“The balls?”
“Not many have the guts to attack the United States — because we are gonna find out who did the deed, sooner or later. And then they’re gonna pay for it. A select few are willing to take it on the chin in exchange for the points they score in the initial strikes. It buys them a higher profile, makes recruitment easier.”
“It also requires patience,” DeSantos added, “and coordination — to gather and purchase the materials, bring in the people with the skill set to build these explosives. Not all of them have the resources and network to make this happen.”
“What about Ekrem’s intel?” Vail asked.
Uzi grabbed a handful of almonds from a bowl to his right and popped one in his mouth. “We didn’t want to get myopic by focusing on what he gave us — especially because we’ve got no idea if all, or some, or none of his info’s legit.”
DeSantos pulled a sheet from among the papers containing a scribble of handwritten names and handed it to Vail. She read: al Humat, al Shabaab, al Qaeda, al Qaeda Organization in the Islamic Maghreb, East Turkestan Islamic Movement, Hamas, Hezbollah, Islamic Jihad, ISIL/Islamic State, Islamic Jihad of Yemen— “Lists like this are okay, but we can make ourselves nuts looking at every Tom, Dick, and Harry.”
DeSantos snorted. “More like Abdul, Mohammed, and Akbar.”
Vail gave him a look that said, “I’m not in the mood.” “Point is, we have to focus on the most likely groups.”
“Like I said, that is the list of most likely groups.”
Oh. Lovely. “Look, I know you have doubts about this Ekrem guy, but maybe it makes sense to start there and see if we can eliminate Hamas and al Humat. Then we can move on to the rest on this list.”
Uzi nodded. “Makes sense to me.”
A trim and curvy woman in khakis with long brunette hair approached with a Bluetooth headset protruding from her ear. “Hector, I’ve got something you should hear.”
DeSantos introduced her as Alexandra “Alex” Rusakov. “On this case?”
“Yeah, NSA sent it over, priority one. They normally don’t get to intercepted communications this fast, but because of the potential for impending attacks it was elevated and they—”
“Audio or video?” Uzi asked.
“Audio,” Rusakov said.
Vail set down the list. “Let’s hear it.”
“It’s in Arabic. But I’ve got a translation.” She handed over a printed page.
“I’d like to hear the original recording,” Uzi said.
“Channel five,” Rusakov said as she reached over to the nearest panel and pressed a few keys.
Uzi slipped on a set of headphones and listened as the others consulted the translation.
“What are we reading here?” Vail asked.
“NSA intercepted a cell call from an area in southwest DC to Gaza. They couldn’t triangulate because it didn’t last long enough. The rest is pretty self-explanatory.”
DC UNSUB: Can’t reach four of our men. Don’t know what’s going on. Someone posted something on Facebook about an explosion on Irving Street. That was where Habib was working. Couldn’t reach him so I called Wahi. He didn’t know anything about it so he called Habib and he answered. Habib said the explosion was close but he was fine. Wahi told him to come to the safe house, but he never made it and I haven’t been able to reach him. I haven’t heard from Osman or Tahir either, so I don’t know what’s up with them.
Gaza UNSUB: We’ll look into it. If there was a problem, they’ll go off the grid, keep quiet until they think it’s safe to contact us. Everything may be okay, but stay indoors until I contact you. Allahu Akbar.
DC UNSUB: Allahu Akbar.
Vail set the paper on the conference table. “No question the guy in DC is one of our offenders.” She turned toward Rusakov, two workstations to her left, and said, “Can the NSA give us anything else?”
“They’re doubling back to see if they’ve got other captured conversations that haven’t been transcribed yet. There’s a backlog of Arabic language recordings.”
Vail noticed Uzi was still huddled over the desk, concentrating. She tapped him on a shoulder and he pushed up the headphones. “You’re spending an awfully long time listening to a short conversation. Something’s bothering you.”
He sat down heavily.
“What is it, Boychick?” DeSantos asked.
He ran his tongue from left to right over his bottom lip. “The guy on the phone in Gaza. I think I know that voice.”
8
Vail waited for Uzi to elaborate. When he did not, she nudged DeSantos, who shrugged. “Uzi, who is it?”
“If I’m right, he was a senior al Humat operative when I was”—he hesitated, then turned to Rusakov. “Alex, can you give us a minute?”
“Boychick, she’s part of OPSIG. She’s got full clearance.”
Vail examined Uzi’s face — she knew he was uncomfortable with more people knowing his secret. It was one thing for Knox to know, and for her, DeSantos, and Rodman to know — he hadn’t had the choice when it was disclosed. Adding to that list did not seem like a good idea, and Vail had to agree.
“Alex,” Vail said, “I think it’d be best.”
Rusakov squinted dissatisfaction, then nodded and backed out of the room.
“Where’d you find her?” Vail said as the glass door clicked shut. “The latest Miss World pageant?”
“She’s tougher than you think. Lethal, in fact. Her beauty gets her close to HVTs,” DeSantos said, using the military acronym for high value targets. “Go on, Boychick. Who does the voice belong to?”
“When I was in Mossad, this guy was working with Hamas, smuggling rockets and mortars through the Sinai. He designed the network of tunnels they spent years building — sophisticated tunnels with reinforced cement walls, ventilation, electricity. They eventually built hundreds of them crisscrossing Gaza, stretching from the Egyptian border all the way into Israel.”
“Like the drug cartels,” Vail said, referring to their method of smuggling drugs from Mexico into San Diego.
DeSantos sat up straight. “Like the drug cartels. Ekrem’s intel — and NSA’s intercept — suggested Hezbollah might be working with the Cortez cartel. What if you’re right, Boychick? What if they showed Cortez how to build their tunnels?”
“Then we might have problems.” Rodman rose from his chair and walked over to the near wall, where a map of the United States was illuminated on one of the screens. Rodman said, “What if they’ve built a network of tunnels under the US?”
“It’s expensive and time-consuming,” Uzi said. He thought a bit, then added, “It’s possible to do because they build shafts inside other structures — warehouses, garages, houses — that eventually resurface inside another building on the other side of the border. If they do it well, the presence of equipment and the removal of dirt — and lots of water, because tunnels flood while they’re being built — isn’t really noticed. Still … it’s a tremendous amount of work. They’d need a really good reason to do that.”
DeSantos joined Rodman at the map. “Like moving one or more dirty bombs around the country without our sensors — which are now in a lot of US cities — picking them up?”
They were quiet while they pondered that. “Before we get too far down this road,” Vail said, “let’s back up. Uzi, you said you know this guy, the Gaza voice. How about a name, description, some background?”
“Kadir Abu Sahmoud.” Uzi rubbed at the stubble on his cheeks. “He’s probably about fifty now, bearded, dark complected, about five-nine. He’s a violent psychopath. As if that’s not bad enough, he’s a religious zealot who, like all extremists, interprets the Koran as a violent call to arms. We all know the type.”