Enemy In the Room (31 page)

Todd hoped that he would get David’s
attention by listing at the start of the letter the names of
several people whom Todd knew David corresponded with regularly. He
dropped them in a list to look like they came from a spreadsheet of
intercepted calls.

When he finished, he looked all over the
house for a large envelope and stamps—items that he no longer used
regularly. Late that afternoon, he deposited the piece in a
snail-mail box outside their local grocery store.

“Hi Kristen, it’s Callie.”

“Oh, hi! How are you?”

“Fine. I got your call.”

“Good. Listen, I don’t mean to intrude on
your life, but I’m planning to be out there again, and I’d love to
see you. You’ve done wonders for my wardrobe, so I’d like to at
least buy you another dinner. Maybe meet Alex.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks. When do you think
you’ll be coming?”

“Sometime next week, after Memorial Day. I’m
going to visit some other people, and maybe my dad in Texas, then
head to the coast. I’m just chillin’ a little.”

“Sounds good. I’ll be here. Let me know. You
said you needed ideas on a place to stay?”

“Yeah. I’m not on the USNet ticket any
more.”

“How come?”

“Well, actually, I’m not working there any
more.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I’ll tell you more about it, but
basically your dad let me go.”

“I can’t believe it! Why?”

“It’s a bit of a story. I’ll tell you when
I’m there.”

“Wow! Well, look, I think Jane, my roommate,
will be away for a week. She’s, like, in movies, and she and Alex
have gone down to Mexico to try out for small parts. Alex is
supposed to come back, but she’s staying a week, so there’s a spare
bedroom. Anyway, I’d love to hear that story, so if you’re not
working, why don’t you just stay with me to save some money?”

“Really? Are you sure it would be all
right?”

“Yes. It won’t be a problem.”

“Well, that would be great. I promise not to
get in your way. Thanks a lot.”

“Sure. Call me when you know you’re
coming.”

“OK. See you then.”

The Sawyers had just finished dinner, and
Rob was headed upstairs to play some parent-sanctioned weekend
Street War 2100 when the home phone rang.

“David, it sounds like Omid,” Elizabeth said
from the kitchen, handing him the walk-around phone.

David took the phone but stood so that
Elizabeth could hear the conversation. “Hello.”

“Cousin, how are you?”

“We’re fine, but how are you?”

“Not so good tonight. My uncle is very angry
and took it out on my wife. A doctor has seen her.” Elizabeth
gasped.

David spoke. “What can we do?”

“I will let you know soon.”

“Next week will not be soon enough.”

“I know. We’ll see. David. It is not easy.
There is one other thing.”

“Tell me.”

“Our friend, Ramin. He was missing for a
week. Now he can’t walk. We don’t know if there has been any
breech, but we have destroyed the first cards you gave us and have
moved to the second set. I’m using one now.”

“That sounds like a good idea. Shall I send
some more?”

“Yes. Please deliver them to the same
address in Turkey. Our friend will be there in a week.”

“Of course. I’ll send fifty new ones.”

“That will be expensive.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You are kind, cousin. I will let you know
if we can work out a plan.”

“I’ll visit you in Turkey and work to get
you to the States.”

“As Allah wills. I hope to call again
soon.”

“Please be careful.”

Omid hung up, and David looked at Elizabeth.
“The thugs are clearly in control.”

Elizabeth stepped back and gently shrugged.
“Poor Goli. I can’t imagine. They just want to have some freedom.”
She paused and then said, “Is that so dangerous?”

“I guess it is to those in power.”

Two hours later.

Blue Six:
That was awesome!

Blue Nine:
You made a great shot from
behind those rocks.

Blue Six:
Thanks for nailing that guy
sneaking up behind the cars.

Blue Nine:
What’s a partner for?

Blue Six:
Hey, I see from your
website that you live close to me.

Blue Nine:
Yeah? Cool. Where do you
live?

Blue Six:
In Vinton. Listen, I’m
having some other guys over—Sunday night—Memorial Day. They do
StreetWar, too. We’re going to talk about strategy, do some stuff,
maybe a little pot. It’ll be cool. Want to come?

