Agent of Influence: A Thriller (43 page)

             
“
No. But I’m sure as hell going to find out. I need to make a few discreet calls around town.” The cell phone appeared out of Malcolm’s jacket before he even finished his sentence. He grabbed a cinnamon apple energy bar out of the bowl on the table, and stepped outside for some privacy.

“Let’s see what information we can pull up about his adoptive son.” Anna gestured towards the upstairs that held the computer that provided remo
te access to the CIA’s database. “We should have intelligence stored on all Secret Service personnel.”

Ten minutes later the file was pulled up on the flat screen monitors. Alex peered over her shoulder. On the l
eft hand side of the monitor was a recent photo of Jamal in the typical garb of a Secret Service agent; dark suit, sunglasses, small earpiece with the mini-phone cord just visible snaking around his right ear. The biography to the right of the photo said he was born on March 5, 1958 in Egypt. His mother abandoned him on the streets at the age of five, and from there he was taken to an orphanage where he spent several years in anonymity before heading to the States.

He was part of a group of children that was taken to the
U.S. for adoption. The rich philanthropist who helped the children remains anonymous. The wealthy man from Cairo apparently spent years as an orphan on the streets himself, and liked to arrange for the orphans to live with good families in the U.S. who could not have children of their own.

“The rich philanthropist could easily be Aman.
The timing dove tails perfectly.” Anna voiced her thoughts out loud before continuing to scroll the cursor down the page. They sat in silence as they scanned the information together.

The Senator adopted the boy in 1974 at the age of fifteen. He spent three years in high school in D.C. before joining the Marines only a few years after the end of the Vietnam War.  Jamal spent ten years in the military, traveling to some of the most dangerous locales in the world including
Beirut, Saudi Arabia, and the demilitarized zone between North and South Korea.

His service in the military put him on the fast track to becomi
ng a Secret Service agent, where he has remained for the last twelve years. He was finally awarded for his service and joined the presidential detail four years earlier. Last year he moved even further up the ladder and became one of the few agents on the president’s personal protection team. One of the other agents in the protection detail was forced to retire early, and Jamal was first in line for the promotion. Normal procedure was for the president’s personal guards to be switched out once a new occupant enters the White House. However, because Jamal was just promoted, he had been allowed to stay on. The biography highlighted a small article that appeared in one of the Washington newspapers discussing the unusual event.  Other than the article, the prolonged extension did not seem to be creating any stir within the Secret Service. Jamal’s service records were impeccable, and the dossier included nothing but glowing reports about his career in both the military and Secret Service.

             
Malcolm appeared in the doorway of the tiny room. “I made some calls. Yohan adopted Jamal sometime in early 1974. The Senator had all the proper papers, so nothing was made of it. My source seems to think Jamal may have been considered a war refugee after the Six-Day War in 1967. He is checking another angle for me, but I bet it’s going to be a dead end. I think we should pay a little visit to the Senator. Have a little friendly chat with him.” The sarcastic tone suggested Malcolm would pepper the Senator with questions that would make him squirm.

Mal
colm stood over the two of them and began scanning the biography on the computer screen, as well. The printer on the table was whirling away, printing off copies of the information for each of them to review.

             
“Looks like your source has the same info the agency has. I was thinking the same thing as far as a visit. Put him on the spot and see if we can get him to talk. I don’t think it will be too difficult.” Anna’s understatement was not lost on her two compatriots.

The morning streaks of the sun ricocheted off, and around the
Washington Monument, sending rays of sunlight in all directions. The top of the monument was just visible from Jamal Mahmud’s residence. The sunrise lit up his penthouse apartment at 20
th
and L Streets, crashing through his balcony and engulfing his kitchen in a ball of light. The brightness did not faze Jamal as he lay prostrate on his balcony, bowing towards the heavens and praying for strength.

