“I have been authorized to prosecute the act,” he wrote.
Glaxor’s file, which included notes from his em ployer, indicated he talked to inanimate objects. He had no criminal record, no history of violence. Did not own, or have access to, firearms, or explosives. Other than “showing up at the rope” at various presidential visits along the west coast over the years and glaring at the president, Glaxor had not acted on his threats.
A pungent mixture of muscle ointment and cat litter greeted the agents when Glaxor opened his apartment door for them.
The black-framed glasses he wore were held together by white tape. He was overweight with stringy hair and greasy skin. His apartment was dimly lit.
“I am averse to light, that’s why I work nights,” Glaxor said as he sat in a large, somewhat elevated chair, while the agents stood.
“I am glad you’re here. Time is of the essence.” Glaxor spoke articulately and rapidly. “I’ve recently been in contact with the GHD, and he demands the pope end his tyrannical reign and resign before fate- that being me-intervenes.”
316 Rick Mofina
Krover opened the file. “The GHD would be the ‘Great-Horned Demon’ you converse with?”
“Yes, the GHD’s manifested as a gargoyle in the park downtown as a conduit for communication.”
“Could we please let in a little light, Edwin? Just a bit?”
Walker opened the curtains slightly. Glaxor’s chair was a throne constructed entirely of Bibles. After lis tening to Glaxor’s nonsensical theories for nearly twenty minutes, Walker interrupted.
“Edwin, we believe your concerns warrant more research. We’ve talked to your family about a facility where you can discuss your situation with the appropri ate medical experts.”
Glaxor steepled his fingers, touched them to his chin and nodded.
“May I bring the data I’ve collected?”
“I’ll discuss that with the doctors, but it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“All right, I’ll do it.”
“Good, son. Under the circumstances, this is the right thing to do.”
Walker reached for his cell phone to advise Glaxor’s parents and psychiatrist.
Glaxor was a letter writer, like hundreds of other people on the Secret Service watch list. Part of the job was to be up to speed on the list, a file of several hundred people who had ever threatened the president, or a visiting head of state, even with an e-mail, a letter or a comment overheard in public.
People like Glaxor who weren’t in facilities were visited by agents in advance of VIP visits to update
Six Seconds 317 their threat status, chiefly to determine if they had the ability and opportunity to carry out their threat.
Glaxor’s family had agreed that he would undergo assessment in a psychiatric ward during the pope’s visit. Like the Secret Service and the FBI, King County and Seattle PD put him on their watch list.
This threat had been neutralized.
Back in the car, Walker reviewed his files. They had several more cases to double-check as part of continuing advance work to assess threats and identify risks. They worked on everything, from poten tial lone assassins to terrorist groups. As Krover drove them to the next case, Walker inventoried his files to ensure he hadn’t overlooked anything.
They were in order, yet something niggled at him. Something that had arisen from one of the roundtable calls at Langley. As hard as he tried, Walker couldn’t identify it. And now, as the time for the northwest leg of the papal visit ticked down, it continued to irritate him.
Walker scanned the latest bulletin on activity and chatter concerning FTOs.
Nothing there.
At that moment, his BlackBerry vibrated with an alert from Homeland Security.
U.S. Customs and Border Protection investigating unconfirmed report of border penetration by unau thorized vessels suspected of at-sea transfer of hostile contraband. Location: U.S.-Canada border. Washington State. Strait of Juan de Fuca. Primary vessel registered under Panamanian flag. Vessel origin: Yemen. Secondary vessel origin: unknown.
52
East of Great Falls, Montana
Distant reddish-brown figures emerged in the field glasses slowly coming into focus.
White-tailed deer.
Some two hundred yards off.
A doe and two spotted fawns stepping from the forb and dogwood.
Snouts to the ground, they browsed around the lone U.S. flag affixed to a pole of pine dowelling. Quite a sight against the grand sky. Nothing out there but the deer and the flag, flapping in the open range at a height of precisely five feet.
The flag had been erected by the deer watcher, Ali Bakarat, a specialist in chemical engineering.
Using an alias, Bakarat was identified as a professor from England. He was visiting the U.S. to attend an international symposium in Portland, Oregon. It had ended a week ago. He’d told American authorities that he was taking a holiday and driving across America to New York, before his return to London.
Previously, he’d flown from Addis Ababa, to Algiers,
Six Seconds 319 to Cairo, to Istanbul, Paris then London. None of which was known because he’d used counterfeit documents. His fingerprints and eye scan did not raise any red flags. He didn’t exist on any no-fly or Interpol watch lists. But here he was, east of Great Falls, Montana, at the fringe of Malmstrom Air Force Base, finalizing his part of the operation.
He’d broken a salt lick, spread chokecherries and snowberries, and set a water bucket around the flagpole. It was like a candy stand for the deer. They would graze for hours. Bakarat looked at his watch when he saw his partner’s Jeep approaching, raising dust.
Bakarat’s associate, Omar, an expert in molecular nanotechnology, had arrived with the operative.
The nurse.
Samara.
She wore jeans and a Seattle Mariners T-shirt, which enhanced her figure. Even under her ball cap and dark glasses, her beauty exceeded the description given Bakarat by the old men in Africa.
The Tigress had blended in nicely, Bakarat thought.
Omar shouldered Samara’s computer bag then set up her computer alongside their equipment on the folding table where Bakarat was working under the shade of a beach canopy.
To anyone who’d happened upon them, they were re searchers for a European wildlife magazine.
“Sister,” Bakarat greeted Samara. “This is a great honor. Uncle sends his prayers.”
She nodded then took stock of the hardware on the table. The laptops, cameras, field glasses, satellite phones. Well-thumbed notebooks with codes, tables, calculations. “Is everything ready?”
“All is ready,” Bakarat said. “Conditions are good. Our subjects are well positioned.” He passed Samara a set of binoculars to use to see the deer.
Omar was making calculations in his notebook, then entered them on one of the laptops. Then he set the co ordinates into one of the satellite phones.
“Are we ready, Omar?” Bakarat asked.
“Ready.”
“Sister, this is what you need to know.”
The scientists explained to Samara the basics behind the new weapon. Then they showed her an animated program which simplified the science that had gone into developing the system. They’d produced a new synthetic fabric that was highly explosive, undetectable and detonated through radio frequencies.
It worked like this:
A radio signal was sent to activate the new material, which was equipped with nanoreceivers. After the signal was received, it took about sixty seconds for the process to “warm up” to the stage of detonation readi ness. At that point, the controller could detonate it at will.
Samara studied the animated demonstration on Bakarat’s laptop.
“You send a radio message to the material. Upon receipt it takes sixty seconds to warm up,” Bakarat said.