Blue Nine:
Sure. But I don’t have a
car.

Blue Six:
No sweat. I’ll pick you up.
Where do you live?

Blue Nine:
Broughton. Let me figure
out a place to meet. I’m still living at home. I have a friend,
Justin, who plays. Can he come, too?

Blue Six:
Sure. How old are you?

Blue Nine: Fifteen.

Blue Six:
No problem. You’ll really
like these guys. I’ll give you my phone number, and we’ll figure it
out. OK?

Blue Nine:
Sure. That’ll be great.
Sounds like fun.

As the sun set Master Sergeant Salim Moradi
drove his new SUV out the main gate of Fort Bliss and headed for
downtown El Paso. He had two important calls to make, and he wanted
them to be lost in the clutter of the urban cell phone towers.

MSG Moradi had been stationed at Fort Bliss
for almost ten years, teaching soldiers, Marines and sailors how to
use the FIM-92 Stinger missile to bring down aircraft. He was the
senior enlisted member of his team and enjoyed wide respect among
his peers as a hard working professional who was dedicated to the
Army and to their base’s training mission.

Salim had never married and was known to his
closest acquaintances as a quiet professional. But they never
ventured with him to Las Vegas, where he went alone three or four
times a year. On those trips he indulged every passion he could
imagine, confident that Allah would overlook his transgressions
because the rest of the year he was on the front line of Jihad. In
the US Army, the very belly of the Great Satan.

Born in Jordan, Salim had become a true
believer in his early teenage years at their local mosque, where an
Egyptian imam taught the Muslim faith interlaced with hate for
America and all things Western. When his parents immigrated to
Detroit, Salim of course followed. There, after an email exchange
between his old imam and the youth leader at their Detroit mosque,
Salim continued his radical studies. One evening when he was about
to graduate from high school, three older men met him at the mosque
and talked to him about joining the US Army. That had been fifteen
years ago.

During his years at Fort Bliss, Salim had
trained thousands of young soldiers how to use the Stinger missile.
And during that time he had kept his eyes open for a particular
kind of student, one who might share his fundamental beliefs. Over
those years he had grown relationships with fourteen young men, but
only two had actually committed. For now, they were enough. It was
to them that he would place his calls.

Ten minutes later Yusef Sawyer was driving
alone along the interstate in Los Angeles, coming back from a
showing. Before he had finished the Army’s Air Defense Artillery
School at Fort Bliss, his instructor and mentor had given him ten
prepaid cell phones, each with a number marked on its case. There
had been two previous calls, and Yusef had been faithfully charging
and carrying phone #3 for almost six months. Just as he turned onto
the exit ramp, that phone rang in his coat pocket.

His heart raced. Because he was not with
anyone, or at a location that could be connected with him by GPS,
he knew that he could answer. Steering with one hand, he pulled the
phone from his pocket and hit the green button. The familiar voice
said, “There is no god but Allah. Muhammad is the messenger of
Allah.” Yusef nodded and repeated the two sentences back into the
phone.

“Good news, my brother. The day for
celebration may now be the Fourth of July. Prepare yourself in
every way, and I will confirm all details soon.”

“Understood.”

“May Allah go with you.” The phone went
dead.

Yusef pulled into the parking lot of a large
retail center. He sat for a moment, taking it in.
Six weeks
!
His body shuddered. Then he got out and put the phone just ahead of
his left front tire. As he drove off, crushing the phone, he made a
note to remember to charge number #4.

Meanwhile, at a similar retail center
parking lot in El Paso, Salim had just completed the same call to
Perviz, a Pakistani-American Army graduate of the same school who
lived in Manhattan.

TUESDAY, MAY 31ST

Normally it would have been tough for Todd
to be up so early on the first workday after the Memorial Day
weekend, but on this Tuesday, six am was just fine. He would spend
his first three hours alone in the RTI training cubicle. During the
past week he had logged three additional training sessions with a
senior person. He told Mary that he and David Sawyer had an early
meeting with an executive search firm to evaluate the resumes of
possible additions to the real estate group, before his flight that
afternoon to Kansas City. So finally he was alone in a cubicle—and
about to go online for his first traffic.