He obtained the apartm
ent thanks to some strings his father was able to pull. It was just one example of many why this country was so corrupt, he thought to himself. One is nothing without money in America.  Things were about to change though. He chanted prayers quietly to himself. The beads of sweat formed on his temples and ran down his naked chest to his running shorts, before overflowing onto the prayer rug. His morning ritual of pushups and crunches caused him to sweat profusely, so he had stepped out into the cold January morning to pray and cool down.

The blinding morning sun only served to heighten his prayerfulness and focus. There were now only a few days left until they would make their move. This would be one of the last times he prayed on this balcony overlooking a city whose orders from on high brought so much pain and misery to his fellow brothers in the
Middle East. That pain would now be returned to their enemy in spades. The fact that such an American cliché floated through his mind only served to anger him more, and he responded with ever more fervent chanting.

             
Thirty minutes later his body was spent, and he stepped inside to fix something to eat. He sat at his oval kitchen table, nibbling on a breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, and protein bars.  The itinerary for the next few days was sprawled across the table in front of him, and he studied it closely. This would be his only day off before the inauguration, and he was expected to put to memory every last detail of how the inauguration, transfer of power, and late night revelry would go down.  The chances of making their mission a success would be dependent on him finding the perfect moment to separate Zach from his entourage for a short period after he was sworn in. Once he found that moment he would tell Aman so the diversion could be launched.

After eating he began to meticulously disassemble and
then reassemble the Mark 23Mod0.45 caliber pistol that was lying on the chair beside him. It was a holdover from his days in the Special Forces, and he could not let go of the weapon. The Secret Service frowned on the different weapon, but accepted it due to his outstanding marksmanship with it. He now felt a new excitement forming in him. It was the same feeling he used to get as a Marine when he knew there would be an opportunity to kill. In his more than forty years on earth Jamal Mahmud never experienced lust for a woman, and refused to have sex despite many opportunities. His only desire was a blood lust, and it was beginning to form in him again as his expectations mounted.  He was anxiously looking forward to the day when the thrill of this long, silent hunt would finally morph into the ecstasy of the kill. 

              His mind wandered from the detailed
plans in front of him. The Secret Service was ideal for keeping him disciplined, alert, and in shape, but the Marines and Special Forces had given him opportunities to kill. The Secret Service, on the other hand, had honed his skills to perfection, but never gave him the opportunity to use them. During his stint in the military he traveled the world, and could disappear into the slums of a foreign city to satisfy his blood lust by disposing of some worthless retch.

His current job required constant discipline and attention to detail, but never an opportunity to utilize his killing skills.  His Muslim brothers around the world could kill the infidel at random while he was continuously forced to lay low. There were times he felt like he was fritterin
g his life away while others received all the glory.  Now the years of training and patience appeared to have come to fruition at the perfect moment. Maybe Allah was watching down on them as Aman had assured him would happen all those years ago when they first arrived in America.

             
He would never forget that day at the racetrack, when Aman and Aziz explained that he would be going to live with a Jew in New York City. The adolescent tantrum he threw was monumental, and he stewed for hours as they told him the plan. He would cry like a baby and then curse them vehemently all within a short time span. Maybe he should have killed someone in order to attract their attention? It would have been one better than Zach’s butchering of Aman’s race horse, and it may have scared them enough to change their plans. But he could never bring himself to disobey Aziz. The old man meant too much to him.

Aziz continuously
drummed into him that they were taking a different approach; one that would take a long time, and would often seem pointless and frustrating. However, it was the only way to reach their ultimate goal. Their brothers around the world sacrificed long-term progress for instant gratification. It felt temporarily satisfying, but they always ended up back in the same spot.  Jamal stood up from the kitchen table and stared out the window at the magnificent view. He needed to kill. It was time. It would not endanger their mission, and thirty years of patience was enough. The Jewish parasite that he pretended to love had survived long enough. His death would have to suffice for now.

