Once the doors opened wide enough, Khalila pulled forward into a loading dock illuminated by bright white lights, containing several pallets of boxes that would almost fill the entire van. It looked like the nightly van run didn’t just drop off supplies; it picked up material as well. She parked the vehicle as the entrance doors closed behind her.
No one else was present in the loading dock, so Khalila tapped the metal partition behind her, providing the all-clear signal. The SEALs and Harrison emerged from the back of the van and moved forward as a metal roll-up door in the middle of the far wall began rising. The SEALs reached the wall just in time, taking position on each side of the door as four men armed with submachine guns appeared in the opening.
Khalila stepped from the van, hoping the keep the men’s eyes on her and not on the periphery as they entered the loading dock. The SEALs on both sides, weapons aimed at the men, surged forward as Hacker shouted in Arabic to drop their weapons. Khalila drew her pistol as well. Faced with ten armed opponents, the four men wisely dropped their firearms.
Their hands and feet were quickly tie-wrapped, and Khalila stopped beside them, probing them for information. When all four men refused to answer, she put a bullet in the head of the nearest man.
The other three started talking.
There were six other armed men in the facility, but all were off duty and sleeping, and the locations of their rooms were provided. When Khalila asked where the prisoners were held, she got blank looks. There were no prisoners or detainees in the facility, they said, only workers.
She relayed the information to the SEALs, then stopped by Harrison. “Something’s not right.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m getting the same feeling.”
Noviello also seemed concerned, but decided to press on, leaving Meyer behind to guard the men and their exit route.
The rest of the team continued in single file, passing a small cafeteria and kitchen, then entered a large common area with several long tables, each lined on both sides with men and women wearing white surgical gowns, face masks, and gloves, processing a white powdery substance on the table. Interspersed throughout were several unarmed supervisors overseeing the work.
When eight armed men in tactical gear and Khalila burst into the room, activity stopped as the men and women stared at them. It was silent in the room as the supervisors slowly raised their hands.
A quick search of the area produced no weapons, and Khalila and Hacker interrogated the supervisors while four of the SEALs rounded up the six off-duty armed men.
When queried about the location of prisoners or detainees, there were more blank stares. However, one of the supervisors said there was a section in the facility containing cells, but they were empty. The entire facility had been abandoned by its previous owners five years ago, taken over by its current occupants due to its isolated and secure location.
Noviello sent several SEALs to search the entire facility, confirming what the supervisor stated. There were no prisoners or detainees, only empty cells and interrogation rooms.
It soon became clear that the men and women were processing cocaine, preparing and packaging it for shipment to the mainland. The facility where the prisoner from Abbottabad had been sent was now nothing more than a drug lab.
48
RESEARCH VESSEL ATLANTIS
Alvin bobbed on the surface, illuminated by bright white lights from Atlantis as the LARS A-frame was pivoted above the submersible. Inside the DSV, Christine waited in anticipation; it wouldn’t be long before the DNA sample was analyzed. Two portable DNA-scanning machines had been loaded aboard Atlantis before it had left port for tonight’s mission. McFarland had hand-selected the accompanying DNA technician and supervisor, both chosen not only because of their proficiency with the portable scanners but also their clearances, having been read into the most sensitive CIA programs.
Neither technician had been briefed about Neptune Spear, but that wasn’t necessary. They just had to determine how closely the sample taken from the body on the ocean floor matched the two samples in their possession: one of Osama bin Laden taken from CIA archives, and another one from bin Laden’s sister, who had been treated for cancer in the U.S., with the latter provided as a backup sample in case there was an issue with Osama bin Laden’s.
Both men were waiting topside on Atlantis as Alvin mated to the LARS and was lifted from the water. The A-frame then pivoted the DSV over the ship’s stern, where it was lowered to the deck. Christine climbed through the hatch as the DNA sample was provided to an awaiting CIA technician, and she joined him as they headed toward one of the labs aboard Atlantis, which had been set aside for their use.
Inside the laboratory were two IntegenX portable DNA scanners — a primary and a backup — each the size of a laser copier. Christine shed her borrowed sweater and sweatpants as the technician prepared the sample and added the refrigerated reactive agents, then began the analysis simultaneously on both machines.
The DNA taken from the corpse on the ocean bottom was being compared to the two sample profiles loaded into the scanners, identified only as Sample #1 and Sample #2. Both machines processed the DNA strands until they finished their analysis an hour later. Christine joined the men as they read the information on a color screen built into each scanner. Each machine displayed identical results, which the supervisor explained.
“A comparison with sample one,” he began, “indicates the two individuals are siblings.”
Christine nodded. Sample one was from Osama bin Laden’s sister.
“Sample two,” he said, “matches the sample just obtained.”
The remains on the ocean floor were Osama bin Laden’s.
“Are you sure?” Christine asked. “What’s the probability the two samples are from different men and the machines improperly correlated them?”
“There’s always a possibility without full DNA sequencing, but the odds in this case are extremely slim.”
“How slim?”
“Based on the DNA site matches identified, the odds of these two samples being from different men is about one in a hundred million.”
Christine thanked both men as relief washed over her. The thought that bin Laden was still alive and his existence concealed by a rogue intelligence organization had weighed heavily on her. At worst, the man taken prisoner at Abbottabad was a courier, and keeping his capture secret while information was extracted from him made perfect sense.
At this point, it probably wasn’t all that important to find the courier. He had likely been disposed of years ago, once he had exhausted his usefulness.
49
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
Inside the director’s seventh-floor conference room, it was silent after Harrison and Khalila finished reviewing their trip report with Christine, Bryant, Rolow, and McFarland. It seemed that everyone around the table had prematurely concluded that the prisoner taken from the third floor of the Abbottabad house was Osama bin Laden. The confirmation that the corpse on the bottom of the Arabian Sea was Osama seemed conclusive proof that bin Laden had, in fact, been killed during the Abbottabad raid.
McFarland broke the silence. “It looks like we misinterpreted McNeil’s note. Let’s start over, back at the beginning.” There was murmured agreement around the table, so she continued. “What kicked this issue off were the deaths of Nagle and McNeil, which we associated with the Abbottabad assault. We initially had two theories: the first was that bin Laden had been taken prisoner and those who knew were being silenced, and the second being that the assault team deaths were the work of al-Qaeda, exacting revenge for bin Laden’s death.