Feeling a rush of excitement, he clicked the
mouse and immediately was fed a cell phone call from inside a
publishing house in New York. It appeared to be an attorney
discussing the final pricing for an Initial Public Offering of
stock that morning, explaining why she thought the price was too
low. Todd quickly noted the industry involved and routed the
message to the appropriate desk.
OK, I did one
.

He continued for more than an hour, gaining
confidence with each message he routed or deleted. He felt a tap on
his shoulder and turned to see Victor Mustafin. “How are you
doing?” he asked.

Todd logged off and removed his headset.
Smiling, he answered, “Great. I think I’m getting the hang of
it.”

“Good. A few more of these sessions and
we’ll move you up to the next level. There’s more to learn, of
course. Then to the control room, probably in about two weeks. If
we stay on schedule, in about two months you should be ready to
stand watch as the duty officer.”

“That’s hard to believe,” Todd said.

“You’ll get there. And, by the way, here’s a
little incentive to help.” Mustafin handed him an envelope.

Todd opened it to find a check for $25,000
made out to him from International Specialists in Geneva. He looked
up at Mustafin, a question on his face.

“The first of many installments, Todd. We
like what you’re doing, and we want to give you a glimpse of what
this work can mean for you. It’s drawn on a legitimate company, and
the income will be reported to the IRS. It’s a real estate
consulting firm. When the money really starts flowing, we’ll create
some more of these situations, so the income will be on the up and
up.”

“Thanks.” Todd smiled, slipping the check
into his coat on the back of the chair.

Mustafin put his hand on Todd’s shoulder.
“Just keep doing a good job, and you can expect one of those every
few weeks. Have a good one.”

Todd returned to his monitor, smiling.
This is good
.

Before logging online again, he decided to
try something that he’d been curious about but had not wanted to
try with a mentor. He clicked on the People icon at the bottom of
his screen. The computer asked for his password, and he typed in
the new one that Victor had given him when he graduated to solo
duty. Up came a form for a name and address. He typed in his own
name. When he clicked it, his USNet file appeared, complete with
picture, address and many choices for further information,
including Family, Income, Expenditures, Hobbies, Medical, Phone
Messages, Emails, even Location. He couldn’t help frowning.
Who
else in here has access to all of this USNet data on me and my
family
? He clicked through the information in several of the
areas, and it appeared to be accurate. Finally he clicked on
Location, and a map came up pinpointing him within the unlabeled
RTI HQ. He wondered whether his cell phone or the USNet ID card in
his wallet identified his whereabouts to the computer.

Todd sat back in his chair, realizing that
the RTI system had captured virtually every fact about his life.
And tens of thousands of other lives.
I need to be more cautious
about what I say on the phone. But the government probably has the
same stuff. And who else does? Are we really the only ones doing
it? I’ve just got to focus on getting all the money I can from
this, so my family will have what we need. And then retire as soon
as possible.

To check the system, he backed out and typed
in David Sawyer’s name. Todd was impressed that David had so much
information on file, and he took a minute to scan it. When he
clicked on Location, a map came up with the crosshair on their
office.
Impressive. Very impressive. I’m glad I’m on the
inside
.

Later that morning David and Todd finished
meeting with representatives from an executive search firm and were
reasonably positive about two of the candidates they proposed.
David asked them to set up interviews, but also to keep looking. He
believed he needed at least three experienced real estate
professionals, and he needed them quickly.

After seeing his guests to the elevator
lobby, he was back in his office, looking at the view toward
downtown and Capital Tower. Todd had told him that the building’s
owners were meeting in early June to decide how to proceed after
Porter’s disappearance. David instructed Todd to ask for a meeting,
and they were waiting word. But as David looked out at the building
from his office, he couldn’t help thinking about Kristen and
wondering where she might be. He had not heard from her since she
walked out of his office ten days earlier.