The 13th Target (17 page)
“No,” Sidney said. “We have to consider another possibility. Asu used Fares Khoury’s family as leverage, right?”
“Yes,” Mullins said. “Although it didn’t start out that way.”
Sidney stood. “Well, why not the same thing with Luguire? Only Asu does it by phone.”
“What do you mean by phone?” Sullivan asked.
“Phone, iPad, there’s a host of devices that let you send real time video. Someone’s in the parking lot with an ice pick and God knows what other weapons. Someone’s with Luguire and shows him his daughter and twin grandsons are in imminent danger unless he does what he’s told.” Sidney paused. “Did someone help them with the tire?”
“Shit,” Sullivan muttered. “His daughter said a guy offered to help put on the spare. She didn’t know his name. She’d already called her husband.”
“Damn it,” Mullins said. “I should have seen that. I couldn’t understand how if Luguire had the presence of mind to write tough-ass in the note, he wouldn’t simply have refused to write the note at all. Did this guy who volunteered have a kid with him?”
“She didn’t say. I’ll contact her right away.” Sullivan looked up at Sidney. “You raised a good possibility, but we didn’t find any video or record of an incoming email on Luguire’s phone.”
“It wouldn’t have been his phone. Something as simple as FaceTime could have linked the phones of the two accomplices. Luguire’s daughter would never have known they were being videoed.”
Mullins shook his head. “That’s true, but it’s not getting us any closer. We know we’re dealing with ruthless people. We don’t know the fate of Khoury’s wife and daughter.”
“Well, what use are they now?” Sidney asked. “Khoury’s dead. Is there some other family member under pressure? A brother? Father? Maybe they’re going to be used as some kind of distraction.”
“Or they are the bomb,” Sullivan said. “It won’t be the first time terrorists have used women and children.”
Mullins stood and carried his plate to the kitchen. “They’ll have a hell of a time getting through security at the Federal Reserve.”
“Then maybe we’re wrong about the thirteenth target,” Sidney said.
Mullins grabbed a second beer from the fridge. “What’d you learn from your Internet sources?”
Sidney filled them in on the Congressional Confessional and Mountain View posts. “Amid all the hysteria, these two offered information that appears based on fact. Archer was writing a secret memo that might involve a man named Nathaniel Brown, and Luguire was set to give secret testimony how the Fed plays a role in the War on Terrorism that could sway the congressional committee to keep the Fed’s activities secret.”
“Lots of secrets,” Sullivan said. “What do you think, Mullins?”
“I think the supposed testimony of Paul Luguire is a crock of shit. I know from someone close to the proceedings that Luguire was prepared to recommend the opposite.”
“And why can’t your source be lying?” Sidney asked.
“He doesn’t have a reason to lie.”
“Right. The best lies are told by those you think have no reason to lie.”
Mullins didn’t have a comeback. He knew the reporter was right.
“What it does show is Luguire’s testimony was going to be controversial,” Sidney said. “But how that fits in with a killer like Asu is beyond me. Al Qaida doesn’t care about American politics, they just want to inflict damage and casualties.”
“Well, I think we’ve speculated enough,” Sullivan said. “I’ll follow up with Luguire’s daughter about the man at the ball field, and I’m going to circulate photos of Zaina and Jamila Khoury to the District police and the Maryland and Virginia departments surrounding D.C.”
“Do you want me to keep monitoring the Internet?” Sidney asked.
“What do you think?” Sullivan asked Mullins.
“See if you can learn any more about the two bloggers, Congressional Confessional and Mountain View. Maybe draw them into a conversation. But be careful.”
Sidney grinned. “I won’t spook them.”
“I’m not talking about them. I’m talking about you. Both of you.” Mullins gave each of them a hard stare. “Watch your backs. And if you’ve got any family, you might want to get them out of town for a few days.”
“My wife’s leaving tomorrow to see her sister in Philadelphia,” Sullivan said.
“My girlfriend’s forgotten my name,” Sidney said. “She’s buried in an edit but I’ll tell her to stay clear.”
“How about your family?” Sullivan asked.
“They’re covered,” Mullins said. “They know to lie low till this is over.”
“That’s a laugh.” Sullivan stood from the chair and straightened his blue blazer. “You and I’ve been in this business long enough to know it’s never over.”
Curtis Jordan closed his laptop and then pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt drained. For over twelve hours, he’d sat at the desk in his hotel room, following Internet postings and then writing as the ideas came to him.