Alex cautiously turned the midnight
blue Chevrolet Suburban onto the tree-lined street of Summit Place, a ritzy neighborhood in northern Washington D.C. They were just a short drive away from Rock Creek Park, Embassy Row, and the Kennedy Center. Summit Place looked like it belonged in a travel magazine. The streets were immaculate. Every tree, shrub, and flower was trimmed to perfection, and the streetlights provided just enough of a glow that one would think he was following the path to heaven on earth. A long line of two-story early 1900s solid brick homes ran down both sides of the street. Each one of them had a small front yard that led to a sidewalk where all the neighbors could enjoy a leisurely stroll. The brutal January night kept everyone indoors. Wafts of smoke could be seen from a few chimneys, indicating a toasty fire was blazing.

             
Alex, Anna, and Malcolm left the cabin immediately after their decision to pay a visit to the senator, and they cut thirty minutes off of the normal three-hour drive. Alex manned the steering wheel while Malcolm spent half the trip punching away on his cell phone, trying feverishly to locate Senator Rosenbaum. The senator’s underlings continued to blow Malcolm off. They were still agitated with Malcolm’s lack of cooperation at the hearing, and were not in an accommodating mood.

“The Senator will
be back in a moment. The Senator is in a meeting. The Senator is out to lunch.” The constant stream of lies were grating on Malcolm’s nerves. Yohan was clearly trying to avoid him. Malcolm tried one final lie, telling one of the kool-aid drinking interns he was ready to come clean and talk frankly with the Senator. Even that did not get him anywhere. It was clear that if they were going to speak with Yohan, they would have to just show up. 

It was easy to track down his address. Malcolm gave his bodyguards the night off, despite their protests. He did not want them losing their jobs on his account, and he did not want anyone else brought into this mess. Alex slowed the vehicle to a crawl, and they made their way cautiously down the street. Anna and Malcolm both stared out the tinted windows, trying to read addresses as best th
ey could from the light provided by the street lamps.

“There. Stop the car,” Anna demanded quietly.  She looked for a few more seconds before confirming it. “Yep. That’s it. The lights are on. It looks like we won’t have to drag him away from a whor
e.” Anna’s brusque tone let the two men in the car know she was going into interrogation mode.

             
Malcolm ignored the comment about the senator’s sexual proclivities. Just about every politician in town had sex with someone other than his wife on a regular basis. It happened so often he no longer cared. He just accepted it, and tried to deal with the ones who were the least corrupt. 

“Okay, let’s go. If you think you see any trouble
, Alex, remember to just lay on the horn. Let’s go Anna,” Malcolm said. He stepped out of the front passenger seat, and Anna fell in behind him.

Alex watched silently as they made their way past the perfectly manicured lawn, and up to the front porch. Reflexivel
y reaching inside his coat, he touched the butt of his pistol for a small amount of reassurance.  His palms were sweaty, despite the freezing temperatures outside, so he turned off the heat in the SUV. The weapon now felt like it belonged as part of his normal attire, and he was much more comfortable with it on his person. The cabin they had spent so much time in over the last week also had a hidden gun range in the basement, and when they were not doing research, Anna tutored him on the art of the pistol. After firing thousands of boxes of ammunition he was developing into a decent shot, at least in the sterile environment of the range.

             
Alex watched as what appeared to be a butler opened the door, and gave them both a once over that suggested the Senator had no interest in visitors at 10:15 p.m. on a Thursday night. He watched the conversation closely. He did not need to hear what was being said to know that the butler was vehemently protesting. The butler was fighting against two very stubborn individuals who were clearly not going to be denied. The body language of the three individuals relayed the pace and topic of conversation just as well as if he would have been standing there next to them.

