ashes. The first true Caliphate in centuries.” With that final statement Jamal brought both hands to bear on the man’s neck, choking him until the body went limp and the eyes rolled back in a final surrender to his brute force.