He looked out the window. Dusk descended upon the streets of Paris, and the City of Lights began fulfilling its name. Jordan got up from the chair, stretched his arms over his head, and twisted from side to side. A brisk walk through Luxembourg Gardens and a light supper would take the kinks out of his muscles and the ache out of his stomach. He picked up his writing journal and fountain pen and headed for the door.
The phone rang. Not his cell but the one in the room. Jordan turned and stared at it. During the past year since he’d been coming to the Odéon Saint-Germain, he’d never received a call on the hotel phone. He returned to the desk and snatched up the receiver.
“Oui?”
“I’m at my office. I didn’t want too many calls going to your cell.”
Jordan heard the tension in his wife’s voice. He sat at the desk.
“Amanda, what’s wrong?”
“There’s been a break. Asu’s been traced to Miami.”
“The feds?”
“No. The Miami police found a note from Fares Khoury’s wife saying she and her daughter had been kidnapped. Asu was mentioned.”
“So, you’ve got the feds looking for him?”
“Only the FBI.”
“Does Mullins know?”
“He’s the one who told me. I just got off the phone with him.”
“I thought you were working separately till Saturday.”
Amanda couldn’t hide her irritation. “Mullins called me. He thought I should be in the loop and he’s right. The lead was generated by police on the ground in Miami. I might not have learned about it otherwise.”
“Okay. I’m sorry. Does Mullins have a contact in Miami?”
“I assume so. I asked, but he said it was better if I didn’t know. Maybe he picked it up off the Internet.”
Jordan rested his hand on his closed laptop. The computer still felt warm. “I doubt it. I was on the net all night. I tagged the word Asu for several sources and got no hits.”
“Mullins said he’s controlling the information so that the kidnapping case doesn’t have a public tie-in to the terrorist alert. He’s concerned Asu might kill the hostages if he thinks he’s been made.”
“He’s right. We need to make sure that doesn’t happen. Mullins is still good with you as the sole contact with Homeland Security?”
“Yes.”
Jordan relaxed. “Then I suggest you proceed as planned.” He paused a moment. “Does the name Sidney Levine mean anything to you?”
“No. Should it?”
“He’s a reporter. Got canned from
The Washington Times
a year or two ago when he became overzealous in his criticism of the Federal Reserve. He wrote a book and spent time in the Occupy Wall Street and Occupy DC protests.”
“Reporting or agitating,” Amanda asked.
“Depends upon your point of view. I read a couple of blogs he posted last night. He was hinting at links between the deaths of Luguire and Archer.”
Jordan heard his wife take a sharp breath.
“Jesus. How’d he put that together?”
“When you dwell in the world of conspiracy theorists, you see links everywhere. Sometimes you’re bound to be right. The law of averages.”
“And that’s what this is? A reporter launching a hundred trial balloons?”
Jordan didn’t answer his wife’s question. Instead he asked, “Any way Sidney Levine could have gotten the Luguire-Archer connection from Mullins?”
“No. Mullins hates the press. And all inquiries going through Prime Protection are being told Mullins is on vacation and unavailable for comment.”
“He might have approached Mullins directly.”
“That would never happen. Mullins is solo on this, at least till I bring him in. What did Levine learn from the posts?”
“I saw that he got credible responses from two sources—a supposed Washington insider who stated Luguire was about to give testimony to underscore the need for the Federal Reserve to keep its autonomy and anonymity, and a post from a Roanoke source that Archer was involved in a secret operation for the Federal Reserve. If Sidney Levine follows through on either or both, he’ll have the framework of a story that can help your investigation.”
“Independent corroboration would be useful,” Amanda agreed.
“If he is independent,” Jordan mused. “I’d like to know more about Mr. Levine and I’m probably not the only one wondering where he sourced his information. Public speculation about Luguire and Archer could be dangerous.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that what you don’t know that you don’t know will get you killed. Remember that and be careful.”
Curtis Jordan gently set the receiver on the cradle. Thoughts of a walk and light supper evaporated from his mind. He sensed Amanda was in waters over her head, and though she would never admit it, she needed him. She needed his imagination.
He packed his bag and called for a car. The overnight flight would arrive at Dulles early Friday morning.
Thursday night Mullins drove by Prime Protection twice. The first time, at seven-thirty, he saw eight cars still in the lot. He moved on. He wanted to avoid crossing paths with any of his colleagues, not that he had to justify his presence. Staff often came and left at odd hours, depending upon the protection assignment. But all his fellow operatives knew he was on vacation.