After five minutes the butler disappeared inside the Victorian home. Anna slid her foot inside the door to prevent it f
rom closing on them.  The butler reappeared a few minutes later, and more heated words were exchanged until the old man’s shoulders sagged, indicating his defeat. He unceremoniously pulled open the door the rest of the way, and allowed them to walk in. Alex was sure it was the rudest greeting anyone had ever received at the Senator’s house. Now that Malcolm and Anna were inside the two-story residence Alex turned his attention back to the street, scanning the area for anything that seemed out of the ordinary. The ritzy subdivision yawned back at him. The one person who was walking his dog stepped back into the warm confines of his home, leaving the tree-lined street deserted.

***

The butler led Anna and Malcolm through the main room of the house. It was decorated lavishly, and was probably a room strictly for show, Anna thought. All the items looked too pricey to risk being damaged. They took a left down a long narrow hallway. The butler glanced behind him to make sure they were still following. His suspicious glare left no doubt that they were on his territory, and he would be protecting it like a nervous dog.  He stopped at the last door, and motioned for them to enter, closing the door behind them so they could talk in private with his boss.

Senator Yohan Rosenbaum was seat
ed in a tall leather chair, legs crossed, reading a newspaper. There were no bare walls. The four sides of the room were bookshelves from floor to ceiling. The shelves were filled with antique books from every great writer imaginable. Anna felt like she was in a library from the 1800s. If only the Senator had a pipe in his mouth he would be the perfect grandfather, ready to tell his grandkids a bedtime story before shooing them off to bed.  The paper came down, revealing an annoyed look on the haggard face. He folded his copy of the New York Times carefully and methodically, set it down, and took a cautious sip of the black coffee sitting next to him.

             
Yohan coughed violently before speaking. “You have a lot of nerve coming here, Malcolm. After that shit you pulled in front of my committee.” Yohan was not in an accommodating mood.
He set the coffee down as Anna and Malcolm stepped forward.

Malcolm
took a seat on the leather sofa while Anna remained standing just a few feet away. Now that she was closer she could smell the coffee. It was Irish.  Good, she thought, a little alcohol in him would make him more likely to have a loose tongue.

A phony s
mile appeared on Malcolm’s face. “Yes, Senator. I felt bad about that. I thought I would drop by tonight and try to clear the air. Off the record, of course,” Malcolm said. He let his body slip into the comfortable couch. His normal ramrod posture gave way to a more casual and relaxed form, as if they were two friends about to engage in some friendly banter.

“Don’t gi
ve me that bull, Malcolm. I’ve been around this city too long. Whatever the hell you are trying to pull here I won’t help. You tied your own noose the other day, and I’ll be damned if I want any part of trying to help you weasel your way out of it.” The raspy voice of the Senator suggested he may be coming down with a cold.  “If you’re lucky you’ll just be run out of town. Our new President has a long memory, and my guess is you could soon be facing an indictment from a special prosecutor.” He gave Anna a sideways glance, followed by a leering smile that gave away what his thought pattern was at the moment. “I see you brought along your enforcer to do your dirty work for you.”

“I didn’t think you could get
it up anymore,” Anna retorted. The matter-of-fact statement caused the man to wilt in his chair. Men were so easy, she thought, in so many ways.

Yohan pretended to ignore the comment
. “Enough of the fun and games. You have five minutes to beg me to ask the new President to take it easy on you, Malcolm. Get it over with so I can tell you ‘no’ and go to bed,” Yohan said in an exasperated tone.

“That’s
not what I want, Yohan. I just have a few questions for you. Some loose ends I would like to clear up.” Malcolm’s voice remained care free and light.

             
“About what?” The Senator straightened his rickety body as best he could.

“Your stepson
Jamal.” Malcolm waited carefully for the reaction.

