Now Adnan had only one more task ahead of him.
With his eyes shut, Adnan paced off the dimensions of the hospital corridor in his apartment. He went down the hall, turned right, went fourteen paces down and moved right, opened the door and simulated going down eight steps, hitting a landing, turning and going down eight more, down the hall and reaching the exit door. Then he did it again. And again.
Afterward, Adnan removed his shirt and looked at his body in the bathroom mirror. Though his physique was still impressive, there was a frailty beneath the muscle that more resembled an old man than someone in the prime of life. The numerous external injuries he’d suffered over the years had healed. Inside, though, the scars were permanent.
He sat on his bed and withdrew from his wallet ten photos that he arranged in front of him. They were crumpled, faded reminders of his family. He lingered over each, recalling moments of peace and love. And horror. As when his father had been beheaded by the Saudis, for what amounted to a misdemeanor. It usually took two whacks with the sword to behead someone. Yet Adnan’s father had a very thick neck, and it had taken three strokes to sever it, an event eight-year-old Adnan had been forced to watch. Few people could have gone through these memories without shedding at least a few tears; however, Adnan’s eyes remained dry. And yet his fingers trembled as he kissed the fading images of his dead children.
A few minutes later Adnan put on his coat and left his apartment. The bike ride into downtown Brennan went quickly. He chained his bicycle to a rack and started walking. His path took him in front of Mercy Hospital, where he briefly glanced at his place of employment, at least until tomorrow. Then his gaze darted to the apartment building across the street where he knew the two Afghans were checking and rechecking their weapons, because they were methodical and obsessive men, as all good snipers had to be.
Adnan continued walking, turned down one street and then another and finally slipped into an alley. He rapped twice on the door. He heard nothing. Then he called out in Farsi. Footsteps approached, and he heard Ahmed’s voice answer in Farsi.
“What is it you want, Adnan?”
“To talk.”
“I am busy.”
“Everything should be done, Ahmed. Is there a problem?”
The door opened and Ahmed scowled at him. “I have no problems,” Ahmed said, but he stepped back for Adnan to enter the garage.
“I thought it wise to go over things one more time,” Adnan said as he sat on a stool next to the workbench. His gaze took in the vehicle that would play such an important role the next day. He nodded at it. “It looks good, Ahmed. You have done well.”
“Tomorrow will see whether we have done well or not,” Ahmed answered.
He and Adnan spent twenty minutes going over their assigned tasks.
“I am not worried about us,” Ahmed said sullenly. “It is this woman who troubles me. Who is she? What is her training?”
“That is not your concern,” Adnan answered. “If she was picked for this, she will do her job well.”
“Women are only good for having babies and to cook and clean.”
“You are living in the past, my friend,” Adnan said.
“The Muslim past was glorious. We had the best of everything.”
“The world has moved past us, Ahmed. For Muslims to be truly great again we must move with it. Show the world what we can do. And we can do much.”
Ahmed spat on the floor. “That is what I think of the world. They can just leave us alone.”
“We will see after tomorrow who is right.”
Ahmed slowly shook his head. “You trust in things too much. You trust the American who leads us too much.”
“He may be an American, but he is brave and knows what he is doing.” He gazed sternly at the Iranian.
“I will do my job,” Ahmed finally said.
“Yes, you will,” Adnan answered as he rose to leave. “Because I will be right there to ensure that you do.”
“You think I need an Iraqi babysitting me,” Ahmed said fiercely.
“Tomorrow we are not Iraqi or Iranian or Afghani,” Adnan replied. “We are all Muslims, following God.”
“Do not question my faith, Adnan,” Ahmed said in a dangerous tone.
“I question nothing. Only God has the right to question the souls of his people.” Adnan went to the door but then turned back. “I will see you tomorrow, Ahmed.”
“I will see you in paradise,” Ahmed answered.
CHAPTER
51
AT ONE O’CLOCK IN THE afternoon Air Force One touched down at Pittsburgh International Airport. All other air traffic had been diverted from the area, as it would be when Air Force One took off again later. The long line of cars was ready to go. In a presidential motorcade there was a basic rule that one risked ignoring at his periclass="underline" When the president’s behind touched his seat in the Beast, the motorcade left. And if you didn’t have your ride yet in one of the other vehicles when this occurred, you weren’t going to the party.
The road the presidential motorcade took had long since been closed off by the Secret Service, and motorists sat in foul moods staring at the Beast and the other twenty-six cars sailing by. In the presidential limo with Brennan was his wife, his chief of staff, the governor of Pennsylvania and Carter Gray.
When the motorcade pulled into the dedication grounds, they were already filled with more than ten thousand people waving banners and signs to show their support for the town and its namesake. National media trucks were parked outside the fence, and perfectly coiffed anchormen and -women stood next to far younger and hipper but equally well coiffed news candy types from the cooler cable networks. Collectively, they would broadcast the event to the nation and the world, although with various spins of their own; the younger voices were predictably far more cynical about the entire proceedings.
Alex Ford was positioned near the stage but then moved behind a roped-off area and toward the motorcade as it pulled into the fenced grounds. He stiffened for an instant as he saw Kate, Adelphia and the Camel Club in the crowd, about midway back but working their way forward. Kate waved to show she’d seen him. He didn’t wave back but did nod his head a bare inch at her, and then he returned to trying to spot potential trouble. In a crowd this large and boisterous that was nearly impossible. However, the magnetometers had been set up at all pedestrian entrance points, which had given the Service some comfort. Alex took a moment to gaze at the tree line where he knew the snipers were positioned, although he couldn’t see them. If it comes to it, don’t miss, guys, he said under his breath.
When the president appeared, he was boxed in on all sides by the A-team protection detail that formed a wall of Kevlar and flesh around him. Alex knew these agents; they were a rock-solid crew.
The president stepped onto the stage and shook some important hands while his wife, the governor, the chief of staff and Gray took their seats behind the podium. Brennan joined them a minute later.
The event started off right on schedule. The mayor and some local dignitaries spoke and attempted to outdo one another when it came to extolling their president and their town. Then the governor rambled on a bit longer than the schedule had dictated, which caused the chief of staff to start frowning and tapping her high heel. Air Force One’s next stop was a fund-raiser in Los Angeles that was far more important — at least in her mind — than the renaming of this small if ambitious Pennsylvania town in her boss’s honor.
Alex continued scanning the crowds. He noted a number of military personnel in the front row, near the rope line. He could see from their uniforms that most were regular army. A number of them were missing arms and legs, probably from their tours of duty in the Middle East. There were a couple of National Guardsmen, including one with a hook for a left hand. Alex shook his head in commiseration for their sacrifice. Brennan would certainly go down and see these soldiers after he had spoken. He’d always been good about that.