Gifford frowned, hiked his brow, then grabbed a file off his desk. “Then no, you can’t be excused from your duties.”
“But—”
Before she could finish her sentence, Gifford’s line buzzed. He hit the intercom. “Lenka, hold my calls.”
“It’s Director Knox, sir.”
Gifford glanced at Vail, as if he was starting to put it together. “Put him through,” he said in the direction of the speaker, then lifted the handset. Vail started to rise but Gifford motioned her down. “Mr. Director.” He listened for a bit, his face flushing, then looked at Vail again. It was not a pleasant expression. Finally, he said, “Sir, how can I run my unit without—” The jaw muscles in his face tightened. “The good of the country. Yes sir, I understand … Yes sir, I will do that … No, we’ll manage … Yes. Thank you, sir.”
As Gifford set the handset back in the cradle, Vail slapped her thighs. “Okay, then. We’re good?”
Gifford steepled his fingers, his eyes locked with Vail’s.
“If it helps, sir, I’m not enjoying this.”
“I don’t believe you. And it most certainly does not help. What am I supposed to do with all your cases?”
“If I were the ASAC, I’d reass—”
“That was a rhetorical question.”
“Right.” Vail rose from her seat. She started to leave, then stopped with a hand on the knob. “You have your orders, sir. And I have mine. Neither of us are happy about it. How about we leave it at that?”
Gifford did not reply, so she pulled the door open and left.
5
Lucas Dempsey sat in the back of the black town car, its gray leather soft and pliant against his hand. The thick soundproof glass separating the rear and front seats had a slight green tint, but was otherwise unobtrusive. He glanced down and checked his watch and awaited the arrival of Frederic Prideux.
Like Dempsey, the name Prideux was chosen at random off an online directory of a company’s board of directors. It was a nice irony, but in truth he selected Dempsey because it gave the impression of a fighter. And he liked to think of himself in that light.
While his contact knew his true identity, it was safer to use aliases in conversation so the prying ears of the NSA or FBI could not make an easy identification.
But if they were smart, and careful, they would not arouse suspicion.
Prideux approached the vehicle — and was frisked a dozen feet away by Dempsey’s personnel before being cleared to approach.
The back door opened and Prideux sat down heavily.
Dempsey, staring straight ahead, said, “What the hell are you people doing?”
Prideux, a slight man whose English was well practiced and near-flawless, tilted his head. “We’re doing what’s necessary.”
“You’re working against me. That’s not the arrangement. And it’s counterproductive, to say the least.”
“You move too slowly. And you’re restricted in what you can do and when you can do it.”
Dempsey laughed — not out of humor but because of his “partner’s” audacity.
“Did you or did you not tell me there are limits to what you can do?”
“At times, yes. But we have a plan and we’re executing according to that plan. Setting up sleeper cells in DC? Are you out of your mind?”
Prideux snorted. “We’re quite sane, I assure you. There is a method to what you perceive as madness.”
“Perceive? Perceive? Federal agents raided your cell, found bomb-making components and goddamn it, your man blew himself up in the middle of the city!”
“Yes, well, that was unfortunate. But …” He shrugged. “So what? We have others that will gladly take his place.”
“I’m not worried about losing a man. Or two, or three. I’m worried about the FBI getting close. If they figure out—”
“No, no, no,” Prideux said slowly, shaking his head. Calm, cool. “There is no risk here. Remember, we have a man on the inside.” He smiled broadly. “Don’t we, now?”
Dempsey turned away. He did not feel like the fighter he pretended to be. He felt controlled — when the opposite should have been the case.
“You’re moving too slowly,” Prideux said. “It’s been two years.”
“I’m laying the groundwork. It takes time. We discussed this. There are a lot of considerations.” He faced Prideux. “You just have to trust me.”
“Trust is not the issue. We do trust you. But we want results.”
“And I said I’d deliver. I didn’t say when because I couldn’t. Things are fluid.”
“Yes, things are fluid. And that’s why we decided to take a more active role.”
“A lot of good that did. Your bomb-making factory and safe house are gone.”
Prideux turned his entire torso and leaned against the door, facing Dempsey. “Lucas, my friend, do you really think we would go into a war with only one weapon?” He smiled — deviously.
Dempsey was certain the man was studying him, reading his expression. “What do you mean?”
“I mean we’re well prepared. I mean we know what we’re doing. I mean that you should not worry about us, about our end of things. We have it all under control. Let the FBI think they’ve scored a major victory.”
“You’re just making it more difficult. Give me time to sort this out. Let things settle down. Let the media find something else to cover.”
Prideux frowned and turned to look out the rear window.
“I thought you people take the long view, the long war. Decades, centuries.”
“I don’t subscribe to that model. I’m an impatient man. I’m selfish. I want to see this to fruition. I want to taste the olives of my labor.”
“You will. But don’t fight me.”
Prideux laughed. “And why not? We fight everyone else. And we win too. Look at Europe, Lucas. Look at what we’re doing. We are taking over. Some may think it’s a slow process, but it’s happening very quickly. In twenty-five, thirty years Belgium will be ours. Brussels, the headquarters of the European Union and NATO, will be under Sharia law.
“Allah will be the judge and jury of what’s permitted and what isn’t. There and in the major European cities — Antwerp, Amsterdam, Rotterdam. And my home country, France. It’s all going to be under Sharia law very soon.”
“Twenty-five years is not soon. Things can happen that derail your plans.” Dempsey knew it was a weak shot, a punch without any muscle behind it. Because he knew Prideux was right.
“This is different. We control the process so I can wait. Twenty-five years? Just a matter of time now. Nothing anyone can do to stop it.” Prideux chuckled. “Unless non-Muslims start having six kids per couple — which is not going to happen. We will out-reproduce them. We will outnumber them. We will then out-vote them — and vote them out.”
“And what is that going to get you?”
“It’ll get us Europe. And then we’ll move on from there. North America? South America? Maybe both at the same time? Eventually it’ll be everything. That is our goal, Lucas. Not just an Islamic state. An Islamic world.”
Dempsey wondered what he had gotten himself into. Then again, was there really a choice?
“It’s all so very simple, Lucas, but they are fools. They don’t see what’s going on right in front of them, all around them. We even tell them what we’re going to do. It’s not a secret. And still they don’t see it! We say it on TV, in interviews, in our mosques, they debate it in their government offices. Their own Members of Parliament warn of it. And still they let it happen. Religious tolerance, the political correctness of this generation only makes it easier, faster.” His left eye narrowed. “They have let it happen. Willingly. None of those countries deserve to survive as a nation, as a culture. And they won’t.”