             
“What does he have to do with anything?” The arrogance from a few minutes earlier was now washed away, leaving only a very confused look. What could they possibly want with the boy? Yohan was a typical parent and still thought of his son as a young child. He never would have thought parenting would be so rewarding. They learned to be more tolerant through one another, and Yohan loved Jamal as much as he would have loved a biological son. Jamal was obedient, intelligent, and dedicated to his adoptive parents. He was the one thing left for Yohan and his wife to cling to. Otherwise, they would have divorced years earlier. Jamal was the reason he pushed for the Israeli-Palestinian reconciliation as hard as he did. Surely there were many more like Jamal, just waiting for the chance to be heard, instead of having a belt full of explosives strapped around their bodies.

             
“You seem quite proud of him. Tell me again. Where did you adopt him from?” Malcolm asked. He continued to purposely flaunt an arrogant persona.

“W
hat is this about? You couldn’t bring down Aman so now you want to go after another Muslim? My boy spent way too many years in the Marines, spilling blood for this country to have you come after him.” The Senator was still confused by the line of questioning. His boy’s career was impeccable. He was a Boy Scout. He would never even consider jaywalking.

A
nna re-entered the conservation. “He has served his…” She paused, allowing the next word to linger for a second longer than necessary. “…adopted country valiantly, Senator. When you spoke so proudly of him at the Senate hearing we were both impressed and wanted to know more. We were confused by one item though. We never could figure out how he got into the country. We know he arrived when he was fifteen, supposedly with a group of orphans from Egypt.” Anna was not in the mood to waste time dancing around the topic.

             
The Senator returned to his look of frustration. “Yes. You know how he ended up here. His arrival here is well documented for anyone who wants to check. He was part of one of the groups that the anonymous Egyptian donor brought over. He rescued kids from the streets of Cairo, then used his contacts in the U.S. to bring as many over as Immigration would allow so they could be adopted in the U.S. He never would reveal himself to the public though. Quite a recluse from what I understand. An honorable man though. The Muslims and Israelis would be much better off if there were more like him,” Yohan said, stifling a yawn. He took Jamal off the streets and raised him to be a man. His conscience was clean.

If
the boy had one flaw it was that he could be overly aggressive sometimes. He pummeled a few kids that made disparaging and racist remarks during his senior year in high school. By then he had reached his full height, and his dedication to the weight room during football season gave him a physique that could do a lot of damage when put in to motion. Yohan was scared when Jamal first said he wanted to join the Marines. He could never bring himself to fully trust the military experience, but it seemed to have done some good for his boy.

             
Anna watched Yohan carefully. She could tell he was trying to make sense of what they wanted. Suddenly she saw the perfect item out of the corner of her eye. She walked briskly around Yohan to the massive mahogany bookshelves behind him, and grabbed a gold-encrusted picture frame. She stared at the picture resting in front of the collection of first edition Hemingways. It was undoubtedly the same boy. The discovery thrilled and petrified her at the same time. She turned around to catch the two men staring at her, both with the same quizzical look plastered over their faces. Malcolm’s changed to a smile as he saw the framed photograph in her hands. She handed it to Yohan in silence. He stared at it incredulously. 

             
“That is your son?” Anna asked the rhetorical question.

“Of co
urse it is.” He gingerly sat his adoptive son’s high school senior picture on the small table beside him. The pride in his voice was evident. Anna extracted the envelope from her purse, handing it to him to open.

“
Have a look,” she
said to him softly.

The Senator sil
ently obeyed. If they were about to show him some photo of him running around town with a young blonde then they were trying to blackmail the wrong man. He came clean to his wife years earlier. He would not have lasted very long otherwise. Her knowledge of his affairs gave her a certain amount of power over him that she relished, and she used that power whenever it became necessary. Her job was to always keep quiet so he could remain at his powerful posts and continue his rise in his party. His wrinkled fingers fumbled twice before pulling out the photograph. He stared at it for a moment, carefully studying the faces. Aman was easily recognizable. The man has certainly fattened up, Yohan thought to himself. Another face caught him completely by surprise. The Senator stopped fidgeting as he stared at it, trying to make sure his eyes were not deceiving him.  He reached for his glasses. He needed confirmation before he said another word.