When he cruised through at eight-thirty, he saw only one car, the vehicle driven by the night duty guard. He parked beside the rear entrance to the two-story, standalone building and grabbed his black leather briefcase from the backseat. Then he took his entry pass from the glove box and slipped the lanyard over his head.
He stepped out into the humid July air and stretched like he’d been riding in the car for three hours. High definition cameras recorded a wide angle of the parking lot with such fine resolution that digital magnification could make any subject identifiable. From his console at the front lobby, the night guard would recognize him. But Mullins knew the guard wasn’t in the loop on the duty roster. Mullins was just another employee working late hours.
With the empty briefcase in his right hand and his shoulders slumped with feigned fatigue, Mullins walked from his car, held his ID against the door’s security reader, and disappeared into the building.
He trusted his boss, Ted Lewison, had made good on his offer to provide unofficial assistance. He expected everything to be in his desk drawer just as he’d requested, no questions asked.
***
Friday morning at six-thirty, Sidney Levine turned off his alarm and rolled out of bed. He made a quick check of blog alerts but found nothing new referencing Luguire or Archer. He was tempted to plug the name Asu into an alert program. Sullivan and Mullins had warned against any Internet search for Asu. Inquiries were to be restricted to the discreet channels authorized by the Miami police or FBI. But millions of searches happened every second. He wouldn’t dig down into pages or multiple links. Just a quick Google on the chance he might get lucky.
He typed “Asu” with quotation marks to limit hits to one word. 44,300,000 results in .16 seconds. Sidney saw the problem immediately—Arizona State University, Appalachian State University, Arkansas State University, Augusta State University—every state university preceded by an “a” noun and all their subtopics. Asu was a hopeless inquiry. Narrowing the search by adding Syrian or Islam would cross the line. He cleared the search engine and headed for the shower.
Forty minutes later, he stuffed a legal pad and his journal in a backpack in preparation for a day of phone work. He and Mullins planned to meet Sullivan at the Arlington Police Department where the detective had a list of every medium to cheaply priced motel in the D.C. area. Sidney would handle the four metro counties in Maryland, Mullins would take D.C., and, as an Arlington police officer, Sullivan would check Northern Virginia. By working from the station, Sullivan would also be able to stay in contact with the Miami and FBI operations.
If Asu was bringing Zaina and Jamila to D.C., it had to be connected to Saturday’s attacks. A motel for two days made more sense than renting an apartment. And it was the only search they could mount in the short period of time left.
Sidney turned on his FM tuner and made sure the frequency was set to 90.9 classical WETA. His girlfriend Colleen hadn’t been by for a week. He might as well solder the dial in place. He paused, remembering Mullins’ warning about family members. He couldn’t be sure whether Colleen’s edit was over today or tomorrow. He’d call her later.
He closed and locked the apartment door. He listened to a few measures of Handel’s Water Suite, and then set out to save two people he didn’t know.
***
At eight-thirty Friday morning, Asu sat in the van alone in the motel parking lot. He listened on his cellphone to his final instructions. Chuchi, the woman, and the girl were still in the room of the Comfort Inn in Lorton, Virginia, where they’d arrived at eleven-thirty the previous night after nearly twenty hours on the road.
Asu had booked two rooms ahead of time, smuggled in the captives, and then he and Chuchi had taken a shift of four hours each to stand guard during the night. The double doses of Benadryl that Asu had ground into their food kept the mother and daughter groggy for most of the trip. Now he just needed to follow the plan for this day and the next, and then he would collect his money and be on a flight out of Dulles to Frankfurt.
He ended the call with the two words, “I understand.” What he clearly understood was the new element of risk that had been injected into the operation. He’d slipped up and been traced to Miami. Somehow the woman got a message past him. If it had been up to Asu, he would have made this a simple hit without all the complications, but he also understood the need for maximum impact. And he was being paid well. Very well.
So, the plan was being adjusted. He’d have to rent a new vehicle and ditch this one where it wouldn’t be discovered for a few days. A Wal-Mart or parking lot for an Amtrak station. And they’d have to leave Lorton. The location was too close to D.C.
His instructions were to move to Harpers Ferry, West Virginia. The hour and a half drive from there to D.C. was manageable enough, but more importantly, West Virginia was one more state removed from the Capital. It might not receive the scrutiny of Northern Virginia or the adjacent counties in Maryland.
Asu would let the mother and daughter sleep for now. Then he would make sure they were settled at Harpers Ferry with an early check-in. He could leave Chuchi on watch while he took care of the final details.
The weather forecast for the Fourth was clear and sunny. The perfect day for a celebration. And no one would turn away a child, especially one bringing a gift.
