The Assassin (Max Doerr Book 1) (22 page)

The
general sat up straight and said, “If you want to keep the information to
yourself, then keep it, but we will not be coerced into something that we don’t
want to do.”

“Listen,
all we are asking for is something in return for what I am about to tell you.
This is very valuable information from a reliable source.”

“We
all know,” the first general with a big mustache, who had been seated silently
and reading from a folder since the pleasantries, cut in, “how reliable the CIA
intelligence data is. You fought in Iraq for almost a decade and spent two
trillion dollars based on faulty intelligence. So don’t tell us your
information is
valuable
. Maybe we are better off without whatever it is
that you know.”

Stonewall
sighed and dropped her shoulders. “We
are
going to tell you what we
know, as I can’t sit and watch innocent people die anywhere in the world. We
are also going to send you a list of items we expect you to send. If we don’t
receive those within a reasonable timeframe, then we will no longer have these
meetings.”

Lazarus
gleefully nodded, and the meeting was over fifteen minutes later.

Stonewall’s
next meeting was outside the Langley office, in the Hyatt Hotel in DC. It was
to be a lunch gathering, hosted by a lobbyist who had the largest office in K Street.
Stonewall generally avoided such lavish gatherings, and the only reason she had
decided to attend was because she knew that the eight Senate Intelligence
Committee members, including the chairman and Senator Brushback, were also
going to be present. She hated that she would have to see Senator Brushback
face to face, but she still decided to go, since she knew that the best time to
get a politician to promise to do some real work was when their belly was full
of old wine and fresh caviar. 

A
LIMO WITH dark-tinted windows picked up Stonewall from the Langley office and
dropped her at the Hyatt Hotel.

At
the lunch, Stonewall talked to the chairman of the Senate Intelligence
Committee and avoided eye contact with Brushback. Later, heading back to the
lunch room after a trip to the restroom, Stonewall saw Brushback walking toward
her. She looked at the dragon decoration on the wall and tried to pass him
without making conversation, but the senator stood in front of her. “Hello,
Director Stonewall, it’s so nice to see you,” Brushback greeted her
insincerely.

Stonewall
turned her face and tried to look surprised. “Hi. I didn’t know you were going
to be here,” she lied.

After
more smooth talking, Brushback asked, “Have you decided who the deputy director
will be once Lazarus leaves?”

“I
have been thinking about that a lot. But the agency has so many good candidates,
and I have not been able to make up my mind.”

“As
I was saying the other day,” Brushback clasped his hands together and grinned,
“Ross Calpone will make a good deputy director, and I think you should consider
him for the job. Even Lazarus thinks so.”

“I
think we already settled that. Ross Calpone will not be the deputy director as
long as I am sitting on the top spot.”

Brushback
took a step back and said, “The FBI director called me and said that Max Doerr
has been calling one of his men, asking for undue favors.”

“Undue
favors?” Stonewall said angrily. “Max is just doing his job. We government
agencies cooperate and coordinate, unlike you politicians, who can’t stop
biting each other.”

“Mind
your language, Stonewall,” Brushback warned her. “I talked to people in your
agency, and many don’t like your style. How come you have a foreigner named
Regina Rosania working on the high-profile Dubai operation? I demand that
Rosania be taken off the Dubai project immediately.”

Stonewall
paid no heed. “First, I don’t think that the FBI director called you. Second, I
am the director, and I will run operations my way. Third, Rosania, my agent,
will not be taken off the project. Now, if you will excuse me.” Stonewall
started walking away from the senator.

“Wait,”
the senator said desperately. “What about oversight? I have a constitutional
duty.”

“What
about it?” Stonewall faced Brushback, all traces of smile gone from her face.
“We sent you all the reports. See it over and over.”

“Just
sending a report isn’t enough.” Brushback kicked the carpeted floor out of
frustration.

“It
is
enough. And one more thing. You will not talk to anyone in my agency
but me. And if you don’t oblige, I will take it up with the president.” She
started walking away from the senator. She was done with Brushback.

Stonewall
wondered how Senator Brushback knew so much about the Dubai operation. Was it
possible that Lazarus was feeding him all the data? Then she brushed the
thought aside. Lazarus had been working for the agency for a really long time,
and she had nothing but confidence in him.

DOERR
FELT RELIEVED that the three APBs had been issued for the three men whose first
name was Faizan. Their photos and other details had been distributed to every
law enforcement agencies across America. If any of the men were caught by
police for a minor traffic infraction or any other incident, the man in
question would be detained, and the Counter Terrorism Department of the FBI
would be notified. With some luck, the FBI and the CIA would work together and
elicit all the information they needed, or so Doerr hoped.

But
for that to happen, Doerr knew, a lot of things had to go right. The best way
to solve the problem was to somehow catch Halim. But he was not having much
success with that either. The CIA’s ‘Eyes in the Skies’ program, which was
basically a worldwide listening system implemented with satellites, intercepted
communications from Halim that supported the theory that someone named Faizan
was in America already and was planning a major attack. But the source of that
communication was not clearly identified, and some within the CIA doubted
whether that intercept was even credible. It may be just some renegade
terrorist group trying to spread rumors that were not backed by fact.

Doerr
did everything he could to locate Halim. He and Rosania interviewed close to a
hundred people who were said to be associated with terrorist groups. In the
process, Doerr hired about twenty of them to be CIA informants. The information
they provided was vital, but Halim seemed to have just vanished from the face
of the Earth.

Doerr
called his wife, Gayle, one day. “How is your job?”

“It’s
hectic right now,” Gayle said. “We are releasing new a version of software in
March.”

