“That tells me,” she said, “that she’s not on our side.”
The revelation created a concerned look on Rolow’s face.
65
MERRIFIELD, VIRGINIA
With the cold metal barrel of Khalila’s pistol pressed against his temple, Harrison decided his best chance of survival was to talk his way out. He’d been there before, in Syria, when Khalila had her pistol aimed at him from across the room.
“We have an agreement,” he said. “I keep whatever I learn about you to myself. I haven’t violated that agreement, which means you need to hold up your end of the bargain.”
“I included a caveat,” Khalila replied. “Our agreement holds as long as you don’t learn who I am. So… what did McFarland tell you?”
“You’ve got a pistol pointed at my head. What do you think my answer’s going to be? Plus, I’m driving down the interstate at seventy miles per hour. Do you really want to put a bullet in my head right now?”
He let his question sink in, then continued, “At this point, all I can do is reiterate our agreement — whatever your secret is, it’s safe with me. Put your pistol down and let’s talk.”
He pressed harder on the gas, accelerating the car.
Khalila glanced at the speedometer, then at the traffic they were speeding past.
Slowly, she lowered her weapon.
The pistol was still in her hand, but it was resting in her lap now instead of aimed at his head. There was a vacant look in her eyes as she stared directly ahead. It was quiet in the car as it sped down the interstate, until Khalila finally spoke.
“I was thirteen at the time,” she began. “I remember sitting in front of the TV, watching the replays of the aircraft crashing into the Twin Towers in New York City, staring in horror as the buildings collapsed. I remember being amazed at the destruction wrought by two aircraft and terrified by what the victims must have endured. The men and women crushed inside the buildings, and others trapped by the fires on the higher floors, choosing to leap to their deaths instead of being burned alive. In my dreams, I still hear the sound of their bodies hitting the pavement.
“After learning my father was responsible, I was overwhelmed with guilt and shame. Arabs value family honor, and my family has been dishonored by the murder of three thousand innocent men, women, and children. While some cheered what my father had accomplished, I vowed to do what I could to restore that honor. To repay America in some way for what my family had done.
“After I graduated from university, I joined al-Qaeda, using my status as Osama’s daughter to work my way into a leadership position, where I eventually proposed the plan I’d been plotting all along. I would offer my services to the CIA using the rationale I just explained — the shame and sorrow for what my father had done — hoping to make amends in some way. Al-Qaeda leadership approved, and I’ve been feeding them information ever since I became a CIA officer.”
Harrison pondered Khalila’s stunning revelation — that she was Osama bin Laden’s daughter — along with her backstory of shame and atonement. The rationale for her joining the CIA could be either true or false, depending on which side she was truly working for.
Khalila seemed to read his mind, or perhaps the issue was never far from hers. “Only I know my true motivation. But what matters is that both al-Qaeda and the CIA believe I’m working for them. Within that construct, I can achieve what I desire.”
“What if one side determines you’re really working for the other side?”
Khalila shrugged. “There’s a phrase for that — It’s been good knowing you. But I’ve already achieved much, saving the lives of hundreds, if not thousands. I can go to my grave knowing that I accomplished my goal.”
“So,” Harrison said, “how does this work out? Our agreement is — I stay alive as long as I don’t learn your true identity — but you’re the one who revealed it.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, glancing at the pistol in her lap. “You know who I am now.”
66
USS MICHIGAN
“Helm, ahead two-thirds.”
Murray Wilson observed from the Captain’s chair on the Conn as the Officer of the Deck, Lieutenant Brian Resor, slowed Michigan from ahead flank. Based on the Common Operational Picture — a fused sensor display incorporating worldwide assets, including satellites — the merchant ship and its Russian warship escort should be just within sensor range.
It was 3 a.m. and quiet on the mid-watch as Michigan’s crew prepared to engage. Wilson would have preferred to wait until daylight, when periscope observations provided valuable information, helping Michigan’s crew quickly determine the contact’s course and range. However, the merchant ship, Vayenga Maersk, was scheduled to dock at 8 a.m. and would soon enter water too shallow for Michigan and Jimmy Carter to operate effectively.
Jimmy Carter, Michigan’s sister ship in this endeavor, would attempt to capture the Russian submarine crew’s attention, letting Michigan slip within range of its MK 48 torpedoes. It was unlikely that the Russian submarine would fire unless it or one of the surface ships were attacked, so Gallaher’s goal aboard Jimmy Carter was to simply distract the Russian crew. If the Russian submarine fired, however, Gallagher was authorized to sink it.
Gallagher’s submarine was supposedly several thousand yards off the port beam, but Jimmy Carter had been too quiet to track during the high-speed transit as both submarines repositioned to sink the merchant before it reached port. While traveling at ahead flank, the turbulent flow of water across the submarine’s acoustic sensors reduced their effective range. But now, as Michigan slowed to ten knots, her sensors could search farther out.
Sonar reported, “Conn, Sonar. Gained one submerged and five surface contacts, designated Sierra three-one through three-six. Sierra three-one, on the port beam, is Jimmy Carter based on tonals. Sierra three-two, to the east, is classified merchant, and Sierra three-three through three-six, also to the east, are classified surface warships. Analyzing.”
Wilson, who overheard the report, ordered the Officer of the Deck, “Man Battle Stations Torpedo silently.”
The Messenger and the LAN Technician of the Watch spread the word throughout the bunk rooms and common areas of the Operations Compartment, while the Chief of the Watch informed personnel in the Engine Room. Personnel streamed into Control, taking their seats at dormant consoles, bringing them to life as they donned their sound-powered phone headsets, while supervisors gathered behind their respective stations.
After receiving reports from each station, the Chief of the Watch announced, “Battle Stations Torpedo is manned with the exception of the Conning Officer.”
Wilson announced, “This is the Captain. I have the Conn. Lieutenant Resor retains the Deck. Designate Sierra three-two as Master one and Sierra three-three through three-six as Master two through five. Master one is the target of interest, while we must avoid sinking Master two through five if possible.”
He followed up, “Make preparations to proceed to periscope depth. Rig Control for gray.”
The Control Room lights shifted to gray, helping Wilson’s eyes prepare for periscope observations at night.
A moment later, Sonar reported, “Conn, Sonar. Surface warships are classified Russian Admiral Grigorovich and Admiral Gorshkov class, two of each.”