The Lion's Game (27 page)

Mr. Koenig continued his thoughts and said, “There are other scenarios regarding how Khalil’s plan might work out. The worst scenario for him was that the aircraft simply crashed and killed everyone on board, including Khalil. He would have accepted that, I think, and called it a win.”

We all sort of nodded. The boss was on.

“Another possibility,” Koenig continued, “is that he’d get caught on the ground and be identified as the killer. That would also be okay with him. He’d still be a hero in Tripoli.”

Again, we nodded, starting to appreciate not only Koenig, but also Khalil.

Koenig said, “Yet another possibility is that he escapes from the aircraft, but is not able to carry out his mission at the Conquistador Club. In any case, Asad Khalil couldn’t lose once Yusef Haddad was on board with his medical oxygen and poison gas. In fact, even if Yusef Haddad had been stopped before he boarded the aircraft in Paris, Asad Khalil would still have wound up in the Conquistador Club, though he’d be guarded and cuffed. But who knows how that would have played out later?”

Everyone thought about Asad Khalil back at the Conquistador Club as planned. At what point would this guy go psychotic?

Mr. Koenig concluded with, “Other scenarios aside, Asad Khalil hit a grand-slam home run. He cleared the bases, and he’s on the way to home plate—whether that means a safe house in America, or back to Libya, we don’t know yet.” He added, “But we’ll play it as though he’s close by and waiting to hit again.”

Since we were out of facts and into speculation, I speculated, “I think this guy is a loner, and he won’t be turning up at the usual watched houses or hanging around the local mosque with the usual suspects.”

Kate concurred and added, “He may have one contact here, maybe the February guy, or someone else. Assuming he needs no help after the initial contact, we can expect to find another accomplice’s body somewhere, soon. I’m also assuming he had a man at JFK to help get him out of there and that could be the guy who turns up dead. We should give the NYPD a heads-up on that.”

Koenig nodded. He looked at Nash. “Why do you think he’s gone?”

Nash didn’t reply for a second or two, giving the impression that he was tired of casting pearls before swine. Finally, he leaned forward and looked at each of us. He said, “We’ve described Khalil’s entrance into this country as grand and dramatic. And Mr. Koenig is correct that no matter how any of those scenarios played out, Khalil was a winner. He was ready to sacrifice his life in the service of Allah and join his brethren in Paradise. This was one hell of a risky way to sneak into a hostile country.”

“We know that,” Koenig said.

“Hear me out, Mr. Koenig. This is important, and actually some good news. All right, back this thing up and postulate that Asad Khalil was coming to America to blow up this building, or the one across the street, or all of New York City, or Washington. Postulate a nuclear device hidden somewhere, or more likely a ton of toxic gas or a thousand liters of anthrax. If Asad Khalil was the man who was supposed to deliver any of these weapons of mass death and destruction, then he would have come into Canada or Mexico on a false passport and slipped easily over the border to accomplish this important mission. He would not have arrived as he did with the high risk of getting caught or killed. What we saw today was a classical Seagull Mission ...” He looked around at us and explained, “You know, a person flies in, makes a lot of noise, craps all over everything, then flies out. Mr. Khalil was on a Seagull Mission. Mission accomplished. He’s gone.”

So, we all thought about Seagull Missions. Old Ted had spoken and revealed that he had the IQ of at least a VCR. This was irrefutable logic. The silence in the room told me that everyone had finally seen the incandescent brilliance of Nash’s mind at work.

Koenig nodded and said, “Makes sense to me.”

Kate nodded, too, and said, “I think Ted is right. What Khalil was sent here to do, he did. There’s no second act to come. His mission ended at JFK, and he was perfectly positioned to take any one of dozens of late afternoon flights out.”

Koenig looked at me. “Mr. Corey?”

I, too, nodded. “Makes sense to me. Ted makes a strong case for his theory.”

Koenig thought a moment and said, “Still, we have to proceed as if Khalil may still be in this country. We’ve notified every law enforcement agency in the U.S. and in Canada. We’ve also called up every ATTF agent we could find tonight, and we’re staking out every place where a Mideast terrorist might turn up. We’ve also alerted the Port Authority police, NYPD, New Jersey, Connecticut, suburban counties, and so forth. The more time that goes by, the bigger the search area gets. If he’s hiding out, perhaps waiting to get out of the country, we may still nab him close by. Containment is the first priority.”

