“What do we know about the explosives?” Nance asked.
“Ammonium nitrate and diesel fuel, a fairly large yield. This wasn’t locals throwing an IED over the fence.”
The door to the Operations room opened and Fulton Smith entered, his suit fresh and recently pressed. “Gentlemen. Nancy. You have questions?”
Eric was surprised to see him. “Do you know who did this?”
Smith took a seat at the end of the table. “Intel suggests it is the work of Abdullah the Bomber.”
“Never heard of him,” he said.
“Not many have,” Smith said. “He is a contemporary of Bin Laden. We believe he was recruited as a young man in Saudi Arabia. He was trained as a soldier by the Mujahideen and received explosives training by a young CIA agent, Jack Trevino.”
Realization dawned. “The man killed at FOB Wildcat.”
Smith nodded. “Either intentional or unintentional, it is quite ironic. Trevino spent much of 1985 training young men to fire stinger missiles and construct IED’s. It was this training that helped the Mujahideen wear away at the Soviet occupying forces, forcing them to abandon Afghanistan.”
“What do we know about him?” Nancy asked.
Smith nodded at Sergeant Clark who displayed the file on the overhead.
“We believe his family is originally from Afghanistan, but fled to Saudi Arabia in the 40’s,” Clark said. “The case reports are thin. He’s highly intelligent, and a master of improvised munitions. It’s possible he spent time in the west. We have no SIGINT on him. Based upon HUMINT gained after the invasion of Afghanistan, we believe he spent the last few years training others. The sophistication of IED’s coming from both Afghanistan and Iraq increased dramatically after 9/11.”
“And you think this Abdullah is the one responsible,” Eric said.
“Guy sounds like a major player,” Deion said.
Eric agreed. “How do we not know anything about this man?”
“Because he’s very smart and very careful,” Smith said. “We found a reference to his name in a training document in 1993, after the World Trade Center bombing. We’ve been trying to learn more ever since. We’ve spent thousands of hours combing through the records of immigrants after the Soviet withdrawal of Afghanistan. We suspect he entered the US without record. He’s gone to great pains to conceal his existence.” Smith turned to glance at each one of them. “This man is not a foot soldier. This man was a valuable member of the Mujahideen and most probably a very powerful member of Al-Qaeda. He’s declared war on the United States.”
“Kryzowski believed she found a website associated with AQ,” Nancy said.
Clark nodded. “Yes. Based upon the encoded text that Karen found, we believe this was merely a warm-up. Make no mistake, this is a smart and dedicated enemy. There’s no telling where he will strike next.”
“To that end,” Smith said, “I’d like Mr. Freeman to go to Afghanistan and start investigating. This is exactly the kind of threat the OTM needs to stop.” He turned to Deion. “Mr. Freeman, your investigation will be in addition to the JSOC operation. Find intel on this man.”
Deion grinned. “I’ve still got contacts. I’ll find more in a day than they’ll find in a week.”
“I’m sure you will,” Smith said. “Your knack for languages and interrogation will be most beneficial. You’re CIA cover is still valid. Nancy will accompany you.”
Nancy’s face grimaced and Deion squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. “Sir, with all due respect, and to Nancy as well, a woman won’t be welcome where I’ll be going.”
“I assure you, she will not hinder your investigation,” Smith said.
Eric was itching to go to Afghanistan, to help his former team-mates. “Sir, what about me?”
Smith turned to Eric. “Your place is with Frist. Sergeant, isn’t there still missing caesium?”
“Yes,” Clark agreed reluctantly. “It’s still a concern, but wouldn’t it make sense to deploy Frist to Afghanistan?”
Smith ignored the question and addressed Eric. “Take Frist to Colorado and find the missing caesium. Report on Frist’s stability and watch for any signs of unpredictable behavior. You have no higher priority.”
Eric wanted to go with Deion to Afghanistan, but he was a professional. He bit his lip. “I understand my orders,” he muttered.
Smith stood. “I have the utmost confidence in you. All of you. Sergeant Clark, the deck is yours.” He nodded at Nancy, Deion and Eric. “Good hunting.”
The light in the bunker cast dark shadows under the President’s eyes as he glared at Smith. “I want him in Afghanistan.
Smith was tired from the flight to Washington. The frequent trips were wearing on him, more so every year, but when the President requested an audience, he knew he must appear. “He’s not ready.”
The President sat his porcelain coffee cup on the table, the Presidential Seal outlined in delicate gold filigree. “After the money we’ve spent, I want him in Afghanistan.”
“He’s months away from being fully operational. Sending him to Afghanistan would be a disaster.”
The President leaned back in his chair, glaring. “We’ve got twenty seven dead now. One died on the way to Germany.”
He understood the President’s anger. “I’m sorry, but sending Frist won’t change that.”
The President slumped in his chair. “We can’t get any traction in Afghanistan. This drone was supposed to bail our asses out of the fire. The Joint Chiefs are all over it. We need it operational. The insurgency is increasing.”
Smith nodded, more to himself than the President. “I know, sir. The data shows we are at significant risk of Afghanistan becoming a failed state. The risk to the region is severe.”
“I sold this to the public as a chance to end Al-Qaeda. They don’t understand what will happen if Afghanistan fails. It could be a breeding ground for terrorists for the next hundred years.”
“Some understand,” he said softly, “but people are tired of war. They want peace and comfort. They don’t want to know their safety is hanging by a thread, ready to plunge into chaos.”
The President eyed him sourly. “You’re damned depressing today.”
“I’m paid to be a pessimist.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I’ve got a team on the way to Afghanistan,” Smith said. “They’ll find out who bombed the base and why. In the meantime, we’ve got another issue.”
The President’s eyes widened. “Christ. It never ends.”
“A small amount of radioactive material has been — misplaced — shall we say.”
“Ours?” the President asked.
“Yes, sir. Medical devices. We’ve got a team on the way. They will find it and secure it.”
“Fulton? Did I ever tell you this job isn’t worth the headache?”
He knew how the President felt. “All the time, sir.”
Deion stepped off the plane and the smell of jet fuel hit him like a hammer. While it was suffocating, it wasn’t as bad as the wind blowing over the latrine pit, a smell he thought he left behind the year before. He sighed and led Nancy through the checkpoints to the CIA and DIA shared office.
He saw Valerie Simon approaching, still looking fit in her camo pants and black t-shirt. She had a few strands of gray in the peak of her short ebony hair, and could have been mistaken for early-thirties instead of mid-forties. Their romantic fling ended after his transfer to Guantanamo, effectively ending their relationship before their age difference became an issue. Still, he kept in touch. They ended as friends, but he still had feelings for her. He stuck out his hand, but she grabbed him in a fierce hug. “I thought you hated Afghanistan,” she said, laughing.
He grinned. It really was good to see her again and he realized just how much he’d missed her. “Valerie, this is Nancy Smith. We’re here to investigate FOB Wildcat.”