“Do you know whether this Agent Caruso was acting alone? Was his, in effect, a solo mission?” Carol Chambers asked, looking up from her notes.
Harry shook his head. “No, he had a woman follow me on my run, so that gives you two. Standard protocol would be a third person who would hang back and provide coordination and overwatch. Minimum three.”
“So that would likely be how Director Haskel found out so quickly?”
“Correct.”
She turned back to her laptop and began typing. “If you’ll give me a moment, I need to get this forwarded to the DCIA immediately. Then we’ll prepare for your call to Achmed Asefi.”
“Good.” Harry remained seated, watching her as she typed. “One thing Carter didn’t say — how did we get a current number for Asefi?”
“If Ron didn’t tell you, I’m sure you don’t need to know,” she replied, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Harry shrugged. “If that’s the way you want to be.”
“Just jerking your chain,” Carol retorted with a laugh. “Let’s put it this way. Asefi is a dirtbag.”
“I gathered as much.”
“Carter told you about the whorehouse in Bulgaria?”
“An ‘Eastern European escort service’, was I believe the delicate way he described it,” Harry responded with a smile.
“A whorehouse in Bulgaria,” she repeated, looking over the top of her computer at him. “Asefi left contact information there, updated every two months. It seems that they have periodic access to young boys, and our man wanted to stay in the loop on the hottest ‘deals’.”
“So, we’re negotiating with a pedophile,” Harry said after a moment.
“That’s right. We don’t know if the contact number will connect us directly with Asefi or whether he has a cut-out, but the director has given the go-ahead.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Chaos. As a warrior, Hossein had always been tasked with its creation, its manipulation. Having it thrust upon him was another matter.
He looked at the model on his desk, a model of their target made from bits of wood and clay by a recruit who had been considerably more skilled at art than he was with a rifle. He was gone now, along with the rest of the ineffectives.
Hossein rose and crossed the room, carefully considering and rejecting his options each in turn. He could still hear Isfahani’s words, streaming through his mind.
“I want the biological agent. Do not allow it to fall into the hands of the infidel.”
Then why, he had asked, are we going to all this bother?
“Allah has not given us this gift that it might be squandered by madmen,” the Ayatollah had replied. “It is ours to seize and hold. For His glory. Fear not, He will aid our cause.”
Hossein’s fingers stroked the dome of the model absently as he stood there, lost in thought. Somehow, pragmatist that he was, the promise of divine intervention seemed less than helpful. Semantics aside, it did nothing to conceal the truth.
This was a suicide mission…
“Nichols,” Lay acknowledged Harry’s arrival with a brief greeting. “We’re almost ready to begin.”
Carter looked up from the laptop in front of him. “All due respect, sir, but I would like to point out that Director Haskel did not agree to read Nichols in on the FBI’s mission.”
“Haskel is not in charge here,” Lay announced, turning to glare at his top analyst. “I am. He got caught with his pants down and I’ll be hanged if he’s going to dictate terms. If you will, Harry, sit at that end of the conference table. You’ll be out of camera range, but able to hear what goes on.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Lay adjusted his tie, a nervous tic Harry had seen many times before. Putting on his battle face.
The phone in front of Lay buzzed. “Director Haskel is waiting for you to start, sir.”
“Good.” Lay reached for the remote and powered up the LCD monitor on the opposite wall. After a couple seconds, the visage of the FBI director appeared on-screen.
“Good morning, Director Lay. Shall we get started?”
Lay’s face didn’t change. “That would be a good idea, Eric. I’m meeting with Colonel Mueller of GSG-9 at eleven, so don’t waste my time.”
“I don’t intend to. A week ago, director, your agency put this country in the peril of great embarrassment with the poor execution of Operation TALON.”
Harry could see the surprise written in the DCIA’s eyes, but he made no expression of it. “Following the revelation that someone was responsible for leaking mission-sensitive intelligence to the Iranians,” Haskel continued, “the President asked my Bureau to run a covert investigation of your Agency.”
“Redundant,” Lay objected. “We had already launched our own investigation of the incident through Lucas Ellsworth and the inspector general’s office.”
“Perhaps. Have you traced the source of the leak?”
“That information is classified,” came Lay’s sharp retort.
“Which is another way of saying you haven’t.” An irritatingly superior expression spread across the face of the FBI chief.
The DCIA leaned forward, his elbows resting on the polished wood of the conference table. “And you have?”
“Our investigation was unfortunately interrupted this morning by the actions of one of the men under scrutiny, but we had already identified a person of interest in the matter.”
“Indeed?”
On-screen, Haskel could be seen to open a folder laying on his desk. “Our investigation came to focus upon one man. He is a paramilitary operations officer in your Clandestine Service. A man with the motive, the access, and the opportunity to betray your mission.”
“Go on.”
“The man’s name is Davood Sarami.”
Harry’s face froze at the declaration. Davood? It couldn’t be. No. There was no way he could have betrayed the team.
“And may I ask what caused your investigation to center on Officer Sarami?” Lay asked, his posture stiff, unmistakably hostile.
“Our investigation of the field team was thorough. Our focus turned to Sarami after we delved into the financial records of the mosque he attends in Falls Church. The imam there, Abdul Faisal Shabaz, a naturalized citizen of this country, has given large sums of money, ostensibly from his congregation, to a charity based out of Amman, Jordan.”
“Get to your point,” Lay ordered irritably when the FBI director paused for effect.
“The charity has close ties to Hezbollah and Hamas. In 2009, Shabaz was photographed with this man.” A picture came flashing up on screen, momentarily blocking their view of Haskel’s face. “Fayood Hamza al-Farouk. Thirty-two years of age, one of the bright young men of Hezbollah. He’s led field operations for the past three years following his successful assassination of a member of the Knesset.”
“So he was not a leader of their organization at the time of this photograph?”
“That is correct. However, he was on his way up. As you can confirm, he’s been on our watchlists for the better part of the last decade.”
“I recognize the name. Do you have any direct connections between Sarami and al-Farouk?”
“Not as of yet. As stated, our operation was blown this morning when one of your other paramilitary operations officers, one Harold Nichols, took it upon himself to pull a gun on Agent Caruso. I am still awaiting word of his release.”