Nash informed us, “I called Langley from JFK, and they put out a high-priority watch-and-detain at all international airports where we have assets.” He looked at me. “That means people who work for us, with us, or
are
us.”

“Thank you. I read spy novels.”

So, that was it. Asad Khalil was either already out of the country, or was in hiding, waiting to get out. This really did make the most sense, considering what happened today and how it happened.

There were, however, a few things that bothered me, a detail or two that didn’t fit. The first and most obvious was the question of why Asad Khalil had turned himself in to the CIA liaison guy at the Paris Embassy. A much simpler plan would have been for Khalil to just get on board Trans-Continental Flight 175 with a false passport, the way Joe Smith, his accomplice, did. The same poison gas plan would have worked better if Khalil was not in cuffs, and not guarded by two armed Federal agents.

The thing Nash was missing was the human element, which is what you’d expect Nash to miss. You had to understand Asad Khalil to understand what he was up to. He didn’t want to be another anonymous terrorist. He wanted to walk into the Paris Embassy, get himself cuffed and guarded, then escape like Houdini. This was still an in-your-fucking-face act on his part—not a Seagull Mission. He wanted to read what we knew about him, he wanted to cut off thumbs and go to the Conquistador Club and murder anyone who was there. It was definitely a high-risk operation, but what was unique about it was the personal nature of it. It was, in fact, an insult, a humiliation, like an ancient warrior riding alone into an enemy camp and raping the chief’s wife.

The only question in my mind was whether or not Asad Khalil was finished fucking the Americans. I didn’t think he was—the guy was on a roll—but I agreed with Nash now, that Khalil didn’t have a nuke that needed to be detonated, or poison gas or germs that needed to be spread. I was going with a gut feeling that Asad Khalil—the Lion—was in America to push more shit in our faces, up close and personal. I would not have been completely surprised if he showed up on the twenty-eighth floor and cut some throats and broke some necks.

So, it was time to share this feeling with my teammates, time to reveal my ace to King Jack, if you’ll pardon the metaphor or whatever the hell that is.

But my colleagues were chatting about something else, and while I waited for an opportunity to talk, I had second thoughts about these things that bothered me and this feeling that Asad Khalil was trying keys to the elevator about now. So I let it go for the time being and tuned back in.

Kate was saying to Jack Koenig, “Obviously Khalil read everything in Phil’s and Peter’s briefcases.”

Koenig replied, too matter-of-factly I thought, “They didn’t have much with them.”

Kate pointed out, “Asad Khalil now has our dossier on Asad Khalil.”

“There wasn’t that much in it,” Koenig said. “Not much he didn’t already know about himself.”

Kate pressed the point. “But now he knows how little we know.”

“All right. I get it. Anything else?”

“Yes ... in the dossier was a memo from Zach Weber. It was just an operations memo, but it was addressed to George Foster, Kate Mayfield, Ted Nash, Nick Monti, and John Corey.”

Holy shit!
I never thought of that.

Jack Koenig, in his understated way, said, “Well, then, be careful.”

Thanks, Jack.

He added, “But I doubt if Khalil ...” He thought about it, then advised us, “We know what this man is capable of. But we don’t know what he plans to do. I don’t think you’re in his plans.”

Kate had another thought about that and said, “We agreed that we shouldn’t underestimate this man.”

“Neither should we overestimate him,” Koenig replied curtly.

There’s a switch—the FBI, like the CIA, usually over-estimates everything. It’s good for their budget
and
their image. But I kept that thought to myself.

Kate continued, “We have rarely seen a terrorist act like this. Most acts of terrorism are either random or remote, such as bombings. This man is suspected of personally murdering people in Europe, and I don’t have to tell you what he just did here. There’s something about this guy that bothers me, aside from the obvious.”

“And what do you think that is?” Mr. Koenig asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “But unlike most terrorists, Khalil has shown a lot of intelligence and courage.”

Koenig commented, “Like a lion.”

“Yes, like a lion. But we shouldn’t get too metaphorical. He’s a man, and he’s a killer, and that makes him more dangerous than any lion.”

