"Good morning, everyone," said the president. Even his voice came from the frontier — no silky orator's inflection, but a rich rumble of Rocky Mountain granite.
"Good morning, Mr. President," replied the chorus.
Everyone settled in and Townsend nodded to the DNI, Darlene Graham. "Go ahead, Darlene."
Graham was a tall, big-boned woman with long dark hair and a sultry voice — Townsend had always thought she'd have looked and sounded right at home leaning on a piano in a smoky nightclub. Graham had spent twenty years working her way up the intelligence community ladder, and she was guiding things confidently after eighteen months at the helm of the country's combined intelligence post.
She began her briefing. "We had a relatively quiet night, sir. There were a few skirmishes in the tribal areas of Pakistan — the government forces are cracking down again. We suspect it will last for a week or two, then things will die off. We have good Predator coverage on the area, just in case any of the cockroaches try to scatter into Afghanistan."
The president nodded his approval.
Graham went on, "There was a market bombing in Khandahar, a few IED attacks on remote roads — the usual chaos. Oh, and two defectors came over from the North Korean army. Not a big deal, but at least it's not the Middle East."
"Thank God," the FBI director said.
There were a few questions, which Graham fielded knowledgeably, and then a projection screen came to life at one end of the room. She began to manipulate a remote control. "Mr. President, you asked me yesterday for an in-depth briefing on the man who is quickly becoming our biggest thorn." A photograph of a very familiar face filled the screen, the same picture that was plastered on bounty posters all over Iraq. "We all know his face."
"Hell," General Banks said, "the way he posts photos all over his Web sites — its like the guy's got a PR campaign."
Graham continued, "His given name is Abdul Taim. We all know him as Caliph. He grew up in Mosul. A dropout from university, he joined the resistance soon after our invasion of Iraq in 2003. He made his name initially as a sniper, with a reputation for engaging our own snipers. He had some success, I have to say."
"He'd have been no match in a fair fight," General Banks argued. "For a time our shooters were going in with an entourage, then getting left on their own in a hostile urban environment. The locals knew where our guys were and passed it along. If a sniper doesn't have concealment, he's not a sniper. He's a target."
"Point taken," the president said.
Graham continued, "Caliph acquired quite a reputation, and eventually a following. As you all know, about twenty months ago we launched a concerted effort to take him out. We actually received some timely, accurate intel on his whereabouts and a SEAL Team was sent in. Unfortunately, the size of the opposition force took us by surprise and there was a heavy firefight. Still, we thought we had him. One of the team members got an ID on Caliph, took a shot from medium range. Caliph went down, but there wasn't time to confirm the kill before our team had to pull back."
"I know that soldier personally," General Banks said. "He doesn't miss."
Graham said, "None of us here would doubt it, General. But in the weeks after this mission, incontrovertible evidence was received." A new photograph came to the screen, the terrorist lying in a hospital bed. His head was heavily bandaged, his eyes barely open. The mouth seemed to hold a smirk, and to one side was a Baghdad newspaper headlining his demise. "There were other Web postings and a number of firsthand accounts. Our analysts went over it all very carefully and determined that Caliph definitely survived."
"So we almost had him," the president lamented.
"Yes. And not only has he survived, but since that time Caliph has gone to ground."
"We try to squish a pest, and instead we create a legend," lamented Chief of Staff Spector.
"It would appear so," Graham admitted. "Unfortunately, his survival has only magnified his legend. More recent evidence suggests that Caliph has assumed a new role. No longer a trigger man, he has become a leader of sorts, an apparition who is rarely seen but controls an extensive network. We hear his name constantly when we interrogate detainees. By laying low, Caliph has become more potent than ever. He organizes the disorganized, takes loose bands of individuals and turns them into networks with common, coordinated strategies."
Spector asked, "And in your opinion, what are these strategies?"
Graham fingered the remote again. The next picture was of two buckets, both brimming with a gray, glutinous substance. "The photo you see was given to us by Dutch intelligence yesterday. Two days ago, on an anonymous tip, they raided an apartment outside Amsterdam. The tenant was a Yemeni national — at the onset of the raid, the guy blew himself up in a closet with some sort of improvised explosive. The police recovered what you see here. The exact chemistry is still being analyzed, but we think it involves aluminum and an oxidizer, maybe ammonium perchlorate."
"Which gives you what?" Spector asked.
"A high-temperature accelerant. Someone was trying to start a very hot fire."
The president said, "Do we know what this guy's plans were?"
"The Dutch are going over a computer as we speak, but so far they haven't found anything about a specific target. They did, however, find a martyr's video. It is quite clear that this fellow was one of Caliph's followers. He was only in the apartment for about two weeks, but given the level of preparation you see here," Graham gestured to the screen, "we think the strike was very near."
"Why the Netherlands?" General Banks asked.
"We don't know. But there are two other recent arrests that could be related — a Pakistani national who was detained in Indonesia, and an Iraqi picked up on immigration violations in Portugal. Both have been positively linked to Caliph's network, but neither has given any useful information. Chances are, they don't know much — they were just awaiting instructions."
"He's branching out," President Townsend said, "not restricting himself to the Middle East any more "
Graham replied, "It would appear so. Caliph is up to something. Perhaps something very big."
The president leaned back in his chair, laced his fingers behind his head. He wished aloud, "If we could only find the bastard."
The FBI director asked, "Do we know how he manages his network?"
Graham said, "Much is done by way of the Internet, Arabic Web sites with coded messages. But there are occasions when direct contact is necessary." She spun to point the remote and a video clip came to life on the screen. A large, shapeless woman lumbered through a busy corridor. Her gait was almost bovine, trundling from side to side as others walked around her. The image was grainy, probably taken by a security camera, and kept replaying in a loop that repeated every ten seconds. Judging by the background, she was in an airport or a train station.
"This is Fatima Adara. Some months ago, we identified her as Caliphs conduit — his messenger, if you will. She's not very discreet, turns up regularly all across the region. And Adara doesn't make any effort to slip into places quietly — she just uses her Iraqi passport."
"Has she ever been detained for questioning?" someone asked.
"We considered that, but thought it better to let her run in the hope that she would lead us to Caliph. We spot her occasionally. She's not very well trained."
Spector said, "Occasionally? This implies we're not monitoring her continuously."
Graham showed her first sign of discomfort. Her voice went down an octave. "We give Adara a rather long surveillance leash — as I said, hoping that she'll lead us to Caliph. We've lost track of her a few times. But she always turns up again."
General Banks gestured to the screen. "You lost track of that?"