His words seemed to rattle Hancock. “What are you saying?”
“Every piece of intel we’ve been able to gather indicates that the attack is against Las Vegas. The pictures we have are of both Abu Kareem al-Fileestini and Tarik Abdul Muhammad together in a Vegas strip club just a few days ago. There was nothing on LA until this morning, when Abu Kareem showed up there.” He was going out on a limb, trusting the intel Parker had provided him. Trust your men.
Could he still do that…after Hamid?
“But he is there,” Hancock responded, tapping the folder nervously. “And the FBI has him pinned down. They’re just waiting for the rest of the cell to show up.”
Kranemeyer inclined his head to one side. “And what if they don’t show up, Mr. President?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…what if our intelligence is, in fact, correct? What if Abu Kareem is a decoy?”
“But that would mean that we have nothing.” Hancock leaned forward. “And your intel could be wrong. I have to go with what we have, director. Terrorists have brought a weapon of mass destruction onto our soil…and I have to follow our best chance of stopping it. I can’t let a terrorist attack of this scale be the legacy of my presidency.”
“Then you won’t countermand the orders coming out of the Bureau’s regional field offices?”
Silence. Kranemeyer could see the indecision written on the President’s countenance. Torturous uncertainty.
“No. I can’t.”
The moment Agent Chase reentered the conference room, Marika knew something was wrong.
The younger woman’s face was pale, the pasty look of someone who had just vomited. “There’s something I need to show you,” she stammered, glancing from Marika to the S-A-C. “It was forwarded to us from Fort Meade — they picked it up less than fifteen minutes ago as it was being uploaded.”
“Throw it up on the plasma.”
She hesitated at Powers’ instruction. “It’s graphic.”
And Marika knew. She heard the S-A-C repeat his order as if in a haze, then turned toward the screen as a video began to play.
It was low-resolution, not much better than webcam quality. But she knew the face. Nasir abu Rashid. Or al-Khalidi — or whatever his name had been, really.
Her CI. Kneeling in what appeared to be a large, darkened room…facing the camera.
The wall behind him was covered with the flag of jihad, bearing the shahada in flowing Arabic, white script on a hell-black background. There is no god but God — and Muhammad is his Prophet.
She watched as the man standing at his side began speaking in rapid-fire, nervous Arabic, his face shrouded by a black balaclava, clearly pronouncing a death sentence.
Nasir’s lips were moving, but the microphone couldn’t pick up his final plea for mercy.
Don’t worry, Nasir. I’m coming for you. A promise she hadn’t kept, Marika thought…watching as the executioner took a step back, drawing a glistening steel katana from its sheath. You’ll be safe.
She remained watching, stone-faced as the sword fell with a cry of “Allahu akbar!”
Blood sprayed into the air, a strangled scream reaching the microphone — a wet blade pulled back to strike again and again until the head fell to the floor, completely severed. The decapitated torso remained kneeling for another half-second before it toppled to one side.
Marika looked over to see Agent Chase covering her eyes. “Look!” she hissed from between clenched teeth, seizing the younger woman by the wrist. “We sent him out there, we failed him — we let him get killed getting intel we needed…don’t you dare hide your eyes.”
She rose from the table, her body trembling with anger. “Take that video apart — I want to see every frame over and over until we find out where it was filmed. Let’s get them.”
“Still out there?” Abu Kareem asked in Arabic as the Pakistani fighter re-entered the room.
The man nodded, responding in the same language. “Two snipers that I can see out the front.”
It didn’t matter, he thought, his fingertips lightly caressing the butt of the Sig-Sauer P226 holstered under his light windbreaker…just beneath the edge of the explosive vest he was wearing. They had no intentions of leaving here alive.
The imam ran a hand over his beard, glancing at the bare white interior walls of the shop. This wasn’t the way he had envisioned himself dying, but that was not for a man to choose. It was enough for his life to be given in a holy cause.
He glanced at his watch, smiling as the hands moved on inexorably toward their destination. Two and a half hours…
Chapter 26
“By judging the light — the shadows, we can get approximate dimensions for the room.” Agent Chase brushed her hair back from her eyes, attracting Thomas’ attention. “I’d say we’re looking at a room maybe 20’ x 23’…maybe a little larger. We’ve also run the audio — we’re not getting the type of feedback that you would expect if the walls were solid.”
“What then?” he asked, moving closer to where she sat. Chase glanced between him and Powers.
“I’d say we’re looking at glass walls on at least three sides…taken together with the room dimension, perhaps a conference room?”
It was such a narrow thread. He walked over to the plasma as the tape began to roll again, advancing forward frame-by-frame. There was something…ninety seconds in he held up a hand. “Roll that back.”
And there it was again. He pointed toward an edge of the jihadists’ banner — something on the wall just behind it, barely revealed by a fold of the cloth. Letters, and something else. “Can we enhance the image?”
She made a face. “We’re dealing with poor source-quality…I can try.”
“Do it.” Thomas looked back at the sound of Agent Altmann’s voice. The look of cold resolution on her face hadn’t wavered since the video first played.
“It will be up in a few seconds.”
And there it was, on the big screen. Barely visible — the logo probably wasn’t more than six inches. Five black letters, surmounted by a swirl of red. H-I–L-D-R.
“It’s a company logo,” Marika announced from his elbow, startling him. He hadn’t heard her approach.
“Then we need to find the company,” Thomas announced, turning back toward the table. “You find the company — you find their properties or the last time they rented property in the region. Narrow it down to buildings that are no longer occupied. We work from there.”
“…and it is with pleasure that I welcome Congresswoman Laura Gilpin to the Bellagio tonight.”
Steve Winfield moved back from the microphone, extending a hand as Gilpin mounted the stage. “Thank you, Steve,” she whispered, squeezing his arm. “You’ve outdone yourself.”
Applause erupted from the room as she came to the podium, looking out over the bunting-bedecked tables, the faces looking back at her through the darkness.
All of the years. All of the fighting. To get here. Politics was intoxicating in these moments, she thought — these rare moments of adulation. It was these moments that people inside the Beltway lived all their lives for, every waking moment. This feeling of power.