Kate Mayfield was coming close to the heart of the matter, closer to an understanding of Asad Khalil. But she didn’t say anything else, and no one ran with her thoughts.

We discussed the personality types of killers for a minute or two, and the FBI is really good at this kind of psychological profiling. A lot of it sounded psychobabbly to me, but some of it was on the mark. I offered my assessment and said, “I get the feeling that Khalil has a hard-on for Americans.”

“Excuse me?” said Mr. Koenig. “A
what?”

I regretted my lapse into station house jargon and I clarified my noun. “He has more than a philosophical or political agenda. He has a burning hatred for Americans as people.” I added, “I think in light of today’s events, we can assume that some or all of the suspicions and allegations contained in Khalil’s dossier are, in fact, true. If so, then he murdered an American Air Force officer with an ax. He shot down three innocent American schoolkids in Brussels. If we can figure out why, then maybe we can figure out what’s bothering this guy, and maybe what’s next and who’s next.”

Nash piped in and said, “He’s also targeted the Brits. We think he exploded a bomb in the British Embassy in Rome. So, your theory about him having a—an obsession with killing only Americans doesn’t hold up.”

I replied, “If he did bomb that British Embassy, then there’s a connection. He doesn’t like Brits
or
Americans. Connections are always clues.”

Nash sort of laughed at me. I really don’t like it when people do that.

Koenig looked at Nash. “You disagree with Mr. Corey?”

Nash replied, “Mr. Corey is mixing police work and intelligence work. The model for one doesn’t necessarily apply as the model for the other.”

“Not necessarily,” Koenig said. “But sometimes.”

Nash shrugged, then said, “Even if Asad Khalil was targeting only Americans, that doesn’t make him unique. In fact, quite the opposite. Most terrorists target America and Americans. That’s our reward for being Number One, for being pro-Israel, for the Gulf War, and for our worldwide anti-terrorist operations.”

Koenig nodded, but said, “Still, there’s the matter of Khalil’s unique style—his up-close, personal, insulting, and humiliating modus operandi.”

Nash again shrugged. “So what? That’s his style, and even if it were a clue to his future plans, we couldn’t head him off. We’re not going to catch him on a mission. He has a million targets, and he chooses the target, the time, and the place. Seagull Missions.”

No one replied.

Ted Nash concluded, “In any event, you know that I’m convinced that what happened today
was
the mission, and that Khalil is gone. He may strike next in Europe, where he’s apparently struck before and where he knows the terrain, and where security is not always consistent. And yes, he may come back here someday. But for now, the lion is full, to continue the metaphor. He’s on his way back to his lair in Libya, and he won’t come out again until he’s hungry.”

I thought about offering my Dracula metaphor—the ship arriving like magic with a dead crew and passengers, and Drac slipping into a totally clueless country full of porky people with good veins and all that. But Mr. Koenig seemed to think I was a logical guy with good instincts and no metaphorical thoughts. So I bagged the Dracula thing and said, “Not to be contrary, but based on what we saw today, I still think that Khalil is within fifty miles of where we’re sitting. I have a ten-dollar bet with Ted that we hear from him soon.”

Mr. Koenig managed a smile. “Do you? You’d better let me hold the money. Ted’s leaving for overseas.”

Koenig wasn’t kidding and held out his hand. Nash and I each put ten bucks in his hand, which he pocketed.

Kate sort of rolled her eyes. Boys will be boys.

Jack Koenig looked at me and said, “So, Khalil is out there somewhere, and he has your name, Mr. Corey. Do you think you’re now on his menu?”

I guess we were back to lion metaphors and I got the meaning, which I didn’t like.

Koenig informed me, “Sometimes the hunters become the hunted.” He looked at Nash. “For instance, a Mideast terrorist murdered two men in the parking lot of CIA headquarters.”

Ted Nash looked as if he’d rather forget that. He replied, “The victims were both CIA employees, but they were random targets. The killer didn’t know them. The institution was the target.”

Jack Koenig didn’t reply. He said to Kate, Ted, and me, “If Asad Khalil is still in this country, you were not the reason he came here originally, but you may now be on his list of targets. Actually, I see this as an opportunity.”