The table was quiet for a moment, and then all of them were chuckling aloud.
"I've got to hand it to you, Phillips. Every time I think I might have you almost figured out, you pull one hell of a surprise out of your hat. That's something else," Christman added.
Starr interjected, "So what did you two find out at the hunting place?"
Christman looked at Phillips and nodded, so she took the lead.
"From all appearances, it seems legit. They've got a hell of a celebrity client list, just your basic office computer gear, and no one there that we saw seemed suspicious to me. Of course, it could all be just a front. I'm going to dig deeper and see if I can find anything. I'll check their computers and see if they are aligned with any others. I'll go through e-mails, correspondence, and the usual stuff. What about you guys?"
Starr answered, "We got the name of the chopper company they deal with up in Alaska, and Marv spotted an Iraqi working on one of their three floatplanes. Guess he was watching us pretty closely."
"What do you think?" Christman asked Styles.
"Don't ignore the obvious. We're looking into a terrorist activity, and we have an Iraqi in the mix. There's a connection somewhere, or it's one hell of a coincidence."
"If that's your conclusion, it's good enough for me," Phillips threw in. "I've learned not to question your intuition. What's their name? I'll dig into them."
"Inland Helicopter. Location is Bethel, Alaska."
Phillips was headed back to her computers before he finished the sentence.
Starr asked Christman, "So what kind of place was this Northern Hunting Expeditions?"
"Pretty nice. Had a lot of stuffed trophy animals on display. Don't think PETA would approve. Lots of photos of celebrities. Like Phillips said, it appeared legit."
"Looks like Bethel is our next visit," Styles said. "Might be a good idea not to land the jet there; we'll fly in close and drive. The plane might attract undue attention. Have a feeling it's a small town. We don't want to stick out."
"Good idea," agreed Christman.
Starr asked, "Anybody besides me hungry?"
"Yes, but no damned pizza," answered Christman.
Within minutes, four cheeseburger plates were on their way up to room 422.
After finishing a quick dinner, with Christman looking at a map, he suggested, "I have an idea. Why not fly the jet to Nome and rent a plane to go to Bethel? That way we won't be drawing nearly as much attention. Remember, this is small-town Alaska, and our jet will draw attention that we don't need."
Styles nodded, "Good one, J. C. That works for me. Be sure to rent something that we can haul some gear with. I'll go for a Cessna Stationair or Caravan. Either one will work fine. Those are common as mosquitoes up there, so we'll blend in. Hey, Phillips, you got a laptop to spare?"
"Sure. Use the one on the far end."
"Thanks."
Phillips came back to the table. She had eaten her dinner without ever taking her eyes off her computer screens.
"Myra Banks is definitely investigating the DPO. She's doing it under the guise of relations between the CIA and us overseas. She's fishing everywhere she can throw a line."
"Has she found out anything damaging yet?" Starr asked
"No, not really. She's confirmed J. C.'s identity, but you and Styles are under the radar. She got J. C.'s by a copy of his transfer orders. When there's time, I'm going to find out how that leaked. For now, she has little more than the official reports. Backersley must be on her ass pretty hard; she's gotten more brazen in her search. She has to know that I'll be onto her at some point. It appears as though she doesn't care. This has to be Backersley. She hasn't got the balls to do that on her own."
Styles allowed himself a small smile. Phillips was definitely one of the boys. A real feeling of satisfaction came over him as he realized just how well this team had jelled, especially after the rough start.
"You going to do anything or just let her fish?" he inquired.
"Let her fish. She's good, but not good enough. She'll never break through any of my programs, which are the only way she could ever connect any dots. Other than one of us getting caught and spilling our guts. And that won't happen."
"No, it won't," Starr said emphatically.
"Are we ready to head up to Alaska?" Styles asked impatiently.
"I suppose so," Starr replied. "J. C., how long will it take to get up there?"
"Flight time, maybe an hour — that is, if we don't want to draw attention," he answered while on hold on his cell phone. "That will do fine," the three heard him say. "We're all set on the Cessna out of Nome."
Styles looked at his watch. "Okay, let's go. We should be there a little after dark if we leave now. We won't bother to check out. Just leave the key cards on the table. Everybody okay with that?"
The other three nodded.
Phillips interrupted. "I've got something here. One of my programs intercepted some chatter on an underground website, and it's saying that an attack will take place here on Labor Day."
Styles swore under his breath. "Well, we don't have much time. Let's move!"
12
Ryyaki Ali was holding a meeting with Jamil Abdul-Nasir, Rijah Ellhad, and Imad al-Bin. "I have given much thought to where we should strike. I would like your opinions on each. I have contemplated a public water supply; however, the timetable of the agent may not work to our advantage. I have considered a holiday spot involving water. This American holiday they refer to as Labor Day seems to bring these infidels out in celebration. There are many locations they flock to. One is Lake Mead in Nevada. Thousands of people will go out in their decadent lack of clothing on their boats. It also is the water supply for the center of these Western degenerate infidels, Las Vegas. We may also be able to infiltrate that source. Regardless, thousands will die along with everything in that lake. I believe it would make a very strong statement of our hatred for these depraved people. I will now listen."
The three men were silent. They knew better than to oppose any idea he suggested. Agreement was mandatory. All three nodded. No words were spoken.
"No one has anything to say?" Ali asked, feigning surprise.
Rijah Ellhad spoke. "It sounds like a good plan. I would suppose that you have worked out the timetable, the method of delivery, and the rest of the operational plans."
"I have. Now listen closely."
Bernard Backersley had decided to go ahead and investigate this new suspected terrorist activity on his own, despite the CIA's edict of only working outside the borders of the United States. Not like it hasn't been done before. If he found something out that he felt needed sharing, well, then he'd cross that bridge. If he got called on the carpet from the president, he would claim he was only performing investigative research in an attempt to be helpful. He knew the president wouldn't buy it, but as long as he didn't initiate any physical action, he felt he'd be safe.
Ever since he'd had questions about the Department of the Presidential Office, he had changed his routine slightly. For this particular action, he'd begun using simple burn phones for communication rather than the official CIA phone lines. He'd already made several calls on one, so he decided to ditch that one. He grabbed a second unit and dialed a number. Everything discussed now with regard to what they were doing was outside normal channels. He didn't want anyone, including his own agency, to know what he was doing. Only the team operating under his direct control was aware. He was calling that team leader now.
Styles came out the stairwell door in the lobby and immediately stopped. He never used the elevators, always the stairs. One pair of eyes had noticed his entrance. Styles nonchalantly walked over to the large breakfast area and poured himself a cup of coffee. He tried to act as an employee of the hotel. He grabbed a table near the entrance, where he could observe the entire lobby. The hair on his neck was immediately standing on end. He grabbed his cell and texted Starr, "Hold up." What had caught his attention instantly was the sight of four men in suits. Two were at the check-in desk while two were stationed near the elevators. The man who had noticed him was not paying an unusual amount of attention to Styles, though he did look over on a regular basis. Trying to decide if I'm anyone worth watching, he thought. Styles studied every aspect of the men, their dress, their attitude, the way they walked, the way the two at the service desk talked.