“So
you’re working late pretty much every day?”

“Yes.
More or less. And I will be working this weekend.”

“So
it looks like you are better off without me at the moment,” Doerr said and
laughed.

“Max,
please don’t joke.” Gayle’s voice turned serious. “As it is, I’m already tense,
and I wonder all the time whether you will come back in one piece or not.”

“I’m
sorry.” Doerr paused.

A
few seconds later, Gayle asked, “How is your work?”

“Well…we
have been trying to catch this guy. I cannot say his name over phone. But he is
like the father of all terrorists. No one knows where he is. But it looks like
he has either already sent a man to America or is about to send him there. And
my gut is telling me that this man is already on American soil.”

“Oh,
really? He is in America already? About to plant a bomb or something? Where in
America?”

“My
guess is he is heading for either New York or DC. But then, as some of my
co-workers at Langley suggested, this whole thing may be conjecture, completely
fictitious. There is no man and no attack plan, according to them. But a voice
inside me says they are planning to attack us, and we aren’t doing enough to
stop it.”

“When
is this operation going to end? Wasn’t catching Samuel your real job?”

“I
guess this operation will end when we find these men. But yes, Samuel is on my
mind all the time. The only reason I came to Dubai is because Lazarus made it a
condition that I do this job before I could pursue Samuel. I agree with what he
said. First this man, then Samuel. But I still feel like Samuel is sitting on
my chest, always mocking me. I can almost hear Billy saying, ‘Daddy, go and
catch Samuel.’ I go through this cycle every day!”

“I
don’t know what to say, Max. I only hope that you do the right thing, live with
me the rest of your life and walk every day with your head high.”

ZARIN’S
CAR STOPPED just a foot away from Faizan. He dropped his bag and the briefcase
on the ground, his mouth agape. He had expected her to be back soon but not
that soon.

Zarin
got out of her car, holding up a small yellow plastic pouch, probably with
medicine inside. “See, I got it. But where are you going, Faizan?”

He
quickly positioned himself so that Zarin wouldn’t be able to see the tips of
his rifles popping out of his bag. He now regretted that he had assembled the
rifles; it could have been done later. “I was going out to get the medicine
myself. After I saw you were taking a long time.” He knew it sounded lame, but
that was the best he could come up with.

“I
was gone,” Zarin glanced at her watch, “not even ten minutes. And why are you
carrying those bags? Come inside and take these meds.” She jerked her hand,
motioning for him to reenter the house.

Faizan
turned, ready to go back in the house. He gave a wry smile and said, “In
America, time seems to pass slowly.”

That
is a little better
, he thought. Faizan felt good, and then
he remembered the note he had left for the professor. He went straight to the
kitchen, crumpled the paper and put it in his pocket, and helped himself to a
glass of water. Faizan felt better; one problem was gone, but now a bigger
problem stood before him. 

How
would Faizan leave with the professor’s car without rattling Zarin?

He
took the pills from Zarin. “I am going upstairs for some rest. I hope this
medicine works.” Faizan stepped on the stairs. It was also a lie. He was going
to hatch another plan. Throw away the pills, pray again, and then utilize his
bright brain to come out of this situation with minimal damage – that was
Faizan’s new plan.

After
the prayers, Faizan thought option one was just take the key and run. The
problem with that would be if they called the cops, then they would chase
Faizan.

Option
two would be to convince Zarin to come with him, and Faizan knew the chance of
that happening was very low.

Option
three was the one Halim had said he should take.
Kill whoever stands in the
way.

He
thought over and over.
Option one, two or three.

Yes,
he made a decision – option three. He was going to execute option three, which
was to kill the girl, then take the key and run. Her mom and dad would come
home in the evening, but by then, he would be long gone.

He
stood up. Opening his briefcase, he took out a handgun and screwed the silencer
to the barrel. He did not have much time to waste. He went straight to Zarin’s
room and knocked. No response. He knocked again. Zarin opened the door and
pushed her hair from her forehead. She wore a pair of blue jeans and a black T-shirt;
she must have done something to her eyelashes earlier in the day, and her face
was smooth—like a clear sky – no acne, not a single pimple. With his
gun-holding hand tucked behind him, he realized her face looked beautiful to
him.

“What?
Feeling better?” Zarin smiled, and her brace-covered teeth could be seen.

Now.
Faizan placed his finger on the trigger and was ready to shoot.

“Zarin,
what’s that at the window?” Faizan said and pointed to the window in her room.

“What?”
Zarin turned her head.

Faizan
raised his gun and pointed at her head. There was no hesitation, no second
thought. No compassion, and there was no feeling of guilt in his mind. He had
to do it; Halim had said he had to do it – kill a Muslim, when needed.

Faizan
pulled the trigger. The young girl’s body dropped to the floor. Blood oozed
from the neat hole in her head. Faizan put a few items of clothing under her
head so the blood would not seep into the carpet. He entered her room, looking
for a large suitcase, but he couldn’t find one. He found a
niqab
; he
picked it up and tucked it in his pocket.

He
searched the entire house. Five minutes later, he discovered a large suitcase
in one of the closets. He laid it down on the carpet in Zarin’s room. He didn’t
have much time. The blood flow from her head had slowed to a lazy trickle. He
wrapped her head with a piece of cloth and then put the
niqab
over her
face.

Faizan
dragged Zarin’s dead body near the bed in her room and tried to fit her into
the suitcase, but the suitcase was too small. He thought of chopping the body
into pieces, to make it fit, but after several tries he managed to cram the
body into the suitcase.